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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