ZAPPA
THING-FISH

We see a small 'cabaret stage,' with its own curtain and footlights. Seated around it are a group of conservatively dressed 'FIRST-NIGHTERS,' fondling their PLAYBILLS. The black curtain is limbo black.

HARRY, in a tux, and his wife, RHONDA, in a styllish suit with a fox collar, enter right and make their way toward two of the three empty seats in the front of the 'cabaret stage.'

The stage lights dim, as if the show were beginning. The guitar intro for the PRELUDE blasts out from a pre-recorded digital tape.

The cabaret curtain rises. Seated on the stage we see THING-FISH, lecturing to a tiny potato-headed dummy named SISTER OB'DEWLLA 'X.'

On either side of the cabaret stage, the characters and events described in THING-FISH'S narration appear, miming a reenactment of the text. We see THE EVIL PRINCE, a group of COUNTRY-WESTERN MUSICIANS, THE PRISON WARDEN, and the PRISON IMMATES who will eventually become transformed.

Once upon a time, musta been 'round October, few years back, in one o' dose TOP SECRET LAB-MO-TORIES de gubbnint keep stashed away underneath Virginia, an EVIL PRINCE, occasion'ly employed as a part-time THEATRICAL CRITICIZER set to woikin' on a plot fo de systematic GENOCIDICAL REMOVE'LANCE of all unwanted highly-rhythmic individj'lls an' sissy-boys!

De cocksucker done whiffed up a secret POTIUM . . . an' right 'long wid it, de ATROCIOUS IDEA dat what he been boilin' up down deahhhh jes' mights be de FINAL SOLUTIUM to DE WHITE MAIN'S 'BOIDENNN,' ef yo' acquire my drift . . .

Well, he were sure he had a GOOD THING GOIN' . . . but, dere was always de possobility dat somethin' might fuck up, so, he planned to have a little test, jes' to check it all out befo' he dump't it in de wattuh supply.

Sho'tly denafter, wit HIGH-LEVEL GUBNINT CO-ROBBERATIUM, he arranged to have a good-will visit to SAN QUENTIM, 'long wit some country-westin mu-zishnin's, 'n sprinkle a little bit of it on some of de boys in deahhh (since dey done used a few of 'em befo' when dey was messin' wit de ZYPH'LISS).

So, heah dey come wit de POTIUM, dump'nit all in de mash potatoes!

Den dey wen' up to de warden's office fo' some HOT TODDY, watchin' a little football while dey's waitin' to see what gone happen!

Fact o' de matter were: NOTHIN' HAPPENED, so dey went off'n dribbled it in a special shipnint of GALOOT CO-LOG-NUH dat went out 'bouts NOVEMBER!

Next thing y'know, fagnits be droppin' off like flies . . . 'long wit a large number of severely-tanned individj'lls, pre-zumnably of HAY'CHEN EXTRAKMENT!

The dancers representing the convicts used for testing disappear behind the cabaret stage.

But NOT DE BOYS IN DE REST HOME! Oh no! Mixin' de shit wit de mash potatoes done SMOOTHED IT OUT a little, so's it wouldn't KILL yo' ass, BUT, it sho' would make y'ugly! 'N ef y'was already UGLY, it'd make yo ass MEAN 'n UGLY . . . 'n ef you was already MEAN 'n UGLY, it'd turn ya into a strange, UNKNOWN KREETCHUH, never befo' seen on BROADWAY!

Thass right! It'd turn ya' into a 'MAMMY NUN'! Head like a potato . . . lips like a duck . . . big ol' hands, puffin' up! BIG ONES! Science! ME-jev'l re-LIJ-mus costumery all over yo' BODY! Yow! Oh yeah! Mmmm-hmmm!"

THING-FISH is joined on stage by the other 'MAMMY-NUNS':

They appear wearing giant potato-head masks with human eyes set in randomly. The lower part of the mask is a custom-molded flexible duck-bill prosthesis. Their hands are Jolson-style white gloved monstrosities.

The 'MAMMY NUN' costumes resemble the habits of some unknown order from the neck to the waist, with skirts patterned after the blue & white checkered napkin material favored by the lady on the 'Aunt Jemima' Pancake Box. These are worn by very large, evil-looking male dancers.

The 'talking shoes,' are designed to open in the front like a clam when the trigger (located at the heel) is depressed, revealing day-glo painted mutant toe nails.

Sho' am, y'all! MAMMIES, step faw'd 'n express yo'sevs!

The ENSEMBLE lifts their skirts, revealing customized lawn-jockeys with the out-stretched lantern-bearing arm positioned between their legs.

Instead of a lantern, the hand of each jockey clutches a shower-head plumbing fixture.

On cue, what appears to be piss sprinkles onto HARRY, RHONDA, and the other FIRST NIGHTERS. Dry ice concealed beneath the target area gives the illusion of steam.

The 'FIRST-NIGHTERS' panic and rush off, leaving HARRY & RHONDA, soaked and stunned.

Step right up, folks, 'n meet de 'MAMMY NUNS'! You two ugly white folks hafta excuse de SISTERS, as what dey put in de mash potatoes have rendered dem INCONTINENT! Anyhow, ovuh heahhhh, de scintillating SISTER OWL-GONKWIN-JANE COW-HOON, and de delectable SISTER GHENGHIS-ADONIS-OSMOSIS . . . 'long wif SISTER POTATO-HEAD BOBBY BROWN, and de ever-popular SISTER ANNE de DEVINE . . . an' howsabouta heart-warmin' welcome fo' SISTER JASMINE NOXEMA-TAPIOCA an' her unscrutable companium, SISTER OB'DEWLLA 'X' . . . an' I's yo host: de THING-FISH!

'MAMMY NUNS' pose & flex. THING-FISH, clutching OB'DEWLLA, assumes the 'Ed Sullivan' attitude, stage left.

They told me it had c-c-colored folk in it, RHONDA, and that's ALWAYS a sure sign of GOOD, SOLID, MUSICAL ENTERTAINMENT! How was I supposed to know they'd be this ugly?

They pissed on us, HARRY! They fuckin' pissed on us! Look at my fox!

I know, dear . . . but they pissed on me too . . . he did say they were INCONTINENT!

Just smell this! I think we should get out of here before they do something else to us!

Leave? Now? At these ticket prices? Just hold your horses . . . it probably wasn't REAL PISS . . . only 'theater piss' . . . they probably have a formula . . . some special stuff . . . comes right outta the fur with Woolite.

What's happened to Broadway, HARRY? Used to be you could come to one of these things and the wind would be RUSHING DOWN THE PLAIN or a fairy on a string would go over the audience . . . but NOW! HARRY, I ask you: is THIS entertainment?

You're absolutely correct, dear! So far we haven't seen a single good-looking pair of legs . . . a single sequin-encrusted whatchamacallit . . . no firm, rounded breasts! This show is a DISASTER, RHONDA! A complete and utter DISASTER!

Mmmm! Say dere . . . hey! Umm-hmm! Thass right! HEY YOU! You two ugly white folks . . . over heahhh!

As you know, de presence of carboniferous hard-core unemployables has gen'rally, in de historical past, GUARANTEED an evenin' of upliftin' FROLIC and CAVORTMENT . . . it'd be a shame fo y'all t'miss out on dis here one! Got some nice chairs fo' ya, rights ovuh heahhh.

HARRY & RHONDA rise, cross to THING-FISH, and sit in the chairs he offers. They are immediately chained to them by The MAMMIES.

Uhhh . . . beg pardon? What's going on here?

Oh! They're touching me, HARRY! HARRY! Do something! THEY'RE PUTTING CHAINS ON ME! Oh! What'll I do? I'LL BE STUCK TO THE CHAIR! I'LL MISS INTERMISSION!

They're only 'theater chains,' RHONDA! Just some sort of . . .

THESE ARE REAL GODDAM CHAINS, HARRY, AND THEY'RE NOT GONNA COME OFF WITH WOOLITE!

I don't mind the way they feel . . . they don't bother me, honey . . . relax! Go with the flow . . .

HARRY, YOU ARE AN OVER-EDUCATED SHIT-HEAD!

Look here, folks . . . dis only fo yo own protexium! Once we get rollin' here, things be happnin' all over de place dat could prove dangerous to persons not previously acquainted wit de SAN QUENTIM MASH-POTATOES!

I want the wind to come rushing down the plain! I want fairies on a string over the audience! I want REAL BROADWAY ENTERTAINMENT! Feathers! Spot-lights! Guilt! Hours upon hours of GUILT! About my mother! About my father! about brave women, suffering at the hands of infantile, insensitive, dominating men! And what do I get? A Potato-headed jig-a-boo with Catholic clothes on! Incomprehensible duck lips! Weak bladders draining through abnorminably large organs! Jesus, HARRY! What the FUCK is going on here?

Simmer down! If you'll just roll with the punches . . . and don't rock the boat, I'm sure we'll have a lovely evening at the theater!

Thass right! We got fairies on a string fo yo ass jes' a little later! Meanwhile, I b'lieves y'all requires some updatement on de CO-LOG-NUH situatium! Sister OB'DEWLLA 'X'! Express yo'seff!

Well, de gubnint dint fine out rights away 'bout . . .

Well, dey's too damn excited 'bout de sissies dey was knockin' off, 'n workin' up an un-creedable variety of theoretical scenarios, tryin' to explain away how come de fagnits all be croakin' at de same time in —

De month o' NOVEMBUH, reekin' of tainted CO-LOG-NUM! Dey booked in de heavy pseudo re-LIJ-mus talent to pronunciate de doc-TRINE of BIBLICAL RETRIBUTIUM!

Natchilly, a substantial number o' severely ignint white folks went fo' it, hook, line, 'n shrinker!

By dat time, de 'MAMMY NUNS' had already sprouted dem 'tato heads, 'n was in de process of growin' out dey nakkins . . .

Also, by a peculiar corinsidence, we's all up fo' PAROLE at de SAME TIME! Thass right! You figgit out!

Once we's out DE JOINT, we faced a hard time in de depressium . . . couldn't get no 'sembly line woik, 'n since de nakkins we's wearin' atch'ly be GROWIN' outs our bodies, we was labelled as 'over-qualified' fo' janitorical deployment!

Onliest good thang 'bout bein' a 'MAMMY NUN' is we be mo-less UN-destructable! Whatever dey done whiffed up befo' don't do SHIT to us now! Fact, we jes mights be de onliest thangs left walkin' in de U.S.A., now de MYS'TRY RE-ZEASE gone outa control!

Just like you! I see some of y'all be FROWNIN' . . . 'cause mebbe y'think what I's tellin' ya' is a LIE! How 'bout it, folks? Whatcha say? Id dat right?

Well, les' jes' have a test . . . how many o' you nice folks think I knows what I's talkin' 'bout? RAISE Y'HAIN UP! Uh-huh!

An' how many thinks my potato been bakin' too long? RAISE YO MIZZABLE HAIN UP! Uh-huh!

Now . . . how many you folks is CONVINCED de gubnint be totally 'UNCONCERNED' wit de proliferatium o' UNDESIRABLE TENANTS in de CONDOMINIUM o' LIFE? An' how many folks believe THEY number won't come up, next time de breeze blow fum de Easterly directium?

Les' face it, peoples! Ugly as I mights be, I AM YO' FUTCHUM!

'Les y'all prefer 'permanent storage' or a condo in ATLANTIS.

Dey could really GET DOWN dere, but, I's de only protexium you got!

Now, durin' de intromissium, de SISTERS be sellin' some MASH POTATOES in de lobby, right over by de —

A generous good-will offerin' are REQUIRED . . . jes' let yo' conscience be yo' guide . . .

Jes' follow de BLUE LIGHT, down de aisle to de potatoes durin' de intromissium, an' while y'all be thinkin' about de blue light, an' y'all be decidin' whether or not yo' immunity gwine hold up 'til de end o' de show, I's 'bout to address myseff to de re-educatement o' dem silly muthafuckers over deahhh.

What on urf do you mean: 'MY LANGUAGE'? I got yo language hangin,' boy, 'long wif a two-week supply of IGNINT McNUGGET, de breakfast o' champiums!

Y'all kin kiss my micro-nanette too! Don't forget de GALOOT!

The scene changes to EVIL PRINCE'S dungeon laboratory (traditional decor), featuring, as a centerpiece, a large aquarium tank housing a preposterous artificial pig made out of soft red vinyl, illuminated in the tank by four infra-red lamps like the ones they use to keep the french-fries warm at Burger King.

The pig opens at the top like a grotesque hand-bag. Inside are hidden yards and yards of fake entrails made from cotton tubing, stuffed with kapok, tied off in segments to make it look lumpy, and dyed in various colors.

Dangerous-looking hoses, tubes, and air-conditioning duct-work run from an oversized I.V. bottle labeled "GALOOT COLOGNE" into the pig and the tank. Nearby is an American flag and a photo blow-up of Ronald Reagan with a cowboy hat.

Now, dis nasty sucker is de respondable party fo de en-whiffment o' de origumal potium. Through de magik o' stage-kraff, we be able to see him at woik!

He now be preparin' some ugly shit to make yo' life even mo' mizzable den it awready are, since dis batch be resigned to render him IMMORTAL! We does not know if it gwine woik yet, but we kin always hope fo' de best!

Uh-oh! I smells trubba! He be messin' wit pig-meat heahhh! Muthafucker be rejectin' some CO-LOG-NUH directly into de DUO-DEENUM of de unsuspecting victim! Now he gone see if he immune to it by eatin' a dab hisseff!

Doors open all over the dungeon and BROADWAY ZOMBIES emerge. There is a PETER PAN zombie, a HELLO DOLLY zombie, an OKLAHOMA zombie, and an ANNIE zombie (with her zombie-dog). These are large puppets, operated by dancers in black. The EVIL PRINCE performs an assortment of disgusting experiments on them with medieval tongs and tweezers.

Oh! Do yoseff a favum 'n DON'T USE IT! Oooooooh! Look at THESE ugly suckers! Boy, when white folks come back fum bein' dead, they sho' gets scary-lookin'! But don't take their appearance too seriously, people, 'cause dey say dis de sort o' folks dat belongs on BROADWAY!

The BROADWAY ZOMBIES collect around the EVIL PRINCE, who suddenly suspects the presence of an intruder. After taking a large bit from an onion he sings . . .

The BROADWAY ZOMBIES respond by silently re-enacting the 'GREATEST MOMENTS' from their famous shows.

RHONDA, that EVIL PRINCE . . . he certainly does have a way about him!

At least HE didn't piss on my fox . . . and HE has REAL BROADWAY STARS for personal acquaintances!

They're all dead, dear . . . Zombies, I believe . . . the 'walking dead' . . . Jack Palance did a show on them once.

The EVIL PRINCE reaches into the bowels of the ravaged experimental pig and gorges himself on the raw entrails, tossing scraps to the BROADWAY ZOMBIES.

Oh my God! Look at what he's doing with that stuff from inside the pig! Yuck! That's disgusting! Are you sure this guy is a PRINCE?

He's an EVIL PRINCE, dear . . . and part-time theater critic! They don't make a heck-of-a-lot of money, y'know! We should probably feel sorry for him. You have to admit, those ARE some of the least expensive cuts of pork.

Don't you white folks know nothin'? Dat cocksucker not only mean 'n dangerous, he ignint in regards to de prep'ratium o' food-stuffs! Even in SAN QUENTIM I never seen nobody eat a RAW CHITLIN'! De muthafucker be CRAZY! An' when dat gobbige make it's way thoo de digestium process, you bes' be hopin' you on yo' way outa heahh! Next item de boy be inventin' come under de headin' o' industrial pollutium!

Dat dere id perhaps de questium most frequently posed by members of yo' species! I'll jes' gets de MAMMYS t'hep me relucidate dis bafflin' concept wit another thrillin' numbuh! Straighten up in dat chair and pay ATTENTIUM! People, dis is fo yo' own good! Do YOU know what YOU ARE?

SISTER ANNE de DEVINE and SISTER GHENGHIS-ADONIS-OSMOSIS clamp electrodes on HARRY & RHONDA. The other sisters re-enter with a pair of stuffed dummies, used to illustrate the song text in a bizarre sort of 'Bun-raku First-Aid Demonstration.'

They toss dummy #1 into the wings, and introduce dummy #2 to HARRY & RHONDA. Their torture-chairs, (on a rolling platform), are wheeled to center stage. The action takes place all around them.

One-Adam-Twelve, see de "NIGNINT" wit knife . . . proceed wif cautium . . . knife may be open . . .

HARRY & RHONDA are released from their chairs. Apparently, a thrilling transformation has taken place. They leap up energetically and begin to dance (a horrible combination of twisting and frugging).

As the lyrics indicate, the scene changes to the interior of a tragically dated 'NEW WAVE' night club, complete with 'abstract denizens' performing the actions described below.

Through the magic of stagecraft, the night-club panels turn and shift, changing the scene to the interior of the QUENTIN ROBERT DE NAMELAND VIDEO CHAPEL OF ECONOMIC WORSHIP. The new-wave denizens shed bits of costumery and wigs, becoming dazed, worshipful VIDEO CHRISTIANS.

Welcome to the QUENTIN ROBERT DE NAMELAND VIDEO CHAPEL OF ECONOMIC WORSHIP!

Scene changes to a pair of adjoining rooms at The Alladin Hotel in Las Vegas. The VIDEO CHRISTIAN AUDIENCE exits.

In one room, QUENTIN ROBERT DE NAMELAND strips to his boxer shorts and fondles a rubber 'love doll' dressed as a waitress.

In the adjoining room, OPAL drinks from a bottle of Jack Daniels while preparing to administer an enema to a freshly captured bell-boy, already mounted in a torture rack (profile view) with his pants down.

Thass right, folks! We talkin' de hypocritical Jeezis-jerknuh parodise dey call LAS VAGRUS NEVADRUH!

QUENTIN done booked in fo some clandestine recreatium wit a semi-deflateable 'woman of easy virtue' . . . ('since dat be bouts de onliest kinda bitch be able to tolerate de muthafucker's hair spray!)

Bein' jes' like most de other nasty cocksuckers in de Video-Religium Industry, QUENTIN know a good thing when he see one, an dis ugly rubber waitress look to him like a dream come true . . . specially since his TV WIFE, OPAL, be in de next room drinkin' Jack Daniels 'n puttin' de hurts on some ignint bell-boy.

'Ventchlly when all de plookin' 'n thrashin' be done wif, de bell-boy (who turn out to be de illejiminit son o' de video preacher) gwine take a job at a gas statium in New Jersey . . . an' de blow-up dolly gwine come to life and fall in love wit de junior wimp who's gettin' ready to appear over in de corner deahhh.

HARRY-AS-A-BOY appears at the left and walks to center stage in a lonely spotlight while QUENTIN and OPAL continue their business.

Les' meet de lil' sucker now, while he's still young . . . 'cause, 'fo y'all knows it, he be reachin' adulthood and marry some bitch name RHONDA . . . 'n, by dat time, he gwine become what dey call an OVER-EDUCATED SHIT-HEAD!

Why, it MUST be! He's so charming and sweet and likeable!

HARRY-AS-A-BOY, c'mon over 'n say a few words to de nice peoples!

I's sure dere be lotsa folks like to know what yo' plans are . . . how y'intend t'be gwine about dis uncredibly serious bidniss o' GROWIN' UP IN ERMERICA!

Well, I plan on making a few mistakes, having my heart broken and so forth, using all kinds of drugs, and turning gay as soon as possible in order to accelerate my rise to the 'top of the heap.'

Ahh! Tremenjous, HARRY-AS-A-BOY, simply tre-MENJOUS! You practicin' up fo it wit anybody in po-ticlar now?

I can't afford to study with anyone yet, since the bulk of my allowance goes for glue and Grateful Dead tickets, but soon I hope to be on my knees in a REAL HOMO BATH HOUSE . . . maybe when my folks go on vacation.

Ain't you de clever one! Tell us, HARRY-AS-A-BOY, howdja recide upon dis heah life-style bein' DE ONE FO YOU?

It was pretty simple, really. I lost all desire for intercourse with females when they started carrying those briefcases and wearing suits 'n ties.

WHAT?

Let's face it: that would be like fucking a slightly more voluptuous version of somebody's father! I'm far too sensitive for such a traumatic experience!

You means DE WOMENS' LIBROMATION MOVENINT done created de uncontrollable urgement to play dingle-dangle-dingle wit de personal requipment of yo own gender?

To a degree . . . I mean . . . look, I'm not stupid! I know it's all a thoroughly workable government-sponsored program to control the Population Explosion, and, just like every other AMERICAN, I'm too concerned with MY OWN personal health and well being to think of devoting any of MY precious time to something as boring as 'REPRODUCTION'!

HARRY, I used to think you were merely an OVER-EDUCATED SHIT-HEAD, but now that I finally have proof, it's going to give me GREAT PLEASURE to refer to you as an OVER-EDUCATED COCKSUCKER!

Well, to be honest with you, dearest, I sort of . . . gulp, gulp . . .

Where's the fairies on a string, HARRY? Huh? Riddle me this!

Easy there, white folks! I told y'all'd be gettin' yo' fairies after while, 'n y'know dat sort o' thing take a little time to woik up to in yo' BROADWAY SITCHYATIUM! MAMMYS step faw'd 'n hep de lil' cocksucker out!

The MAMMIES, now semi-disguised in bits of 'VILLAGE PEOPLE' costumery, attach a flying harness to HARRY-AS-A-BOY. As he is hoisted aloft, BROWN MOSES (looking suspiciously like the guy on the front of the Uncle Ben's Rice box) makes his entrance. Unnotices by the crowd, he comments on the situation while HARRY-AS-A-BOY whizzes by overhead.

As he is lowered to the stage and disconnected from the harness, QUENTIN'S rubber 'waitress' (who has appeared during the number, AEROBICISING to the disco beat, partially deflating), approaches HARRY-AS-A-BOY, enticing him with her ever-open mouth and neat plastic hair. The MAMMIES remove their disguises, BROWN MOSES takes a drink from his wine bottle and exits.

Hmmmm! Dat quite a massive improve'lence, dahlin'! Jes' a few moments ago you was well on yo' way to bein' severely ugly! Now, thoo de magik o' stage-kraff, de blubulence of yo' blobulence done reciprocated to a respectumal reclusium! Yow! SCIENCE!

She attempts to caress HARRY-AS-A-BOY.

Ef y'all don't minds me sayin' so, I b'lieves it's 'bout time fo yo pathetical miniaturized replicas to FALL IN LOVE! After all . . . dis lil' sucker already been fulla glue, homo-sectional extrusiums, 'n ARMY FOOD . . . nothin' left fo' him to do, 'cept get catched by dis' lil' stinker over heahhh!

'Membuh, we's on BROADWAY! Muthafucker be buyin' dem tickets wants a lil' HEART, a lil' SOUL . . . 'n some TITTY TOO, ef dey can git it, so, les' get y'all in positium heah, 'n get dis silly business over wit! Y'all's takin' too goddam long to GROW UP IN ERMERICA!

I suppose you're right, Mr. THING-FISH, but you'll have to admit . . . this is a rather awkward situation!

That's right! Stage-craft is one thing, but this is ridiculous! Where did that stimulating little replica come from anyway?

That's a GOOD QUESTION, HARRY! Don't let him wiggle out of it! Hound him mercifullessly until you receive a suitable answer!

Now, just hold yourself in abeyance, RHONDA! I'll handle this! Look here, Mr. POTATO-HEAD, what's the meaning of all this? Do you realize what you're asking my REPLICA to do? Do you expect him to literally FALL IN LOVE in front of all these people . . . with that artificial RHONDA over there?

Now, just hold on there, buddy! Let's be serious! The toilet training of exalted religious personalities is not our primary topic of discussion!

HARRY, that's wonderful! The way you're just rearing up on your hind legs like that! That's terrific! So what if you suck a little cock every once in a while! That's TERRIFIC!

Look heuhhh, sweetheart, they's somethin' fishy gwine on . . . all I's wantin' to do is get de romantic in'trust out de way so we can git back to de EVIL PRINCE, 'n see what de fuck we gone do 'bouts HIM! De way you's givin' me de lip, lead me to infer a subterior motivatium!

You want a NUN? De boy want a NUN? What de fuck kinda NUN you want?

But, on BROADWAY, it's a NEW DAY! Ain'tcha hoid? Yo' unrequired desirin's be mo' suited to de ZOMBY-FOLK up in de EVIL PRINCE'S lab-mo-to-rium!

Don't make fun of me . . . PLEASE! I know I'm not the most desirable kind of fellow a 'MAMMY NUN' could choose for intimate companionship . . . but . . . gosh-darn-it, I'd TRY . . . I'd REALLY TRY to make you HAPPY!

HARRY . . . you are . . . a worm . . . a disgusting WORM! YOU WORMMMMMM! You are nothing but a WORMMMMMMMMMMMM!

Boy obviously got hisseff a provlum! Would y'all like to use my nakkin' one mo' time?

Oh, YES! YES! Give me . . . your . . . how do you say it? 'NAY'YIN'? Oh!

I think this is going too far, Mr. THING-FISH! I haven't even had a chance to fall in love, or to grow to maturity yet! The ARTIFICIAL RHONDA is pining away for my wholesome companionship, just over there! This isn't right! You're letting everything get all out of sequence!

Whoa! I gots yo' 'SEQUENCE' hangin,' boy! Get outs de way! Cain't y'see dat de mizzable cock-sucker you ultimately gwine become done fell in love wit' a 'MAMMY NUN'! Awright, which one idit, sweetheart?

I . . . I . . . can't seem to make up my mind . . . you're all so . . . MASTERFUL! So SENSUOUS . . . you're so INCREDIBLY TALENTED!

. . . a wor-r-r-r-r-mmmmmmmmmm! You are a FUCKING WOR-R-R-R-R-R-R-MMMMMMMMM!

Makes up yo' mind, dahlin'! We ain't gots all night heahhh! Intromissium be comin' up putty quick! Folks be headin' on out to de lobby fo' dem MASH POTATOES we tole 'em 'bout earlier!

I insist on FALLING IN LOVE, right now, this very moment, and I don't care what you do with HIM . . .

Go 'head on den . . . go git yo' deflateable bitch ovuh deah! Judgin' fum all de fuss, you ain't in much better shape den de large economy size been clutchin' at my nakkin!

We gots a love song (jes' yo' type), bridgin' de conceptiumal gap between what you IS, what you THINK you is, what WE think you is, what you is GONNA BE, an' also what yo' rubberized madonna be somewhat remindin' me of!

SISTER OB'DEWLLA 'X,' gather de mo' sensitive MAMMYS together fo' harmonicizatiumal purposes, while de ones with de M.B.A.'s hit de lobby 'n sell some shit, 'fo de customers over-run yo' ass! Meanwhile, lil' guy, go get yo' rubber girl 'n esspress yo-seff!

HARRY-AS-ABOY minces his way toward ARTIFICAL RHONDA while the MAMMIES laugh up their sleeves.

Don't look OB'DEWLLA! It's too horrible! I b'lieve de muthafucker 'bout to ask dat rubber girl to dance!

Muthafucker barf me right on outa here, AN' gag me wit a spoon!

What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this? Do you come here often?

We hear a slow dirge, over which the MAMMIES chant a twisted variation of the syllables being 'sung' by a computer-generated voice. The curtain raises slowly. We are in the front yard of THE UNKNOWN ITALIAN in a middle class New Jersey neighborhood. It is Christmas. Snow is on the ground. Near the steps to his house we see an enormous nativity box featuring a manger stuffed with crab-grass. In it lies the ugly little infant supposedly producing the computerized vocal sounds. We recognize that it has ARTIFICIAL RHONDA'S face, and QUENTIN ROBERT DE NAMELAND'S enormous white video-religious pompadour.

Standing attentively on either side, we see HARRY-AS-A-BOY and the ARTIFICIAL RHONDA, wearing low budget Christmas pageant 'holy land robes.'

FRANCESCO, (THE UNKNOWN ITALIAN) watches them through red plastic binoculars from the bungalow window.

Stroke me pompadour, pompaduoooor, pompaduooor, pompaduoooor. Stroke my pompadour, father. Stroke it nicely while I tell you about the problems I am having with my car an my girlfriend. Ooo-wo-woo, the white man's burden!

Her and her girlfriend used to go out and booze it up and tear up the upholstery; rip the seats completely out, and so I got a fifty-six Olds. About the time I got it running decently, she got in it and wrecked the trans . . . tore it completely up, so I had to get another Oldsmobile (either that or go to Tijuana or go to BROWN MOSES way down in Egypt-Land). It's so hard on a child when his car is fucked up. Buy me a Volvo, faaather.

One-Adam-Twelve . . . see the enormous white pompadour! Ha-Ha-ha-ho! That's a good one! Hoo-hoo-hoo.

I pooped my pants, pooped my pants, pooped my pants! I went doody, faaather, sob-sob-sob-sob-sob.

So what if you suck a little cock every once in a while?

Ohhh . . . I'm so lucky to have a son like this . . .

I can't wait to show him to all the fellas down at the MINE-SHAFT!

Take me to the movies. Buy me a balloon. Stroke me pompadour!

Look! Look! Look at the pecker on him, wouldja! Goodjy-goodjy-goodjy-goo! Hoo hoo hoo!

Dis boy have a 'PROVLEM'! However, how 'bout a nice round of applause fo de three 'WISE MAMMIES,' comin' atcha outa chute numba five!

SISTER OWL-GONKWIN-JANE COWHOON, SISTER GHENGHIS-ADONIS-OSMOSIS, and SISTER ANNE de DEVINE enter, draped with low-budget 'WISE-MEN' costumery.

Looks likes y'done putty good heahh, HARRY-AS-A-BOY! I sees ya' growin' up like a weed, axmodently reproducin' YOSEFF 'n evvythang. Done found some low-rent housin' in a one-dimensional cardbode nativity box on some Italian's funt lawn . . . bunch o' crab-grass underneath de offspring fo quick 'n easy sanitatium . . . shit! Y'all provvly be savin' up fo yo first LAVA LAMP putty soon!

We're incredibly happy! Even though I'm gay for business purposes, my relationship with artificial RHONDA has blossomed into something really beautiful, although I must confess to being baffled by how she got knocked up.

Well, if de trufe be told, it were de father o' de boy at de gas statium . . . when y'sent de ol' lady in fo' de inner-tube patchin,' 'round de foth o' July.

QUENTIN? How could he be so unfaithful? I'm sure God has ways of punishing naughty little guys like that!

Mights well stop complainin,' boy! De damage been done! Leastways y'all can pretend to be SOME KINDA DADDY! Yo' rubber bitch ain't gwine change no diapers! Y'said y'all was incredibly happy! Enjoy it while y'got it, boy! De shit gwine hit de fan in a minute!

You figgit out . . . judgin' fum de intellectional expressium on yo' beloved's ignint face, de bitch gwine be contemplatin' A CAREER OF HER OWN! See dat?

Look like she got her one good eye on a briefcase 'n a tweed spo't coat down de mall somewheres!

Durin' de intromissium, few de SISTERS seen her 'tendin' a CONSCIOUSNESS RAISIN' MEETIN' over at de Hiltum! Thass right! Bitch passed up de MASH POTATOES 'n took off wit' de High School Cafeteria Butch.

FRANCESCO opens the door, and stands on the porch, still watching through the binoculars.

Makin' matters woise, de Italian dat be ownin' yo' nativity bungalow been wondrin' 'bouts de hanky AN' de panky 'tween you 'n dem two concrete flamingos ovuh by de steps! You been messin' wit de State Bird o' New Jersey, muthafucker! Dat kin git you five to life in dis vicinity! If you wants a little frennly advice, boy, I'd be growin' my ass up a little quicker, 'n whizz on outa heahh!

Leave de ugly baby in de crab-grass, snatch up yo' wretched excuse fo a woman, 'n climb on up de heap! Get yo'seff a job drivin' a truck fulla string-beans to Utah! Make sumfin' out y'seff, so's y'can afode a ticket to de MAMMY NUN SHOW! Den we can piss all ovuh de adulterated wimp you gwine become, an' get de shit rollin' agin'!

The CRAB-GRASS BABY flies out on a string. The NATIVITY SCENE exits left. FRANCESCO'S bungalow exits right. This reveals a stage split in two, with one side being a perspectivized truck-stop diner and the other side a perspectivized highway with a perspectivized string bean truck, waiting for HARRY-AS-A-BOY to climb in.

ARTIFICIAL RHONDA takes a job as a waitress at the diner (with an illuminated sign reading "HAWAIIAN LUNCH"). The former VIDEO CHRISTIANS are her customers. QUENTIN ROBERT DE NAMELAND appears, attempting to re-kindle the flames of love in her rubber heart.

Wooo! Looka-dat! A big ol' truck, 'n a box uh NO-DOZ . . . 'n ovuh deah, a greazy ol' dinuh, where yo rubber bitch kin reassume part-time employment in her former professium: slingin' hash in de directium o' de blue-collar community!

Look like ol' Quentim come back to peruse her one mo' time . . .

Dat what dem Gospel Folks dream 'bouts doin' in a dinuh!

She so hot, it makin' her apron wrinkle, 'n smoke come pourin' out de back o' dat stupid paper hat!

I don't blame her fo' rinsin' out what she had in dat mouf!

Dis de MAMMY NUN SHOW, folks! ANYTHING can happen! Shut up! You needs a vacatium, boy! You gots de 'WHITE LINE FEVUM'! Coupla donuts 'n some cowboy music fix ya right up! Breaker-breaker! Git down wit de come-back! Sleepy wimp seek lastin' relationship wit anally-oriented 'luminum sidin' salesman!

A non-human inflatable duplicate ARTIFICIAL RHONDA is mounted on the mechanical bull in the corner (at max setting) by QUENTIN ROBERT DE NAMELAND.

The inflated duplicate is whisked upward, out of sight.

FRANCESCO'S bungalow and the nativity box re-appear. The manger is empty. THING-FISH and OB'DEWLLA lurk in the corner of the creche as it slides in. HARRY, in S&M submissive gear, is kneeling before them. RHONDA enters left, wrist to forehead, suffering magnificently, dressed in a Santa Claus costume.

Under it she wears a rubberized body suit with pornographically exaggerated tits and ass, designed to look like the ARTIFICIAL RHONDA body, carried to its most alluring extreme, including a tasteful thatch of bright red Raggedy Ann yarn at the crotch.

Oooh, lawd! Lookit you, boy! Chain thoo de nipples 'n evvy goddam thing! You a sick white muthafucker, ain'tcha?

Y'all make up y'mind yet, 'bouts de MAMMY o' yo' dreams?

You bet! It seems I've waited ALL MY LIFE for this moment! My heart is fluttering! Oh! If only I could submit myself on approval, for a limited time only . . . to that nasty little rubber MAMMY on your knee . . .

SISTER OB'DEWLLA 'X'? De mys'try SISTER? Y'all wants t'party hearty with de min'yature rubber MAMMY wit de string out de back? Yow! Dintcha get 'nuff 'buse fum de other bitch when y'was livin' in de card-bo'd hut?

HARRY . . . HARRY . . . hey! HARRY! Fucking wor-r-r-mmmmmmmmmm! I want a DIVORCE, HARRY!

Not now, dearest, PLEASE! This is serious! Little MAMMY, what'll it be? Hips or lips?

HARRY snatches SISTER OB'DEWLLA 'X' away from THING-FISH, bashing himself with it in an irrational manner.

RHONDA un-zips the Santa Claus costume, revealing the rubber body suit, hoping for some sign of interest from her deranged husband. There isn't any . . . he's beating the fuck out of himself and loving every minute of it.

She squeezes her rubber tits, as if to squirt them at him. Sill no interest.

You're a wor-r-r-r-mmmmmmm! A fucking WOR-R-R-R-M-M-M-M-MMMMMMMMMMM! These are my TITS, HARRY! I have TITS! Look! LOOK AT ME! LOOK AT MY WONDERFUL TITS, YOU FUCKING WOR-R-R-R-R-MMMMMMMM! I'm going to pretend I'm SQUIRTING THEM ON YOU! Whoo! Wheeeee! ALMOST GOTCHA!

Not now, RHONDA! Ow! Oof! Oh, I love this! Hurt me! Hurt me! Oh, pull my chain, you tiny potato-headed whatchamacallit!

They're almost squirting, HARRY! Look! Look! Whoooooo! Whooooo! Whoooo! You fucking worm!

OB'DEWLLA! Is y'awright? Don't be pullin' de boy's chain too hard dere! He gots 'nuthuh show t'do t'morrow! Don't put dat in yo' MOUF, girl! I knows y'cain hep y'seff wit dat crazy muthafucker 'busin' you like dat, but jes' hang on a lil' longuh . . . he be droppin' de wad putty soon now!

This is my PUSSY, HARRY! Look! See it? You know what I'm gonna do with it, you worm? I'm gonna make it FUCK SOMETHING! That's right! You won't get any of it . . . because you're DISGUSTING! I don't need you, MR. FIRST-NIGHTER! My wonderful, wonderful pussy doesn't need you! I have my BRIEFCASE, HARRY! I'm going to FUCK MY BRIEFCASE! I'm going to . . . look! Look at this! I got it right over here! There! See it? My BIG, BROWN, BRIEFCASE! MY BRIEF-CASE! It's BIG, HARRY! It's full of BUSINESS PAPERS . . . from MY CAREER!

A tan and brown briefcase, seven feet tall, is lowered in. FRANCESCO watches it land near his window. He exits the bungalow with a can of Crisco and a violin case. In pantomime, he cautiously interrupts RHONDA'S monologue, suggesting that she examine the content of the case.

It contains a strap-on dildo of such ridiculous proportions that a chain leading from just behind the head of it must be hooked to a leather dog collar around RHONDA'S neck, in order to hold it up. FRANCESCO recommends the Crisco as a lubricant, daubs on a bit with a miniature doll foot, finally indicating that she conceal her pubic hair with a cardboard box, in the manner preferred by famous singing Christians.

RHONDA reaches inside the briefcase and locates her 'SPECIAL ATOMIC GLASSES' (with tiny doll arms reaching out through tiny cardboard boxes), and puts them on.

She reaches in again and finds an artificial hamburger with a red ribbon on it. She mounts it on top of her head, tying the ribbon in a neat bow below her chin. Ready at last, she humps the briefcase vigorously.

I'm going to put my GLASSES ON, HARRY! I'm going to put my hair up in a BUN! Then, I'm going FUCK FUCK FUCK! Ha-ha-ha-hahhhhh! Look! See me? See how I got my hair up? Whooo! I'm REALLY DOING IT! Unngh! Unngh!

RHONDA . . . have you no SHAME! Keep the briefcase closed, for chrissake! All your documents are falling out!

Unngh! I'm GOOD! Oh God I'm good! Harder! Faster! Unngh! Unngh! This is TERRIFIC! Boy, I need it so bad . . .

Those are the Warner Brothers files, aren't they dear? Don't you think there'll be some questions about the condition of the blue paper?

I'm sucking the handle now, HARRY! Look! Mmmmmm! It tastes GOOD! Mmmmmm! Mmmmm! The handle! The handle!

Hurt me, OB'DEWLLA! Make me whimper and beg for your tiny rubber love!

After nibbling on it as if it were a giant piece of corn-on-the-cob, THING-FISH hands RHONDA an oversized pink fountain pen with her name on the clip.

I've got a fountain pen, HARRY! I've got a fountain pen with MY INITIALS on it! I'm putting it in my mouth, HARRY! I'm gonna get it wet! I'm gonna stuff it up my asshole and ride the briefcase again, you disgusting perverted bastard worm! I'm gonna do it! Look, HARRY! Whooo! Unngh! Unngh! Goddamit, HARRY! Watch me! This is for your own good!

With the entire cast in a frozen tableau, in shuffles BROWN MOSES, clutching the CRAB-GRASS BABY.

As THING-FISH examinies SISTER OB'DEWLLA 'X' for damage, BROWN MOSES begs for a hand-out. He accomodates him, tucking little OB'DEWLLA under one arm, rumaging around in his habit for a few bucks. BROWN MOSES hands him THE CRAB-GRASS BABY for security, thanks him, and exits left.

The EVIL PRINCE and his BROADWAY ZOMBIES appear again. As a result of his previous raw chitlin' ingestion, he, and the rest are showing obvious signs of 'MAMMY NUN' nakkin-sproutulence. Making matters worse, his voice has changed, and now he sings like HARRY and talks like THING-FISH.

JESUS, that was terrific! I've never experienced anything quite like that in a theater before! How 'bout you, RHONDA?

You're a worm, HARRY. Drop dead. God, you're disgusting! Don't touch me! YUCK! What is this scum on your chest? Did that little rubber MAMMY 'do something' on you?

OB'DEWLLA! You lil' vagrant! What you been up to wit de chump over deahh? Lemme see yo' draw's! Uh-HUHHHH! Jes, couldn't hep y'seff, could ya! Pheww! You best be washin' dat thang off, dahlin'! I knows we's sposed ta be un-DESTRUCTABLE, but what you got ripenin' down dere be puttin' us all to DE TEST! Yow!

The EVIL PRINCE tap-dances over to THING-FISH, HARRY & RHONDA.

Eat shit, you overbearing male chauvinist member of the scientific community!

What a sweet lil' hunk o' heaven she growed up t'be! When she were deflateable, she dint say nothin' . . . jes kept her face open like dis . . . waitin' fo de salami dat never 'rived! Now she fuckin' de briefcase, dumpin' de paper all over de flo,' hair up in a ugly ol' bun, fountain pen danglin' out her asshole, an' talkin' dirty to a member o' de ROYAL FAM'LY!

Girl! Dis cocksucker mights be EVIL, but he AM a PRINCE! Now he be talkin' de vernakluh, I's findin' it consid'rubly mo' cornvemient to indemnify wit his 'point-o-view!

Sho' nuff! Um-hmm! Yeah! You a WISE ol' MAMMY! Where you fum, 'rijnlyy?

Goddam! I knew it! I knew it! I could jes' make it out from yo' renunciation! Sho' get hot down deahh in de summer-time!

DAT no lie . . . people be croakin' all over de fuckin' place! I sees y'all like dat sort o' thang . . . jedgin' fum yo' wa'd-robe, y'all be WELL INTO death 'n pestilence 'n shit! Prob'ly got yo-seff quite some 'spensive educashnin' goin' fo ya!

Oh yeah! Oh yeah! Heh-heh! Saint Loomis! Damn! Some o' de ZOMBY-FOLK up de lab-mo-tory got kin deah!

Oh hell yeah! De ugly dead muthafucker on de string deahh . . . he related to a buncha other ugly dead muthafuckers fum de East Side . . . 'n de curly-headed sho't lil' ugly dead muthafucker wit de dead dog been fuckin' de police commissioner!

How you know so much 'bouts what gwine on down deahh, you EVIL COCKSUCKER! Y'all been stayin' quite well un-formed fum bein' in de lab-mo-tory most yo' time!

Jes' might distress yo ass to loin dat on de way home fum de SAN QUENTIM 'tater mashin' 'speriment, me 'n de country westin muzishnins' drop by de college to receive an honorary degree!

You lyin,' boy! Dey givin' degrees in 'TATER HUSBANDRY' back de ol' alma-motta!

Dat ALL dey givin' any mo'! Muthafuckin' 'TATER HUSBANDRY' be de wave o' de futchum in Saint Loomis! Graduatin' class were over 700, 'n evvy one of 'em dealin' wit dem 'taters like de shrimp-murderers down at Benny-Hanny's!

What? Huh? You wanna what? OB'DEWLLA, de PRINCE jes' be shootin' de home-town shit heahh! He ain't gwine give us no mo' provlem! What you mean, girl? Okay, go 'head 'n fuck de lil' CRAB-GRASS BABY wit de enormous white pompadour! Jes' git down on dere wit yo' nasty lil' ol' degenerate seff.

THING-FISH puts the CRAB-GRASS BABY on the floor and positions OB'DEWLLA over it. He places his foot on OB'DEWLLA'S back and pumps both of them up and down. As the computer-speech drones on, THING-FISH watches the spectacle, commenting . . .

Twist 'n shout! Work it on out ('n in)! Hmmm! Go on! Give him a little shoe! Dat's what Denny be doin' . . . work on Jumbo evvy time! Go on! Get de lil' pompadour up in de air! I like dat part! Hmmm! Jes' like de Olympics!

It's fascinating the way things are resolving themselves around here! I never would have suspected anything like this when we came in!

Where are your real clothes, HARRY? Are you going back to Long Island like that?

I have nothing to be ashamed of! I have a LOVELY body. Everyone will understand! I've ACCOMPLISHED something tonight! I really believe that! I've found a sort of fulfilment other men only DREAM about!

You've accomplished NOTHING! NOTHING AT ALL! You're a MERE WORM . . . less than that . . . you're a uselsess ALL-AMERICAN 'MAN-WORM'! The most disgusting creature on the face of the earth. Phooey on you! Worms like you would be NOTHING without ME and MY KIND! WE are THE FUTURE, HARRY! Not you! WE don't need YOU and YOUR KIND, because OUR KIND is THE BEST KIND!

MAN-KIND is SHIT, HARRY! OUR KIND will get rid of YOUR KIND, just like wiping off this fountain pen, HARRY! Smell it quick, you submissive little cocksucker, 'cause I'm wiping it off . . . any minute now!

THIS IS SYMBOLISM, HARRY! Really DEEP, INTENSE, THOUGHT-PROVOKING BROADWAY SYMBOLISM! THIS ISN'T 'DREAM GIRLS,' HARRY! This is the way it REALLY IS . . . I'm talking to you, HARRY! WE HATE YOU! WE are MODERN, HARRY! You are not 'MODERN'! Worms are not MODERN!

While YOU became LAWYERS and ACCOUNTANTS, and read PLAYBOY and bought a pipe, WE PLANNED and DREAMED and FUCKED OUR BRIEFCASES while you weren't looking! Yes, HARRY! That's right! And we've actually been able to REPRODUCE OURSELVES THAT WAY . . . FOR YEARS, HARRY, but YOU NEVER KNEW! Did you? You worm.

We had SPECIAL ATOMIC GLASSES made . . . by WOMEN OPTOMETRISTS who promised NEVER to TELL!

We learned how to hide SECRET STUFF, wrapped up in the middle of those severe terminal BUNS we wear! Little TRANSMITTERS, HARRY! Little RECEIVERS! Oh . . . don't pretend to be surprised, HARRY! We even had ROOM LEFT OVER in there for all of our most favorite little embroidered delicate secretly feminine child-like helpless pathetic sentimental totally useless PERSONAL 'GIRL-THINGS' that smell like the stuff they put in the toilet paper.

You played GOLF! You watched FOOTBALL! You drank BEER! We EVOLVED! We only look like WANDAS and RHONDAS! We are SUPERB, HARRY! We are SUBLIME! We are perfect in EVERY WAY! And you? What are you? You are the all-American cocksucker . . . jizzing all over your leather cocksucker costume after beating the snot out of yourself with a rubber MAMMY!

I simply can't respect you, HARRY! You are NO GOOD. Go ahead! Smell the pen! Go on . . . I'm wiping it HARRY . . . there you go . . .

During this, the lights have dimmed, leaving RHONDA in a spotlight. HARRY crawls into the spotlight circle and assumes the traditional pose of the RCA dog, begging to sniff the pen.

RHONDA moves it higher and higher, torturing him. His nose finally reaches it. FRANCESCO stands nearby, fetishing OB'DEWLLA.

The track for WON TON ON (NO NOT NOW lyrics, backwards) begins. (The first words are meant to be HARRY'S reaction to the odor of the writing utensil.)

Whiff it, Boy! Whiff it good, now! MAMMIES, step forward 'n try t'git on down wit dem BROADWAY ZOMBIES! Dis de closin' numbuh, now! MOSES! Git yo' brown ass ovuh heah! Leave de Co-log-nuh alone fo' a minnit. whyn'tcha go on 'n corn-hole ya' some EVIL PRINCE! B'lieve he done evolved to de point where he kin hannle it now!

See dat? Uh-huh! Look like he severely enjoyin' it awready! Sound like he enjoyin' it, too! Wuh-Oh! I smells trubba! Look like he got de eeyah-noosht! No two ways about it!

The MAMMIES dance tangos with the ZOMBIES, (eventually hurling them offstage), the EVIL PRINCE corn-holes RHONDA (who doesn't even notice as she waves her magic-wand fountain pen around for HARRY to follow), THING-FISH snatches up THE CRAB-GRASS BABY and OB'DEWLLA (one in each hand), shaking them like maracas, while twirl-dancing around the yard, HARRY-AS-A-BOY and the ARTIFICIAL RHONDA re-appear, chasing after the infant. QUENTIN ROBERT DE NAMELAND corn-holes BROWN MOSES. OPAL rides the bull while FRANCESCO gives her an enema. The nativity box rotates erratically, delivering DUTCH MIDGETS who offer onions to the audience.

'Fo y'all departs, I jes' wish to say in conclusium, as matters o' dis gravity gen'rally require some type o' philosomical post-scription, dat what y'all have witnessed heah tonight were a TRUE-STORY —- only de names o' de potatoes have been changed to protect de innocent.

GALOOT CO-LOG-NUH! DON'T BUY IT, PEOPLES!
Dis have been a public service ernouncemint. Wave good-night to de white folks, 'DEWLLA!

A conga-line is formed. They all exit through the audience, except for FRANCESCO, THING-FISH & SISTER OB'DEWLLA 'X' (the CRAB-GRASS BABY has been returned to HARRY-AS-A-BOY and ARTIFICIAL RHONDA).

This is SYMBOLISM! Really deep, intense, thought-provoking Broadway SYMBOLISM! Really Modern, HARRY . . .

This album contains material which a truly free society would neither fear nor suppress.

In some socially retarded areas, religious fanatics and ultra-conservative political organizations violate your First Amendment Rights by attempting to censor rock & roll albums. We feel that this is un-Constitutional and un-American.

As an alternative to these government-supported programs (designed to keep you docile and ignorant), Barking Pumpkin is pleased to provide stimulating digital audio entertainment for those of you who have outgrown the ordinary.

The language and concepts contained herein are GUARANTEED NOT TO CAUSE ETERNAL TORMENT IN THE PLACE WHERE THE GUY WITH THE HORNS AND POINTED STICK CONDUCTS HIS BUSINESS.

This guarantee is as real as the threats of the video fundamentalists who use attacks on rock music in their attempt to transform America into a nation of check-mailing nincompoops (in the name of Jesus Christ). If there is a hell, its fires wait for them, not us.

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COMPLET 3 RECORD BOX SET + LIBRETTO
ORIG. CAST RECORDING

THING-FISH — IKE WILLIS
HARRY — TERRY BOZZIO
RHONDA — DALE BOZZIO
EVIL PRINCE — NAPOLEON MURPHY BROCK
HARRY-AS-A-BOY — BOB HARRIS
BROWN MOSES — JOHNNY "GUITAR" WATSON
OWL GONKWIN JANE COWHOON — RAY WHITE

Book & lyrics, music, arrangementes, direction of characterization
and album production by FRANK ZAPPA

[...]