The CC Presents Transcript

<body topmargin=0 leftmargin=0 marginheight=0 marginwidth=0> <table cellpadding=0 cellspacing=0 border=0><tr> <td valign="top" colspan=2 height=140 BGCOLOR="#9966CC" TEXT="#080000" bgproperties="fixed" background="03e00a20ezthtv.gif"> <div> <A HREF="index.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="The Greg Proops Land of Ocelots"><U><B>home</B></U></A><B>     |     </B><FONT SIZE="5" COLOR="#330066" FACE="Arial" ><B>The Greg Proops Land of Ocelots</B></FONT></div> <div> <A HREF="id4.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Info About the Divine Mr. P."><U>Info About the Divine Mr. P.</U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id23.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Rare and Unusual Proops Pice"><U>Rare and Unusual Proops Pice</U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id5.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Pictures Galore"><U>Pictures Galore</U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id13.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="More pics of Mr. Proops"><U>More pics of Mr. Proops</U></A><B>   |   </B><B>The CC Presents Transcript</B><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id6.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Links"><U>Links</U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id17.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Fan fiction"><U>Fan fiction</U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id21.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Even More Fanfiction"><U>Even More Fanfiction</U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id18.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="About the Ocelot Kitten"><U>About the Ocelot Kitten</U></A></div> <div> <B>The CC Presents Transcript</B></div> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> </div> </td> </tr><tr> <td valign="top" width=210 BGCOLOR="#CCFF66" TEXT="#080000"> <div> <B>For thos of you that never got to see his CC presents special, here's the transcript, courtesy of Julia, aka Ryanscamel</B></div> </td> <td valign="top" height=340 BGCOLOR="#CCFF66" TEXT="#080000"> <div> Thank you so much! Shut up. Fabulous to be here in New York City, ladies and gentlemen. I live in Los Angeles, California, or... (cheering) Oh, we got people from L.A. Then I'll go real slow. We're lower California, or low-cal, if you will... People in L.A. always think people in New York are rude, and that's just isn't the truth. People in New York are *busy*. You know, thinking. 'Cause in L.A. you've always gotta look for that intelligent thought, 'cause it's never gonna just *come atcha*. And they don't have *time* in New York to wait around for our pinhead smooth-lobed indecision, you know? People in New York are like, (in monotone) "Ok, what'll it be?" (slow tone) "Umm, gee, I don't know, do you have a..." "That's it, I'm done now, thank you. I'm busy, I have stuff to do in my life, ok? You stand there and decide until the end of time." There's a lot of rules in California. You have liberal fascism. You can't smoke in a bar in the state of California. Now, I'm not mad that they did that. I'm aware that smoking is vaguely inappropriate in certain situations, like in orphanages, or cancer wards, whatever. But a bar?! *her-duh! snort* Or for our French friends, *der-doyng!* You're in a bar. Grow up. You're drinking poison. You're trying to have sex unsafely with someone you don't know. Is second-hand smoke the *chiefest* of your health concerns at this point? (surfer/drunk voice) "Dude, I've been doing tequila slammers since noon, I'm trying to shag this chick, I just met her, I don't even know her name, could you put that *out*?" I'll put out my cigarette the day everybody walks to the show, ladies and gentlemen. 'Cause I live in Hollywood where there is not even one *iota* of unpaved space and yet everyone feels the need to drive a suburban, four-wheel humvee assault vehicle. 'Cause you never know when you're going... *off-road* in Hollywood. "Kids, we're going through the Drive-Thru, hold the roll bar! Stay low! Keep close!" I spent a lot of time in England. "Really, Greg? We're fascinated, tell us more." All right, I will. I like going to England, and I'll tell you why. I like going to a country where I'm considered... the best-looking person, it's as simple as that... Hollywood, kind of a crushing ego blow, you know, "Hey, Buddy Holly... you are so old, have you not perished in a plane crash?" *snort* But oh God, not in England. God bless that dinky island. There, it's, (fairy English accent) "Oh good God, look at him... he has all his teeth and his ears are in proportion to his head." I'm Brad bloody Pitt on that island. Now, the English, who are warm and cuddly by nature... Thank you, look for the sarcasm, you'll find it contained in every joke. Always have interesting questions for me, like, (English accent) "When are you leaving?" and, "Do you miss America?" and, "*Are* you Miss America?" It's a semantic minefield. And I miss what anybody would miss. Mostly I miss the Mexican food. Mm-hmm. 'Cause this may not come as a wild-ass, bug-beaten, pinata-breaking, baboon's-butt surprise to all ya'll but England is not a really kickin' place to go. If you want full-on screamin' Mexican food. Who knew? Something with the way they pronounce it, I think. (fairy English accent) "Sorry, would you like an *Enchilaaadaaa?*" (puffs his cheeks, shakes head) Mm-mm, no, thank you, no, I don't want an enchilaaadaaa. Nor do I want a burr-eye-to. Or a tay-co. Or any other bizarre, unneccessary vowel substitutions.</div> <div> So there's this bitching restaurant in Los Angeles--surprise. I'm gonna hip you to it. It's in kind of a dicey neighborhood. It's at the corner of, like, Hugh Grant and crack... There's no menus in this restaurant, right? 'Cause this is Hollywood, the literacy capitol of the known universe. (goofy voice) "Words... hurting... brain. Words... not about me. Waiter, can I have a mirror so I can watch myself eat? Mmm, I *am* super-foxy. I'm from Fox-katchewan (sp?). The capitol of Fox-itoba." And the waiter comes up to you in schpiels, right? Although you don't find a lot of Mexican waiters using the Yiddish. (Mexican sexy accent) "Discursa." Very sexy, very Latin. "Good evening. Welcome to the Gardens of Taxco. This is like eating in a home in Mexico City." Except you can't smoke or ahave any adult freedom, right? You can't smoke in a restuarant in Los Angeles which is (high-pitched on mildly) *mildly* ironic, considering the fact that you can't breathe *outside* a restaurant in Los Angeles. You wouldn't want the doors to fling open and all that bad air to waft outside. (sexy Mexican accent) "The first dish on the menu this evening is Chicken Con Crema--chicken in a cream sauce, so *rich*, so *delicious*, you will think the chicken was *born* in it. Chicken Con Crema is a very spicy dish. Not hot, my friend, not hot--(whispers) spicy. Chicken Con Crema--the chicken of romance, intrigue and adventure. A sassy free-range bird with a mind of its own. *This* is a chicken that will walk up to a rooster and say, 'Fuck off! I don't need you in my life!' (makes chicken movements) Chicken Con Crema--a chicken so beguiling, so alluring, so...captivating, you will wish... to penetrate the chicken. But you cannot. For it is forbidden. There is no smoking and no pentrating the chicken in the State of California. California penal code sesenta y seis, subsection cuarenta y uno." </div> <bR> <div> They're obsessed with fur where I come from. And you know how people who are obsessed with fur are. (girlish cheerleader voice) "I'm going to step over this disgusting homeless person and pet this cute little kitty!" My feeling is this--we ran from the animals for 3 million years. It's our time now. Animals have two vital functions in today's society--(sticks out thumb) to be delicious, (sticks out forefinger) and to fit well. Now there was a woman a couple years ago who was gored while videotaping the running of the bulls in Pamplona. (in girlish voice) "I'm here to help!" *screeches* You know. And I felt bad. But it proves my point about cows, ladies and gentlemen. When it comes to cows, (opens hands) it's them or us, right? If the cow could eat you, it would. And it wouldn't really care how comfortable your truck ride over was, either. "Hi! How was your trip? Moo!" *chomp* That's it, it'd bite your ass right off. (whiny voice) "But I'd never be cruel to an animal, wa wa wa..." Of course you would. If you were trapped in the arctic freezing to death, you'd kill a bay harp seal with a plastic picnic spoon. Just for the chance to crawl inside it and luxuriate in the warmth of real fur. So let's talk about dope, right? And the crowd goes quiet again. Listen, I'd never advocate the use of dope. I'm saying, you know, I would never advocate the use of dope because... you know... I'm not a professional athlete... and I don't have access to the good stuff, you know what I'm saying? God forbid we legalize marijuana in this country,and we don't, because we're Puritans, right? We got that Puritan logic. (gruff voice) "Greg... Greg, we can't legalize marijuana. Perish the thought. You see, if we legalize marijuana, people will smoke it." (taps head) 'Cause it seems to me that this country is so off in a redneck, (bleep), peckerwood, bohunk, hee-haw, gun-totin', psycho-Christian, anti-choice, homophobic, gimme-cap wearing, militia armband-wearing, huge belt buckle with your name on it that you wear upside down so you can look at it and go, (goofy southern accent) "Oh, shit, that's my name!" Kind of place. Clearly, the reason the United States is this way, is England's fault. Now, once upon a time, the English sent people all around the world, right? We got the *Pilgrims*. They celebrate Thanksgiving in England, by the way. It's called "Fuck off, Puritan." (uses two first fingers in a flip the bird manner) "Day." And we're told a lot of *lies* growing up, right? About American history. (goofy voice) "Really, Greg? Which ones?" *All* of them. And one of the chiefest lies we're told is about Thanksgiving, right? Ever since you were little you've heard this: (high-pitched fuzzy/cuddly voice) "The Pilgrims left England to escape religiniminous (yes, sp) persecution and to sneak religious freedom in the new world." And even when you're little you're like, (raising hand) "Umm... bullshit? You're just saying that, right? (singing and dancing onstage) "'Cause it sounds better than the truth... La-la-la la la-la-la-la... It *sounds* (kicks heels together) better and it *tastes* (kicks heels together) better, so we'll all pretend it really happened... There were no women or minorities... Just a bunch of white guys wearing wigs..." My feeling is... the Pilgrims were *asked* to leave England. England was never funner than when the pilgrims split, right? The people in England got a little tired of these dour, right-wing, conservative, psycho-Christians wearing all black, bumming people out, *confusing* everyone by wearing buckles (points to shoes) on (points to belt) their heads (points to head). "Is that tight enough for you, Cotton?" "Yea, verily." Finally, someone went, "Hey, I've got a crazy idea. Why don't you freaky little weirdoes get in a rickety, leaky, dinky little boat and get the fuck off the island? (makes kicking motion) Sail around 'til you hit the new world. When you get there, commit genocide on the indigenous people, all right? Have a groovy time. Have a witch trial. Let us know how that works out for you. We'll be back in England having the Renaissance in case anyone needs us. So they send this group over, right? With guns and bibles and *no* farming implements. Hmm. How English is that? (fairy English accent) "Oh surely there'll be a shop open." "I say Squanto, can you make us some baked beans on toast?" They send this group over, and then I have to hear this all the time: (gruff English accent) "Well, all Americans are fat and stupid." (goofy chuckling) Really? Well, thanks for sending over the best and brightest to start the party, huh? Maybe we could send over some freaky Texas militia hate-group, gun-toting weirdoes over to your country, huh? </div> <bR> <div> We work too hard. Can we agree on that? Not a groundswell of support for that, but all right. (goofy voice) "No, we work just hard enough, Greg." Harder than everyone else, right? 40 hours a week, two weeks vacation a year. All the other countries in the world, in the *G-7*, they get four weeks. (goofy voice) "I did not know that." Well now you do. The Japanese, they might work harder than us, right? Die in front of their televisions of coronry thrombosis when they're like four. Been singing the corporate anthem since they were a zygote. We work *so* hard, man, and for very low. I don't know if you've ever been to like Spain or Italy, but it doesn't break down that way. In Italy, one o'clock rolls around, work *stops*. Everyone goes to bed, they get up, they drink wine, they get up in the morning and they look *fabulous*. How did we miss out on that?! How come we got the grubby boat of bandy-legged Puritans? How come we didn't get the Italian party boat with the cappucino maker and the gelato machine? That was the sexy boat, man. Those guys have a million saints, we'd have a holiday every other day! We'd *never* work! (sexy italian voice) (looks at watch) "One o'clock now, I go to bed! Then I get up, I drink wine, I make love, I get up in the morning, I have strong coffee, I look very sexy in my suit. Beep-beep-beep, get out of my way, I do not use my brakes on my sports car, beep-beep-beep. La dolce vita, Bambina!" 'Cause I'm always looking for that place, you know? That place where there's no rednecks, where people get along and I never find it. And I went to Australia, right? And I thought Australia was gonna be a groovy, surfnoid, smoke-a-joint, wombat, you know... (Australian accent) "G'day mate. No worries." And it's like Arkansas with a beach. It's a whole country with a "No Fat Chicks" sticker on it. (southern accnet) "Short on top, long in the back, sets off my gold chain! Dur-her!" And Australians, they hate the English, but that's genetic memory. They hate Americans. Which blew my mind. They blame us for stuff I didn't know we were on the hook for. I had an Australian guy tell me, (Australian accent) "Listen mate, we didn't have crime 'til America." (looks around) You didn't have *crime*? Logic train! (imitates passing train, stomps foot, looks at watch) </div> <bR> <div> You leave white people alone for a long time, they're not gonna come up with a whole lot of goodness, you know? Everytime an election comes around there's always that same message of love in this country. (gruff southern accent) "You know what's wrong with this country? People from other countries." (snarls, snorts, makes an "Alien" come out of his chest) Of course, people from other countries. Now, we're Americans. Technically, who is from this country? Only the Indians, who we graciously let dwell on their native casinos. We all came over in a boat one way or another, right? And why is it always the *ugliest* white people with this message? (very constricted, throaty snarling voice and a God-awful look) "The white race is the superior race. We must never allow the inferior blood of the mud people to tear our superiority." You're like, (jumping back) "Oh, Jesus Christ. Holy cow. You should... date around, is what you should do. You've got gills and a pointed head... Date outside your immediate family, is my advice to you. Seek out the swarthy-skinned alomond-eyed people. I think you'll find them a refreshing dip in the gene pool." I mean, if you want to live in a white world, if you want to experience the stultifying boredom and penetrating ennui that homogeneity can bring, you can go to Canada any day of the year. It's an entire country named "Doug". Yeah, but it's lovely there. It's really lovely. Our country smells like urine. Canada's pine fresh. 'Cause white people do not come up with the good music, ladies and gentlemen, let's be very very honest. Oh, they can *play* the music. But they don't *invent* the good music. And the crowd goes quiet. (in goofy voice) "But Greg, white people invented polka... *and* Gregorian chants... *and* country." I rest my case. White people did not invent blues, or samba, or salsa, or jazz, or rock 'n' roll, or hip-hop, or reggae, or anything that's fun, because... (goofy voice) "Why, Greg? Why didn't white people invent those things? They produce them and take all the money for them." Because it requires hip movement of the pelvic region... during the dancing process... and a certain looseness that white people do not possess, nor are they any good at it at any point. You've seen people from other countries dance, right? Brazilians. During Carnival. It's fabulous. Feathers in their hair, breasts hanging out, beads coming off their butt, "Obba obba wow!" (bleep) pumping, (bleep) pounding, reaffirmation of our humanity. You don't see a lot of rednecks marching through Phoenix on Martin Luther King' Day with feathers in their hair and beads on their butt, do you? (southern accent) "Gosh I feel free." White people invented, like, Swiss clock dancing. (dances on stage making clock noises, kicking the air) "Whoo! Heidi little goat girl, you are kickin' the jam! Whoo, you got my lederhosen in a situation! Mmm, and this food, it's so delicious. What is this, pure cheese in this fondue? God bless our white culinary heritage." You leave white people alone, in isolation, for thousands of years, you know what their musical contribution is going to be? Rrrriverdance! (does some dance) "I can't move my hips, I can't move my head. But below the ankles I am a rockin' bag of Gaelic sex. Yes I am." Thank you very much, ladies and gentlemen.</div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> </td> </tr></table></body>