200 Motels Page #4
- R
- Year:
- 1971
- 98 min
- 703 Views
Tinsel cock!
Tinsel cock!
Oh-oh-oh oh-oh-oh oh-oh-oh oh-oh-oh oh-oh-oh oh
Which do you choose?
The girl . . .
In a statement to the press . . .
Duh-D-Duhhh!
Explains . . .
Broth reminds me of nuns
(Nuns)
I see them smashing
(Kids)
With rulers
Disciplining munchkin cretins
(Munchkin cretins)
Tortured munchkins
(Munchkin cretins)
Tortured munchkins
Irish Catholic victims
Little green scratchy sweaters
(Sweaters)
Little green scratchy ones
(Courduroy pants)
Brown courduroy ponce
(Doo-ahh)
Courduroy ponce
Irish Catholic victims
(Munch-kins Munch-a-kins)
Munchkins get me hot
Munchkins get me, get me hot
Hot!
Gets her real hot
Why don't you strap on this here bunch
Of cardboard boxes, daddy-o?
Joy of my desiring
You'll certainly look suave and get me hot
Hot, hot, get me hot and
Horny
(Ow!)
If there's one thing I really get off on
(YOINNNNG!)
It's a nun suit painted on some old boxes
Some old melodies
4/4
An aura
An areola
Pink gums
Stumpy gray teeth
Dental floss
Gets me hot
Wanna watch a dental hygiene movie?
Han-Min-Noon-Toon Han-Toon-Ran
No, Jeff!
Rantoon, Rantoon, Rantoon, Frammin, Hantoon,
Rantoon, Hantoon, Frammin
No no no!
Man! This stuff is great! It's just as if Donovan himself had appeared on my very own TV with words of peace, love,
and eternal cosmic wisdom . . . ! Leading me. Guiding me. On paths of everlasting pseudo-karmic negligence, in the very
midst of my drug-induced nocturnal emission.
For I am your good conscience, Jeff. I know all. I see all. I am a cosmic love pulse matrix, becoming a technicolor interpositive!
Huh? Where'd you buy that incense? It's hip.
It's the same and mysterious exotic oriental
fragrance as what the Beatles get off on.
I thought I recognized it . . . Sniff, sniff . . . Mmm, what
is that, MUSK? Sniff, sniff, sniff . . . mmmh!
Jeff, I know what's good for you.
Right. You're heavy.
Yes, Jeff, I am your guiding light. Listen to me.
Don't rip off the towels, Jeff!
Piss off, you little nitwit!
Hey man, what's the deal?
Don't listen to him, Jeff, he's no good. He'll
make you do BAD THINGS!
You mean, he'll make me sin?
Yes, Jeff. SIN!
Wow!
Jeff, I'd like to have a word with you . . . about
your soul.
No, don't listen, Jeff.
Why are you wasting your life, night after
night playing this comedy music?
You're right, I'm too heavy to be in this group.
Comedy music . . .
Jeff, YOUR SOUL!
Oh, ah Oh, you're wasting your life
To be . . .
Ah Oh, ah Ah, ah
Too heavy, Jeff
In this group, all I ever get to do is play Zappa's
comedy music. HE EATS!
Jeff!
I get so tense!
Of course you do, my boy.
The stuff he makes me do is always off the wall!
That's why it would be best to leave his stern employ.
And quit the group!
You'll make it big!
That's right.
Of course!
And then I won't be SMALL!
Ha ha ha ha ha!
Ha ha ha!
Ti-diddly-diddly-dee
Ha, ha, ha . . .
He-he-he-he-heh!
Cough, cough. Ahmet Ertegun used this towel as a bathmat six weeks ago at a rancid motel in Orlando, Florida, with the
highest MILDEW rating of any commercial lodging facility within the territorial limits of the United States, naturally
excluding tropical possessions . . . It's still damp. What an aroma! This is the best I ever got off! What can I say
about this elixir?
This is the real you, Jeff. Rip off a few more ashtrays. Get rid of some of that inner tension. Quit the comedy group!
Get your own group together. Heavy! Like GRAND FUNK! Or BLACK SABBATH . . .
No, Jeff . . .
Or COVEN!
Peace . . . Love . . .
Bollocks!
What can I say about this elixir?
What?
WOWWWWWW!
What can I?
WOWWWWWW!
What?
What can I say about this?
WOWWWWWW!
Dwee-doo dee-ooo-poo
Pa-dan!
Does this kind of life look interesting to you? Night after night, dinners with Herb Cohen. Thrill-packed, fun-filled
evenings on the French Riviera at the MIDEM convention. A fake tie, the whole bit. Watch Mutt eat, and Leon feed the
geese. One thousand green business cards, with your name and the wrong address. Plus six royalty statements,
inspected and customized by Rantoon
Tan, Hantoon Frammin, and DEE . . .
Followed by twelve potential suicides as the
members of your group, past and present,
find out they can't collect unemployment. A dog,
a car, an epidemic of body lice,
with your own record company, your name on the
door, electric buzzer to the inner office,
and Ona's tits, and a three month supply of German bookings with tickets on Air Rangoon.
Does this kind of life look interesting to you? As a fake
rock and roll guitar player in a comedy group?
Hunna hunna hunna
200 Motels
200 Motels
Ran toon han toon
Han-toon-hannnnnn!
200 Motels
I'm stealing the room!
I'm stealing the room!
I'm going to die. I know I'm going to die, I can tell because my pulse is so weak. The pills . . . I took so many downers
that I know this is the end for me.
You poor thing. You want us to fix your hair for you
so you look good when they find you?
Oh . . . would you?
Sure, whaddyawant? A ponytail? A flat-top with fenders?
I'm gonna die, Janet, I'm gonna O.D.! So,
make me look good.
Listen, the best I can do for you is fix your hair, so why don't you get up and wash that melted eye makeup off your face.
Is it smeared? I've been crying so much . . . it's so damn sad when you know you'll never see all your friends anymore.
Every week it's the same old thing. You're gonna die. You're gonna die. Somebody went out on you. Somebody
doesn't love you anymore. How long you been a groupie? You should get used to romances which are so obviously
cheap. Listen, just in case you crash out, and the imaginary rock and roll newspaper from San Francisco wants to get
any pictures of you, you'll look like you
washed your face. Really.
It's better this way with a clean face.
People think groupies are such dirty girls.
Heh . . . I wouldn't mind sort of f***ing all
three of them!
Look, over there!
What?
He's doing it, he's watching us from the fake
bandstand with the binoculars!
Who, the English dude?
Oh, rivet-boy!
The rivet boy? Where?
Over there, wipe that stuff out of your eyes.
It looks like he's beating off.
Beating off? I knew he was a pervert.
Eww, how exciting. Hey, are you still
trying to O.D.?
Yes, this definitely is the end for me!
I feel so faint! So weak!
Good evening honey, that was the most imaginary
collapse I've seen since last week.
Janet, do you think she's going to die?
Are you kidding? Did you see her hit
the floor?
God, well it was so obviously cheap. Lift up
your head, honey.
I'm going to die. This time it's real.
Listen, Lucy, we gotta get ready for our big dance
number, we're going to the fake nightclub tonight.
Everything's getting dim.
Why don't you tell her a story while you put
your makeup on? Good evening.
Oh. Listen, toots. I'm going to make up a nice
little fairy tale for you.
The pills, the Mandrax, I took so many of them.
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"200 Motels" Scripts.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 22 Dec. 2024. <https://www.scripts.com/script/200_motels_1620>.
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