JOE'S GARAGE ACT I
ACT I
Desperate nerds in high offices all over the world have been known to enact
the most disgusting pieces of legislation in order to win votes
(or, in places where they don't get to vote, to control unwanted
forms of mass behavior).
Environmental laws were not passed to protect our air and water .
. . they were passed to get votes. Seasonal
anti-smut campaigns are not
conducted to rid our communities of moral rot . . . they are
conducted to give an aura of saintliness to the office-seekers who demand them. If a
few key phrases are thrown into any speech (as the expert advisors explain
to these various heads of state) votes will roll in, bucks will roll in,
and, most importantly, power will be maintained by the groovy guy (or gal)
who gets the most media coverage for his sleaze. Naturally, his friends in
various businesses will do okay too.
All governments perpetuate themselves through the daily commission of acts
which a rational person might find to be stupid or dangerous (or
both).
Naturally, our government is no exception . . .
for instance, if the
President (any one of them) went on TV and sat there with the flag in the
background (or maybe a rustic scene on a little backdrop, plus the flag)
and stared sincerely into the camera and told everybody that all
energy
problems and all inflationary problems had been traced to
and could be
solved by the abolition of MUSIC, chances are
that most people would
believe him and think that the illegalization of this obnoxious
form of
noise pollution would be a small price to pay for the chance to
buy gas
like the good ol' days. No way? Never happen? Records
are made out of
oil. All those big rock shows go from town
to town in fuel-gobbling
45-foot trucks . . . and when they
get there, they use up enormous
amounts of electrical energy with their lights, their amplifiers, their PA
systems . . . their smoke machines. And all those
synthesizers . .
look at all the plastic they got in 'em . . . and the guitar picks
. .
. you name it . . .
JOE'S GARAGE is a stupid story about how the government is going to do away
with music (a prime cause of unwanted mass behavior). It's sort of like a
really cheap kind of high school play . . . the way it might
have been
done 20 years ago, with all the sets made out of cardboard boxes and poste
paint. It's also like those lectures that local narks used to give (where
they show the pills leading to the weed leading to the needle, etc., etc.).
If the plot of the story seems just a little bit preposterous, and if the
idea of The Central Scruntinizer enforcing laws that haven't been passed
yet makes you giggle, just be glad you don't live in one of the cheerful
little countries where, at this very moment, music is
either severely
restricted . . . or, as it is in Iran, totally illegal.
SCENE ONE
Entrance of the Central Scrutinizer
Sometimes when you're not looking he just sneaks up on you. He looks like
a cheap sort of flying saucer about five feet across with a
snout-like
megaphone apparatus in the front with two big eyes mounted like Appletons
with miniature motorized frowning chrome eyebrows over them.
Along the
side of his disc-like body are several sets of stupid-looking headers and
exhaust hoses which apparently propel him and punctuate his dialogue with
horrible-smelling smoke rings. In the middle of his head we
can see an
airport wind sock and constantly twirling anenometer. The bottom
of him
has a landing light and three spoked wheels. In spite of all this, it is
obvious that the way he really gets around is by being dangled from place
to place by a union guy with a dark green shirt up in
the roof who is
eating a sandwich (pieces of which drop off every once in a while and lodge
themselves near the hole where they put the oil in that makes the
cheap
smoke).
He hovers into view and speaks to us thusly . . .
Central Scrutinizer:
The is the CENTRAL SCRUNTINIZER . . . it is my responsibility to enforce
all the laws that haven't been passed yet. It is also my responsibility to
alert each and every one of you to the potential consequences of various
ordinary everyday activities you might be performing which could eventually
lead to THE DEATH PENALTY (or affect your parent's credit rating).
Our
criminal institutions are full of little creeps like
you who do wrong
things . . . and many of them were driven to these crimes by a
horrible
force called MUSIC!
Our studies have shown that this horrible force is so dangerous to society
at large that laws are being drawn up at this
very moment to stop it
forever. Cruel and inhuman punishments are being carefully
described in
tiny paragraphs so they won't conflict with the
Constitution (which,
itself, is being modified in order to accomodate THE FUTURE).
I bring you now a special presentation to show what can happen to you if
you choose a career in MUSIC . . . The WHITE
ZONE is for loading and
unloading only . . . if you have to load or unload, go to the WHITE ZONE
. . . you'll love it . . . it's a
way of life . . . This is the
CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER . . . The WHITE ZONE is for
loading and unloading
only . . . (etc.)
We take you now to a garage in Canoga Park.
[Makes its own sauce when you add water]
SCENE TWO
Joe's Garage
A boring old garage in a residential area with a teen-age band rehearsing
in it. JOE (the main character in the
CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER's Special
Presentation) sings to us of the trials and tribulations of
garage-band
husbandry.
JOE:
It wasn't very large
There was just enough room to cram the drums
In the corner over by the Dodge
It was a fifty-four
With a mashed up door
And a cheesy little amp
With a sign on the front said "Fender Champ
And a second-hand guitar
It was a Stratocaster with a whammy bar
At this point, LARRY (a guy who will eventually give up music and earn a
respectable living as a roadie for a group called Toad-O) joins in the song
. . .
LARRY:
We could jam in Joe's Garage
His mama was screaming
And his dad was mad
We was playin' the same old song
In the afternoon 'n sometimes we would
Play it all night long
It was all we knew, 'n easy too
So we wouldn't get it wrong
All we did was bend the string like . . .
[Reent-toont-teent-toont-teent-toont-teenooneenoonee]
Hey!
Down in Joe's Garage
We didn't have no dope or LSD
But a coupla quartsa beer
Would fix it so the intonation
Would not offend yer ear
And the same old chords goin' over 'n over
Became a symphony
We could play it again 'n again 'n again
Cause it sounded good to me
ONE MORE TIME!
[Reent-toont-teent-toont-teent-toont-teenooneenoonee]
We could jam in Joe's Garage
His mama was screamin'
"TURN IT DOWN!"
We was playin' the same old song
In the afternoon 'n sometimes we would
Play it all night long
It was all we knew, 'n easy too
So we wouldn't get it wrong
Even if you played it on a saxophone
We thought we was pretty good
We talked about keepin' the band together
'N we figured that we should
'Cause about this time we was gettin' the eye
From the girls in the neighborhood
They'd all come over 'n dance around like . . .
Twenty teen-age girls dash in and go STOMP-CLAP, STOMP-CLAP-CLAP . . .
So we picked out a stupid name
Had some cards printed up for a coupla bucks
'N we was on our way to fame
Got matching suits
'N Beatle boots
'N a sign on the back of the car
'N we was ready to work in a GO-GO Bar
ONE TWO THREE FOUR
LET'S SEE IF YOU'VE GOT SOME MORE!
People seemed to like our song
They got up and danced 'n made a lotta noise
An' it wasn't 'fore very long
A guy from a company we can't name
Said we oughta take his pen
'N sign on the line for a real good time
But he didn't tell us when
These "good times" would be something'
That was really happenin'
So the band broke up
An' it looks like
We will never play again . . .
JOE:
Guess you only get one chance in life
To play a song that goes like . . .
And as the band plays their little song, MRS. BORG (who keeps her son, SY,
in the closet with the vacuum cleaner) screams out the window . . .
MRS. BORG:
Turn it down!
Turn it DOWN!
I have children sleeping here . . .
Don't you boys know any nice songs?
JOE:
(Speculating on the future)
Well the years was rollin' by
Heavy Metal 'n Glitter Rock
Had cought the public eye
Snotty boys with lipstick on
Was really flyin' high
'N then they got that disco thing
'N New Wave came along
'N all of a sudden I thought the time
Had come for that old song
We used to play in "Joe's Garage"
And if I am not wrong
You will soon be dancin' to . . .
CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER:
The WHITE ZONE is for loading and unloading only. If you
gotta load or
unload, go to the WHITE ZONE. You'll love it . . .
JOE:
Well the years was rollin' by . . . (etc.)
MRS. BORG
I'm calling THE POLICE!
There! I did it! They'll be here shortly!
OFFICER BUTZIS:
This is the Police . . .
We have the garage surrounded
If you come out with your hands up
We guarantee you won't be harmed
Or hurt, neither
(SWAT Team 4, move in!)
[The above dialogue by OFFICER BUTZIS was in the album lyric sheet but was
not on the recording - below is what was actually spoken. The significance
of the above dialogue is the fact that it is taken in part from a small toy
police car which uttered these words when you pressed a button on its roof]
This is the Police . . .
We have the garage surrounded
Give yourselves up
We will not harm you
Or hurt you, neither
We will not harm you
Or maim you
(SWAT Team 4, move in!)
MRS. BORG:
He used to cut my grass . . .
He was a very nice boy . . .
CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER:
This is the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER . . . That was Joe's first confrontation
with The Law. Naturally we were easy on
him. One of our friendly
counselors gave him a do-nut . . .
and told him to Stick closer to
church-oriented social activities
SCENE THREE
Catholic Girls
A festive CYO party with crepe paper streamers, contestants for the broom
dance, the "Hokey Pokey," baked goods, &
FATHER RILEY making sure the
lights don't go down too low . . .
FATHER RILEY AND VARIOUS PARTY GOERS:
Catholic Girls
With a tiny little moustache
Catholic Girls
Do you know how they go?
Catholic Girls
In the Rectory Basement
Father Riley's a fairy
But it don't bother Mary
Catholic Girls
At the CYO
Catholic Girls
Do you know how they go?
Catholic Girls
There can be no replacement
How do they go, after the show?
JOE:
All the way
That's the way they go
Every day
And none of their mamas ever seem to know
Hip-Hip-Hooray
For all the class they show
There's nothing like a Catholic Girl
At the CYO
Where they learn to blow . . .
FATHER RILEY:
They're learning to blow
All the Catholic Boys!
MARY:
Warren Cucurullo
FATHER RILEY:
Catholic Boys!
MARY:
Kinda young, kinda WOW!
FATHER RILEY:
Catholic Boys!
MARY:
Vinnie Colaiuta . . .
CHORUS:
Where are they now?
Did they all take The Vow?
FATHER RILEY:
Catholic Girls
WARREN CUCURULLO:
Carmenita Scarfone!
FATHER RILEY:
Catholic Girls
OFFICER BUTZIS:
Hey! She gave me VD!
FATHER RILEY:
Catholic Girls
WARREN CUCURULLO:
Toni Carbone!
CHORUS:
With a toungue like a cow
She could make you go WOW!
JOE:
VD Vowdy vootie
Right away
That's the way they go
Every day
Whenever their mamas take them to a show
Matinee
Pass the popcorn please
There's nothing like a Catholic Girl
With her hand in the box
When she's on her knees
LARRY:
She was on her knees
My little Catholic Girl
CHORUS:
In a little white dress
Catholic Girls
They never confesss
Catholic Girls
I got one for a cousin
I love how they go
So send me a dozen
Catholic Girls
OOOOOOH!
Catholic Girls
OOOOOOH!
(etc.)
CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER:
The is the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER . . . Joe had a girl friend
named Mary.
She used to go to the church club every week . .
. They'd meet each
other there, hold hands And think Pure Thoughts. But one
night, at the
Social Club Meeting Mary didn't show up . .
. She was sucking cock
backstage at The Armory In order to get a pass To see some big rock group
for free . . .
SCENE FOUR
Crew Slut
Backstage at the local Armory, MARY in her little white dress, is wiping
the remnants of her performance off the side of her mouth as LARRY (the guy
from the garage who quit the band in order to make an honest living) zips
up the front of his stinking boiler suit and sings to the same
teen-age
girls who were stomping and clapping a little while ago, as they kneel with
their little pink mouths open near the crew bus, hoping to save the price
of admission by performing acts of Hooverism on the jolly lads who set up
the PA system.
LARRY:
Hey Hey Hey all you girls in these
Industrial towns
I know you're prob'ly gettin' tired
Of all the local clowns
Whey never give you no respect
They never treat you nice
So perhaps you oughts try
A little friendly advice
And be a CREW SLUT
Hey, you'll love it
Be a CREW SLUT
It's a way of life
Be a CREW SLUT
See the world
Don't make a fuss, just get on the bus
CREW SLUT
Add water, makes its own sauce
CREW SLUT
So you don't forget, call before midnite tonite
The boys in the crew
Are just waiting for you
You never get to move around
You never go no where
I know you're prob'ly gettin' tired
Of all the guys out there
You always wondered what it's like
To go from place to place
So, darlin' take a little ride
On the mixer's face
Be a CREW SLUT
Just follow the magic footprints
Be a CREW SLUT
Hey, you'll love it!
Be a CREW SLUT
It's a way of life
I ain't gonna squash it
And you don't need to wash it!
CREW SLUT
Hey, I'll buy you a pizza
CREW SLUT
Of course I'll introduce you to Warren
The boys in the crew
Are only waiting for you
At this point, the road crew, as all road crews must from time to
time,
borrow some of the big rock group's equipment and have a blues jam session,
indicating to the kneeling maidens that they are endowed with a great deal
of raw talent, as well as massive meat. Obviously impressed with LARRY's
ability to suck so hard on his harmonica that screeching little noises come
out of it, MARY kneels again and
reaches upward in gestures of
supplication, listening intently as LARRY continues to sing . . .
LARRY:
Well, you been to Alabama, girl
'N Georgia, too
'N all the boys in the crew
Is bein' good to you
I know you're sayin' to yourself
"This is the way to go"
'Cause when you need a little extra
They will give you some mo'
'Cause you're the CREW SLUT
MARY:
I'm into leather . . .
LARRY:
That's good! A lot of the boys in the crew
Love leather . . .
MARY:
And rubber . . .
LARRY:
Yeh, they like rubber too . . . shrink tubing
With a hair dryer . . .
ROAD CREW CHORUS:
Trade your spot on the bench
For a guy with a wrench
MARY:
Ha ha ha . . .
LARRY:
You like that, huh?
I told you you'd love it . . .
It's a way of life!
ROAD CREW CHORUS:
The guys in the crew
Have got a present for you!
MARY:
A present for me?
LARRY:
We got a present for you!
MARY:
Whaddya got?
Whaddya gonna give me?
LARRY:
It looks just like a Telefunken U-47
You'll love it . . .
MARY:
With Leather?
CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER:
Eh, err, eh eh . . . This is the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER again .
. . And
so MARY was enticed away from JOE By an evil barbarian with a wrench in his
pocket Lured into alife of SLEAZERY With the entire
road crew of some
Famous Rock Group (I don't know whether it was Toad-O . . . I don't know
. . . I'll check it out)
Again we see
MUSIC
Causing
BIG TROUBLE!
SCENE FIVE
The Wet T-Shirt Contest
After a few weeks on the bus, being porked by Toad-O's road crew, and being
too exhausted to do their laundry on a regular basis, MARY is
dumped in
Miami. With no money (and no other famous rock groups due into the
area
for at least three weeks), she tries to pick up a few bucks by entering the
Wet T-Shirt contest at The Brasserie . . .
IKE:
Looks to me like something funny
Is going on around here
People laughin' n' dancin' 'n payin'
Entirely too much for their beer
And they all think they're
Clean outa-site
And they're ready to party
'Cause the sign outside says it's
WET T-SHIRT NITE
'N they all crave some
Hot delight
Well the girls are excited
Because in a minute
They're gonna get wet
'N the boys are delighted
Because all the titties
Will get 'em upset
'N they all think they're
Reety-awright
'N they're ready to boogie
'Cause the sign outside says it's
WET T-SHIRT NITE
'N they all crave some
Pink delight
When the water gets on 'em
Their Ninnies get rigid
'N look pretty bold
It's a common reaction
That makes an attraction
Whenever it's cold
'N allthe fellas
They wish they could bite
On the cute little nuggets
The local girls are showin' off tonite
You know I think it serves 'em right
You know I think it serves 'em right
You know I think it serves 'em right
You know I think it serves 'em right
And it's
WET T-SHIRT TIME AGAIN
I know you want someone to show you some tit!
BIG ONES!
WET ONES!
BIG WET ONES!
At this point, FATHER RILEY (who had been recently
de-frocked for not
meeting his quota, and has grown his hair out and bought a groovy
sport
coat and moved to Miami and changed his name to BUDDY JONES) steps into the
crowded bandstand in his exciting new role as a WET T-SHIRT CONTEST EMCEE .
. .
BUDDY JONES:
Ah, thanks, IKE . . . Yes, it's WET
T-SHIRT TIME AGAIN Here at The
Brasserie Home of THE TITS . . . huh huh . . .
And it's the charming
Mary from Canoga Park Up next in her bid for the semi-finals . . .
Hi,
Mary . . . how ya doin'?
Having been fucked senseless by the boys in
the crew, MARY does not
recognize the former religious personage from her nights in the
rectory
basement during which she acquired her basic
manual skills . . .
confounded by his sport coat, she replies . . .
MARY:
Hi!
Realizing that she no longer recognizes him . . . or
even appreciates
the patient religious training he had given her in the past, BUDDY JONES,
like a true WET T-SHIRT EMCEE type person, proceeds to say various stupid
things to waste time, making the contest itself take longer, thereby giving
the mongoloids squatting on the dance floor an opportunity
to buy more
exciting beverages . . . liquid
products that will expand their
consciousnesses to the point whereby they might
more fully enjoy the
ambiance of Miami By Night . . .
BUDDY JONES:
Where ya from?
MARY:
Ah, the bus . . .
BUDDY JONES:
Which one?
MARY:
You know . . . the last tour . . .
You know . . . Leather
BUDDY JONES:
Oh . . . you were the girl that was stuck to seat 38 on
Phydeaux III .
. . why don't you get in position now and take a deep
breath, because
this water is very, very cold, but it's goin' to be so stimulating.
And
Mary's the kind of Red-Blooded American Girl who'll do anything . . .
MARY:
Anything . . .
BUDDY JONES:
I said anything . . . for fifty bucks
That's right!
MARY:
I really need the fifty bucks you know
I gotta get home!
BUDDY JONES:
Yeh, I know, your father is waiting for you in
the tool shed . . .
that's right, you heard right . . .
our big prize tonite is fifty
American Dollars to the girl with the most exciting mammalian protuberances
. . .
MARY:
Here I am!
BUDDY JONES:
. . . as viewed through a thoroughly soaked, stupid-looking white
sort
of male person's conservative kind
of middle-of-the-road COTTON
UNDERGARMENT! Whoopee! And here comes THE WATER!
MARY:
EEEK!
BUDDY JONES:
No, you'd squeak more if the water got on you . . . sounds like you just
got an ice pick in the forehead . . . AND HERE COMES THE ICE PICK IN THE
FOREHEAD . . . a million laughs, Mary! Anyway: good golly,
what a mess
. . . she's totally soaked . . .
MARY:
I love it!
BUDDY JONES:
Totally committed to the fifty bucks . . . That's it, just step into the
spotlight . . . let the guys get a good look at ya, honey!
MARY:
Here I am!
BUDDY JONES:
Whaddya say, fellas? Nice setta jugs? Now Mary, how's about
shakin' it
around a little . . . Oh my goodness look at her go!
MARY:
Oooh! I'm dancing! I'm dancing!
BUDDY JONES:
Ain't this what living is really all about? Here's your fifty bucks, Mary .
. .
MARY:
Oh great! Now I can go home!
BUDDY JONES:
Home is where the heart is
MARY:
On the bus
SCENE SIX
Toad-O Line
Whereupon the house combo at The Brasserie drifts into a modified version
of one of Toad-O's big hit numbers
BUDDY JONES stares longingly at the little nozzles pooching out of MARY's
moistened upper clothing, but it's too late . . .
WARREN, one of the
other guys from Joe's Garage Band, has already recognized her (he's now one
of the foremost disco-fusion rhythm guitar players on
the Wet T-Shirt
Circuit, currently providing exciting strummery here in Miami), and is in
the process of getting the details of her life on the bus with LARRY and
the other jolly road crew lads. He evetually sends JOE a letter with this
information in it . . .
CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER:
This is the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER . . . Meanwhile, Joe hears about
Mary's
naughty exploits. He falls in with a fast crowd and gets seduced by a girl
who works at the Jack-In-The-Box, named Lucille,
who gives him an
unpronounceable disease . . .
SCENE SEVEN
Why Does It Hurt When I Pee?
Shortly after his liason with the taco stand lady, JOE makes a horrible
discovery . . .
JOE:
Why does it hurt when I pee?
Why does it hurt when I pee?
I don't want no doctor
To stick no needle in me
Why does it hurt when I pee?
I got it from the toilet seat
I got it from the toilet seat
It jumped right up
'N grabbed my meat
Got it from the toilet seat
My balls feel like a pair of maracas
My balls feel like a pair of maracas
Oh God I probably got the
Gon-o-ka-ka-khackus!
My balls feel like a pair of maracas
Ai-ee-ai-ee-ahhhh!
Why does it
Why does it
Why does it
Why does it hurt . . . when . . . I
Peeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee?
SCENE EIGHT
Lucille Has Messed My Mind Up
JOE is so disoriented by his disease, he goes in the other room and plays
the title cut from an old Jeff Simmons album, and sings along with it.
JOE:
Lucille
Has messed my mind up
But I still love her
Oh I still love her
Lucille
Has messed my mind up
But I still love her
Oh I still love her
Lucille
Has messed my mind up
But I still need her
You know I still need her
Whatcha tryna doota me
Lucille?
Whatcha tryna doota me
Lucille?
Whatcha tryna doota me
Lucille?
You got me goin' outa my mind
Lucille
Has tore my heart up
But I still love her
I really love her
Lucille
Has tore my heart up
But I still need her
You know I need her
She treats me like my hard
Is made of stone
She runs around
And leaves me home
All alone
Ahe doesn't answer
When I call her on the hpone
She messed up my mind
I'm cryin' alla the time
Lucille
Has messed my mind up etc., etc., etc.
CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER:
This is the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER . . .
again. Hi! . . . It's me
again, the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER . . . Joe says
Lucille has messed his
mind up, but, was it the girl or was it the music? As you can see . .
.
girls, music, disease, heartbreak . . . they all
go together . . .
Joe found out the hard way, but his troubles were just beginning .
. .
his mind was so messed up . . . he could hardly do nothin' .
. . He
was in a quandry . . . being devoured by the swirling
cesspool of his
own steaming desires . . . the guy was a wreck . . .
so . . . what
does he do? For once, he does something SMART . . . he goes out .
. .
and pays a lot of money to L. Ron Hoover . . . at the
First Church of
Appliantology!
END OF ACT I
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