200 Motels

Theodore Bikel:
Hi, Larry, it's good to have you back on our panel.

Larry The Dwarf (Ringo Starr):
Hi, Dave, it's really great to be back on your panel.

Theodore Bikel:
I'm sure the people at home would be interested to know why such a large dwarf as you is all dressed up like Frank Zappa. Tell us, Larry, eh . . . what's the deal?

Larry The Dwarf:
He made me do it, Dave. He's such a creep. He's making me hold this alladinaladdin.

Theodore Bikel:
And why is he making you do that, Larry?

Larry The Dwarf:
He wants me to fuck the girl with the harp.

Theodore Bikel:
He wants you to fuck the girl . . . with the harp?

Larry The Dwarf:
No, no, with the magic lamp. He wants me to stuff it up her and rub it. Hm. Hm-hm-hm. Ho-ho-ho, ha-ha. A-HA-HA-HA-HO-HO.

Theodore Bikel:
Let's ask our studio audience. If you'd just been lowered down here on TV by a wire connected to a brown leather harness, forced by a crazy person to insert a mysterious, imported lamp into the reproductive-rep-rep-rep into-into the rep-rep-reproductive orifice of a lady harpist and you were a dwarf . . . would you do it?

Larry The Dwarf:
YES!!!

Chorus:
Yay!

Theodore Bikel:
Let's spin the big wheel, Larry! Go ahead, give it a whirl!

Voice Over:
What our studio audience doesn't know is that the reason Larry the Dwarf is doing all this stuff is because it's all part of the score to 200 Motels. Every word, every action, the lamp, the reproductive orifice, it's all in the score, so he has to do it. This whole event is a fantasy that occurred touring on the road. Touring can make you crazy, ladies and gentlemen. That is precisely what 200 Motels is all about.

Say!

Ow! Look out!
Ow! Look out!
Ow! Look out!

How long?
How long?
Till that my mystery roach be arrivin' soon
Ya-ooo, ya-ooo, ya-ooo, ya-oooAh ooo, ah ooo, ah ooo, ah ooo

That mystery roach be approachin'
That mystery roach be approachin' me
La la la la la la la, oof!

How long?
How long?
Till that mystery roach been gone
Ya-ooo-ooo-oo-ooo
Ya-ooo-ooo-oo-ooo

That mystery roach be approachin'
That mystery roach be approachin' me
La la la la la la la, oof!
That mystery roach be approachin'
That mystery roach be approachin' me
La la la la la la la, oof!

Mystery mystery mystery mystery
Mystery mystery mystery roach!
Mystery mystery mystery mystery
Mystery mystery mystery roach!
Mystery mystery mystery mystery
Mystery mystery mystery roach!
Mystery mystery mystery mystery
Mystery mystery mystery roach!
Mystery mystery mystery mystery
Mystery mystery mystery roach!
Mystery mystery mystery mystery
Mystery mystery mystery roach!
Mystery mystery mystery mystery
Mystery mystery mystery roach!
Mystery mystery mystery mystery
Mystery mystery mystery roach!

Mark:
Room service?

Howard:
Oh . . . mystery roach?
What are we singing about?
We must be flipping out.

Rance Muhammitz (Theodore Bikel):
Special delivery for Mr. Volman! Mr. Volman? Are you Volman?

Mark:
(Sniff sniff) Do you smell somethin' weird? (Sniff sniff) It's a double cheeseburger from a famous American burger chain, with a symbol in the parking lot that's yellow plastic and goes like this:

RANCE MUHAMMITZ . . .
RANCE MUHAMMITZ . . .
RANCE . . .
RANCE MUHAMMITZ . . .
RANCE . . .
RANCE . . .

MUHAMMITZ . . .
MUHAMMITZ . . .
MUHAMMITZ . . .

Mark:
. . . In a steaming briefcase!

Rance Muhammitz:
You're Volman!

Howard:
Yeh— No. No. He's Volman. Who are you?

Rance Muhammitz:
You must call me "Rance Muhammitz."

JCB:
"Rance Muhammitz"? Stupidest name I ever heard of.

Rance Muhammitz:
Yah, but you must remember that within the conceptual framework of this filmic event, nothing really matters! It is entirely possible for several subjective realities to coexist. It is possible that all things are a deception of the senses.

Don:
Right on, Rance! The functioning of our senses has been spiritually impaired and chemically corrupted by the fake, artifical food coloring.

Rance Muhammitz:
By the way. Mr. Volman, I have . . . your cheeseburger.

Don:
We must evolve.

Motorhead:
Yeah . . .

Don:
We must progress.

Motorhead:
Progress . . .

Don:
There must be growth!

Motorhead:
Yeah . . . macrobiotic foods and tie-dye shirts!

Jeff (Martin Lickert):
Hey, ya ain't gonna eat that cheeseburger, Mark? . . . (BURP)

Mark:
Fucking guy will eat anything.

Rance Muhammitz:
This is registered delivery, you will have to sign for it.

Jeff:
Sure, man, I'll sign. Where's the pencil?

Rance Muhammitz:
I don't wish to alarm you, my son, but the signature will have to be . . . in blood.

JCB:
Listen, man, I just wanna know two things. Is there any beer in this fake nightclub, and when do we get paid?

Rance Muhammitz:
Just— Just a minute, just a minute, in a moment or two you'll be able to get your hands on all the imaginary beer that you want. For the moment, I would like to explain some of the things that you'll all be doing in this movie.

Don:
I've been wondering about that.

Rance Muhammitz:
For Sherwood, we have a vacuum cleaner scheduled . . .

Motorhead:
A vacuum cleaner?

Rance Muhammitz:
. . . And a potential epileptic seizure during a production number later on.

Motorhead:
A vacuum cleaner!

Rance Muhammitz:
I thought the two of you would like to get acquainted. It says here that you are supposed to be in love.

Interviewer (Pamela):
This abnormal relationship will be great for the big story I'm going to write!

JCB:
Listen, man, I just wanna know one thing: when do we get paid?

Rance Muhammitz:
Now look, look, look, look, look, don't you even care what you do?

JCB:
So long as I get some beer and I get paid, you can make me do anything. I'm professional!

Mark:
You should be careful talkin' about that stuff.

Jeff:
Why, does he listen?

Ian:
He always listens. He always watches and listens to all the guys in the band. I'VE BEEN IN THE BAND FOR YEARS, AND I KNOW. HE ALWAYS LISTENS.

Jeff:
That's how he gets all his material! It isn't s'posed to be natural, friendly, good-natured, humorous, ha-ha-ha-ha!

All Mothers:
Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha
YEAH, WELL FINE!

Jeff:
. . . And then he rips it off, and he sneaks off into a secret room someplace, and boils it in ammonia, and he gets it perverted, and THEN he brings it back to us at rehearsal and makes us play it!

George:
Hey, man, what's that over there?

Howard:
It's HIM. You can see him, he's watching.

Mark:
D'ya think he heard us?

Ian:
I've been in the band for years. You can bet that he heard everything.

Jeff:
Yeah, let's go over and pretend to be nice to him.

Howard:
Yeah, let's go over and pretent we don't know he's watching.

Mark:
Yeah, and rippin' off all our good material.

Howard:
Hi, man!

Ian:
Hi, Frank!

Mark:
Hi, man!

Aynsley:
Hi, Frank!

Jeff:
Hi, man!

George:
Hey, Frank!

Mark:
Hey, that's a GREAT new song you wrote, you know, the one about the penis and everything? I was laughin' a lot the whole time I was learnin' it!

Howard:
Yeah, we were all laughin', Frank!

All Mothers:
Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha
YEAH, WELL FINE!

Howard:
Yeah, it took a little while to get into it, man, but once we got the drift, phew!

Jeff:
Yeah, there's lots of great parts you've got in there for the chorus, you know when they go:

All Mothers:
RAN-TAN-RAN-TOON-RAN-TAN-TAN . . .

Jeff:
And I steal the room and everything, you know. I don't even mind you rippin' it off from me, just as long as I get paid.

Mark:
Oh, and I don't even mind the part where he says, "what can I say about this fabulous elixir," so long as me and Howard and Jeff Simmons—who left the group just before the movie started—get credit for special material! Ha-ha-ha!

Rance Muhammitz:
I'm deeply offended by your lack of artistic sense.

JCB:
Look here, Muhammitz, or whatever the fuck they call ya, I don't even give a shit, man, I got five fuckin' kids at home and . . . can you lend me a coupla bucks until the end of the week? Who are you, anyway?

Rance Muhammitz:
Oh, she writes for the imaginary rock and roll newspaper in San Francisco.

JCB:
San Francisco?

All Mothers:
Man!

Larry The Dwarf:
Oh! Eh, he's making me leave here now. I'll see you later when we play.

Howard:
What?

Larry The Dwarf:
I don't expect you to understand that, because uh, we haven't formed the group yet.

Jeff:
Ah, Mark will play the bass . . .

Mark:
Ba-doom-doom-doom-doom . . .

Jeff:
Howie will sing and play sax . . .

Howard:
Dwee-dat-dwee-dat-dweet-dat-dwee-dat . . .

Jeff:
I'll play the guitar . . . woop-doo-doo-doo . . . and the dwarf here will play drums!

Howard:
Waittaminit, waittaminit, waittaminit, waittaminit, waittaminit! This guy isn't even a dwarf!

Jeff:
That's one of the reasons the group will be so commercial!

Mark:
Ah. What about the other guys?

Jeff:
Ah, they're already forming groups all over the place! Why wait till the end of the movie, we could have a hit single right now!

Mark:
He's right, he's right! We don't need Aynsley . . .

Howard:
No . . .

Mark:
We don't need Ian . . .

Howard:
No . . .

Mark:
We don't need George!

Howard:
No!

Mark:
We don't need anybody! Argh!

Howard:
No!

Jeff:
He needs us, remember. We don't need him! All those other guys are too old for rock. They're out of it! We could have a tight little heavy little band with this dwarf here. You know, that he, he used to play drums for Leon Russell . . .

Mark & Howard:
Ohh . . .

Mark:
Listen, you're right. Zappa's thirty.

Jeff:
Yeah, man.

Howard:
Ohh . . . whew . . .

Mark:
Thirty years old . . .

Howard:
Oh, he's out of it man! He's too old, he should retire.

Jeff:
Yeah, really. You can't trust old people. You know, we should take up a collection and buy him a watch.

Interviewer (Soprano):

I don't know too much about your stuff,
I been a little busy
This won't take long,
Just a few questions

This won't take long,
Just a few questions

This won't take long,
Just a few questions,
Just a few questions

This won't take long
This won't take long
This won't take long
This won't take long

Motorhead:
I hear birds!

Interviewer (Pamela):
What's he saying?

Rance Muhammitz:
You took the mystery burger! You are in full posession of . . . the burger! Do you know who I am? Hm? Do you know who I really am?

Mark:
Really man! WHO . . . DO YOU THINK . . . YOU ARE?

Jeff:
Yeah, do you want me to tell you WHO . . . I really think you are?

Howard:
Yeah, somebody tell me WHO is this guy?

Centerville
A real nice place to raise your kids up
Centerville
It's really neat!

Churches!
Churches!
And liquor stores!

Bowling alleys!
Just like Glendale!

Look!
Over there . . .
It's a rancid boutique!

Lucy:
Janet, did you see those guys with the hair?

Janet:
It's those guys from the fake stage across the street from our house.

Lucy:
Eww, I get so excited when someone from a group gets near me. I just . . . eww, I just . . .

Janet:
Don't you have any taste? That one guy's got gray hair, and the other one's too fat.

Lucy:
Oh, they look so lonely.

Janet:
Lonely? Good evening, honey, they look desperate. Desperate pop stars are so depressing when they've been on the road for such a long time, and they finally get some action.

Lucy:
They drool on you.

Janet:
Really. All that stuff that comes out of their mouth when they're on top of you. It's so moche. Ew.

Lucy:
Ew, on the pillows.

Janet:
But I like the drummer with the rivets on his clothes, he's not bad.

Lucy:
Yeah, I've seen him too. He just screams "Englishness," with that little haircut and the rings . . .

Janet:
And the binoculars.

Lucy:
Binoculars?

Janet:
Didn't you notice his binoculars?

Lucy:
No, he's got binoculars?

Janet:
He watches us through them, he's a pervert!

Lucy:
Oh, I get so hot just thinking about perversions . . . Maybe when we go down to the fake nightclub tonight we can meet him, and find out if he really is perverted.

Janet:
Just take my word for it; he is perverted.

Lucy:
Mm. And English, too.

Janet:
They're all that way.

This town
This town
Is a sealed tuna samwich
Sealed tuna samwich
With the wrapper glued
(With the wrapper glued)
It's by baloney on the rack
(Rant-tant-tant
Tant-tant-tant
Tant-tant-tant)
It goes for forty cents a whack
It's just a rancid little snack
In a plastic pack
From a matron in La Habra with a blown-out crack
Who dies to suck the fringe off of Jimmy Carl Black!

Rance Muhammitz:
Yes, Jimmy Carl Black, Indian of the Group, what can I do for you?

JCB:
Mo-honnitz! What are you doin' here?

Rance Muhammitz:
You just called me, didn't you?

JCB:
All I said was "Opal, you hot little bitch".

Rance Muhammitz:
I am known by many names.

JCB:
Mm-hmm. You got many friends who call you "Opal the hot little bitch"?

Rance Muhammitz:
Please-please-please-please Mr. Black, let us cut the small talk, and get on with your briefing.

JCB:
Fine, you can brief me all you want as long as you can tell me two things . . .

Rance Muhammitz:
I know, when do we get paid . . .

JCB:
No, I wanna know where's that waitress . . .

Rance Muhammitz:
Yes, waitress..

JCB:
And if she comes in this place, will she sit on my face, and loan me a couple bucks until the end of the week.

Rance Muhammitz:
. . . Couple of bucks . . . . end of the week . . . week . . . week ending, the week ending, what-what that, what's the date?

JCB:
Uhhh, Tuesday was the 5th, uh Monday was the 3rd, uh make that out for Sunday—

Rance Muhammitz:
Eh-eh-eh, don't say Sunday!

JCB:
What's wrong with Sunday?

Rance Muhammitz:
Eh!

JCB:
The Lord's day! Br-r-r! A day of rest! Br-r-r! Just make that sucker out for the 23rd of March, wouldya?

Rance Muhammitz:
Very well, Mr. Black. Oh, by the way. I have here the special beer I promised you earlier.

JCB:
Oh man, it's about time, I've been waiting.

Rance Muhammitz:
Would you care to sign for it?

JCB:
This is a pencil?

Rance Muhammitz:
No, Mr. Black, it is a pin.

JCB:
A PIN?

Rance Muhammitz:
Would you jab yourself in the finger with it?

JCB:
Listen, Mo-hannitz, I may be professional, but I'm not THAT professional. I just want my beer.

Rance Muhammitz:
Sign first! In blood.

JCB:
Fuck you! Who do you think you are, the Devil or something?

Rance Muhammitz:
I am known by many names.

JCB:
You probably got some more weird names for yourself, but I'll tell you one thing you ain't nev— definitely ain't never gonna be called and that's the Devil, because you ain't the Devil.

Rance Muhammitz:
Oh, I'm not?

JCB:
You bet your sweet ass you're not. The fuckin' Devil's got an English accent. I seen him three weeks ago on TV. So you know, you can just take this big needle here and hang it in your ass as far as I'm concerned! (cough) Fuckin' guy musta been a communist!

Larry The Dwarf:

Hello there. When you go on tour with a musical group, it's possible that any town can seem like this. Whether it's large or small, or busy, or if there's nothing happening in it. The reason for this is quite simple.

A musician, if you consider the normal pattern of modern civilized life, is on the outside of it all. He doesn't build things, he doesn't work regular hours like a decent God-fearing citizen, and the life he leads, in many ways, seems useless and irrelavent irrelevant to those of us who'd prefer a quiet evening in front of the television and a bottle of beer.

Amazing as it might seem to some of us, musicians have basic physical needs, just like real people. Many of them study for years, learning to play the violin for instance, only to be rewarded with a humdrum job in the fourth row of a symphonic string section.

That's why the governments government have constructed, at great expense, this experimental reorientation facility.

To find a way, perhaps, to retrain these useless old musicians with their brown fiddles and little horns. Give them a trade! A reason to exist in the modern world! A chance of a happier, more productive life. Some will enter the military, some will learn shorthand, and some will disappear in the middle of the night on a special train they're sending in.

It's the only way, really, to bring about the final solution to the orchestra question.

I'm sure that many of us realize that a pop group can earn a vast amount of money compared to these other kinds of musicians. That's why the special government agencies for mass response programming and psychological stultification prefer to treat them in a more subtle manner.

They know, just as many of you vigilant and thoroughly upstanding citizens have discovered for yourselves, the power of pop music to corrupt and putrify the minds of world youth are virtually limitless.

Larry The Dwarf:
(mumbles . . . ) I gotta write this down . . . I got everything I need . . . for my new symphony . . . (mumbles . . . )

Mark:
"See, this is what happens when you join up a rock group, George, get off that jazz syndrome . . . there's no lust in jazz"

Larry The Dwarf:
Fantastic. Yes, I've got then now. Ah, give it soul, brother, get it on. Ah, those boys, those boys. They're driving me crazy.

Janet?:
Hey, look what's comin' through the door!

MUHAMMITZ . . .

Larry The Dwarf:
Ah, it's really great now . . . more paper, more paper . . . write . . . page two . . . (mumbles . . . ) Ah, another page! Don't leave me, oh, I can't live without your super substances, oh let me write that down, super substances! Yes! Oh, show me a little ass! Oh, scuze me . . . Oh, I want you now! C'mere you little darling!

The Hot Nun:
I'm going to die. I know I'm going to die, I can tell because my pulse is so weak. The pills . . . I took so many downers that I know this is the end for me.

Janet:
You poor thing. You want us to fix your hair for you so you look good when they find you?

The Hot Nun:
Oh . . . would you?

Janet:
Sure, whaddyawant? A ponytail? A flat-top with fenders?

The Hot Nun:
I'm gonna die, Janet, I'm gonna O.D.! So, make me look good.

Janet:
Listen, the best I can do for you is fix your hair, so why don't you get up and wash that melted eye makeup off your face.

The Hot Nun:
Is it smeared? I've been crying so much . . . it's so damn sad when you know you'll never see all your friends anymore.

Janet:
Every week it's the same old thing. You're gonna die. You're gonna die. Somebody went out on you. Somebody doesn't love you anymore. How long you been a groupie? You should get used to romances which are so obviously cheap. Listen, just in case you crash out, and the imaginary rock and roll newspaper from San Francisco wants to get any pictures of you, you'll look like you washed your face. Really. It's better this way with a clean face. People thing think groupies are such dirty girls.

Aynsley:
Heh . . . I woulnd't wouldn't mind sort of fucking all three of them!

Lucy:
Look, over there!

Janet:
What?

Lucy:
He's doing it, he's watching us from the fake bandstand with the binoculars!

Janet:
Who, the English dude?

Lucy:
Oh, rivet-boy!

The Hot Nun:
The rivet boy? Where?

Lucy:
Over there, wipe that stuff out of your eyes. It looks like he's beating off.

Janet:
Beating off? I knew he was a pervert.

Lucy:
Eww, how exciting. Hey, are you still trying to O.D.?

The Hot Nun:
Yes, this definitely is the end for me! It's growing I feel so faint! So weak!

Janet:
Good evening, honey, that was the most imaginary collapse I've seen since last week.

Lucy:
Janet, do you think she's going to die?

Janet:
Are you kidding? Did you see her hit the floor?

Lucy:
God, well it was so obviously cheap. Lift up your head, honey.

The Hot Nun:
I'm going to die. This time it's real.

Janet:
Listen, Lucy, we gotta get ready for our big dance number, we're going to the fake nightclub tonight.

The Hot Nun:
Everything's getting dim.

Lucy:
Why don't you tell her a story while you put your makeup on? Good evening.

Janet:
Oh. Listen, toots. I'm going to make up a nice little fairy tale for you.

The Hot Nun:
The pills, the mandrakesMandrax, I took so many of them.

Janet:
I'll tell you part of the story, and then you make up another part that goes along with it. Once upon a time there was a tall, handsome, muscular . . .

The Hot Nun:
Dwarf.

Janet:
. . . with a very special . . .

The Hot Nun:
Swedish apparatus!

Janet:
. . . that him and his friends would use in conjunction with . . .

The Hot Nun:
Bold new surgical experiments!

Janet:
. . . involving . . .

The Hot Nun:
A bludgeon, and a bottle of champagne . . .

Janet:
. . . and a . . .

The Hot Nun:
. . . microwave oven . . .

Janet:
. . . from a . . .

The Hot Nun:
. . . jumbo jet, one of the big jobs lease leased from Air Rangoon!

Janet:
. . . which, when used correctly . . .

The Hot Nun:
. . . can effectively increase the dimensions . . .

Janet:
. . . and firepower of your . . .

The Hot Nun:
. . . dick . . .

Janet:
. . . to the point where . . .

Lucy:
. . . in some instances, it should be classified as a lethal weapon!

Chorus:
Your dick

Mark & Howard:
Your dick

Chorus:
Your dork

Mark & Howard:
Your dork

Chorus:
Your prick

Mark & Howard:
Your prick

Chorus:
Your pork

Lucy:
Your pork?

Janet:
Pork?

Lucy:
Who calls it a pork? These men . . . and the stuff they call a wee-wee . . .

Group:
A wee-wee?

Rance:
You mean a penis, don't you

Lucy:
A penis? Eeuoo . . .

Janet:
Penis is such an ugly word!

Rance:
Not that ugly, really . . .

Mark:
Sure . . . I use it all the time

Howard:
Sure, sure . . . we all say it every once in a while . . . listen . . .

Group:
Penis

Janet & Lucy:
Eeuoo

Group:
Penis!
Penis!

Janet:
Eeuoo, it sounds so revolting the way you guys say it . . . Eeuoo . . . Ka-ka!

Janet & Lucy:
Ka-ka!

Rance:
A penis can be a very useful organ!

Howard:
Yeah . . . and very exciting too (when she gets to know me . . .)

Group:
Penis!

Lucy:
It sounds so overwhelmingly medicinal . . .

Janet:
A "penis" sounds like something a doctor would have hanging off of him . . .

Lucy:
None of the men I know & love in the rock & roll business got "penises" . . . they all got cocks or dicks at least!

Janet:
Sure . . . you want to go strap on a pop star and he wants to stuff a "penis" up you . . . where is that at?

Mark:
Let's ask our studio audience!

Chorus:
Loo loo loo
La la la doo doo doo wah
Dee dee dah doo doo doo

Mark:
Will you trade what he has in his pants for what I have behind this curtain?

Janet:
What is it?

Lucy:
You mean what's in his pants?

Janet:
I know what's in his pants . . . He's a lonely guy.

Chorus:
"Take the money"

Mark:
You have to choose before the big wheel stops whirling . . . You! . . . Hey, buddy, [guy marshall] . . . go whirl the big wheel

Lucy:
Can I just take the money?

Janet:
There isn't any money . . . just the curtain and . . .

Lucy:
. . . The lonely guy

Chorus:
"Take the curtain"

Mark:
Time is running out . . . Think it over carefully!

Janet:
The curtain?

Lucy:
I want the money.

Janet:
Wait!
What could it be in there?

Lucy:
In his pants?

Janet:
In the curtain!

Howard:
Doesn't anybody care what's in my pants?

Larry The Dwarf:
I stuff three pair of socks and a bar of beauty soap down in front of my pants!

She painted up her face
She sat before the mirror
She painted up her face
She drew the mirror nearer

Practisissing, Practiss, Practicing!

The STARE!
The STARE!

(The 'secret stare' she would use
If a worthy-looking victim should appear)

Practisissing, Practiss, Practicing!
(Ah-hoo-ah-hoo-wah-hoo-wahhhh)
Practisissing, Practiss, Practicing!

Larry The Dwarf:
Hello there. All the guys in the band are pretending to get ready so they can go out and find some pussy.

Mark:
Oh, I wonder where the action is in this town?

Larry The Dwarf:
Every musician likes to find some pussy.

Howard:
Boy, I coulda really scored last night. But every night its the same thing—Aynsley gets there first. He's so FAST . . . it must be from playing the drums or something. I mean . . . if those girls over there only knew my secret identity, but . . . but how COULD they? How— how could they know that I am Bwana Dik?

Aynsley:
Where's my hair dryer? Got to look lovely for the girls. After all, I am Bwana Dik.

Larry The Dwarf:
Each guy has his own speciality for getting the girl of his dreams.

Howard:
I sprayed my pits . . . I put on a new tie-dye t-shirt . . . I brushed my teeth . . .

Mark:
I cleaned my glasses . . .

Ian:
I buffed my nails.

George:
I bought a copy of Down Beat so I could carry it around and look like I knew what was happening.

Aynsley:
I left my shirt unbuttoned at the top . . .

Howard:
I just KNOW I'm gonna get laid tonight. I'm not taking any chances. I got this little jar of tinsel glitter here . . . the same brand Danny Hutton puts on his face that makes him look all . . . glistening and seductive. Just put a little on here . . . the cheeks . . . the chin . . . mmm, the quivering lips . . . I'm so commercial I could die! Somebody . . . TURN ON A BLUE SPOTLIGHT!!!

What will this morning bring me this evening?
Some local hot action (I'm a young lonely guy)
Before we are leaving (maybe we can get some head)
Go to the club or the bar or wherever the pussy is found
In the town your band is band's been booked to play in
It's always a little bit harder to score
If it's just your first time in a town you never hit before

If you stayed played in it once and got laid
You've got it made, ahhh, got it made
If it's just your first time
Then you know it's no fun to go
Back to a plastic hotel all alone

Go to the club or the bar
Go to the club or the bar
Go to the club or the bar
Or wherever the pussy is found

Announcer: One minute to post time. Approaching the gate. There's the post.

None may resist him.

Announcer: They're moving into the gate.

Three cheeseburgers.

Wow.

Boy, do I need it!

Open up! Open up!
Wait a minute . . . Open up!

Ooo-ooo, do you like my new car?
(Do it, do it, d'ya wanna-wanna do it, do it?)
It's a Bentley!
(Ooh!)
Ooo-ooo, do you like my new car?
(Do it, do it, d'ya wanna-wanna do it, do it?)
It's a Cooper!
(Ooh!)
Ooo-ooo, do you like my new car?
(Do it, do it, d'ya wanna-wanna do it, do it?)
It's a Chevy!
(Ooh!)
Ooo-ooo, do you like my new car?
(Do it, do it, d'ya wanna-wanna do it, do it?)
Or a Lincoln!
(Ooh!)
Ooo-ooo, do you like my new car?
(Do it, do it, d'ya wanna-wanna do it, do it?)
['Cause they're dancin'!]
(Ooh!)
Ooo-ooo, do you like my new car?
(Do it, do it, d'ya wanna-wanna do it, do it?)
[...]
(Ooh!)
Ooo-ooo, do you like my new car?
(Do it, do it, d'ya wanna-wanna do it, do it?)
[...]
(Ooh!)
Ooo-ooo, do you like my new car?
(Do it, do it, d'ya wanna-wanna do it, do it?)
[...]
(Ooh!)
Ooo-ooo . . .

Don:
Oh wow, what a night. What's the matter, didn't you get any action tonight?

Jeff:
Didn't you use to be with The Mothers?

Don:
Yeah.

Jeff:
Is this what you do now?

Don:
I've got my own group, too. I don't mind being in this movie. I get a chance to transform a few times, drink these vile, foamy liquids.

Jeff:
Bleagh. What kind of a life is that?

Don:
It's not that bad! Really! I like to be a monster every once in a while!

Jeff:
No one will ever take you seriously after this.

Don:
Why, because I transform? I like to be a monster! There's a little monster in every one of us.

Jeff:
You'll probably stay here for the rest of your life with your fake potions and your twisted monster face. You coulda been something in rock and roll.

Don:
I tried to get a hit single. It drove me to drink.

Jeff:
Ugh.

Don:
Hoo-hoo-ha-ha . . .

Jeff:
Go on, laugh about it. You could have been a star. You could have spread your aura across vast continental areas, your name on millions of small, hot lips, whispering under secure, pink blankets in the lonely midnight dark. But, what do you do? You have joined join The Mothers and you end up working for Zappa! And he makes you be a creep! You could have played the blues with John Mayall, or fired out far-out exciting jazz with Blood, Sweat & Tears.

Don:
You really think so?

Jeff:
Look, no one'll ever take you seriously after this . . . how come can they take you seriously? In this business you oughta either gotta play the blues or sing with a high voice.

Don:
You're right, I never should have joined The Mothers, oh I . . .. Why, I could be a star now! Oh . . . when I think of all those millions of . . .

Jeff:
Hey.

Don:
Hot pink juicy little . . .

Jeff:
Hey. Listen, do you know where I can uh, get any dope in this imaginary town?

Don:
Man, there's no dope in this town. Just these vile, foamy liquids.

Jeff:
Well, they're fake, aren't they?

Don:
No, they're real! I mix them myself at home, and then I bring them in the morning . . . secret spiritual formulas . . .

Jeff:
Ew, what's a secret spiritual formula?

Don:
The stuff that goes in the elixir, the potion, whatever I mix is irrelavent irrelevant to the result.

Jeff:
You mean they're fake potions, right?

Don:
Look, it doesn't matter what's in the mix. It's the liquid! The concept . . . of the liquid . . . is enough to trigger a special cosmic aware state. It's because I'm so spiritually evolved . . .

Jeff:
Oh, listen, I just wanna get out of it, and go back to me fake motel room and play the blues, you know. Fuck your spiritual evolvement. Anyway, what happens if a new and exciting blues talent such as meself drinks your stuff?

Don:
Here. Take this back to your fake room. Drink it.

Jeff:
I'd feel a lot happier if there was something I could smoke.

Don:
Well, here. Dip this in it. Now, let it dry out. That ought to get you a little high. Or something.

Jeff:
Ew, I can't take you seriously.

Don:
Look, you might as well take this too.

Jeff:
I know its only fake potion. Well, listen, we should get together sometime. Have a jam. Yeah, play some blues. Extensions! Why not some extended blues licks? White people can play the blues, you know.

Don:
Hello. Paul! . . . Oh, Frank. Yeah, I gave it to him. Yeah, he went back to the special room. No, no. He's gonna smoke it. Yeah, right. Hey, listen. You got any idea when we're gonna get paid for this?

Jeff:
Well, listen, we should get together sometime. Have a jam. Yeah, play some blues. Extensions! Why not some extended blues licks? White people can play the blues, you know.
Extensions! Why . . .
Extensions! Wny . . .
Extensions! Why . . .
Extensions! Why not some extended blues licks?
Why not some extended blues licks?

Don:
Yeah, I gave it to him. Yeah, he went back to the special room. No, no. He's gonna smoke it.

Jeff:
I'm stealing the towels! Ha ha . . . ha ha . . .

Theodore Bikel:
This, as you might may have guessedgathered, is the end of the movie. The entire cast is assembled here at the Centerville Recreational Facility to bid farewell to you, and to express thanks for your attendance at this theater. This might seem old fashioned to some of you, but I'd like to join in on this song. It's the kind of a sentimental song that you get at the end of a movie, it's the kind of a song that people might sing to let you in the audience know that we really like you and care about you, yeah . . . Understand how hard it is to laugh these days, with all the terrible problems in the world!

Lord, have mercy on the people in England,
For the terrible food these people must eat
(Bwaarp! . . . excuse me a minute)
And may the Lord have mercy on the fate of this movie
And God bless the mind of the man in the street

Chorus:
Help all the rednecks and the flatfoot policemen
Through On the terrible functions they all must perform
God help the wine-os, the junkies and the weirdos

Phyllis Bryn-Julson:
And every poor soul who's adrift in the storm

Group & Chorus:
Help e'vrybody everybody so they all get some action,
Some love on the weekend, some real satisfaction

Phyllis Bryn-Julson:
A room and a meal
And a garbage disposal
A lawn and a hose'll
Be strictly genteel

Group:
Lord have mercy on the hippies and faggots
And the dykes and the weird little children they grow

Help the black man
Help the poor man
Help the milk man
Help the door man
Help the lonely, neglected old farts that I know

Mark:
Well, it certainly has been swell . . .

JCB:
If your name wasn't on the list of blessings we've been passing out tonight, we don't want you to be pissed off.

Howard:
No . . .

Mark:
We don't want you to leave that theater.

Theodore Bikel:
Forgive him, for he knows not what he does.

Mark:
But before we go on, I'd like to introduce to you . . .

Theodore Bikel:
On the other hand, maybe he does know . . .

Mark:
. . . my good friend and musical associate, Mr. Howard Kaylan, who's about to give us a closing final benediction.

Dick Barber
David Alexander

Dear Tommy,

200 MOTELS

I would be grateful if you would ensure that all meals,
bar bills and orders for coffee, etc., are, from this date
forwards, to be paid for by the person ordering them.
The only exceptions to this rule are the personnel listed
on the other memo I have sent you.

Regards,

David Alexander
Production Manager