| We’ve been doing a lot of laughing
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| Which is good, uh, for a comedy show on a comedy CD, but what we haven’t been
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| doing is a lot of thinking
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| And I’d like to do that now, I’ve written some haikus
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| Haikus are Japanese poems consisting of 17 syllables, three lines
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| Five, seven, five
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| And I find them to have a certain
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| Philosophical construct, there’s a certain, uh
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| Soundness in their simplicity, a clearness in their cogency, if you will
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| So hopefully what we’ll do right now is read these haikus, think for a bit
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| And then when we go back, uh, to the
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| You know, the jokes and the laughing
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| They’ll have benefited, uh, from the time we took to think
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| So um, you guys just sit back and indulge me and just think for a bit and then
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| we’ll go back to the jokes
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| Uh, can I get some blue light to set the mood?
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| Perfect
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| For those of you listening on CD, the lights didn’t change which made it funny
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| I saw a rainbow
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| On the day my grandma died
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| Fuckin' lesbian
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| (Ding)
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| For fifteen cents a
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| Day you can feed an African
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| They eat pennies
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| (Ding)
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| Old peoples' skin sags
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| Because it’s being pulled toward
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| The underworld
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| (Ding)
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| Do unto others
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| As you would have them do to you
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| Said the rapist
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| (Ding)
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| My aunt used to say
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| Slow and steady wins the race
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| She died in a fire
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| (Ding)
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| Even if he is
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| Your friend, never, ever call
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| An Asian person
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| (Ding)
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| And finally
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| Bono, if you want
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| To help poor people, sell your
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| Tinted shades, you cunt
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| (Ding)
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| Thank you, this next piece is called «Sonnet 155», or «If Shakespeare Had
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| Written a Porn», and it goes like this
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| I saw the morning dew betwixt thine thighs
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| As I removed my source of Grecian power
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| As if King Midas dared to touch the skies
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| Upon thy body fell a golden shower
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| Thy body’s temples, two church bells had rung
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| Upon thy chest, a row of pearls bestowed
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| The sun had set, thy set with wary hung
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| I thought, «How black a night and blue a lode»
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| I said, «What light through yonder beaver breaks?
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| It is the yeast»
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| And now my belly’s yellow
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| My pole gives cause to storms and earthy quakes
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| But 'tis not massive, I am no Othello
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| And when that final moment came to pass
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| Like Christ I came-a riding on an ass
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| Thank you very much
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| William Shakespeare, uh
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| William Shakespeare was a verbal cun-tortionist
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| He could bend his words in the way a contortionist bends his frame without hope
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| that he could with a name like William Shakespeare
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| William Shakespeare, some, some of you seem lost, look
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| Say your name was Robert Frost and you couldn’t write, that would suck
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| Well, I guess you could always go as Bobby Frost and own an ice cream truck
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| He was balanced like a simile and could stack metaphor five, six at a time and
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| rhyme into the very last line of a soliloquy which finally said outright with a
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| previous 77 rolling hinting at
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| He had puns and quips and tons of trips of sons with ships with nuns with hips
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| and buns and lips, but I had something that Shakespeare never had
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| Penicillin
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| See, it hadn’t been invented yet, back then they only had «quill"-icillin
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| Hey, it’s not that hard, bard
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| I’m sorry, I got a bone to pick with you, William
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| So if you could just listen up here and listen to this theater queer’s theater
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| query here and maybe act like a real artist for once in your life
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| Say Van Gogh, and
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| Lend me your ear
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| You’re not a writer
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| You’re a writer like fucking Hulk Hogan’s a street fighter
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| You write these dramas
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| You accumulate your wealth
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| You hold nature as to a mirror of yourself
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| Just because you’re messed up doesn’t mean we are too
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| Just because you want to bang your mom doesn’t mean Danish princes do, what
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| Who? |
| Yeah, Hamlet, Shakespeare, that’s right, the young prince whose father
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| died at the hands of his uncle with whom his mother lied, sound familiar?
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| It’s the fucking Lion King
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| You stole from a Disney movie, you androgynous douche, what’s next
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| The story of a French king on a quest to find his lost son, Nemo?
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| Oh, and by the way, poetic talent is really easy to fake when thy sentences
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| doth no fucking sense make
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| «To be, or not to be
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| That is the question, whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and
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| arrows of outrageous fortune
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| Or to take arms against a sea of troubles and by opposing end them? |
| To die
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| To sleep, no more, and by a sleep to say we end the heartache and the thousand
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| natural shocks that flesh is heir to
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| 'Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished. |
| To die, to sleep
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| To sleep, perchance to dream, ay
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| There’s the rub, for in that sleep of death what
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| Dreams may come when we have shuffled off this mortal coil, must give us pause»
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| Pft, like what?
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| This next song is about quantum mechanics
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| This next song
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| I was raised very well, like a field of corn
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| You know, I was also raised very Christian, like the Children of the Corn
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| And Christians get angry at me 'cause I say things like, «Why the long nose,
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| Pope-nocchio?»
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| They’ll think I’ll go to Hell
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| The truth is, I’ve been to Christian Hell
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| And I actually wrote a song about it
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| Hitler was there
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| And so were all the Jews, yeah
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| So it got a little awkward |