“I get the feeling sometimes that you forget I’m a hippie.”
No, I just didn’t know how hairy you were.
I suspected, but didn’t know.
Wow, there’s a lot of you.
“Almost all, yeah.”
And I can’t imagine those shorts do a very good job of keeping your junk to yourself.
“There’s quite a bit of flopping about. It’s, you know, it’s natural.”
Pooping is natural. I don’t want to see it. Lots of natural things are terrible. For example: your testicles.
“Potato salad on delivery.”
All of you are disgusting tonight.
“Don’t take everything that drummer of ours says with a column of salt.”
“He leaves stuff out of his stories. Or puts stuff in. Whichever makes him look better.”
Billy? No. I don’t believe it.
“Sure, I took some time choosing my companion for the evening’s frolicsome escapades: I wanted to know these women, to hear their stories, and see if they needed a ride to school the next morning. I wooed women.”
“And, then, you know: the wood.”
Could we not have this conversation while you’re this naked?
“No, no, no – a man’s mind opens with his pelvis. Look how open my pelvis is!”
I’d rather not.
“You wanna be my Benjy Eisen, you’re gonna have to see a lot worse than this.”
Your pelvis is wide-open. Like a Chinese restaurant on Christmas.
“Well, you know: yoga is an ancient Chinese art–”
“–that my teacher learned directly from the guy who used to teach Huey Newton yoga.”
Huey Newton did yoga?
“Once. Halfway through the lesson, he called the teacher a white devil and threw him out a window.”
“I think I can open my pelvis a bit more.”
Oh, Bobby, be careful.
“I have to try.”
I’m behind you.
My God. It’s full of stars.