Kids In The Hall monologues:
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Jesus was a poor carpenter:
Hi! As I'm sure you're all aware, there's a movement amongst archaeologists to attempt to reconcile the biblical account of history with the archaeological record. Now, I'm an intellectually curious young man with, let's face it, no real job. So, I've done some exploring of my own in this vain. The Bible tells us that Christ was trained as a carpenter. But in my most recent digs, I've found artifacts that show He was not a very good carpenter.
This chair, for example. One of the legs is significantly shorter than the other. This causes a certain degree of _wobbling_ and a more subtle defect, no lower back support. Over here we have a table. Now this table has only two legs. Now, I've conferred with many leading contemporary carpenters and they all agree that three is the bare minimum required for stability. Observe. [lets go of table and it falls down]. Even taking into account the primitive times, this portrays a shocking lack of craftsmanship. Now over here we have this, and frankly, I have no idea what this is. For a while I thought it might be a spice rack of some sort. But watch. If I take this jar of crushed cumin seed and place it here...[jar rolls off onto the floor] Clearly, if it is a spice rack, it is not a spice rack of the best ilk.
Conclusions: Yes, Christ was a great philosophical and religious leader; perhaps, even as some maintain, the Savior or Messiah. But it seems clear that He had few career options. As a carpenter, He was incompetent. He would've been unable even to construct the simple crucifix upon which ultimately He met his martyrdom. Now, I know that these views are going to be controversial. But I am also aware that if Christina Applegate were to express them wearing a halter top, you'd eat it up. Thanks!
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Bruce On How To Break Into Show Biz:
Listen -- I'm no role model. I don't give advice. But over the last
couple of years I've received a lot of letters, all with the same
questions: Bruce, how do you get started in comedy, you know, acting and
writing? And what advice do you have for someone trying to break in? OK,
here it goes...
First of all, I guess if you're in school, make jokes. Don't worry about
it if your teachers like it or not. The only teacher you should listen
to anyway is your English teacher. But not too much, because, remember --
No One Understands You [flashes on screen]. Education is not your
friend. Neither is sleep; you won't need it where you're going. Instead
of studying, try listening to tragically loud music daily. And be strict
with yourself -- you got to do it everyday!
You know, now that I think about it, I think it's very important to let
liquor be the wind beneath your wings. Yeah, I guess I'd have to advise
drinking a lot with guys like Calvin Renny and Terry Rockio and
pissing out the back of a fast-moving truck. Oh, and if a policeman goes
by, try doing this under your breath: "Pig pig oink oink bacon sandwich
at 2:00". Now, get a lot of experience coming home drunk. Stand up to
your dad; he may tower over you now, but as be begins to shrink, you pick
your day.
It's very important that you begin to juggle lovers. Remember: ["No One
Understands You" flashes on screen].
I think it would be helpful to get a lot of dead-end jobs in warehouses
with linear thinking racist pigs who will teach you only one thing: how
to steal.
Did I mention piss out the back of a fast-moving truck? Oh, I did -- OK
-- Then move to the biggest city you can find, get the smallest apartment
you can find, keep your underware in a bowl in the fridge, never answer
your phone, never remember your family's birthdays, never make it home
for Christmas, think a lot about vampires, death and sex with your
friends' mothers...or fathers -- you figure it out, I did. Wear a
crash helmet around just in case, watch your friends get married and grow
beards to cover their puffy, compromising faces...then get a TV show.
I guess I'd have to say that that's my only advice.
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Mississippi Gary's Life after death song:
Smokin' on a night train, chewin' on a jelly roll,
Smokin' on a night train, chewin' on a jelly roll,
I'm runnin' up a flag without a pole,
I'm walkin' on a shoe without a sole,
Smokin' on a night train, chewin' on a jelly roll.
(OK here i' comes, lesson one.)
You can't cook an egg unless you got yourself a frying pan.
(You know it's the truth.)
You can't cook an egg unless you got yourself a frying pan.
You shouldn't rob a bank without a plan,
You shouldn't use your tongue to stop a fan.
Smokin' on a night train, chewin' on a jelly roll.
(Now here come lesson number two.)
Shouldn't want to do it if you don't want to not do it right.
Eba-dabba-dooba-daba-deba-daba-do, all right.
(I ain't makin' this up.)
You don't go dancin' in the day,
You don't golfin' in the night.
Smokin' on a night train, chewin' on a jelly roll.
(Yeah.)
Smokin' on a night train, chewin' on a jelly roll.
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Bikini Inspector
Bruce:
I'm a bikini inspector. It's not a joke, I inspect bikinis. It's my job.
You know, I see a lot of guys on the beach wearin' "Bikini Inspector"
t-shirts. But they're not real bikini inspectors, they just wish they
were, for some weird reason. I don't know why anyone would pretend to be a
bikini inspector. It's a menial job. You got to take a bus there every
day. There's an hour right there. You work in a dank factory, you gotta
inspect four or five thousand units, your eyes start to go buggy and
squinty. Shift work too, you know? And for that you make, well, let's just
say the amount of money I make's my own business. Although I do make
somewhere around $8.67 an hour. Bikini inspector. The only job worse than
that is the job I had in Collingwood, Ontario. Workin' in the woods. I
was on the beaver patrol. Rotten job, mud in your boots, trapsin' through
the underbrush lookin' for beaver dams that are cloggin' up the irrigation
system. One beaver even bit my thumb. But it's all par for the course on
the beaver patrol. You know, I'd go out after work, beaver bites all over
my thumbs, go to a bar for a quick drink, and I'd see guys there wearin'
t-shirts that said my job on them. But not like other rotten jobs, like
"Fry cook" or "Night security guard at an out of the way mall." So, I'd be
sittin' there, tryin' to find pride in my work, wearin' my beaver patrol
t-shirt, and the women stare at ya. Well, I'm sorry ma'am, if I'm not a
doctor, but thems the breaks. One woman even bit my thumb. But I'm
gettin' out of here. Tryin' to get on as a "Muff Diver." Read it on a
t-shirt. I don't know what it is, but, that job can't be much worse than
what I'm doin' now, eh? Eh? Yeah...
