Tokyo Damage Report

mp3 post: stalin claus superstar: a suplex prune hittite fantasy

 

Playlist, Acts one through four (?!?):

Download here:

 

part one

part two

Buy the whole thing (4 CDs, 64-page booklet, packaged in a slick jewelry box) from Aquarius Records (search for Stalin or Schultz, y'know)


ARTIST : VA

ALBUM: STALIN CLAUS SUPERSTAR

YEAR: 2000

 

Introduction by H.P. Lovecraft

 

I went over to the Hermosa House (then headquarters of SPAM records) in the fall of 1997 with no particular agenda. I could have said, 'Let's play Parcheesi' or, 'Corb, let's make some of your famous ass-pies' and been perfectly happy. Instead, what I said was, 'Let's write a song!' Dan, Dylan, and Mink were happy to oblige, and we took turns writing down song topics. At the time, no one knew that the 'song' would grow like a polyp … first evolving into a three-page outline, then oozing and burbling into a 56-song, four act epic, sprouting 41 characters, further distending and cancerously spreading to four-year project whose pseudopods threaten to engulf us all, no, NO….

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!

Rest Of Introduction by Schultz

 

Not only epic in length (3 1/2 hours), this project (working title: "The Damn Opera") is also epic in scope: the plot ties together cutting-edge neurobiology, pro wrestling, the secrets of Stonehenge, Black Metal madness, the hidden connection between Santa and Stalin, Bronze Age tribes of the mideast, the spread of media empires via satellite communication, and of course the archaeological ramifications of the Slim Jim. Why? Why take on a musical project as insanely difficult as it is totally unnecessary? Why do something so complex as to baffle all but the most intelligent, and yet so juvenile as to alienate anyone with half a brain? So preposterous it would embarrass Wagner, yet so … well anyway. The bottom line is, "How dare we ask the unsuspecting American Consumer to buy 210 minutes of noise from a totally unknown band, that isn't even singing about chicks?"

 

The answer is simple: this opera answers the universal human questions of our age….Why do we grow old and die? How does Retin-A really work? What's in that omelet? Can a giant Weeble win the WWF title belt, and if so, how can it wear a belt? What happens if a bunch of senile Systems Analysts shoot Randy Savage's brain at an unsuspecting Iraqi plum farmer who fancies himself a Muslim Marqui Marq? Well, perhaps the answer to the last question is common knowledge these days, what with the 'internet' and all, but clearly Americans are ready to ask the other questions. If you really want to know the hidden connection between Stalinism and Stonehenge, would you trust N'Sync to provide all the answers? Garth Brooks? Deicide??? No, you'll have to turn to us– the “operageneers”!

 

Extraduction by Abbott

In a world shattered by crime and poverty, and crime, in a time of uncertainty and betrayal, one story would captivate a nation. A short three years later, this rock opera was hatched. Although we have no idea how to market a story of this scale (we toyed with the idea of copies in hotel rooms across America), and most likely this recording will be the source of our financial ruin, we hope you enjoy the life lessons presented herein. Like Homer, Scheherazade, and Michael Crighton before us, we will die penniless and reviled. But our labours will live on to speak for us. Whenever there is injustice or suffering…perhaps, in some small way, we will be the soundtrack.

 

 

 

 


to assist in comprehension of this very adult plot, We've made you a flowchart. . . . a FLOWCHART OF THE DAMNED!!!

download if you dare !!!!!!!

 


(detail of book cover art)

STALIN CLAUS SUPERSTAR, 

the COMPLETE LIBRETTO.


ACT ONE: RETIN-A FIASCO

scene one: Las Vegas


SONG ONE: Hey, Check Out Our Opera!

 


SONG TWO: Oh, Mighty Bedpan!

 

CAP'N: Oh mighty bedpan, so shiny and black

Receive the remains of my intravenous snack

Once I was praised for my kindness and purity

Now I'm here in Vegas, dying of obscurity

 

BEDPAN: Oh mighty Captain, so fat and old

You piss in my cavity; I do what I'm told

(sudden blues)

Why you treat me so mean?

Why you treat me so mean?

Why you treat me so gosh-darn mean?

I woke up this mornin'

I was full of piss

Captain, oh Captain, why you so mean?

 

CHORUS: He was, he was, he was hella hella mean!

 

BEDPAN: You've oppressed me with your fluids

Your urine, bile and poo

Telling me your tale of woe

Is the least you can do

 

CAP'N Alas, no one will listen to me but you

Behold the sad tale of Ole Cap'n Lou…


SONG THREE: Fucking Ancient Sumer,

or

The Capn’s Adolescence As A Pioneer In Shamanism

 

CAP'N: Well before Cyndi Lauper and the World Wrestling Federation

Some 4000 years prior

I was a certified shaman, in the Hittite Nation

And although you may call me a liar

I came up with the Secret of Immortality

You don't believe me? Ask the choir

CHORUS: He did, he did, he hella hella did!

 

CAP'N: In fuckin' ancient Sumer, upon the old school ground

I found old age don't cause wrinkles: it's the other way around

The older you are, the more wrinkled you get

The more wrinkled you get, the closer to death

The brain is the most wrinkliest organ you got

Its deadly folds would age a tot, if not for:

 

CHORUS: Meninges! Meninges!

 

CAP'N: Twixt skull and brain

 

CHORUS: Meninges! Meninges!

 

CAP'N: The most benevolent membrane

 

CHORUS: Absorb deadly folds, keep you from getting old, all right!

 

CAP'N: In fuckin' ancient Sumer, our enemies we'd slay

With wrinkles as our weapons, we'd pillage through the day

Using walnuts launched from catapults, their villages we'd batter

And then we'd drain the membranes that surrounded their gray matter

We'd ship it home in mason jars, across a Turkish bay

 

BEDPAN: WHICH TURKISH BAY?

 

CAP'N: An obscure Turkish bay!!

To form that immortality cream, the fantastic,

Hyperbolic

Wrinklefree

Retin-A….

The "A" is for "Albano" (Cap'n winks weakly)

 


SONG 4:“Its OK; I’m a Hittite Salesman”

or

The Free Sample Of Doom

 

 

NURSE: Ey, youse, visiting houahs ended at foah

 

SALESMAN: It's OK; I'm a Hittite salesman…

(deftly saunters past decrepit nurse into the Capn's bed)

 

Hey there, Cap'n, I've got a deal

A shiny new product with mass appeal

It stretches! It bounces! It wobbles! It bobbles!

Elastic self-aware bronze will solve all your troubles

After 4000 years a new Bronze Age is nigh

Order some now; it's in short supply

(salesman whips out remote control and activates a Hittite self-aware infomercial on the hospital TV)

 

TV SINGERS: It's elastic, it's self aware, it's bronze!

Go ahead, put some on!

 

CAP'N: I'm immobile, sick and obscure, but

This sounds too good to ignore

Tell me more!

 

SALESMAN: Here's the rub, the nub, the crux of the matter:

You've been our only Retin-A supplier

We've run out of the stuff; there's just never enough

The recipe itself is our desire

 

CAP'N: Suck my catheter, you slick talking liar!

 

SALESMAN: Elastic paper, the world's smartest bronze sandals?

Trade Retin-A, and you'll get all you can handle

Just to prove other alloys can't hold a candle

Here's a bronze band for your beard as a free sample

Just think it over, you'll see it's not wack

I'll be back soon, to draw up the contracts

 

 

TV SINGERS: It's elastic, it's self aware, it's bronze!

Go ahead, put some on!

 

 


SONG 5: Kaos In My Beard

 

CAP'N: It is more exotic than my regular beard bands… I should try it

 

BEDPAN: It's your trusty bedpan, the obsidian one. Don't do it, Captain!

 

BOTH: ` NO! YES! NO! YES!

 

BEDPAN: It’s a trap!

 

CAP'N: Don’t be a sap! It’s so advanced!

 

BEDPAN: Don’t take the chance!

 

CAP'N: Shuttup!!!….I'll put it on my beard!

…Strange, I feel….AAAAH!

( sudden Black Metal)

 

CAP'N: No shaving in the Darkness. Chaos in my beard hair

By Hittites betrayed! Rubber band is evil; self-aware!

Evil flows out from the bronze: my beard comes to life

Hairs grow long and thorny, erupting in Metal Might

 

I'm so old and fat and now I think that I've gone crazy

Won't someone please come and shave me, uh , I mean,

won't someone save me?

They're forming Black Metal bands, which keep me awake all night

 

BEDPAN: If you'd only listened to me, you wouldn't be in this plight!!

 

EVILHAIR: We're Evil Beard Hairs, animated by bronze

Torment the Captain, growing 6 feet long

Forming Black Metal bands, to play our evil songs

Shaving puny Indie Rock hairs, cus we're so fucking strong

 

Playing scary music about fuzzy druids and Vikings

Mustache hairs enslaved to serve as guitar strings:

Hear them shrieking during my epic solo

Soon the Cap'n will be extinct like the Dodo

 

EVILHAIR: Solo, dodo, solo, dodo, solo, dodo, solo, dodo!!!

 


 

SONG 6:Neener, neener!

 

GOOD INDIE HAIRS:

Good hairs, in our Indie bands

We don't try hard and are out of key

We combat metal with hip irony

Our label's ironically owned by Sony

We're good; you're bad.

We don't really mean it, yeah, yeah, yeah

 

Our songs are self referencing.

(Make that meta-self referencing),

Cus we went to college

Neener neener neener

We're good; you're bad.

We don't really mean it, yeah, yeah, yeah

 

CAP'N: I've got chaos in my beard

The racket won't stop and I'm getting a'feared

I've got such a trauma, I'll go in a Coma!

I'm sick of it all

I'm sick of it all….

What's that I hear?

 

CHORUS: A mysterious man, sneaking in from the hall…

 

 


SONG 7: Allright, You Little Comatose Maniac!!

 

HULK: All right, you little Comatose-Maniac!

 

Oh Captain, my Captain, it is I, Hulk Hogan

Who sabotaged your beard

You cannot resist, your will has been broken

By the ringing in your ears

 

CHORUS: Cap'n Lou, give up the goo!

Cap'n Lou, give up the goo!

Cap'n Lou, give up the goo!

 

HULK: You must give me, the recipe!

 

CAP'N: Mumble mumble…..

 

HULK: He's gone into a coma, this warn't part of the plan

Can't someone help me understand

The mumbles of this wretched man?

 

BEDPAN: I can! I can!

The trusty bedpan

I can decipher anyone's talking

I used to work for Stephen Hawking

Gibbering and stuttering; it's all a b-b-b-breeze

Drooling and mumbling I can handle with ease

 

HULK: Will you translate his recipes?

 

BEDPAN: This I will do, but only if you

Take me away from his poo, oh take me away from his stool

Don't abandon me to his scat, I was not meant to be shat. . .

Upon!

 

HULK: I'll take you away from his poo, I'll take you away from his stool

Remove you from his scat, just let me have that

Recipe. . .

Come on!

 

CHORUS: Oh Cap'n Lou, he gave up the goo!

Oh Cap'n Lou, he gave up the goo!

Oh Cap'n Lou, he gave up the goo!

 

 

HULK: Now I have the recipe

For immortality

 

BEDPAN: What about me? What about me?

Won't you take me away from his pee?

 

HULK: Yes. I'll set you free:

I'll throw you out the 9th floor window cus it's open

 

BEDPAN: You're a mean guy! (kerplunk!)

 

HULK: Yes! I'm Hulk Hogan!

 


Act one, scene two: Turkey


SONG 8: The Bodyslamming of the Flowcharts In Full Effect

(tone: exotic clandestine pomp)

 

CHORUS: In fuckin' modern Sumer, in what is now called Turkey,

Inside a secret Ziggurat, all dark and dank and Murky

All the Hittites gather round, to quaff the potion Hulkster found

 

HITTITES: Delicious, nutritious, quite tangy and tart

What's this? I feel wimpy and smart

Our bodies aren't immortal, something's amiss

Instead, we're morphing into systems analysts!

Using our new powers of Logical Deduction

We isolate the cause of this magical malfunction:

The Cap'n was too sick to be clearly understood

His recipe was garbled; the serum is no good

 

Fuck! Goddam, Son-of-a-Bitch! That bedpan was full of shit!

Fuck! Goddam, Son-of-a-Bitch! That bedpan was full of shit!

 

HULK: Suckers! Dupes! You drank Faux Retin-A!

You've lost all your strength, and now you're my slaves

 

ANALYSTS: Although we are too weak to fight

We can produce flowcharts correctly and right

To prove how wrong your behavior must be

 

HULK: I body slam your flowcharts (boink!!!) thusly

 

ANALYSTS: We surrender, we surrender, we'll do what you say

 

HULK: Give me your bronze and do it straight away

I'm rich, huge, with vigor and speed

There's only one other thing that I need:

 

ANALYSTS: A spatula? Bronze clogs? Elastic tarantula farm?

Self-aware eggnog? (and so forth)

 

HULK: No, no, not even close. Let me tell you what I want the most…

 

 


SONG 9: Self-Ripping Shirt Negotiations In Grueling Detail

 

HULK: (wistfully) I tear my shirt before every match

I have no time to sew and repatch

Buying so many shirts taxes my wealth

I need an elastic Shirt that repairs itself

A self-aware Shirt that tears itself

A bronze armor Shirt to protect my health

Such a good idea, I scare myself

 

CHORUS: Elastic, bronze, self-ripping Shirt!

The kind of Shirt that can't be hurt

Elastic, bronze, self-ripping Shirt!

The kind of Shirt that can't be hurt

 

ANALYSTS: But such a thing is too much work

 

HULK: You're my slaves; you don't dare shirk

 

ANALYSTS: He's too lazy to lift a finger!

 

HULK: I heard that! Now don't malinger…..on my

 

CHORUS: Elastic, bronze, self-ripping Shirt!

The kind of Shirt that can't be hurt

Elastic, bronze, self-ripping Shirt!

The kind of Shirt that's really bitchen

 

HULK: I'll free you all on one condition

 

ANALYSTS: If we bring the Shirt to fruition?

 

HULK: If you bring the Shirt to fruition

 

ANALYSTS: You'll set us all free?

 

HULK: I'll set you all free

 

ANALYSTS: You'll set us all free?

 

HULK: Yessiree!!

 

LONE HITTITE IN BACK: Hey, isn't that what he said to the Bedpan?


SONG 10:Harold’s Cufflinks Spew Advice

 

CHORUS: Harold: the Hittite of the young and plucky sort

Harold: A Hittite with secrets in his past

(His knowledge of bronze was vast)

 

HAROLD: A victim of wrestling slavery

Must become a shirt-smith to go free

If I give up my dignity, I'll sulk

But staying a slave is much too humdrum

Therein lies my conundrum

Should I make the shirt for that dumdum Hulk?

 

CHORUS: Harold: the Hittite with campy pointed ears

Harold the Hittite must hear some advice fast

(He knew just whom to ask)

 

 

HAROLD: Magic cufflinks upon my cuffs:

 

CHORUS: Are they self-aware? ( Sho ‘nuff!)

Are they good? ( Sho ‘nuff!)

Are they bronze? ( Sho ‘nuff!)

 

 

HAROLD: That's the stuff!

When times are tough, the cuffs are nice

I rub them twice, I rub them thrice

Magic words I do recite, now come to life and give me advice

 

CUFFLINKS: Here we are, the links of good

Build that Shirt, we know you should

HAROLD: Are you mad? That'd just what Hulk would intend!

 

CUFFLINKS: We've seen the future and we agree, Hulk's plan is utter stupidity

When he rips his shirt, you will see….

 

CHORUS: Revenge, revenge, he will see hella revenge!!

 

HITTITES: Sequestered in a Turkish yurt

He goes to work, to make the shirt

Or by Hulk he will be hurt and sore

 

HAROLD: A bronze technician, on a mission

Eating figs for good nutrition

Revenge on Hogan is what I'm wishin' for

Revenge, revenge, revenge!!!!

 

CHORUS: Harold the Hittite, has yet to invent sleeves

Harold's cufflinks were welded to his wrists

(He never had a bris )


Song 11: Self-Ripping Outro


ACT TWO:  HEADBANDS OF FURY!!!

Act two, scene one: Wrestling Arena, USA


SONG 11:Li’l Timmy


SONG 12:Headbands Ahoy!

 

HULK: Now I've got bronze, but without Retin-A

My vim and my vigor will soon fade away

Too dumb to plan: must I soon retire?

I need someone smart with whom I can conspire

the evil bronze made the Cap'n's beard grow mean

But it won't kill me, cus we're on the same team

My self-aware bag ties lasso my mustache

It grows huge and 'Evill' and a plot it will hatch

 

MUSTACHE: Here I appear, the Evill mustache

Bronze bag-ties keep me looking so flash

Hittites and captains I surely will thrash

 

CHORUS: Are you benevolent?

 

MUSTACHE: Balderdash!

I'm so 'Evill' it's spelled with two 'L's

Waxed like a villain with Malevolent Gel

I'll wiggle fiendishly and spit out a plan

To get Retin-A from bronze headbands

 

(cut to Hulk, in a wrestling arena, implementing his plan…)

HULK: Hey kids, it's the Hulkster, at your wrestling place

Come up to the ring with your palsied acne face

Buy my headbands, to look just like me

Elastic and bronze, for a modest fee

 

KID CHORUS: We're the zombies of Hessian descent

Our minds brainwashed by Evil Bronze intent

We used to be pimply (PEEMPLEY!) and sexually repressed

Now we are bitchenly (BEETCHENLY!) and bandedly dressed

Slaves to the headbands' (HEADBANDS!) every request

Now our parents (PARENTS!!) are getting depressed


SONG 13:Headband Hair: an ABC After-School Special

 

(cut to a house where frightened parents are discussing their kid's headband habit. The kid is watching the Hulk Hogan song on TV which plays in the background….)

 

PARENTS: Johnny's just not the same anymore…

Is he on drugs again? Watching wrestling in the den

 

CHORUS: Wrestling in the den!

 

PARENTS: Is he gay, does he have the vapors?

His greasy mullet is shiny and tapered

 

CHORUS: Mullet is shiny and tapered!

 

PARENTS: He's listening to loud rock bands, and always wearing those headbands

We'll break into his room, and catch him not a moment too soon

(parents break down the door)

We know you've been wearing headbands in there!

 

JOHNNY: My head is bare, you're being unfair!

 

DAD: Don't lie to me son, you've got Headband Hair!

 

JOHNNY: But dad, parents just don't understand

All the kids are wearing Evill Mind Control Headbands

 

MOM: You shouldn't be Evill, it's a darn shame

 

JOHNNY: Aw Mom, 'Evill' is just a brand name

 

POP: Boy, your hair is the lawn of the mind

You should go get a mow or I'll spank your behind

 

MOM: Where did you learn this behavior– from that wrestler on the tube?

 

JOHNNY: No Mom and Dad– I learned it from you!!!

 

CHORUS: From you, from you, he learned it all from you!

 

JOHNNY: Your hippie headbands are three inches wide

Corduroy halos with bells on the side

You can't make me stop. I'll die before I doff

 

CHORUS: Die before he doffs!

HEADBAND: (squish!)


SONG 14: Dumb Gladiatorial Link

or

‘Scampering Down The Aisle!’

 

CHORUS: So the obliging headband squeezed

Shattered his skull and sucked out meninges

As it scampered away, Pops was heard to exclaim:

 

POP: Hey, come back with my son's brain!

 

That's it, young man! You've lain pantsless, with a fractured skull and no meninges on my floor for the last time! I'm sending you off to Military Schoooooooooooollllllll!!!!!

 

CHORUS: Meanwhile back at the geriatric wrestling arena

Hulk's getting trounced cus Gene Okerlund is meaner

 

MEAN GENE: Hulk, you are weak! In the tooth you are long

I will piledrive you, and so forth and so on

I am about to pin you but you toothlessly smile

Looking at headbands scampering down the aisle

Like a horde of lemmings, trailing deceased mullets

From hordes of teen boys whose membranes you pull-ed

 

MEAN GENE AND HULK:

Scampering down the aisle!

Scampering down the aisle!

Scampering down the aisle!

Scampering down the aisle!

 

 

HULK: Allright, you little meninge-maniacs!

I am your new overlord and crave you as a snack

Whilst your parents consult a mortician

My cannibal plannin' will come to fruition

The Cap'n's recipe is not the only one

Bulk meninges should get the job done

I'll suck you all up and try not to vomit

Then de-age-ify and trounce my opponent

 

MEAN GENE: Doggone it! (whump!!)

 


SONG 15: Meninge O.D.

 

CHORUS: His wrinkles are gone

But the process ain't done

He loses his arms, legs and scrotum

For what are limbs but wrinkles writ large?

 

HULK: I proved the Reaper

Is escapable

I'm not even dead, just handi-capable

Can't drive a car, I must take the barge!

 

CHORUS: For Hulk OD'ed

On meninges

Now a shiny oval, and wrinkle-free

With an army of arms, he's still in charge

 

HULK: Yes, I OD'ed on meninges

I'm a shiny oval, and wrinkle-free

With 'Evill' headbands to control my slave people….

 

SLAVES: He's the sphere that we fear, the Wrestling Weeble!

 

HULK: For I am the Hulkster, triumphant and feeble

 

SLAVES: He's the sphere that we fear, the Wrestling Weeble!

 

HULK: Yes, who needs arms when slaves feed me

Who needs legs when slaves drag me and need me

Buying headbands for loads of cash

 

MUSTACHE: All thanks to me, the Evill Mustache

 

HULK: And although I'm rolling in dough

I never fall down, I'm a Weeble you know

 

SLAVES: He's the sphere that we fear, the Wrestling Weeble!

 

MUSTACHE: Who needs arms when you've got double-l 'Evill?'

 

HULK: I've got an army of arms, much more than Kali

A Navy of legs that's on Shore like Pauly

A Flotilla of Mullets, all according to plan

Surrounded by the headbands, fiendish headbands

 

SLAVES: You are the Man!

 

HULK: Tell me again

 

SLAVES: You are the Man!

 

HULK: You are so bland, I am so grand

 

SLAVES: You are the Man!

 

HULK: I devour your meninges to increase my life span

 

SLAVES : You are the Man!

 

HULK: But I overdosed and now I resemble a yam

 

SLAVES: You are the Yam!

 

HULK: Shut up

 

SLAVES: You are the Yam!

 

HULK: Shut up, shut up!!

 


 

Act two, scene two: Peat Bog


SONG 16: Slim Jim Interlude

 

DR. SAVAGE: Meanwhile, 3 hundred million years ago upon the arctic tundra of the Lost Continent of Pangaea…. Gigantic Slim Jims roamed the tundra in herds 400,000 strong and thirty foot high ….ruling the earth by default, in the Pre-Beef era, feasting on Monosodium Glutamate. With the coming of reptiles and the Precambrian age, the Slim Jims were lost to history, and no one knows why… until now!

 

DEAN: Yes, yes, Mister Savage, this is known to us. If you want us to make you a full Professor of Glutemological Archeology, you'll have to present a new theory.

 

SAVAGE: Naturally, I didn't acquire my 17 degrees in phenomenology and various snack-related disciplines through shoddy research. In fact, I have brought along a crack team of Archaeological Choir Singers to read from my dissertation.

(sounds of Archaeological choir bursting in…) and a one-two-three-four…

 


SONG 17: Monosodium Glutemate’s Lament

 

 

ARCHAEOLOGICAL CHOIR SINGERS (ACS):

Randy Savage's 17th doctoral dissertation

Randy Savage's 17th doctoral dissertation

Randy Savage's 17th doctoral dissertation

Randy Savage's 17th doctoral dissertation…

 

Here come the Slim Jims, to get me, to get me

Because we open up their taste buds, their taste buds

Once we were the lords of all the Glutamates

Raised from the earth by mighty earthquakes

Now these giant cylinders are sucking us away

Lodged inside their duodena, we'll surely make them pay

 

There go the Slim Jims, they migrate, they migrate

Rush into the peat bog, to rehydrate, rehydrate

Our salty ways will be their demise

They'll sink into the peat never to rise

Victims of their own gluttony

Preserved in peat for eternity

 

SAVAGE: Giant tubes of ancient meat

Lying dormant in the peat….. right there in the peat.

 

ACS: No more of Slim Jims, they're sinking, they're sinking

Without enough water, they're shrinking, they're shrinking

To reach their present size of six inches or so

I can prove it, if you'll only go

To the peat bog excavation, where we've dug a ditch

 

DEAN: A peat bog? Which?

 

ACS: (making ominous Ice Cube gestures) West side peat, bitch!

 

DEAN: Your research is very impressive, Mr. Savage.. but if you want the title, you still have to beat me! I'm the Western Division Archaeological Champ, and I'll never give up the belt. Never…! You want a piece of me, Tiny?

 

 


SONG 18:Fighting Music Ensues

 

 


SONG 19: Demise of the Grudge Wielding, Visor laden, Grappling Hurrian

 

 

SAVAGE: I'm the baddest, the biggest, the best

I've passed every wrestling test

Once I've consumed these petrified snacks

No Hittites can withstand my attacks

For they dissed my people, and I still carry a grudge

4000 BC I think it was…

They made Sumer a Hurrian-Free Zone

Now all the stores are Hittite owned.

Yes, I'm a descendant from that Hurrian Clan:

A grudge-wielding, visor-laden Grappling Hurrian!

 

ACS: Aww, yeah, he's a grudge-wielding, visor-laden, grappling Hurrian!

 

SAVAGE: They used to be mighty buff, but now they're systems analysts

They can not even fight back and now I bet they really wish

They never would have dissed this man:

 

ACS: A grudge-wielding, visor-laden Grappling Hurrian!

 

SAVAGE: As I now approach the pete, I see them beating a retreat

I'll Snap Into a Hittite and hear the blood squeak

To complete their defeat as only I can:

 

ACS: A grudge-wielding, visor-laden Grappling Hurrian!

 

SAVAGE: With my Professor's title belt I look ever so much wiser

You call me the Wrestling King, if not the Grappling Kaiser

Observing my prey from beneath my visor….I am

 

ACS and SAVAGE TOGETHER:

A quintessential Hurrian!

 

SAVAGE: Come out from the bog, I see you're hiding

I'm bitter like grog, I care only for fighting

Stronger than Samson and malignant like a tumor

I'm taking you out then I'll take back Ole Sumer

When I heave my faux meat, I'll blow you all up…

Hey–the Slim Jims are gone? What the fuck?

 


SONG 20:Flowcharts of the Damned

 

ANALYSTS: We've got your Slim Jims, and you are too late

Hittites you should never und'restimate

Though we are feeble, our IQ is great

We, not you, have found the Slim Jim's true fate:

(to Ex-Dean) We've computed questions he posed to the peat

And found his thesis is somewhat incomplete

 

EX-DEAN: (vaguely optimistic) Eh??

 

CHORUS: It was, it was, it was hella incomplete!

 

HITTITES: The Slim Jim analysis was no less than valiant

Conclusions are sound; our data are salient!

 

CHORUS: Hella, hella salient! (shouldn’t that be ‘SAY-lee-ent?’)

 

HITTITES: And now, Dr. Savage, you'll swallow the bitterest of intellectual pills:

Behold the Flowchart!

 

SAVAGE: (suddenly genial)Yes, thank you, I will!

 

Egad, it appears that my theories were wack

I've misjudged this tiny yet formidable snack

I knew they were gamy, I knew they were old

I knew when snapped into, they make shit explode

But I put two and two together, I made just three

 

HITTITES: Read on, Dr. Savage, and you will soon see…

That it makes four!

 

SAVAGE: Now I see how two and two make four

Their AGE causes wrinkles and wrinkles galore

A giant-sized beastie from the eons of yore

You find now for six inches in the store

With its volume so compressed and compact

The wrinkles release the pressure when snapped

The brilliant conclusion that Hittites make mentally:

The 'snapping' is caused by increase in age and entropy!

(suddenly regaining former bluster):

These are but theories, they lack the proof

'Sides, you're all boozy and reek of vermouth

I will win this dispute by force that is brute

Now feel the phat pain of my fringe-bearing boots

 

HITTITES: Before you start, please check the final chart:

An experiment in which you play a part

A decision tree in Appendix B

Peruse the might of our Systems Theory.

 

SAVAGE (reading aloud):

'Is Macho Man a Hurrian devil?

Yes, then proceed on to the next level

When Slim Jims are hurled at him and do they connect?

If so, move on to the box called 'Check….

Results': Does he morph to a codger or coot?

This would complete this science-type proof

Killing 'the Randy' with his peat bog-pieces…'

 

HITTITES: We vanquish his ass while we vanquish his thesis!

 

DR. SAVAGE: You vanquish my ass while vanquishing my thesis??

 

HITTITES: We vanquish your ass while we vanquish your thesis!

You thought you were tough, and bulky and mannish,

Now see how you cower 'fore the Slim Jims we brandish!

 

Eureka, a-ha, huzzah and yahoo!

He grows bald, incontinent and glazed with drool

We've aged that Doctor and in record time

 

WESTERN-DIVISION (EX-) CHAMP/ DEAN:

Don't call him 'Doctor!'

That punk is debunked, that title is mine!

 

(awkward pause)

 

Anyway….

 

 


SONG 21: Bring On The Mirrors

 

HITTITES: Bring on the mirrors, the crack reflection troop

To lock Randy's wrinkles in an endless feedback loop

They're superbly engineered, neither convex nor concave

(We've been hiding them for years in our secret enclave)

You see, Slim Jims cause wrinkles, by releasing 'wrinkle-rays'

Trapped 'tween you and the mirrors these rays ricochet

 

Growing in power because of feed BACK

Savor the irony of being slain by your snack

Where once were mere wrinkles are now furrows and trenches

We may be wimpy but we're some mental menches

As the system finally reaches critical mass

We tilt the mirrors away from your sorry-ass ass

Releasing a wrinkle-ray like you've never seen

 

ONE CHORAL MEMBER:

Uh, it might be easier if we called it a.. WRINKLE BEAM!!

 

CHORUS: A beam, a beam, a biggety-biggety beam!

 

HITTITES: In geo-synchronous orbit, very very high

Our satellite is awaiting your energy supply

From it we will harness that mighty beam

And target our foes with our wrinkle-machine

 

Gather 'round, young-uns, watch this Hurrian lose

And just think; it's his very own wrinkles we'll use

To kill the remainders of his wannabe tribe

It's their own rumpled medicine they'll have to imbibe

Had we never drank the faux Retin-A

We'd never be smart enough to create Ye Olde Wrinkle-Ray

 

Hulk has betrayed us but we couldn't be more chipper

Now we can force him to bring us our slippers!

But first we must have an anti-Hurrian attack,

Our satellite smites their descendants in Iraq

This wrinkle-ray…

 

CHORUS: "…beam"

 

HITTITES: …Will settle our grudge

Those consarn Hurrians from Sumer we'll budge

 

CHORUS: You mean they 'will' budge, as in, "Their budging is inevitable?" Or rather, 'we'll budge' as in "We Hittites will accomplish the budging rather than some other tribe?"

 

HITTITES UP IN THE SATELLITE:

Fire up yonder wrinkle-ray!

 

CHORUS: (now absurdly old): Ahhh! Get off our lawn! My name hurts!

 

HITTITES: Initiate Hurrian-budging procedure… now!


Act two, scene three: Iraq


SONG 22:Geosynchronous Revenge on the Hip-Hop Hurrian

or

Plum Harvest of the Other Damned

 

 

YMP: I'm Young Man Plum; I'm strapping; I'm youthful

Whenever I need plums, I just grab me a toothful

My plums are bountiful; townsfolk say I'm wacky

Just cus I move more bowels than any other Iraqi

I dance and backflip all across't my orchard

Little dreaming my life will become pure torture

I eat more jello than Eric Boucher

But

There's a suture in my future:

Huh!

There's a suture in my future:

Huh??

 

I walk in the sand, I hang low my khakis

Like a Muslim Marky-Mark, it could be construed as tacky

My plums I have harvested, they form a huge mound

With Other People's Plums I am seldom down

Yeah, you know me!

Fuck O.P.P.!

Plums is the product of which I slang,

I'm the last of the Hurrians and Hittites can't even hang

Laxative maker for the whole damn House of Tudor

But there's a suture in my future

Huh!

There's a suture in my future

 

Huh?

Holy shit, I must be straight trippin'

There's a beam from the sky and boy is it zippin'

I must hide behind my plums since they are so mighty

Lest I become a smite-ee

 

CHORUS (to the tune of Mozart's Eine Kleine Nachtmusik):

Say what? Say what? Say what, say what, say what?

Say what? Say what? Say what, say what, say what?

 

(smiting occurs, perhaps with exciting sound effect such as 'Bzzzzt!')


SONG 23:Down With O.M.P.

 

YMP… I mean OMP:

A smite-ee, that's me, meaning one who has been smited

But what's worse, my whole orchard's been blighted

 

HITTITES (looking down from satellite):

You hip-hop-Hurrian, we're thusly delighted!

 

OMP: Cus now I go by the name of Old Man Prune,

The smite-ee once sprightly but now wracked and ruined

Insane with grief and plottings of doom

The kids all laughing at Old Man Prune

I have hair in my ears and a crease down my back

But my plums bore the brunt of this mysterious attack

Now I've got a crop of lethal-ass prunes

Stark and malignant amongst the dunes

 

Yup, now I go by the name of Old Man Prune

Plotting revenge with one foot in the tomb

Crotchety and feeble, and long of tooth

It must be them Hittites who have stolen my youth

They always fought dirty, they never fought fair

That's how they took Sumer, way way before Voltaire

This wrinkle devastation shall be their undoing

Cus these super-potent prunes I am vengefully stewing

The juice I produce will set lost some mad havoc

The puree is Pure Old, so they'll age automatic

Carving phat wrinkles like a drill so pneumatic

I'm too old for this Prune-funk, my heart's getting erratic

Turn down the bass, sonny, it's far too emphatic!!

 

Ahem.

Too old for hip hop, now country I croon

Wearing Depends not fruit of the loom

Observe my face, adorned with much gloom

I'm aware of the irony of being called Old Man Prune

 

So how will I live to deploy my revenges? eh??

Retin-A can save me! It's made from meninges

Cap'n Lou has the goo, he's over the sea

I'm old but I'm bad, he best give it to me

Threatened with the Juice, he'll be ready for tradin'

So it's off to America, better known as The Great…

 

BUTTHOLE SURFERS: ‘SATAN, SATAN, SATAN….’

 


SONG 24:Elves In Our Midst!

 

 

RANDOM HITTITE/ SYSTEMS ANALYST-HITTITE SENTRY:

Hey, Sentry Bob

You shouldn't lie down on the job

You've got sharpened candy canes in your back

Hey, Sentry Bob,

You look quite roughshod

You've got a tinsel tourniquet around your neck

Clearly you've been hated

And asphyxiated

Your whole head has been quite frosted

Using my common sense

I weigh the evidence

By elven ways you seem accosted!

 

 

CHORUS: He was, he was, he was hella hella accosted!

 

SENTRY: Sentry Bob, you're shoddy:

Randy Savage's body, you have unsuccessfully guarded

The skull's in twain, someone has stole the brain,

And this assailant has departed.

No foreigner could sneak up on a Hittite like this

I conclude that there must be… elves in our midst?!?

 

MANY SYSTEMS ANALYSTS/ HITTITES SIMULTANEOUSLY:

Elves in our midst!

By elves we have been dissed

They have stolen Randy's brain

And it surely shall be missed

 

Elves in our midst!

Their ears we shall twist

Boy oh boy we are so pissed

At Elves in our midst!

 

Elves in our midst!

Perhaps too many to list

Our paranoia grows

Like a malignant cyst

 

Elves in our midst!

We will pound you with our fists

And, if necessary, our wrists

With your wives we shall have some trysts

Your foreskins we shall bris

You'll wish what thou didst

Was different than, uh…. what thou didst….

 

LONE HITTITE IN BACK, AGAIN: Who are we talking about again?

 

 

HITTITES: ELVES IN OUR MIDST!

 


ACT THREE: INDIE MIGHT? INDIE HITTITE!

Act three, scene one: Viper Room, Hollywood, CA

 


SONG 26:MTV News Brief

 


 SONG 27: As Seen On Oprah

or

‘Reupert Rears His Ugly Head’

 

BLACK METAL SPOKESHAIR ( HAMPTON):

We've been on Oprah, we've been on Jerry Springer

We're rich, famous, bona fide rock stars

We're even bigger than Warrant or Weezer or Winger

Dragging the Cap'n's body into exclusive bars

Models with beards in lieu of apparel

Make black metal a leading hate-couture name

When they run down runways we clock runaway dinero

Plus there's lunchboxes, T-shirts, and Satanic toy trains

 

We're invading you with billboards, and ads and facsimiles

Like modern day Vikings ( now there's a black simile!)

 

We're bigger than God; bigger than the Beatles

Spit on Christ and his puny goatee

We're in league with the rasslin' weebles

Kicking ass like L.L. did Kool Moe Dee

We're so well connected we got more cables than hairs

With accounts at every major ad agency

Tanning ourselves in the media glare

If you want to deal, we'll call you; don't call we!

 

Don't call we, don't call we, don't call we, we'll call you

Whoever knew, that we would be, so fucking huge, but it's true,

So don't call we!!

 


SONG 28:Cred Galore (Don’t Call Wee Part Two)

 

INDIE HAIR: Hold on there, Hessian, that's only half the story

You Black Metal hairs are hogging all the glory

We too are famous, with maximum cred

Every fanzine prints dumb things that we said

We've got better things to do than to bang with our heads

Why, there's piercing and speed chess and coffee instead

Get off our chin, you're wrecking our scene

Using distortion cus your guitar playing is un-keen

So un-keen!

 

You're macho, adolescent and way too low-brow

Wish you were Indie but you lack the know-how

We scoff at your demons and smirk at your trolls

And sing about deep stuff we find in our souls

Your Goblin-ridden lyrics are way too AD&D

With charisma of 9 and Intelligence 3. . .

Intelligence 3!

We are so indie!!!

While you merely tune to 'D'!!

So we'll call you , don't call we! ! ! !

 

Don't call we, don't call wee, don't call weeeeeeeeeeeeee etc….


 

 

SONG 29:Metal Rebuttal

Your rockin's enfeebled by your high wussy quotient

Unlike us you lack the Metal devotion

We'll sacrifice you and your whole damn contingent

Wounds we inflict will require much more than an astringent

You call us sellouts but your dads are all lawyers

We'll burn down your mansion and torch your foyers

Writing sensitive songs from your comfy verandas

Won't stop until you're endangered more so than the panda

 

(beep, beep)

 

WHISPERING HAIRS: But…. he's calling we!!!

Shh, shh, it's ok, it's…. him!


SONG 30: Loser Gets Shaved!

 

RUPERT MURDOCH ON CELL PHONE:

Hi fellas, it's me, the Murdoch called Rupert

I love what you're doing; this hair music thing

I jump from scene to scene like a capitalist Q*Bert

But I don't hear songs, I just hear (Ka-ching!)

I care not for your tunes, preferring Kenny Loggins

But my greatest devotion is reserved for the lucre

Your fans have more in their pockets than noggins

Let's make a butt-load of cash off these losers!

A pay-per-view fight on TV is what I crave….

My media blitz will have everyone caring

A battle of the bands, where the loser gets shaved!

Then I'll steal all the profits like I was Malcolm MacLaren…

 

VARIOUS HAIRS: But Rupert, look close now, we're just tiny hairs

Spatially speaking, we're musical lint

Try and film that and nobody will care

Folks would rather tune out than constantly squint

 

RUPERT: But this is the first pay per view special in history

filmed in the milieu of electron microscopy

My henchfolk and minions supply the technology

we'll settle this feud twixt you dudes for all time

and the winner receives….. this shiny new dime!

 

HAIRS TOGETHER:

This sounds like a plan that will aid all of we

For once the beard hairs of each scene agree

Since we're so tickled about our impending cash

Let's all get together and torment the mustache!

Yeah.

 

 


SONG 31:The Beard O Garchy (Down With It!)

or

‘An Irate Hair I!’

 

STACHE: Down with the Beard-o-garchy

It's a big old face, with plenty of room for we

Let the mustache roam shaggy and free

Let my people grow

 

What's the problem, what's the big hassle?

They don't bother ear hairs who hang long like tassels

If the Cap'n was living and able to rassle, he'd say:

'Let my people grow!'

 

The Beard-o-garchy is logically unfair:

Are we not also facial hair?

Must we be treated as Agents of Nair?

Let my people grow!

 

Whether Indie or Metal, they all keep us cut

For guitar strings we are ruthlessly plucked

Used as sotter for amps that are fucked

Let my people grow!

 

HORST: An Irate hair I; My name is Horst

I hunger for liberation like Khrushchev for borscht

I think the beard is, like, the worst!

Here's why revolution is the cause I endorse…

 

I was born a lowly working hair in the droopiest section of the stache… Since the coming of the Evil Self-Aware Bronze beard Bands, the beard hairs rampage nightly through, turning our sleepy little hamlet into a violent DMZ…. the reactionary beard brigades and their hot oil treatments… the running-dogs of the beard-o-garchy…taking my family to labor in their underground salt mines, the bourgeois oppressors try to crush us under their steel toed boots, er, roots, but from this day forth I say, arise O stache hairs! Viva La Revolution!!

 

STACHE HAIRS IN GENERAL:

Our list of complaints is quite stout

We must deal with soup and snot from the snout

"Free moustache rides": what's that all about?

In the schools it's always the beard they tout

With bronze on their side they hog all the clout

Beard-o-garchy has us down but not out

Perhaps we will attract sympathy with our catchy shout:

"let my people grow!"


SONG 32: The Trade-Off

or

‘Face-Down in a Booth at the Viper Room’

 

CHORUS: Face down, face down, face down, face down….

Face down in the booth at the Viper Room!

 

OMP: At last I've found him, ole Cap'n Lou!

Face down in a booth in the Viper Room

Now's my chance, I'll wake him and trade

My prune juice for his Retin-A

Cap'n wake up! Acknowledge my greeting

Your beard is in motion, I know you're not sleeping

 

MUSTACHE ( to self): This old codger still thinks Lou's self-aware

And the beard's too busy networking to care

While it wheels and deals and sells commemorative plates

We'll speak for the Cap'n by controlling his face

(to OMP): Ahem…

Yes, I'm awake from my decadent stupor

You look like someone who's angry about Sumer

I have some bad news but you must not be wroth

I have no Retin-A to trade for your broth

By traitorous Hittites it was recently stolen

No doubt you'll find it at the crib of one H. Hogan

To get directions from me is quite simple:

I don't need all your juice, just give me a thimble

Full

 

OMP: Gadzooks, what a deal!

 

MUSTACHE: DA, KOMRADE… uh… er…..”You're darn tootin!”'

 

OMP: I'll write his address down in this here Newton.

Right here in my Newton…yes, but it's not computin'

What's wrong with my Newton? My po' li'l Newton?

It's not recognizing my writing: its' performance is abysmal,

It makes me feel like smiting the screen with my chisel

Cus I still know cuneiform, this plastic tablet I will adorn

With the geographical data. Consider this test a beta

But alas my chisel acts as a Bronze Age missile

Cracking the LCD, covering my hands with mercury….

They're swelling and popping and nasty little things..Oh, God!! Eh… Aaaah!!! Why can't someone market a decent, user-friendly palm-top PC to Bronze-Age Hurrian warriors??!? I've had it! I'm gonna write a letter to the God-King of my city-state!! I'm gonna tell 'em that even Palm Pilots work these days…

I'M GOING RIGHT TO THE TOP OF THE ZIGGURAT, BABY!!!!!!


SONG 33:A Daring Young Bristle

 Or

‘A Phone Most Cellular’

 

'STACHE CONCLAVE CHORUS (SCC):

To the Cap'n's nasal enclave,

The secret mustache revolutionary conclave

Has come

In the mountainous septum

In the valley of the philtrum

We seek the chosen one….

 

LEADER: A daring young bristle, with the greatest of ease

To steal a phone from the beard-o-garchy

A fearless young stubble hard as an OG

Who will that chosen one be?

 

A daring young bristle…. a hair in the rough!

Armed with a scant thimble of prune-juicy stuff

ALL ALONE IN OUR ENEMIES' LAIR

TO STEAL A PHONE IS WHY HE IS THERE

 

SCC: That plain will fail!

It's beyond the pale!

It's to no avail!

Beard hairs will prevail!

 

LEADER: But we're underground rebels, we don't have to fight fair!

Even six foot of banded, beard hair

Can have its phone jacked if taken unawares

If doused with prune juice, it will quickly despair!

 

SCC (more sprightly this time):

If it's prune-juic-ed

So mightily sluice-d

Your plan is quite lucid!

It's far from stupid!

 

HUMPTY HUMP(jumping into the stache somehow):

I use a word that don't mean nothin' like "Loopdid!"'

 

ALL: A daring young bristle, that's who we need

A hair in the rough, but who will he be?

A psycho li'l strand, a stache kamika-zeeee…

 

HORST: That hair is me!!

My name is Horst!

 

SCC: His name is Horst!

 

HORST: I know I can!

 

SCC: He knows he can!

 

HORST: I'm a die-hard fighter like Moishe Dyan

 

HORST: My name is Horst!

 

SCC: His name is Horst!

 

HORST: I know I can!

 

SCC: He knows he can!

 

HORST: I got more moxie than Hothead Paisan

But what does a phone have to do with the plan?

 

LEADER: We'll phone the lone Hittite who to Lou remains loyal

He learns of all their plots, the better to foil

 

HORST: But he's been of no use to us so far!

 

LEADER: Because he knows not where we are

He'd help us save our stubbley necks

If we could only phone him

 

HORST Collect?

 

LEADER: Correct.

 

BOTH: If only we could phone him collect!

 

LEADER: If we could phone him, then we could tattle

How we're getting OMP and Hulkster to battle

When they kill each other, no one's left to defend

That precious Retin-A, our means to an end

We'll send him to Hulk's joint to swipe

The Hessian-derived membranes of eternal life

Our Hittite spy could then deliver it that very night

And save the Cap'n who'll set this shit right

 

REGULAR CHORUS: . . . (because they’re watching Star Trek: The Next Generation)

 

LEADER: But now the beard hair domination

Is ironically the key to our salvation

Famous, rich, evil bronze and 'self-a-wear'

They now are possessed of a phone most cell-u-lar

 

BEARD HAIRS: We're possessed of a phone most cell-u-lar

 

LEADER: They're possessed of a phone most cell-u-lar

 

BEARD HAIRS: We're wheeling and dealing on our phone most cell-u-lar!

 

LEADER: Absorbed as they are in their rock-star hubris

They won't expect a stache hair bold enough to do-this…

Are you hair enough to do this?

 

HORST: I am stone cole ruthless!

 

SCC: Are you hair enough to do this?

 

HORST: I'll ambush him like I was Brutus

 

SCC: Are you hair enough to do this?

 

HORST: The beard-o-garchy's the crudest

But I am the shrewdest

I'm hair enough to do this daring stuff

I'm haaaaaaaaaair Enouuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuugh!

 

SCC: His name is Horst, he knows he can, etc. …


 

SONG 34: Winnie the Pooh’s Unwitting Beard-Gaffling Progeny

 

HORST: Cellular, cellular, cellular phone

We must jack it; the beard will not loan

Our salvation lies in that dial tone

Of the cellular, cellular, cellular phone

 

A dashing young hair with steel cojones

Not unlike 'Rambo' as played by Stallone

By braving the mayhem of the beard zone

Will jack the most cellular of phones

 

By cover of darkness, the chin I will roam

Seeking a beard hair slipping, all alone

The prune juice will sluice and as he dies he groans

"You're jacking the most cellular of phones"

 

METAL HAIR: Okay, Chip, here’s the deal: My name… on the cover…bigger than Whitney Houston… or the deal’s off!!! Plus, sell all my hatchet stocks, or… ahh…AIEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!

 

HORST: My will is pure and my skills finely honed

I've completed my mission; I've made my bones

Help is on the way now that I own

The most self-aware, cellular, cellular of phones.


Act three, scene two: Secret Hideout

 


SONG 35: Hessian Head Harvest

 

HULK: Calling all zombies, it's El Commandante Hogan!

Inviting you to the bitchen-phat party I'm hostin'

It's in my secret hideout, down by the docks

(sotto voice) And clearly on the level, not some sinister plot

 

The black metal bands and the beer are all free

You will all get 'faced, courtesy of me

Just BYOB–bring your own brain

( for reasons I am loath to explain)

 

HESSIANS: O Mighty Dude, we hear and obey

Flocking to the shindig, the wingding, the soiree

With brews and babes and Metal galore

 

HULK: (Exploiting your dreams to kill you with gore)

 

Acne is your curse, and rockin's your mission

For headbanging ease, get into position

With your noggin just over this trough

(Through which your meninges shall soon slough)

 

HESSIANS: Hessian Head Harvest: the ultimate high

Party with Hulk: your band it draws nigh

Hessian Head Harvest: A young stoner's dream

Turn teen membranes to Retin-A cream!

 

HULK'S EVILL MUSTACHE:

To me you're all suckers, rubes and bumpkins

It's like Halloween and your heads are like pumpkins

I'll carve them open using my Evill headbands

That will all contract, gooshing out your head glands

And your misfortune shall become my good luck:

As the trough turns into the world's first

Meninge Aqueduct

 

CHORUS: Wouldn't it be simpler to call it a 'meningeduct?'

 

HULK: Yes, but I've never been a simple man. That's why they call me 'Hulk.'

 

Take it away, Mr. Ducty!

 

 


 

SONG 36: Meningeduct Aria

 

MENINGEDUCT: The duct is a fine Roman tradition

Using gravity to transport liquid is bitchen!

But I alone epitomize the true purpose of this invention:

Taking zombie membranes to an underground kitchen!

 

SLAVES: All hail the majesty of the duct!

 

MENINGEDUCT: Here Thor's minions will turn this mental flotsam

To the finest Retin-A concoction

Soon I will extend over hills and peaks

Overflowing with meninges; the envy of the ancient Greeks

 

Yes! I am truly the mightiest aqueduct! Isn't that right, master? Mightier than the ducts of emperor Augustus, or even Vespayzeean!! (Or even the much maligned Nero, whose destruction of Rome not withstanding, built the almost-as-mighty ducts which carried clear alpine waters to the heart of downtown Thessalonia)but not as mighty as I, Mr. Meningeduct!! For my construction is of the finest moartar, lined with the most colorful Legos! Yes!

All shapes and sizes!

Hail me and my legos of might!!!

 


SONG 37: It’s on (Cap’n 187 ‘um)

 

BLACK METAL BAND:

Destroy the Captain and his punk-ass minions

(We Vikings hold such strong opinions)

I'm a 9th level Metaller with spikes by the score

Ungifted by Santa, I now worship Thor

My heart is as black as the coal in my stocking

Tear Lou a new hole that can't be fixed by mere caulking

Immortal Hulkster, he lived in days of yore

Doing deeds so mighty he earned the nickname 'Thor'

 

We unite under him to destroy the poser-god Santa

Float like the Hindenburg, sting like a manta

187 Cap'n, that's our mantra

 

Hogan!

The Mighty!

Bloody canvas in the sky

Turnbuckles of fury

Thunder god suplex of Northern darkness

Swinging the hammer: the ref isn't watching!

Relish the Albano agony

Mustache of infernal blasphemy

 

Norse god of old returns to us, a titan in Spandex!

 

Snowcapped suburbs:

Windswept and riddled with wolves

Please witness dark deeds of infernal torment::

Lamb's blood on your doorstep and then run!

Roaring thunder of steroid abuse:

Return of the Odin-son!

It's on, motherfucker!!!

 

187'um

 

Lou's giving of gifts in yon middle ages

Started the Santa cult which still rages

We'll devour him like macrophages

Cus we operate under Thor's aegis

We unite under him to destroy the poser-god Santa

Float like the Hindenburg, sting like a manta

 

187 Cap'n, that's our mantra!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 


SONG 38: Orchestral Manouvres in the Prune

 

HULK: At last, (at last!) my plan is complete

The Hessian Head Harvest draws nigh

My thirst (my thirst!) for Retin-A

The meninge-duct will supply

But wait (but wait!), my hessians age

They tremble and crumple to dust

I hate ( I hate) whomever did this

I am extremely nonplused!

 

OMP: You wretched egg-man, it is I in my dotage

It's Old Man Prune, who has foiled you, in, uh… my dotage….

I spiked your beer vat with lethal-ass prune juice

Killed all your slaves now they're of no use

You've got mad phat Retin-A while I have but none

But by your own greed you are undone

Cus you OD'ed and now resemble a plum

And can't even stop me as I steal it by the ton

By the bushel, the hogs-head, even by the furlong

I'll be smooth and sprightly again, ere long

Young Man Plum, prepare for re-entry!

I'll gobble meninges like they was Good-n-Plenties

 

HULK: Such behavior is unheard of among the landed gentry!

 

OMP: But you can do naught but rage impotently…

 

HULK: (taking deep breath) No problemo!! …..UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

 

OMP: These membranes sure are the bomb, but

To improve the taste, I'll make them into an omelet

And just to further spite that stupid Thor,

I'll steal eggs right out of his humidor

 

MENINGEDUCT: Not his humidor!?

 

Starting (starting!) to devour

The egg based-immortality snack

Turning (turning!) to discover

An intruder behind his back

Boots (curly!) : boots with bells

Pointy ears and bronze

Cahoots (cahoots!) elves and the mustache

Have used him for a pawn!


SONG 39: Omelet-Jacking for Dummies

 

HAROLD: You've stolen the cream and killed Hulk's whole team

You've been a useful tool

Now give me that omelet, or you'll live to regret

An action so selfish and cruel

 

The time has come, for me to be done

With this tacky Hittite apparel

And stand unmasked,

 

CHORUS: AS AN ELF?

 

HAROLD : Glad you asked!

The elf formerly known as Harold

 

I am that undercover elf

I fooled the Hittites all by myself

They betrayed Santa one and all

With the Evill bronze bands they engineered his fall

I bit my tongue while biding my time

Now I must get the omelet to restore him to his prime

 

OMP: I, refuse, to, relinquish, my, repast

Come, closer, and, I'll wrinkle, your, punk ass

Prune, juice of, death, I still, have, a smidgen

To, shrivel, elves, is my, prime, ambition

 

HAROLD: I'll, consult, my, cufflinks, who, never fail.

What's, my fate, will, I die, shall, I prevail?

Rub, them twice, rub, them thrice, they, come to life

Tell, me now, tell, me how, to, set things right….

 

CUFFLINKS: Remember the brain of the visor-ed one?

I had you procure it for a rea-son.

The most wrinkled organ of the most wrinkled Hurrian

Will be enough to send Old Prune scurryin'

By putting elastic between we cuffs

A human sling-shot you'll become soon enough!

Destroy a Hurrian with another Hurrian's brains

And all from way beyond prune-juice range!

 

HAROLD: The elastic snaps, the brain has been cast

It hits him on the head like so

Wrinkles him awfully, killing him softly

(I did that like a pro!)

 

OMP: He's killing me softly, killing me softly with some guy’s brain,

some guy’s brain…

 

HAROLD: I am that undercover Elf, I killed him all by myself

(cufflinks clear their throat)

Well maybe not by myself at all,

With the good bronze cufflinks I engineered his fall

It is no longer time to bide all my time

I must get the omelet to restore Cap'n to his prime

 

CAP'N: He's got to feed me lots to restore me to my prime!

 

HAROLD: I must get the omelet to restore him to his prime!

 

HULK: You've hurt my feelings cus you're stealing this omelet of mine!

 

HAROLD: I must get the omelet to restore him to his prime!

 

HITTITES: Give us a taste, up here in space, cus of age we're all dyin'!!

 

HAROLD: I must get the omelet to restore him to his priiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiime!


ACT FOUR: RAISIN HELL AT STONEHENGE

Act four, scene one: Viper Room again…


SONG 40:Opera Tech Support




SONG 41:Lisping Bouncer Bamboozling 101

 

HAROLD: Coming through, coming through

I've got an omelet for Cap'n Lou

 

BOUNCER: Who are you? Who are you

 

HAROLD: I'm the caterer, you bouncing fool

 

BOUNCER: Caterer, you? Catering to who?

 

HAROLD: I think you mean 'to whom?'

Tis for Cap'n Lou that I bear this tin of steamin' goo

 

BOUNCER: Tith for Cap'n Lou that you bear thith tin of thteamin' goo?

 

HAROLD: Tis for Cap'n Lou that I bear this tin of steamin' goo!

Must I speak until I'm blue?

Let me through, let me through, let me through!!

 

BOUNCER: Not so fatht, not so fatht

It'th imperative I view

View your path, view your path

It mutht be laminated too

Don't you sath, don't you sath

Act the fool and you will rue

Rue the day, rue the day

You tried to thcam your way

Patht my burly Atthhhhhh!

 

HAROLD: Nonetheless, nonetheless,

My lack of ID is quite moot

Observe my pointy ears and boots

The hallmarks of catering you know full well

Behold! My pointy boots have bells

Can't you tell, can't you tell?

Tis for Cap'n Lou that I bear this tin of steamin' goo

BOUNCER: Tith for Cap'n Lou that you bear thith tin of thteamin' goo?

 

HAROLD: Tis for Cap'n Lou!

Must I speak until I'm blue?

Let me through, let me through, let me through!!

 

BOUNCER: How thtrange! It lookth like meningoid brew

 

HAROLD: To your untrained eyes this may seem true

In fact it is a finely aged fondue

With mening… er… eggs imbued

So step aside and don't be rude

The Cap'n must have his food

Or he'll quit the Pay-Per-View

And I'll te ll Rupert it's your snafu!!

 

HAROLD AND CHORUS: Let him through, let him through, etc.

 

BOUNCER: My burly ath hath been perthuaded

Though you are not laminated

The Cap'n must be sated

 

HAROLD: (sotto voice) You stupid schmuck, you just got faded!

 

 


SONG 42:Enter Spectral Villechez

or

‘Cap’n Lou’s Angry Hair Club Bands’

 

 

RUPERT: Scanning tunneling electron microscopes? check.

Geo-synchronously orbiting communications satellite hook up? check

Microphones? check

Splayed body of comatose Cap'n Lou? check

The spectral, translucent ghost of Tattoo?

 

SPECTRAL VILLECHEZ: Check….

 

RUPERT: Take it away, Spectral Villechez!

 

SV: Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I'm your MC for tonight, the ghost of Herve Villechez. Now that I'm dead I sound like this and have reverb. Never before have I ventured back into the realms of mortal men, but the events of today, the very events you are about to witness, are so amazing, so unprecedented in the annals of geo-synchronously-orbiting satellite-broadcast, electron microscopy and hair warfare, that I have returned in this translucent, ectoplasmic form. And now, it looks like the hairs are about to start their battle for facial supremacy….

 

COMBINED HAIRS:

We're Cap'n Lou's angry hair club bands, it's time to battle for the chin

Cap'n Lou's battle of beard hair bands,

Spectral Villechez will announce who wins!

 

INDIE: We'll lull you to sleep with our tuneless drone

When you wake up, you'll be ingrown and dethroned

 

METAL: 50,000 watts from our amps you can't resist

Performing Black Metal Electrolysis

 

INDIE: If your metal is Black and darkness you choose

Instead of being Nazis, listen to Ice Cube

 

METAL: You're more Emo than Phillips, you're whining like bitches

Shooting more heroin than even Sid Vicious.

 

INDIE: Your attacks rebound off our irony

Since we've appropriated all your imagery

 

METAL: I'm plucking you with tweezers

Cus your wimply ass sounds like Weezer

 

INDIE: We'll tie you in knots unheard of in topology,

And recycle your lame albums in the interests of ecology

 

METAL: Live from the bathroom of the Viper Room

We pummel you with our keyboards of doom

 

INDIE: Metal might notwithstanding, you will surely be shaved

The Viper Room washbasin will be your final grave

 

METAL: We'll burn your zines in a pyre to Odin

Cus there's nothing in them remotely worth quotin'

 

INDIE: We'll badmouth your scene and steal all your chicks

Scoff at your zines and upturn your crucifix!

 

METAL: Not our crucifix!! (sounds of metal fear)

 

METAL: Like the knee of Thor we'll be knee-dropping

Right onto this Black Metal outcropping

 

 

ALL: We're Cap'n Lou's angry hair club bands, it won't be cheap to watch this show

Cap'n Lou's battle of beard hair bands, we're sure to put you in escrow!

 

METAL: Hark, there approaches an elf with a platter

Is he here in this stall for to empty his bladder?

 

INDIE: Yo, my hairy hom-boy, who let

This elf in here brandishing an omelet?

 

METAL: He's feeding the Cap'n and stuffing his face

A startling change is taking place :

 

INDIE: Yes, apace, it's taking place apace……

 


SONG 43: That’s Not How You Spell Omolette!

or

Mambo On Your Grave!!!!!

 

HAROLD AND CHORUS, OR SOMEONE:

Swallow it!

Omelet!

Swallow it!

Omelet!

Swallow it!

Omelet!

 

CAP'N: The meninges have repealed my wrinkles and my coma

And given me a jolly and musky aroma

I've taken so much Retin-A, I'm 1,000 years younger

Now I'm Santa again and obscure no longer!

Possessed by my beard and left on this pottie

Now I must weed out the nice from the naughty

My strength is replenished and my vengeance won't stall

Now I'll shred this beard like I was Fawn Hall!

 

CHORUS: Shreddin' it! Shreddin' the roots!

You treacherous shoots will fear my attack!

Deaden it! Deaden the hair!

You should all beware, the Cap'n is back!!!

 

CAP'N: O malignant follicles

I'll rip you to molecules

 

 

RUPERT: Good Christ!! You've killed my whole cast and ruined my whole multi-million dollar broadcast!! What kind of Communist Santa are you??

 

CAP'N: The worst kind of Communist Santa possible!!! Since my moustache liberated me from my coma, I have taken on its revolutionary ideology. Just as the stache now runs my face, soon I will run the world!!

 

RUPERT: Of course!!!!! How could no one have seen it earlier….that jolly belly, those squinty eyes, that huge stache…. Santa without a beard looks exactly like…. Stalin!!!!

 

STALIN CLAUS: That's Stalin Claus to you, bourgeois pig!

 

RUPERT: (Shrieks like schoolgirl)


SONG 44: Stalin Claus


 

MUSTACHE: We're free of beards, the revolution has been won

Now the face is ours and the purges have begun

 

PURGED HAIR: Already?

 

MUSTACHE: Already!

 

PURGED HAIR: (more plaintively) Already?

 

MUSTACHE: Already,

Our grip is quite deadly

We sing a Communist medley

And the purges have begun

 

We command Rupert's cameras, seizing means of production

To spread our manifesto of nationwide beard reduction

 

PURGED HAIR: No, really?

 

MUSTACHE: No really!

 

PURGED HAIR: No, really?

 

MUSTACHE: No, really!

We're on every TV

All mustaches will see me,

And the purges have begun!

Freed from the bondage of Self-aware Evill bronze rubber bands

We have no less than 8 demands…..

 

1) gland reform : re-distribution of glands

2) we want the first stache in space

3) staches now required at Disneyland

4) don't shave above the dimples o' your face

5) no beard hair escapes our coup

6) don't exploit us to strain your soup

7) all staches must have a blue-collar droop

8) Yacov Smirnov must eat some poop!

 

Santa with no beard, but a mustache run amok

Gulag on the chin, for those the regime has struck, cause….

STALIN CLAUS, STALIN CLAUS

A mustache run amok

Used to be all about naughty and nice

Now no matter who you are you must shuck the rice

CUS HE'S STALIN CLAUS, STALIN CLAUS

You all must shuck the rice

Down through the chimney to conduct a random purge

On milk and cookies the proletariat must splurge

FOR STALIN CLAUS, STALIN CLAUS

The proletariat must splurge

 

STALIN: The new regime is much too mean

To give you room to think:

Former friends, that you turned in

They clogs the bathroom sink

Of STALIN CLAUS, STALIN CLAUS

They clogs the bathroom sink!!!!!!

 

MOUSTACHE: Tractor in your stocking, plutonium in the sled

Visions of Pol Pot dancing around your head

Yes, Trotsky, there is a STALIN CLAUS, STALIN CLAUS

Dance or you'll be dead

You don't get any presents: the line is far too long

He'll take away your presents cus poverty makes you strong

Hide all your shit because

Here comes STALIN CLAUS……

 


SONG 45:Check Yo Elf Before You Wreck Yo Elf!

 

NASA GUY: Come in Mission Control, This is Houston, we're picking up a strange, eerie transmission from a geo-synchronously-orbiting satellite, .. spectroscopic readings would seem to indicate, uh.. it seems to be made of bronze….uh,

 

MISSION CONTROL: Roger that, Houston, that satellite is extremely fuckin' dangerous. They've got an orbital wrinkle ray on board, and it's manned by senile Hittites with nothing to lose. Play back the transmission immediately, over….

 

HITTITES: Egad! the Hittite we'd surmised to be plucky, turned out to be Sucky

Forsooth, we sent him to earth to obtain, the omelet of brain

But he left us to die of old age out in space, and stuffed the Cap'n's face

You took the one thing which could of saved us, and betrayed us,

You're so heinous!

 

Bitch! You really shoulda known,

Systems analysts never die alone

It's! Much too late to atone, we've shriveled down to skin and bone

Lo! you 'hoe, you're goin' down today:

On with yon wrinkle-ray!

 

And its……..

 

187 on an undercover Elf

Wrinkling your head and put it on a shelf

You'll pay for your deception

 

LONE HITTITE IN BACK: Not to mention your stealth!

 

HITTITES: Cus it's 187 on an undercover Elf

 

We're trapped in our satellite, we're going senile

Outraged at our dot-age and now we're going buck wild

If we can't be immortal than neither can you

You're a traitorous narc with bells on your shoes

With our palsied spotted fingers we'll fire the ray

Soon you'll emulate our involuntary decay

A karmic cost you can't defray

 

SIMON AND GARFUNKEL: Hey hey hey, … hey hey hey….

 

SAC: We've been watching from on high your pay-per-view show

Triangulated your coordinates cus our charts got the flow

We can't pimp a Sumerian hoe from space

And Stalin Claus is a punk so we'll wrinkle his face

HAROLD: But you betrayed him in the first place!

 

SAC: So what? He was a disgrace to our Hittite race

But we'll never revert to Hittites again

Cus we trusted you as a friend, buddy, pal, comrade

(music gets all Nomeansno-ish)

Friend, buddy, pal, comrade….friend until the end.

Brother elf, brother elf, brother elf

 

LONE HITTITE IN BACK, YET AGAIN: undercover elf!!

 

SAC: Chiggedy-check yo elf before you wreck your elf

Check yo elf before you riggedy-wreck yo elf

I said, chiggedy-check yo elf before you wreck yo elf…

Cus jackin my meninges is bad fo your health

 

Now listen to us like E. F. Hutton:

You shoulda stuck with yon stocking-stuffin'

Now it's too late to beg for forgiveness:

If we must die, we're taking you with us, and it's:

 

SAC: 187 on an undercover elf

Wrinkling your head and put it on a shelf

You'll pay for your deception and stealth cus it's

187 on Santa's Little Helper

Don't call for Ray Cappo cus for you there's no Shelter

Cast as Sharon Tate in your own Helter Skelter cus it's

187 on a Hittite fraud

You'll catch a phat fatwa from our jihad

Reveling in your pain like the Marquis de Sade cus it's

187 with a wrinkle ray …

 

CHORUS: We'd prefer you say 'beam!'

 

ANALYSTS: Kicked out of the Rock Opera Scene

We'll keep your head in a vitrine cus we're all kinds of mean

 

187 on an undercover Elf!!

 

A hush falls over the satellite…Something's not right

Another transmission's hit ours in the sky: that's what's awry

Rupert's beam ascended as ours was headed down…Ours never hit the ground

Our enemies have emerged totally unwrinkled….We instead bent their signal

 

CHORUS: It's bent, it's bent! it's hella, hella bent

 

SAC: Now look, on the screens of the boob machines

Everyone's got staches, looking mean

From Uhuru to Urkel, from Furley to Laverne and/or Shirley

They're all yelling Communist demands

And all the purges that they have planned

Even Ronald McDonald's saying "Fuck the Man!!"

 

RUPERT: Oh, what a fool I've been!

Competing so hard for a free-market monopoly

Communism is the perfect scam

The State runs every TV

I wish I'd thought of it myself…

Please let me be a Red!

I'll give you Hittites all my vast wealth…

 

SAC: A tempting offer, too bad we're dead….ehhhh…

 


SONG 46: Sit-com Revolution



SONG 47: The Challenge!

 

STALIN: Now the 'stache has spoken it is my turn for a speech

To address the nation on Rupert's TV

To the punk motherfucker Hulk, I got a manifesto

My fist is a mortar and your whole, ovoid, children's' toy-lookin' body is a pestle;

Punk! I'm mad!

 

CHORUS: He's mad!

 

STALIN: I'm mad!

 

CHORUS: So mad!

 

STALIN: I'm mad, mad, mad, mad, I'm mad!!!

You thought you could trick me and put me in a coma

But now my hatred grows like a malignant carcinoma

I'm back in full effect and ready to rassle

You ain't just opened a can of woop-ass, you've opened yourself a whole passle

 

CHORUS: A PASSLE, A PASSLE, YOU HELLA OPENED THAT PASSLE!

 

STALIN: I'm mad!

Norway is weak, Black Metal for Nazi posers

So take off, eh? You Great White North-type hosers

So now you're calling your self the Mighty Thor

But you're the son of a peg-legged, Down's Syndrome-having, billy goat

And a $2 whore, yeah I said it!

 

You can take Metamucil or even ex-lax

But I'm gonna put my foot so far up your ass you can't ever extract

As Tolkien would put it, I'm wroth and I'm fey

I'm one pissed-off, freakish, death-dealing, motherfucker as Dolomite would say…

I'm mad!

 

If you're one percent of the man that you claim

And not just a king-size, grade-A lame

You'll show up in time for the showdown

Your defeat will be cause enough for a gargantuan hoe-down

…I'm mad!

 

So trot off to Stonehenge and wrestle quite prompt-LY

And see just once and for all who the better man will be

I'm saying it right here on the TV

So if you don't show

Millions will know

That you're a hoe

Fluffy and soft like a big, round pillow

And you're so scared to go

Into the ring with an OG

Like MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!


Act four, scene two: Thor’s crib



SONG 48:The Weeble Tilts Tonight!

 

CHORUS: Meanwhile, Hulk has gone back to the wrestling circuit,

Under the name of “The Grapplin’ Weeble….”

(to the tune of 'the lion sleeps tonight')

A weeble away, a weeble away, a weeble away, etc.

 

HULK: In the ring, the pro wrestling ring, the weeble tilts tonight

I can't be pinned, I can't be toppled, the weeble wins the fight

At first I was depressed because I couldn't ever pin

But now I'm ovoid and invincible, by default I always win

(starts weeping uncontrollably)….

 


SONG 49: Thor’s Rasslin’ Recap

 

MOUSTACHE: Why are you crying, master??? You’re the man! The champ!

The wam-bam Weeble!

 

HULK: I earned the belt…

 

CHORUS: …The title belt

 

HULK: But I have no waist to don it. If I can't wear…

 

CHORUS: His title belt

 

HULK: …I'll surely be despondent. I've tried suspenders…

 

CHORUS: Silk suspenders

 

HULK: ..But no shoulders can be found. No accessories…

 

CHORUS: Whatsoever…

 

HULK: Can be worn by one who is round

How can a weeble

 

CHORUS: …A rasslin’ weeble…

 

HULK: accessorize? I am hating…

 

CHORUS: …Haute coture

 

HULK: …That eschews my portly size. Just because I’m fat

 

CHORUS: …Fucking fat

 

HULK: I'm in a fashion slump. The designer labels

 

CHORUS: …of Hefty and Glad

 

HULK: Are all that fit my rump

Alack! no bugle boy for I, nor Hilfiger nor Sassoon

No Esprit or Fubu, what can I do?

My belt lies on the floor

 

STACHE: Hulk, please don’t cry!

 

HULK: What else can I do, no Bugle Boy for I!

(suddenly regaining composure)

But lo, I think I see a way I could wear my belt:

If I took it to the Icelandic volcanoes, the better to make it melt

Thence to re-forge it as a bitchen hat,

Which I could wear with some success cus my head is hell of flat

A horned yarmulke upon my ovoid head

The better to invoke my Viking cred.

 

No Bugle Boy for I, I don’t need ‘em anymore

I am tres chic, more chic than ever before

My helm is on my head

 

STACHE: Hulk, you look so fly!

 

HULK: Of course I do, no Bugle Boy for I!


SONG 50:Erpituity-pay

 

 

VINCE MACMAHON:

I'm Vince Macmahon, of the WWF, the wrestling ederation-fey

I'm here to say ix-nay on the elt-may of the elt-bay

I'm Vince Macmahon, of the WWF, the wrestling ederation-fey

The belt belongs to the ommission-kay

In erpituity-pay

 

HULK : What kinda pay?

 

VINCE: Erpituity-pay! I say…

You may not melt the belt away

You may not smelt the belt away

Deface, replace or even pelt the belt away

Or your title we'll strip from you

We'll rip from you, we've really got a grip on you

Yes, we'll have to trip on you

If you melt dat belt away….

 

HULK (suddenly quite sly):

You're too late, I've.. uh…lost my belt

It was heisted from where I dwelt

By black metal bandits, through no fault of my own

Who left this helmet behind in my home

With no arms I couldn't stop the thugs from their thuggin'

(You'll have to imagine my resignedly shrugggin')

But you must admit this helm is quite fetching

With zirconium points and the finest aluminum-age etching

You might even say in this belt-absent-time

That the helm could replace the belt just fine!

 

(Viking hat rumbles ominously atop Hulk's head)

 

VINCE: What the hell was that?!?

 

HULK: Huh?

 

VINCE: Anyhoo…I find your explanation in veracity quite acking-lay

So prepare thyself for a thorough own-smacking-day!

Yes, the amassed power of the Wrestling Commission

Will wobble you into utter submission!

VIKING HAT: ( coming very loudly and bombastically alive, to everyone's amazement)

Halt now, belay this foolish prattle

It is I, the helmet, who will decide this battle

For I am the fabled self-aware aluminum, the ore of old lore

A pagan aluminum who still recalls when this weeble was Thor

His head is my encampment, I cast my fresh enchantment

I return Thor to the fore; he's a weeble no more!!!

 

VINCE: THOR TO THE FORE?

 

HAT: THOR TO THE FORE!

 

VINCE: THOR TO THE FORE?

 

HAT: THOR TO THE FORE!

 

THOR: A WEEBLE NO MORE!!

etc….

 

CHORUS: A weeble?? AWAY!!! A weeble?? AWAY!!! A weeble?? AWAY!!!AIEEEEE!!!!!

 

HULK: Stalin Claus… tremble before the might of the Mighty Thor’s might…. (it’s a very special kind of might….) I am the master!! (tee heee heeee)


 

SONG 51:Sax Solo

 

HELMET: You've vanquished the commission with my thunder and my what-not

Now go meet Cap'n Lou and wrap up this plot

 

THOR: A brilliant idea, my helmet, but first,

I must go put on my precious self-ripping shirt

I need an elastic Shirt that repairs itself

A self-aware Shirt that tears itself

A bronze armor Shirt to protect my health

Such a good idea, I scare myself

The Hittites what made it took far far too long

By the time it was done I had no arms with which to don

At last the hour is at hand when I can finally wear it

Soon in the name of showbiz, I will finally tear it…

 

HELMET: Naw, it’s more like, ‘When I beat that Cap'n Lou, I’ll victoriously tear it!’

 

THOR: Now it's off to the Stonehenge for a long-overdue climax

But first we must hear a solo on the sax….( mellifluous tooting ensues)

 

Act four, scene three: Stonehenge


SONG 52: Sagan Monologue

 

SPECTRAL CARL SAGAN:

I'm spectral Carl Sagan, brought back from the dead by the sheer magnitude of the cosmic forces set in motion at the wrestling match today… We're here at the forbidding, cyclopean ruins of Stonehenge, the OG caged-match arena, built by the ancient Druids to settle their conflicts by no-holds-barred, Celtic-style grappling, and a fitting site indeed for a most monumental conflict. . . indeed.

 

In this corner, the Hittite shaman, turned medi-evil gift-bequeather, turned pro wrestler, who (upon emerging from his Hulk-induced coma) turned into a beardless, Soviet-style dictator: The stocking stuffer, the commie crusher, the beard-band-buster, the Retin-a pushing bad-man, the one they call the Captain: Lou Albano, the one and only Stalin Claus!!!!

 

And in this corner, weighing 432 pounds and carrying a hammer the size of a small Cuisinart, is the Norse thunder god and idol of teenybopper hessians everywhere, The number one, the Odin son, meninge overdoser, the bombastic weeble boaster, the self-aware aluminum helmet-wearer who swears he's not a poser: The mighty Thor!!!!!!!

 

And now they square off to settle a grudge so deep, so wide and full of boiling hate, to unleash retribution so vast the whole cosmos is watching , a match so epic and so deeply, troublingly insane that entire continents and heavenly bodies are jostling to get the best view, resulting in cataclysmic earthquakes and tidal shifts worldwide….

 

DRUNK FAN IN CROWD: … show us your tits!


SONG 53: The Epic-est Battle

or

‘More Demise’

or

‘I Will Vanquish You Down!!!!!’

 

THOR: Of the mug of might I have drunk a deep draught

I'm so fuckin' epic, let's see what YOU got

My Nordic piledriver will knock you through the mat

Whence to feel the wrath of the points of my hat

I'll suplex and drop-kick you all the way to Sweden

You'll do what you're told like you were Barbara Eden

I've vanquished you once with my 'Evill' beard-bands

Yet again you seek more demise at my hands?

 

SPECTRAL SAGAN: 'More demise?'

 

THOR: I'll vanquish you, vanquish you, vanquish you down

Right through the mat, six feet underground

I'll vanquish you, vanquish you, vanquish you down

For Niflheim you are express-bound!!!!

 

STALIN: You weak little scrapper, you overage adolescent,

I'll spank you until your ass is fluorescent

 

SAGAN: Or possibly until it’s luminescent….

 

STALIN: Twixt the stones of the 'Henge we dodge and we parry

You're gonna get cracked like, uh…. Marion Barry

I'll back-break you right into the gulag

And then throw out your corpse like a withered old 'do-rag

You and Loki couldn't beat me tag-teamin'!

The walls of the 'Henge shall be your mausoleum

 

I'm purging you, purging you, purging you down!

Like my beard hairs I'll rip you asunder

I'm purging and purging and purging myself

And soon will cover you with my chunder! (vomits heartily)

 

THOR: Egads, I'm messy; with vomit I'm drippin'

It's the food of the gods: pretzels and Pabst Blue ribbon

In the loamy soil your corpse shall soon molder…

Cus I'm unleashing the wrath of my hammer Mjolnir

You'll also be receiving such a thorough smiting

At the behest of my old buddy: lightning

Yea, truly will I chug the sweet juice of revenge

When I crush you with this basalt slab from Stonehenge!

 

SAGAN: I believe it's actually blue limestone, which was geologically …. whoooah! (dodges apocalyptic slab remnants)

THOR: I'll vanquish you, vanquish you, vanquish you down

Right through the mat, six feet underground

I'll vanquish you, vanquish you, vanquish you down

For Niflheim you are express-bound!!!!

 

STALIN: (weakly) Is this the end, can it be true?

The end of Stalin Claus, slash Cap'n Lou?

My legs they give way, my mustache has crumbled

My saving throw versus woop-ass I have sorely fumbled

 

THOR: For maximum triumph I will now rip my shirt

The self-ripping shirt which can't be hurt

Crafted by Hittite ingenuity

I'll be the champ in erpituity-pay, I mean, perpetuity!

Millions of Hulkamaniacs across the globe

Cheer as I lift up my arms to disrobe

I'll vanquish you, vanquish you, vanquish you down

Right through the mat, six feet underground

I'll vanquish you, vanquish you, vanquish you down

For Niflheim you are express-bound!!!!

 

HAROLD: from the sidelines I watch with defeat and dismay

It wasn't supposed to end this way

For this I pretended to be a Hittite?

Hey, cufflinks, this is Harold. Wake up! this isn't right!

I ask thee: Is this a trick thou played on me?

 

You said that this shirt, the self-ripping shirt

The self-ripping shirt I made in a yurt

For six damn months I had to work

To make this shirt, this self-aware shirt

The kind of shirt that can't be hurt

You said that this would defeat the Hulk

Render him moot and reduce his vast bulk

And yet here he stands, all majestic and balding

Stubbornly showing no signs of devolving

What's up with that, links? Your advice is failing!

 

LINKS: Oh doubting elf, you've no cause for complaining cus I'm the…..

MAGIC CUFFLINKS, MAGIC CUFFLINKS

Though you doubt me in a matter of minutes

My plan will be complete and Hulk will be finished!

 

 

THOR: As I rend my shirt, I feel a strange tingle

I realize too late, the tearing makes wrinkles!

Safety pins do no good: the shirt is self-tearing

It's a corset of death I find myself wearing

By my own desires I am undone

A victim of irony, pathos and bad puns

Aging to death, all wrinkled and curled

Oy, what a world…. what a world!!!!

 


SONG 54: Raisin In My Arms

 

 

STALIN: After all the heinous deeds he's done

I have prevailed, I finally have won

 

HAROLD: Why do you look so sad, he was never your chum?

 

STALIN: No, no, you fool, I've killed my only son!!

He was a by-product of a wild oat

I sewed during a party on a Viking boat

He started out good, but wound up stealing brains

I'm a dysfunctional father whose son died insane

Tis a pity I had to rock him like a hurricane

And now I must take the blame, take all the blame….

Though he was brash and bad-assed and totally brazen

Now he's naught more than a wrinkled up raisin….

 

Raisin in my arms, raisin in my arms,

Cradle the raisin

Together we shalt buy some farms

 

HAROLD: (singin’) Raisin , RAISIN in his arms. The raisin in his ARMS, raisin in HIS arms, no one else’s arms… Cradle the raisin. His arms are like 2 big scoops… in every box! Cradle the raisin. Cover it with some sugar baby, pour some milk on that wrestler baby, Together we shalt buy farms? Well,if you’re going to plant grapes, you might as well make wine….

 

Stop, he's too wrinkled, and where there's wrinkles there's peril!

If you hug him you'll die as sure as my name's Harold

 

STALIN: You foolish young elf, can't you see that's my scheme?

I'll join him in death as a spectral tag-team

This shriveled ex-weeble I clutch to my breast

In Stonehenge we will both be laid to rest

 

CHORUS: Awwwww, that's so sweet… etc.

 

STALIN: Raisin in my arms, raisin in my arms,

Cradle the raisin

Together we shalt buy some farms

 

HAROLD: Raisin in my arm… uh, in HIS arms… (somebody should cradle him). Cradle the raisin. You should buy some farms. Cradle the raisin, in THEIR arms, the arms … of the farms….

 

 

SONG 55: In Valhalla, Everything is Fine

 

STALIN: Yes, in Valhalla, we'll meet the rest of the tribe,

Spectral Hittites once again you will thrive in afterlife

 

THOR: No more backstabbing and no more plots

 

STALIN: Just a glorious…

 

THOR: Wrestling…

 

STALIN: Communist…

 

THOR: Hessian-ing kibbutz

 

STALIN: No more wrinkles, no more Retin-A,

In Valhalla we'll be freed, we'll not even need the orbital wrinkle-ray

 

THOR: No more shirts, self-ripping or not

Viking nipples in the snow, bare-chested we will show what we got

 

BOTH: No more evil, with any number of 'l's ,

Just some proletariats, stuffing stockings with elves

We'll never want to go anywhere else..

 

RUPERT: Can I horn in on this deal?

 

BOTH: No, we'll do it our selves….

 

Like a playa or a balla craves a fast dolla

Like Fats Walla craves a big bar of halvah

Like a Jawa needs a big sand crawla…

We Vikings need to go to Valhalla!

 

 

In Valhalla

In Valhalla

In Valhalla

In Valhalla


Appendix the first: Random Rock Opera Title Generator

 

So you don't like our title, eh? Or perhaps you're putting the finishing touches on your OWN rock opera about bronze-age wrestlers and Stalin, and you just need the perfect name to try out on your marketing focus groups. Luckily, we've prepared a handy device for generating unforgettable rock opera titles at the drop of a hat (as long as the hat contains a 20-sided die, (which most of them do nowadays, what with the 'internet' and all…)) Roll 3 20-sided dice, (four if you want an especially epic name) and then match the numbers to the following words, and then take it straight to the Marketing Department!!! It's really that simple!!!!

 

1) rassslin'

2) Retin-A

3) Hittites

4) brutal

5) Slim-Jims

6) Flowcharts

7) moustache/ beard

8) prunes

9) elves

10) black metal

11) communist/Stalinist

12) wrinkles

13) indie rock

14) 'evill'

15) saga

16) might

17) fury

18) suplex

19) meninges

20) bronze


….Appendix the second: index of opera terms

For the aspiring literary critics among you, here's a handy, alphebetized list of all people, places, and things mentioned in the opera, and the song-numbers of the songs where these things can be found. You know what I mean. Now it's easy to locate the hidden patterns and intricate yet subtle symbolisms that are strewn all over this highly complex and literary text!

 

 

A, Retin- 3, 4, 8, 12, 21, 23, 32, 33, 35,36,38,43,52, 55

Asses-20, 21, 22, 27, 37, 38, 39, 42, 47, 53, 54

 

 

Barry, Marion – 53

Billy Goat, Down's syndrome havin'-47

Boucher, Eric -22

 

 

Coture, Haute– 27, 49

 

 

Dee, Kool Moe– 27

dodo, the – 5

Druids, fuzzy – 5, 52

Dyan, Moishe- 33

 

 

Ectoplasm, translucent and spectral– 42

Eden, Barbra-53

Electron microscopy-30, 42

Entropy- 20 Epicness-5, 52, 53

Evill-12, 13, 15, 35, 39, 44, 53

 

 

FUUUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!- 3, 5, 8, 19, 22, 27, 31, 37, 45, 47, 49, 53

 

 

Gel, Malevolent- 12

Geo-synchronous orbit-21, 42, 45

Good-N-Plenties – 38

Glutemates, monosodium or otherwise-16, 17

Gulag – 44, 53

 

 

Hall, Fawn-43

Halvah– 55

Hawking, Stephen- 7

Hilfiger, Thomas– 49

House of Tudor – 22

Humidor, not his?!?– 38

Hutton, E.F.-45

 

 

Jawa — 55

James, Ladies Love Cool-27

Jello Biafra-see Boucher, Eric

 

 

Kali, 15

Kibbutz, rasslin'– 55

Kruschev, Nikita- 31

 

 

Links, Cuff-10, 39, 53

Loopdid – 33

 

 

MacLaren, Malcolm – 30

McDonald, Ronald, agent of revolution — 45

Might – 1, 5, 17, 19, 20, 21, 22, 33, 35, 36, 37, 42, 47, 50, 52, 53

Mullets-13, 14, 15

 

 

Nero, the much-maligned– 36

Newton (my po' li'l)– 32

Nub – 4

 

Omolet- 38, 39, 41,42,43

Operah, Winfrey– 27

 

 

Paisan, Hothead- 33

Pangaea – 16 Phat – 20, 23, 35, 38, 45

Phillips, Emo- 42 Poop- 1, 7, 34, 44

Pot, Pol — 44

 

 

Q*Bert — 30

 

 

Sade, Marquis De– 45

Salt Mines, Underground– 31

Sassoon, Vidal– 49 Shore, Pauly – 15

Smirnov, Yacov – 44

Snyder, Dee- 26

Spandex – 37

Springer, Jerry – 27

Sumer, fuckin' ancient-3,8,19,21,22,32,45

Suplex-37. 53

 

 

Thessalonia, downtown– 36

Trotsky, Leon – 44

 

 

Urkel– 45

 

 

The Vapors- 13

Verandas – 29

Vicious, Sidney- 42

Viking (s) – 5, 27,37, 49, 54,55

Voltaire – 23 Waller, Fats– 55

 

 

Winger, Kip– 27

Wussy Quotient- 29

 

 

Yurt- 10

 

 

Ziggurat- 8,32


 


Appendix the third: Glossary Of Terms Used In The Opera 

 

Compiled by Mr. MacNeil and Mr. Abbott

 

 

B

Beard-O-Garchy— A form of government in which the beard rules, and the mustache is repressed.

Black metal — —–1. Viking glam rock. 2. Like normal metal, but with organs (considered by many hessians to be wussier than death metal)

bris —————-a young herring

Bronze/ Bronze Age– the period from 1500 BC to 500 BC, when the working of bronze proliferated throughout the ancient Western world.

 

E

Electron microscopy— a very technical process… you wouldn't understand

Elves———————agents of Santa. See Hawkwind

Evill———————–just a brand name

 

F

Flowcharts (of the damned)— The Systems Analysts drew up these legendary flowcharts to demonstrate how Hulk Hogan was enslaving them. The Hulkster promptly bodyslammed them (the flowcharts) thereby eradicating any Hittite resistance.

 

G

Geo-synchronous orbital wrinkle ray—- a weapon of ultimate destruction weilded by the Hittites-cum-Systems Analysts in their quest for revenge on the Hurrian devils.

 

H

The key of 'H'———- —-the oft-overlooked musical key right above 'g' and before 'a'. This opera, having so many key characters start with 'h' (see below) was fated to be written in the key of h as well….

Harold———————–he of the campy pointed ears. See Elves

Hawkwind————– —-hippie-hobbit band featuring Lemmy

Hessian——————– a warrior of ancient Gaul. Also, they often display mullets.

Hitties———————-ancients of what is now known as Turkey

Hulkster————– —–also known as Hulk, the Hulk-a-maniac, Hogan, Hollywood Hulk, etc. This 3,000 year old Hittite had many adventures in the Great White North and became the historical genesis for the Norse Thor legends. See Black Metal, Hessians.

Hurrian—————-ancient enemies of the hittites

 

I

Indie rock————–the preferred music of half of Cap'n Lou's beard, with (virtually) no corporate ties.

 

M

Meninge-duct———-an improvement on the Roman aqueduct designed to transport hessian (mem)brains.

Meninges————–the prime ingredient of Retin-A. The protectively smooth membrane between the skull and the brain

Mjolnir—————-technical term for the hammer of Thor. Made of Uru, but only if you're Stan Lee.

Mullet—————–the haircut of the Gods.

 

N

Niflheim—————-like Hell, only cold and full of Swedes.

 

O

Odin———————the all-father. Big 'rassler

Omolet——————a quiche without the crust, the grab bag of breakfast foods. May or may not confer immortality, depending on the chef.

 

P

Peat bog————– the final resting place of the Slim Jim

Philtrum—————-a necessary component to any good nose

Proletariat————– a racial slur

Prunes—————– help you poo; wrinkled plums

Putsch—————– like a coup d'etat

 

R

'Rasslin—————–the measure of Might

Retin-A—————- the secret to eternal life; wrinkle remover (see meninges)

 

S

Schultz———————-a special kind of sock for the wintertime

self-aware-——————like Popeye

Slim Jims——————–a snack treat heavy on nitrates, not good tasting. Also, ruled in prehistory.

Stalinist———————being good, even though you know you're gong to get (or become) coal in your stocking

Stonehenge—————–the most mystical henge

Suplex———————-a large apartment. Like, a 'super' apartment.

Sumer———————–arguably the first great human civilization.

Systems Analysts———–NERRRRRRRRRRRRRRDS!!!!!!!!

 

T

Thor————————thunder god, son of Odin. Duh.

 

V

Valhalla———————–the last Viking resort

 

W

Weeble———————the weeble wobbles, but it don't fall down.

 

Y

Yarmuckle——————–like a pancake you wear on your head

Yurt—————————–a dwelling made of cottage cheese

Z

Ziggurat———————-a racial slur


Credits:

All lyrics written by Schultz, Abbott, and Mink, with invaluable suggestions ("You know what rhymes with 'omelet?'…'Home-boy-who-let'!") from Corbett Redford and Dylan MacNeil. This is what happens when you let heterosexuals write Broadway.

 

All the Orchestral noises were produced by tiny robots working under the stern gaze of Jason Kocol, at his Master Control Panel over in Berkeley.

 

All recordings produced by Schultz, on an 8-track hard-disk recorder. Plus, all the rock and roll music was by me. I'm laying out this fucking website, too. So there.

 

Cover art by Clay Butler. Please observe him at claybutler.com

 

Dan would like to thank: God, for not meddling.

 


Cast (in, naturally enough, order of appearance):

 

Cap'n Lou Corbett Redford

Bedpan John Mink

Geek Chorus John Crowhurst and Angelena Kyzar-Crowhurst, along with

Angelena Kyzar-Crowhurst, as well as John Crowhurst

Hittite Salesman Steven Schultz

Nurse Estrella Kooroola Pasquala Pie Osa Aquilla Enki Cerise Gonzales Goya Espinosa

Lead Black Metal Hair Joe Demaree

Black Metal Backup Hairs Dylan McNeil, Dan Abbott, Mink, Schultz

Indie Rock Bands Yvan Kawecki, Dan, kind of Schultz

Hulk Hogan Mike Scalzi

Announcer Guy Corbett

Hittites/ System Analysts Dylan, Dan, Mink, Schultz, and the one known as Craigums

Lone Hittite In Back Christopher Rodriguez Jones

Harold Dan

Cufflinks Ang

Lil Timmy that would be Jones

Mean Gene Okerlund Dylan

Evill Mustache Mink

Chorus of Hulk's slaves Dylan, Dan, Mink, Schultz

Mom Jenny Raven

Dad Matt-o-war

Johnny Shawn Martin, uh, I mean B.P. Daddy Mung

Randy Savage Mikey Porter

Dean of Archaeology Jenny

Archaeological Choir Schultz

Young Man Plum/

Old Man Prune Mink

Systems Analyst Sentry Dylan

Zombie Loder Jones

Black Metal Fan Joe

Indie Rock Fan Yvan

Rupert Murdoch Jason Kocol

Lou's Mustache Dan

Moustache Leader Kocol

Horst Mink

Mr. Meninge-duct Craigums

Rock Opera Tech Support Dan

Various Callers Schultz, Craigums, Estrella, Mink

Lisping Bouncer Matt-o-war

Spectral Villechez Mink

Vince McMahon Matt-o-war

Viking Hat Mikey Porter

Spectral Carl Sagan Dan Shick

Drunk In Crowd Jones

 


Songwriting Credits

Act one: Retin-A Fiasco (43:39)

 

1: HEY, CHECK OUT OUR OPERA!! (7:14)

Composed and orchestrated by Kocol

 

2: OH, MIGHTY BEDPAN (2:39)

Composed and orchestrated by Jason ("Paisan") Kocol

 

3: FUCKIN' ANCIENT SUMER (3:19)

Composed by Schultz, Orchestrated by Kocol

 

4: IT'S OK, I'M A HITTITE SALESMAN! (3:40)

Composed by Schultz, Orchestrated by Kocol

 

5: KAOS IN MY BEARD (9:29)

Composed and performed by Schultz

 

6: NEENER NEENER (1:48)

Composed and performed by Schultz

 

7: ALLRIGHT,

YOU LITTLE COMATOSE-MANIAC! (4:04)

Composed and performed by Schultz…

or so you were led to believe!!

 

8: THE BODYSLAMMING OF THE

FLOWCHARTS IN FULL EFFECT (2:56)

Composed by Schultz, Orchestrated by Kocol

 

9: SELF-RIPPING SHIRT NEGOTIATIONS IN GRUELING DETAIL (1:24)

Barely composed by Schultz, Orchestrated by Kocol

 

10: HAROLD'S CUFFLINKS SPEW ADVICE (4:22)

Composed by Schultz, Orchestrated by Kocol

 

11: SELF-RIPPING OUTRO (2:48)

Composed and performed by Schultz in one day..

Act Two: Headbands of Fury! (49:13)

 

1: LIL TIMMY (skit) (3:37)

 

2: HEADBANDS AHOY! (3:23)

Confused and performed by Schultz

 

3: HEADBAND HAIR:

AN ABC AFTER-SCHOOL SPECIAL (3:30)

Composed by Schultz, Over-orchestrated by Kocol

 

4: DUMB GLADIATORIAL LINK

or

'SCAMPERING DOWN THE AISLE' (4:10)

Composed and performed by Schultz and not Korn

 

5: MENINGE OD (4:17)

Composed by Schultz, Orchestrated by Kocol

 

6: SLIM JIM INTERLUDE (skit) (0:53)

 

7: MONSOSODIUM GLUTEMATE'S LAMENT (3:48)

Composed by Schultz, Orchestrated by Kocol and not Wagner

 

8: FIGHTING MUSIC ENSUES (1:22)

Composed and raucously performed by Kocol

 

9: DEMISE OF THE GRUDGE-WIELDING,

VISOR-LADEN GRAPPLING HURRIAN (4:15)

Oh, you know

 

10: FLOWCHARTS OF THE DAMNED (5:05)

And stuff

 

11: BRING ON THE MIRRORS! (4:43)

Composed by Schultz and Kocol, swung by Kocol

 

12: PLUM HARVEST OF THE OTHER DAMNED (2:33)

Composed by Schultz, Orchestrated by 'Legs' Kocol

Scratching by Admiral Stockdale

 

13: DOWN WITH OMP (3:13)

Composed and vaguely performed by Schultz

Violin performed by Lucia Schultz

 

14: ELVES IN OUR MIDST! (3:08)

Composed by Schultz, Orchestrated by The Dude

 

15: MAIN THEME AGAIN! (1:16!!)

Composed and performed by Kocol

 

 

Act Three: Indie might? Indie Hittite! (59:22)

 

1: MTV NEWS BRIEF (skit) (2:39)

 

2: AS SEEN ON 'OPRAH' (6:05)

Composed and performed by Schultz, in the forest, at night

 

3: CRED GALORE (DON'T CALL WE part two) (4:21)

Composed and performed by Schultz

 

4: METAL REBUTTAL (1:34)

Composed and performed by Schultz, in a different forest

 

5: LOSER GETS SHAVED

or

'RUPERT REARS HIS UGLY HEAD'(2:21)

Composed and fucking performed by Kocol.

 

6: AN IRATE HAIR I

or

'THE BEARD-O-GARCHY (DOWN WITH IT!)' (3:57)

Composed by Abbot, performed by Crowhurst

 

7: FACE DOWN IN A BOOTH

IN THE VIPER ROOM (4:32)

Composed by Schultz, Orchestrated by Kocol

 

8: DARING YOUNG BRISTLE

or

'A PHONE MOST CELLULAR' (5:27)

Composed by Schultz, Orchestrated by Kocol

 

9: WINNIE THE POOH'S UNWITTING

BEARD-GAFFLING PROGENY (1:58)

Composed by (according to the Muppet Show Album liner notes anyway) Haynie, performed by Kocol

 

10: HESSIAN HEAD HARVEST (5:09)

Composed and performed by Schultz

 

11: MENINGEDUCT ARIA (2:37)

Composed by Schultz, Orchestrated by Kocol

Additional flutes by Lucia Schultz

 

12: IT'S ON ( CAP'N 187'UM) (8:34)

Decomposed and exhumed by Schultz

 

13: ORCHESTRAL MANEUVERS IN THE PRUNE (3:06)

Composed and performed by Kocol

 

14: OMELET-JACKING FOR DUMMIES (6:52)

Composed by Abbot and Schultz; performed by Schultz

Act Four: Raisin Hell at Stonehenge (68::26)

 

1: OPERA TECH SUPPORT (skit) (4:14)

 

2: LISPING BOUNCER BAMBOOZLING 101 (2:16)

Composed and orchestrated.

 

3: ENTER SPECTRAL VILLECHEZ

or

'CAP'N LOU'S ANGRY HAIR CLUB BANDS' (5:23)

Composed by Schultz, Orchestrated by Kocol

 

4: THAT'S NOT HOW YOU SPELL 'OMOLETTE!'

or

'MAMBO ON YOUR GRAVE!' (4:44)

Composed by Schultz, Orchestrated by Kocol

 

5: STALIN CLAUS (5:10)

Composed by Schultz, Orchestrated by Kocol

 

6: CHECK YOUR ELF

BEFORE YOU WRECK YOUR ELF (6:52)

Composed by Schultz, Bowie, and Dr. Dre, Orchestrated by Kocol

 

7: SITCOM REVOLUTION (skit) (1:47)

 

8: THE CHALLENGE (3:27)

Composed and performed by Schultz

 

9: THE WEEBLE TILTS TONIGHT (1:26)

Composed and performed by Schultz and that guy

 

10: THOR'S RASSLIN' RECAP (3:24)

Composed and performed by Schultz

 

11: ERPITUITY-PAY (4:58)

Composed and performed by Schultz

 

12: SAX SOLO (2:08)

Composed and performed by Kocol

 

13: SAGAN MONOLOGUE (2:04)

Composed and performed by Kocol

 

14: THE EPIC-EST BATTLE!

or

‘I WILL VANQUISH YOU DOWN!' (8:40)

Composed by Abbot, Schultz, and Kocol, performed by Schultz and Kocol

 

15: RAISIN IN MY ARMS (3:57)

Composed and performed by Schultz

 

16: IN VALHALLA, EVERYTHING IS FINE (5:37)

Composed by Schultz, Orchestrated by Kocol

 

17: BREAKIN' II: ELECTRIC CAP'N LOU (2:12)

Composed and performed by Kocol

4 comments Tags: , ,

4 Comments so far

  1. sephim October 3rd, 2010 12:13 am

    I have listened to this all the way through twice since I got it, it gets more awesome each time.

  2. Stefan December 27th, 2010 9:15 am

    This is perfect Christmas music.

  3. 古山田咲郎 December 27th, 2016 4:40 pm

    Tuned in for nostalgia. Spastically clicked the link to Aquarius Records for no particular reason, just to learn they closed down the shop! The fuck??? Another constant in my life…gone. I feel old now.

  4. admin December 31st, 2016 8:31 pm

    Should’ve been Pitchfork gone.

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