A MURAKAMI / WOLF / BIZARRE PRODUCTION color by Technicolor
THE MOTHERS OF INVENTION
THEODORE BIKEL
Music performed by The Mothers of Invention
MARK VOLMAN / HOWARD KAYLAN / IAN UNDERWOOD /AYNSLEY DUNBAR / GEORGE DUKE
Introducing: KEITH MOON / JANET FERGUSON
LUCY OFFERALL / JIMMY CARL BLACK
MARTIN LICKERT / DICK BARBER
DON PRESTON / PAMELA MILLER
RUTH UNDERWOOD /JUDY GRIDLEY
RINGO STARR
FRANK ZAPPA'S 200 MOTELS
Music composed and arranged by: FRANK ZAPPA
Music performed by: THE ROYAL PHILHARMONIC ORCHESTRA
Choreographed by: GILLIAN LYNNE
Story and screenplay by FRANK ZAPPA
Shooting script by: TONY PALMER
Associate producers RAOUL RAGEL / BRIAN HARRIS
Produced by JERRY GOOD / HERB COHEN
characterizations directed by FRANK ZAPPA
Visuals directed by TONY PALMER
Ladies and gentlemen!
200 motels
200 motels . . . Life on the road!
Ladies and gentlemen! and here is . . .
Who?
Larry the dwarf!
Larry likes to dress up funny
Tonight he's dressed up like Frank Zappa
Let's ask him "What's the deal?"
Hi Larry, it's good to have you back on our panel.
Hi Dave, it's really great to be back on your panel.
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?
He made me do it, Dave. He's such a creep. He's making me hold this alladin.
And why is he making you do that, Larry?
He wants me to fuck the girl with the harp.
He wants you to fuck the girl . . . with the harp?
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.
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?
YES!!!
Yay!
Let's spin the big wheel, Larry! Go ahead, give it a whirl!
What our studio audience doesn't know is that the reason Larry the Dwarf
is doing all this stuff is because its 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!
How long?
Till that mystery roach be arrivin' soon
Ya-ooo Ya-ooo Ya-ooo Ya-ooo
That mystery roach be approachin'
That mystery roach be approachin' me
La La La La La La La, Oof!
How long?
Till that mystery roach been gone
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!
Room service?
Ah . . . a mystery roach . . .
What are we SINGING about?
We must be . . . FLIPPING OUT!
Special delivery for Mr. Volman! Mr. Volman? Are you Volman?
(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 . . .
RANCE MUHAMMITZ . . .
RANCE . . .
MUHAMMITZ . . .
. . . In a steaming briefcase!
You're Volman!
Yeh-No. No. He's Volman. Who are you?
You must call me "Rance Muhammitz."
"Rance Muhammitz"? Stupidest name I ever heard of.
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.
Right on, Rance! The functioning of our senses has been spiritually impaired and chemically corrupted by the fake,
artifical food coloring.
By the way. Mr. Volman, I have . . . YOUR CHEESEBURGER.
We must evolve.
Yeah . . .
We must progress.
Progress . . .
There must be growth!
Yeah . . . macrobiotic foods and tie-dye shirts!
Hey, ya ain't gonna eat that cheeseburger, Mark? . . . (BURP)
Fucking guy will eat anything.
This is registered delivery, you will have to sign for it.
Sure man, I'll sign. Where's the pencil?
I don't wish to alarm you, my son, but the signature will have to be . . . in blood.
Listen man, I just wanna know two things. Is there any beer in this fake nightclub, and when do we get paid?
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.
I've been wondering about that.
For Sherwood, we have a vacuum cleaner scheduled . . .
A vacuum cleaner?
. . . and a potential epileptic seizure during a production number later on.
A vacuum cleaner!
I thought the two of you would like to get acquainted. It says here that you are supposed to be in love.
This abnormal relationship will be great for the big story I'm going to write!
Listen man, I just wanna know one thing: when do we get paid?
No look, look, look, look, look, don't you even care what you do?
So long as I get some beer and I get paid, you can make me do anything, I'm professional!
You should be careful talkin' about that stuff. Why, does he listen?
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.
That's how he gets all his material! It isn't s'posed to be natural, friendly, good-natured, humorous, ha-ha-ha-ha!
Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha, YEAH, WELL FINE!
. . . 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!
Hey man, what's that over there?
It's HIM. You can see him, he's watching.
D'ya think he heard us?
I've been in the band for years. You can bet that he heard everything.
Yeah, let's go over and pretend to be nice to him.
Yeah, let's go over and pretent we don't know he's watching.
Yeah, and rippin' off all our good material.
Hi, man!
Hi, Frank!
Hi, man!
Hi, Frank!
Hi, man!
Hey, Frank!
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!
Yeah, we were all laughin', Frank!
Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha YEAH, WELL FINE!
Yeah, it took a little while to get into it man, but once we got the drift, phew!
Yeah, there's lots of great parts you've got in there for the chorus, you know when they go:
RAN-TAN-RAN-TOON-RAN-TAN-TAN . . .
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.
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!
I'm deeply offended by your lack of artistic sense.
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?
Oh, she writes for the Imaginary Rock and Roll newspaper in San Francisco.
San Francisco?
Man!
Oh! Eh, he's making me leave here now. I'll see you later when we play.
What?
I don't expect you to understand that, because uh, we haven't formed the group yet.
Ah, Mark will play the bass . . .
Ba-doom-doom-doom-doom . . .
Howie will sing and play sax . . .
Dwee-dat-dwee-dat-dweet-dat-dwee-dat . . .
I'll play the guitar . . . woop-doo-doo-doo . . . and the dwarf here will play drums!
Waittaminit, waittaminit, waittaminit, waittaminit, waittaminit! This guy isn't even a dwarf!
That's one of the reasons the group will be so commercial!
Ah. What about the other guys?
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!
He's right, he's right! We don't need Aynsley . . .
No . . . We don't need Ian . . .
No . . . We don't need George!
No! We don't need anybody! Argh!
No!
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 . . .
Ohh . . .
Listen, you're right. Zappa's 30.
Yeah, man.
Ohh . . . whew . . .
Thirty years old . . .
Oh, he's out of it man! He's too old, he should retire.
Yeah, really. You can't trust old people. You know, we should take up a collection and buy him a watch.
I don't know too much about this stuff
I've 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
This . . . won't . . . take . . . long . . .
I hear birds!
What's he saying?
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?
Really man! WHO . . . DO YOU THINK . . . YOU ARE?
Yeah, do you want me to tell you WHO . . . I really think you are?
Yeah, somebody tell me WHO is this guy?
Centerville
A real nice place to raise your kids up
Centerville
It's really neat!
Churches
And liquor stores
Oh, yeah! It's
Just like Glendale
Look!
Over there
It's a rancid boutique!
Janet, did you see those guys with the hair?
It's those guys from the fake stage across the street from our house.
Eww, I get so excited when someone from a group gets near me. I just . . . eww, I just . . .
Don't you have any taste? That one guy's got gray hair, and the other one's too fat.
Oh, they look so lonely.
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.
They drool on you.
Really. All that stuff that comes out of their mouth when they're on top of you. It's so moche. Ew.
Ew, on the pillows.
But I like the drummer with the rivets on his clothes, he's not bad.
Yeah, I've seen him too. He just screams "Englishness," with that little haircut and the rings . . .
And the binoculars.
Binoculars?
Didn't you notice his binoculars?
No, he's got binoculars?
He watches us through them, he's a pervert!
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.
Just take my word for it; he is perverted.
Mmm. And English, too.
They're all that way.
This town
Is a Sealed Tuna Sandwich
Sealed Tuna Sandwich
With the wrapper glued
(WITH THE WRAPPER GLUED!)
It's by baloney on the rack
Rant-tant-tant
Tant-tant-tant
It goes for 40 cents a whack
It's just a rancid little snack
In a plastic bag
From a matron in La Habra with a blown-out crack
WHO DIES TO SUCK THE FRINGE OFF OF JIMMY CARL BLACK!
My name is Burtram
I am a redneck
All my friends,
They call me 'Burt'
(Hi, Burt!)
All my family,
From down in Texas
Make their livin'
Diggin' dirt
Come out here to Californy,
Just to find me
Some pretty girls
Ones I seen
Gets me so horny;
Ruby lips,
'N teeth like pearls!
Wanna love 'em all!
Wanna love 'em dearly!
Wanna pretty girl--
I'll even pay!
I'll buy 'em furs!
I'll buy 'em jewelry!
I know they like me;
Here's what I say:
I'm lonesome Cowboy Burt!
(Speakin' atcha!)
Come smell my fringe-y shirt!
(Reekin' atcha!)
My cowboy pants,
My cowboy dance,
My bold advance,
On this here waitress . . .
Yodel-oh-oo-pee-hey
Yodel-oh-oo-pee!
(He's lonesome Cowboy Burt
Don'tcha get his feelings hurt)
Come on in this place,
'N I'll buy you a taste,
You can sit on my face--
Where's my waitress?
Burtram, Burtram redneck
I'm an awful nice guy!
Sweat all day in the sun!
Roofer by trade,
Quite a bundle I've made,
I'm unionized roofin' old
Son-of-a-gun!
(He's a unionized roofin' old
Son-of-a-gun!)
When I get off, I get plastered
Drink till I fall onna floor,
Find me some Communist bastard,
'N stomp on his face till he don't
Move no more!
(He stomps on his face till he don't
Move no more!)
I fuss, an' I cuss an' I keep on drinkin',
Till my eyes puff up an' turn red!
I drool on m'shirt,
I see if he's hurt,
Kick him again in the head, yes!
Kick him again in the head, boys!
Kick him again in the head, now!
KICK HIM AGAIN IN THE HEAD!
Lonesome Cowboy Burt!
(Speakin' atcha!)
Come smell my fringe-y shirt!
(Reekin' atcha!)
My cowboy pants,
My cowboy dance,
My bold advance,
On this here waitress . . .
Yodel-oh-oo-pee-yeh
Yodel-oh-oo-pee!
(HE'S LONESOME COWBOY BURT,
A--don'tcha get his feelin's hurt)
Yeah . . . but come on in this place,
An' I'll buy you a taste,
'N you can sit on my face--
Where's my waitress?
OPAL, YOU HOT LITTLE BITCH!
Yes, Jimmy Carl Black, Indian of the Group, what can I do for you?
Mo-honnitz! What are you doin' here?
You just called me, didn't you?
All I said was "Opal, you hot little bitch".
I am known by many names.
Mm-hmm. You got many friends who call you "Opal the hot little bitch"?
Please-please-please-please Mr. Black, let us cut the small talk, and get on with your briefing.
Fine, you can brief me all you want as long as you can tell me two things . . .
I know, when do we get paid . . .
No, I wanna know where's that waitress,
Yes, waitress..
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.
. . . couple of bucks . . . . end of the week . . . week . . . week ending, the week ending,
what-what that, what's the date?
Uhhh, Tuesday was the 5th, uh Monday was the 3rd, uh make that out for Sunday-
Eh-eh-eh, don't say Sunday!
What's wrong with Sunday?
Eh!
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?
Very well, Mr. Black. Oh, by the way. I have here the special beer I promised you earlier.
Oh man, it's about time, I've been waiting.
Would you care to sign for it?
This is a pencil?
No, Mr. Black, it is a pin.
A PIN?
Would you jab yourself in the finger with it?
Listen, Mo-hannitz, I may be professional, but I'm not THAT professional. I just want my beer.
Sign first! In blood.
Fuck you! Who do you think you are, the devil or something?
I am known by many names.
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.
Oh, I'm not?
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!
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 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 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.
Ooh, the way you love me, lady,
I get so hard now I could die
Ooh, the way you love me, sugar,
I get so hard now I could die
Open up your pocketbook,
Get another quarter out,
Drop it in the meter, mama
Try me on for size
Open up your pocketbook,
Get another quarter out,
Drop it in the meter, mama
Try me on for size
Ooh, the way you squeeze me, baby,
Red balloons just pop behind my eyes
Ooh, the way you squeeze me, girl,
Red balloons just pop behind my eyes
Open up your pocketbook,
Get another quarter out,
Drop it in the meter, mama
Try me on for size
Open up your pocketbook,
Get another quarter out,
Drop it in the meter, mama
Try me on for size
Do you really wanna please me?
Well, you know I do, babe
Well, tell me why you do it
I really wanna know
Oh, no, no, it wouldn't be right
For me to tell you tonight
You better tell me right away
Or I'll pack up and go!
Don't get mad
It ain't no big thing
You better tell me right away,
Don't you treat me cold
HOLD IT, HOLD IT, HOLD IT, HOLD IT!
Well, there are a lot of reasons why I'd . . . I'd drag a girl such as yourself back to this . . .
plastic hotel room and . . . rip you off for spare change to run a
. . . to run a vibrating machine attached to this queen-size, bulk-purchase,
kapok-infested, do-not-remove-tag-under-penalty-of-law type bed
and . . . and make you take off all your little clothes . . . until you were nearly
STARK RAVING NUDE! (Save for your chrome-with-heavy-duty-leather-thongheh . . . )
Peace Medallion, heh . . . ) And make you assume a series of marginally erotic poses involving
. . . a plastic chair and . . . an old guitar strap while I . . . did a wee-wee in your hair and
. . . beat you with a pair of tennis shoes . . . I got from Jeff Beck
(mumbles . . . ) I gotta write this down
. . . I got everything I need
. . . for my new symphony
. . . (mumbles . . . ) "See, this is what happens when you join up a rock group, George,
get off that jazz syndrome . . . there's no lust in jazz"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.
Hey, look what's comin' through the door!
MUHAMMITZ . . .
Ah, it's really great now . . . more paper, more paper . . . 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!
Blorp
The lad searches the night for his newts
Blorp
The girl wants to fix him some broth.
Tinsel cock!
Doo-wee-do
Tinsel cock, my baby
Would you like some broth?
Some nice soup
YUM! Some hot broth? Small dogs in it, Doggies!
Yooooouuuu . . . Do you? You like broth? Doo-wadnum!
Dog broth? Hot broth? Hot dog broth? You like dog broth hot?
Hot dog debris DEBRIS! Dog debris!
How do you like it? Dog breath?
Doo doo Debris of the four styles offered
DOG BROTH? DOG BREATH BROTH?
Debris, broth, breath,
And the ever popular hygienic
European version
Tinsel cock!
Oh-oh-oh oh-oh-oh oh-oh-oh oh-oh-oh oh-oh-oh oh
Which do you choose?
The girl . . .
In a statement to the press . . .
Duh-D-Duhhh!
Explains . . .
Broth reminds me of nuns (Nuns)
I see them smashing (Kids)
With rulers
Disciplining munchkin cretins (Munchkin cretins)
Tortured munchkins (Munchkin cretins)
Tortured munchkins
Irish Catholic victims
Little green scratchy sweaters (Sweaters)
Little green scratchy ones (Courduroy pants)
Brown courduroy ponce (Doo-ahh)
Courduroy ponce
And green scratchy munchkin
Irish Catholic victims (Munch-kins Munch-a-kins)
Munchkins get me hot
Munchkins get me, get me hot
Hot!
Gets her real hot
Why don't you strap on this here bunch
Of cardboard boxes, daddy-o?
Joy of my desiring
You'll certainly look suave and get me hot
Hot, hot, get me hot and
Horny
(Ow!)
If there's one thing I really get off on
(YOINNNNG!)
It's a nun suit painted on some old boxes
Some old melodies
4/4
An aura
An areola
Pink gums
Stumpy gray teeth
Dental floss
Gets me hot
Wanna watch a dental hygiene movie?
Han-Min-Noon-Toon Han-Toon-Ran
No, Jeff!
Rantoon, Rantoon, Rantoon, Frammin, Hantoon, Rantoon, Hantoon, Frammin
No no no!
Man! This stuff is great! It's just as if Donovan himself had appeared on my very own TV with words of peace, love,
and eternal cosmic wisdom . . . ! Leading me. Guiding me. On paths of everlasting pseudo-karmic negligence, in the very
midst of my drug-induced nocturnal emission.
For I am your good conscience, Jeff. I know all. I see all. I am a cosmic love pulse matrix, becoming a technicolor interpositive!
Huh? Where'd you buy that incense? It's hip.
It's the same and mysterious exotic oriental fragrance as what the Beatles get off on.
I thought I recognized it . . . Sniff, sniff . . . Mmm, what is that, MUSK? Sniff, sniff, sniff . . . mmmh!
Jeff, I know what's good for you.
Right. You're heavy.
Yes, Jeff, I am your guiding light. Listen to me. Don't rip off the towels, Jeff!
Piss off, you little nitwit!
Hey man, what's the deal?
Don't listen to him, Jeff, he's no good. He'll make you do BAD THINGS!
You mean, he'll make me sin?
Yes, Jeff. SIN!
Wow!
Jeff, I'd like to have a word with you . . . about your soul.
No, don't listen, Jeff.
Why are you wasting your life, night after night playing this comedy music?
You're right, I'm too heavy to be in this group.
Comedy music . . .
Jeff, YOUR SOUL!
Oh, ah Oh, you're wasting your life To be . . .
Ah Oh, ah Ah, ah Too heavy, Jeff
In this group, all I ever get to do is play Zappa's comedy music. HE EATS!
Jeff!
I get so tense!
Of course you do, my boy.
The stuff he makes me do is always off the wall!
That's why it would be best to leave his stern employ.
And quit the group!
You'll make it big!
That's right.
Of course!
And then I won't be SMALL!
Ha ha ha ha ha!
Ha ha ha!
Ti-diddly-diddly-dee
Ha, ha, ha . . .
He-he-he-he-heh!
Cough, cough. Ahmet Ertegun used this towel as a bathmat six weeks ago at a rancid motel in Orlando, Florida, with the
highest MILDEW rating of any commercial lodging facility within the territorial limits of the United States, naturally
excluding tropical possessions . . . It's still damp. What an aroma! This is the best I ever got off! What can I say
about this elixir?
This is the real you, Jeff. Rip off a few more ashtrays. Get rid of some of that inner tension. Quit the comedy group!
Get your own group together. Heavy! Like GRAND FUNK! Or BLACK SABBATH . . .
No, Jeff . . .
Or COVEN!
Peace . . . Love . . .
Bollocks!
What can I say about this elixir?
What?
WOWWWWWW!
What can I?
WOWWWWWW!
What?
What can I say about this?
WOWWWWWW!
Dwee-doo dee-ooo-poo
Pa-dan!
Does this kind of life look interesting to you? Night after night, dinners with Herb Cohen. Thrill-packed, fun-filled
evenings on the French Riviera at the MIDEM convention. A fake tie, the whole bit. Watch Mutt eat, and Leon feed the
geese. One thousand green business cards, with your name and the wrong address. Plus six royalty statements,
inspected and customized by Rantoon Tan, Hantoon Frammin, and DEE . . .
Followed by twelve potential suicides as the members of your group, past and present,
find out they can't collect unemployment. A dog, a car, an epidemic of body lice,
with your own record company, your name on the door, electric buzzer to the inner office,
and Ona's tits, and a three month supply of German bookings with tickets on Air Rangoon.
Does this kind of life look interesting to you? As a fake rock and roll guitar player in a comedy group?
Hunna hunna hunna
200 Motels
Ran toon han toon
Han-toon-hannnnnn!
200 Motels
I'm stealing the room!
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.
You poor thing. You want us to fix your hair for you so you look good when they find you?
Oh . . . would you?
Sure, whaddyawant? A ponytail? A flat-top with fenders?
I'm gonna die, Janet, I'm gonna O.D.! So, make me look good.
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.
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.
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 think groupies are such dirty girls.
Heh . . . I wouldn't mind sort of fucking all three of them!
Look, over there!
What?
He's doing it, he's watching us from the fake bandstand with the binoculars!
Who, the English dude?
Oh, rivet-boy!
The rivet boy? Where?
Over there, wipe that stuff out of your eyes. It looks like he's beating off.
Beating off? I knew he was a pervert.
Eww, how exciting. Hey, are you still trying to O.D.?
Yes, this definitely is the end for me! I feel so faint! So weak!
Good evening honey, that was the most imaginary collapse I've seen since last week.
Janet, do you think she's going to die?
Are you kidding? Did you see her hit the floor?
God, well it was so obviously cheap. Lift up your head, honey.
I'm going to die. This time it's real.
Listen, Lucy, we gotta get ready for our big dance number, we're going to the fake nightclub tonight.
Everything's getting dim.
Why don't you tell her a story while you put your makeup on? Good evening.
Oh. Listen, toots. I'm going to make up a nice little fairy tale for you.
The pills, the Mandrax, I took so many of them.
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 . . .
Dwarf.
. . . with a very special . . .
Swedish apparatus!
. . . that him and his friends would use in c onjunction with . . .
Bold new surgical experiments!
. . . involving . . .
A bludgeon, and a bottle of champagne . . .
. . . and a . . .
. . . microwave oven . . .
. . . from a . . .
. . . jumbo jet, one of the big jobs leased from Air Rangoon!
. . . which, when used correctly . . .
. . . can effectively increase the dimensions . . .
. . . and firepower of your . . .
. . . dick . . .
. . . to the point where . . .
. . . in some instances, it should be classified as a lethal weapon!
Your dick!
Your dick?
Your dork!
Your dork?
Your prick!
Your prick?
Your pork!
Your pork?
Who calls it a pork? These men, and the stuff they call a wee-wee!
A wee-wee?
You mean a penis, don't you?
A penis?
Penis is such an ugly word.
It's not that ugly, really.
Sure, I-I use it all the time.
Sure, sure, we all say it every once in a while. Listen:
PENIS.
Ewww!
Penis! Penis!
Ew, it sounds so revolting the way you guys say it. Ew, ka-ka.
Ka-ka!
The penis can be a very useful organ.
Yeah, and very exciting, too, once you get to know me.
Oh, yeah, right, yeah, etc . . .
Penis!
It sounds so overwhelmingly medicinal.
A penis sounds like something a doctor would have hanging off of him.
None of the men I know and love in the rock and roll business got penises. They all got cocks or dicks at least.
Sure, you want to go strap on a pop star, and he wants to stick a penis up you, where is that at?
Let's ask our studio audience!
Will you trade what he has in his pants for what I have behind this curtain?
What is it?
You mean what's in his pants?
I know what's in his pants, he's a lonely guy.
You have to choose before the big wheel stops whirling. You! Hey, buddy! Sky marshall! Go whirl the big wheel!
Can I just take the money?
There isn't any money, just the curtain and . . .
. . . the lonely guy.
Time is running out, think it over carefully.
The curtain!
I want the money.
Wait! What could it be in there?
In his pants?
In the curtain!
Doesn't anybody care what's in my pants?
Penis dimension
Penis dimension is worrying me
I can't hardly sleep at night
'Cause of penis dimension
Do you worry?
Do you worry a lot?
No!
Do you worry?
Do you worry and moan . . .
That the size of your cock is not monstrous enough?
It's your penis dimension!
Penis dimension!
Wah ooo-wah ooo-wah ooo-wah
Hiya friends. Now just be honest about it. Did you ever consider the possiblity that your penis, and in the case of
many dignified ladies, that the size of the titties themselves might provide elements of sub-conscious
tension? Weird, twisted anxieties that could force a human being to have to become
a politician!
A policeman!
A Jesuit monk
A rock and roll guitar player! A wino! You name it. Or in the case of the ladies, the ones that can't afford a silicone
BEEF-UP, they become writers of hot books
"Manuel, the gardener, placed his burning phallus in her quivering quim."
Yes, or they become Carmelite nuns!
"Gonzo, the lead guitar player, placed his mutated member in her slithering slit." Ha ha ha! Ooh . . .
Or race horse jockeys. There is no reason why you or your loved ones should suffer. Things are bad enough, without
the size of your organ adding even more misery to the TROUBLES OF THE WORLD!
Right on, right on!
Now, if you're a lady and you've got munchkin tits, you can console yourself with this age-old line from primary school:
ANYTHING OVER A MOUTHFUL IS WASTED! YES!
And isn't it the truth? And if you're a guy, and one night you're at a party and you're trying to be cool, I mean, you
aren't even wearing any underwear, you're being so cool, and somebody hits on you one night, and he looks you up
and down and he says, uh . . .
Eight inches or less?
Well let me tell you, brothers, that's the time when you've got to turn around and look that sonofabitch right
between the eyes, and you got to tell him these words:
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 '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!
The clock upon the wall
Has struck the midnight hour!
She finishes her call;
Her girlfriend's in the shower
Practisissing, Practiss, Practicing!
Half a dozen provocative squats!
Out of the shower, she squeezes her spots;
Brushes her teeth;
Shoots a deodorant spray up her twat . . .
(It's getting her, getting her
Hot--Oh-woh-woh-woh-woh-woh)
She's just twenty-four
And she can't get off,
A sad but typical case, yeah
Last dude to do her
Got in and got soft;
She blew it,
And laughed in his face, yeah!
Face, yeah!
Yeah
She chooses all the clothes
She'll wear tonight to dance in!
The places that she goes
Are filled with guys from groups,
(Yeah-yeah-yeah)
Waiting for a chance to break her pants in
PROVOCATIVE SQUATS!
(gum-me-on-m'lung-a)
PROVOCATIVE SQUATS!
(gum-me-on-m'lung-a)
PROVOCATIVE SQUATS!
(gum-me-on-m'lung-a)
PROVOCATIVE SQUATS!
(gum-me-on-m'lung-a)
Well, at least there's sort of a choice there;
Twenty or thirty at times there have been--
Somewhat desirable boys there--
Dressed really spiffy, with long hair--
Waiting for girls they can shove it right in
Well, at least there's sort of a choice there;
Twenty or thirty at times there have been--
Somewhat desirable boys there--
Dressed really spiffy, with long hair--
Waiting for girls they can shove it right in
Hello there. All the guys in the band are pretending to get ready so they can go out and find some pussy.
Oh, I wonder where the action is in this town?
Every musician likes to find some pussy.
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?
Where's my hair dryer? Got to look lovely for the girls. After all, I am Bwana Dik.
Each guy has his own speciality for getting the girl of his dreams.
I sprayed my pits . . . I put on a new tie-dye t-shirt . . . I brushed my teeth . . .
I cleaned my glasses . . .
I buffed my nails.
I bought a copy of Down Beat so I could carry it around and look like I knew what was happening.
I left my shirt unbuttoned at the top . . .
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 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 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
Or wherever the pussy is found
(Boy, do I need it!)
(Open up!)
Ooo-ooo, do you like my new car?
She's such a dignified lady
She's so pretty and soft
You can't call her a groupie
It just pisses her off
(Yeah)
She got diamonds and jewelry
She got lotsa new clothes
She ain't hurtin' for money
So that everyone knows
That she knows what she wants
Knows what she likes
Daddy, daddy, daddy . . . oooh!
Daddy, daddy, daddy
Look out . . . she's got her eyes on you
She left her place after midnight
(La la la la la)
And she drove to the club
(La la la la-ee-ah!)
You know that her and her partner
(La la la la la)
Came here lookin' for love
(La la la la-ee-ah!)
They want a guy from a group
(La la la la la)
Got a thing in a charts
(La la la la-ee-ah!)
IF HIS DICK IS A MONSTER
They will give him their hearts
'Cause they know what they want (Do it, d'ya wanna-wanna?)
And they know what they like
Daddy, daddy, daddy . . . oooh!
Daddy, daddy, daddy
Look out . . . they got their eyes on you
FAM-BAM-YAK-A-TA-TAHHH!
They know what they want
Know what they like
Daddy, daddy, daddy . . . oooh!
Daddy, daddy, daddy
Awright, you got 'em screamin' all night
(La la la la la)
Screamin' all night
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?)
[...]
(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 . . .
Oh wow, what a night. What's the matter, didn't you get any action tonight?
Didn't you used to be with the Mothers?
Yeah.
Is this what you do now?
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.
Bleagh.
What kind of a life is that?
It's not that bad! Really! I LIKE to be a monster every once in awhile!
No one will ever take you seriously after this.
Why, because I transform? I LIKE to be a monster! There's a little monster in every one of us.
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.
I TRIED to get a hit single. It drove me to drink.
Ugh.
Hoo-hoo-ha-ha . . .
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
whaddya do? Ya join the Mothers, and ya end up working for Zappa, and he makes you be a creep! You coulda played
the blues with John Mayall, or far-out exciting jazz with Blood Sweat and Tears.
You really think so?
Look. No one will ever take you seriously after this. How can they take you seriously? In this business you've either
got to play the blues or sing with a high voice.
You're right. I never should have joined the Mothers. Why, I could be a star now! Oh, when I think of all those millions of . . .
Hey.
Hot pink juicy little . . .
Hey. Listen, do you know where I can uh, get any dope in this imaginary town?
Man, there's no dope in this town. Just these vile, foamy liquids.
Well, they're fake aren't they?
No, they're real! I mix them myself at home, and then I bring them in the morning . . . secret spiritual formulas . . .
Ew, what's a secret spiritual formula?
The stuff that goes in the elixir, the potion, whatever I mix is irrelevant to the result.
You mean they're fake potions, right?
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 state. Its because I'm so spiritually evolved . . .
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?
Here. Take this back to your fake room. Drink it.
I'd feel a lot happier if there was something I could smoke.
Well, here. Dip this in it. Now, let it dry out. That ought to get you a little HIGH. Or something.
Ew, I can't take you seriously.
Look, you might as well take this too.
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.
Hello. 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?
What will I say
The next day to whatever
I drag to my hotel tonight?
(If things go all right!)
What will I say
The next day to whatever
I drag to my hotel tonight?
(Will she be outasite?)
What will this evening
Bring me this morning?
What will this evening
Bring me this morning?
A succulent fat one
A mod little flat one
Maybe a hot one (to give me the clap!)
Maybe a freak who gets off with a strap
What will I say the next day to whatever I drag to my hotel tonight?
(What will I say the next day to whatever I drag to my hotel tonight?)
If things go all right!
(If things go all right!)
What will I say the next day to whatever I drag to my hotel tonight?
(What will I say the next day to whatever I drag to my hotel tonight?)
Will she be outasite?
(Will she be outasite?)
What will I say the next day to whatever I drag to my hotel tonight?
(What will I say the next day to whatever I drag to my hotel tonight?)
If things go all right!
(If things go all right!)
What will I say the next day to whatever I drag to my hotel tonight?
(What will I say the next day to whatever I drag to my hotel tonight?)
Will she be outasite?
(Will she be outasite?)
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 n . . . Extensions! Why n . . . Extensions! Why n . . . Extensions! Why not some extended blues licks? Why not some extended blues licks?
Yeah, I gave it to him. Yeah, he went back to the special room. No, no. He's gonna smoke it.
Jeff has gone out there on that stuff!
He should have never have used the elixir and only stuck to the incense. Oh, Atlantis . . .
That was BILLY THE MOUNTAIN, dressed up like Donovan, fading out on the wall-mounted TV screen. Jeff IS flipping
out. Road fatigue! We've got to get him back to normal before Zappa finds out, and steals it, and makes him do it in
the movie!
You have a brilliant career ahead of you, my boy, Just GET OUT OF THIS GROUP!
Howard, that was Studebacher Hoch, dressed up like Jim Pons, giving career guidance to the bass player of a
rock-oriented comedy group. Jeff's imagination has gone beyond the fringe of audience comprehension.
Jeff, Jeff, it's me, the Phlorescent Leech!
Jeff, Jeff, it's me, Eddie! I'm stealing the towels! Ha ha . . . ha ha . . .
Stealing the room
Stealing the . . . Stealing the room (Stealing the room)
I'm I'm (Stealing)
Stealing Stealing
I'm I'm Stealing
This, as you might have gathered, 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
(Baaahhh . . . 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
Help all the rednecks and the flatfoot policemen
On the terrible functions they all must perform
God help the winos, the junkies, and the weirdos
And every poor soul who's adrift in the storm.
Help everybody, so they all get some action
Some love on the weekend, some real satisfaction
A room and a meal
And a garbage disposal
A lawn and a hose'll
Be strictly genteel
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
Well, it certainly has been swell . . .
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.
No . . .
We don't want you to leave that theater.
Forgive him, for he knows not what he does. But before we go on, I'd like to introduce to you . . .
On the other hand, maybe he does know . . .
. . . my good friend and musical associate, Mr. Howard Kaylan who's about to give us a closing final benediction.
They're gonna clear out the studio
They're gonna tear down all the . . .
They're gonna whip down all the . . .
They're gonna sweep out all the . . .
They're gonna pay off all the . . . (Oh, yeah!)
And then . . .
Hey hey hey, everybody in the orchestra and the chorus
Talkin' 'bout every one of our lovely and talented dancers
Talkin' 'bout the light bulb men
Camera men
The make-up men
(The fake-up men)
Yeah, the rake-up men
(Especially Herbie Cohen, yeah . . .)
They're all gonna rise up
They're gonna jump up
I said jump up
Talkin' 'bout jump right up and off the floor
Jump right up and hit the door
They're all gonna rise up and jump off!
They're gonna ride on home
And once again
Take themselves
Seriously, yeeeah!
Two, three, four, seriously
They're all gonna go home (ye-hey!)
Through the driving sleet and rain
They're all gonna go home
Through the fog, through the dust
Through the tropical fever and the blistering frost
They're all gonna go home
And get out of it as they can be, baby
And the same goes for me
(The same goes for me)
Oh, yeah!
And each and every member of this rock oriented comedy group in his own special way
Is gonna get out of it as he can be
We all gonna get wasted
We all gonna get twisted
We all gonna get wasted
We all gonna get twisted
And I am definitely gonna get . . .
REAMED
'Cause I'm such a lonely
I'm such a lonely
A lonely, lonely, talkin' 'bout a lonely guy!
Oh, and I know tonight, I am definitely . . .
I am positively . . .
I just have to get . . .
BENT, REAMED AND WASTED
A disaster area the size of Atlantic City, New Jersey!
He's making me do this, ladies and gentlemen. I wouldn't do it if it weren't for him. You noticed, all through this
material, I've been glancing over toward my left? Well, I'll tell you the reason for that, ladies and gentlemen. HE is
over there. HE is over on the left. HE is the guy that is making me do all this shit. Right over there.
Now all through this movie, every time we've been on stage, I've had to look over in that direction, right?
You saw it . . . you know. Well that's 'cause HE's over there. I've got to watch him for signs.
He jumps up and down like a jackass. I can't even believe the guy sometimes.
But we gotta watch him. "After all," we said, "it's Frank's movie."
Now, we're THE MOTHERS, but it's still Frank's movie. Let's say it, he got to paid for it,
he rented the studio, had all these cheesy sets built . . . It's so moche! I can't even stand it . . .
He's telling everybody, right now, right over there, to . . .
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
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