Read the transcript for the stand-up comedy special 'The Lenny Bruce Originals, Vol. 1' (1991) by Lenny Bruce on Comedy Buff. Track transcripts ready: 16/16.

All Broadway musicals sound the same, especially the baritones. Hello, Steve. Hello, Don. Say, Bill, what's that, Freddie? I've never, never been in love. Do you know something? I've never been in love either. How do you know when you're really in love? I don't know. Well, it's a certain intangible thing, my friend, you see. I've never been in love before. I never knew the score. In this scene, the genie is back in the bottle.
The east side of New York, Hester Street. The back of an old Jewish candy store. The old man is cleaning up the store. And... I never saw this bottle before. There's a cockroach in that thing, though. Veldell is not in the bottle. Who are you? I'm the genie. You come from this neighborhood. Now, old man, you've let me out of my glass prison. That's a booing prison for you. Oh, wondrous old man, a wondrous wish, and it's yours.
Quickly, give me a wish, old man. Well, I wish I had some income property. It's yours. And the room filled up with 15 beautiful girls. Old man, another wish. Well, I'd like to go to Atlantic City. Go! Who'll take care of the store? I will. You can take care of the store. I'm the genie. I can do anything. All right, I'll go. But don't give no credit to the Schwarzes. He goes. The genie takes wonderful care of the store.
He brings in the milk, and the rolls, and the bananas, and the guess what's, and the Mary Janes, and all that. And the old people start to file in in the morning, and they look up. Where's Saul? He went to Atlantic City. You're taking care of the store? Yes. You can take care of the Kennedy store. I'm the genie. I can do anything. All right, all right. Make me a Malted. You're a Malted. *laughter* America is in danger, a peril greater than any of the horrendous radioactive qualities of the hydrogen bomb tests.
Every man, woman, and child, from the crisp, cool shores of Montauk Point to the great Oregon forests, live in the heinous shadow of the HFN. The HFN is the monster, and what is the HFN? Hi-fi nuts. Years ago, there was just one unit, usually made of wood, that had a nickel-plated handle you could wind. And here he is, that silver mass tenor of the airways, Ralph J. Gleason. Oh, beautiful Miami moon.
I love to sit underneath and croon. Oh, I love a sit and spoo. Oh, listen to me. Hey, Charlie, ain't that wrecking a riot? It's all right. That loudspeaker sounds tinny. A seemingly innocent remark, but agents from the FBI, the Federal Bureau of Impedance, high and low, were watching men like Charlie. The FBI, realizing that some sellers could get a guy like Charlie hooked pretty easy. Yes? Do the stuff come?
Yeah, come in. Did you ever see a pre-amplifier like this? Got a magnetic phonotape head, distortion 2%, harmonic, unmeasurable. Stop it, stop it, you fiend. I'm wearing out of my mind. You know, I can't afford it. How about this new foul-deck speaker? You fiend. You know, I'm still paying on the indoor boosters and the stereo adapters. You dirty rat. You got me started on this stuff. Take it easy, Charlie.
When you came to me, don't forget if you can't handle it. Charlie? Charlie, stay away from those knobs. Charlie, don't touch that big knob. Luckily, Charlie was picked up by the SWOUG and received treatment. The SWOUG, Stay With One Unit Group, along with Dr. Stereo Cape, an ex-audiophile, took a special interest in Charlie. Charlie was helped to kick. Charlie almost had the variable reluctance cartridge off his back.
Hey, Doc, I just wanted these pills you gave me, but I just feel a little strange. Oh, those tranquilizers? Tranquilizers? I thought you said transistors. I have a very perplexing hum coming from my DACA 3,000-watt power amplifier. It seems to be coming from the amplifier chassis instead of through the speaker. I can hear it just as plainly when the speaker dismutriated, and even unplugging the rectifier tube does not reduce the intensity of the hum.
The resistor is trying to get my sister. Look, his mouth is getting bigger. His mouth is getting bigger and bigger. His mouth is getting bigger and bigger. Look, his arms are shrinking. Look, his arms are shrinking. So have his legs. So have his legs. Boy, his mouth is really wide now. What should we do? You can't see him. Why, his eyes have disappeared. Why, his eyes have disappeared. So have his legs.
Why, there's nothing left but a mouth. What should we do? I've got an idea. Let's get some lumber. Do you think we should? You would have wanted it that way. Just get some lumber. Make a box around his mouth. Put that webbing. Okay. Put this wire in here. No. Next to the second molar there. Not around the other one. Okay. Switch his ear on. And here he is. That silver mass tenor of the airways. Ralph J.
Gleeson. Oh, beautiful Miami moon. I love to sit underneath and caroon. Oh, I love us all sit and spoon. Oh, listening to the wind say kiss my typhoon. Oh, beautiful Miami moon. I love to sit underneath and caroon. Oh, I love us all sit and spoon. The prison picture with Charles Bickford, Barton MacLean, Georgie Stone, Frankie Darrow, Warren Heimer, Nat Pendleton, and the woman across the bay, Anne Dvorak, and her two hooker friends, Iris Adrian and Glenda Farrell.
It's the break. Cut to the tower of the warden, Hume Kroon. All right, Dutch, this is the warden. You've got 18 men down there, prison guards, who have served me faithfully. Give up, Dutch, and we'll meet any reasonable demands you men want, except the vibrators. Forget it. You're not getting them, Dutch. Can you hear me? This is the warden. Never mind those Louis Armstrong impressions. Give up. You're a rotten, vicious criminal, a menace to society.
Now the handsome but mixed-up prison doctor, H.B. Warner. Oh, my son. My son, I gave, many years ago, when I knew your father. Where do you come off that Billy Daniels jazz, you nitwit? Shut up. I'm the warden here. I don't want to kill anybody. Dutch, you punk. You're pushing me too far. You better give up. Yadda, yadda! Shut up, you goddamn nut, you! Yadda, yadda. I'm sorry I gave him that library card now.
I don't know what the hell to do. Maybe if we just, maybe if we kill a few for an example. That may do it. Tower C! You want to put the cards down for a minute, huh? That's right. Kill about 700 down there. Go ahead. I said it's all right. Now kill him. Come on, don't get snotty, you guys. You're going to kill him now? The ones in the gray shirts. The bullets? Look them back at my brown slacks. Forget it.
Cockamamie prison here. No one wants to help you. I'll just... I'll kill about six of you with my police bishop. Wait a moment. Before there's any killing, I'll get down there. Not you, Father Flotsky. Yes, I'm going down there. Will you come off the Pat O'Brien bits now? Father, you don't understand. These guys are monsters. They're vicious criminals. They got knives and guns. Shouldn't you seem to forget, don't you?
That I've got something stronger than a gun. You mean... That's right, jiu-jitsu. You're making a mistake, Father Flotsky. Son, the mistake is mine to make, and I'm going down there. Cut to the worst part of the last mile. Real Uncle Tom's seen death row. The first cell. What a boy. Well, well. Soon I'll go on up to heaven on the big river boat. Then when I gets up there, I'll go on and get me a lot of fried chicken and woody melon.
Fried chicken and woody melon. Fried chicken and woody melon. That's what I want to get when I get up to that big river boat in heaven. Goddamn. Yes, I suppose. You see, you don't mind dying, boss, if you got a natural sense of rhythm. Yuck, yuck, yuck, yuck. The next cell. Somebody's going to get fried tonight. Tonight, tonight. Someone get fried tonight. More people using natural gas than ever before.
Tonight. Shut him up! Shut that nut up! Fry somebody tonight. They're going to fry somebody. Shut him up! Shut that nut up! You can call me a nut when it's published. It goes fry somebody tonight. Back to the bridge. It's a wild tune, nerd. Now the guy is going to the chair. The last mile. So long, Marty. There's my playing cards, kid. There's my mezuzza, Wong. And there's that door. I don't want to go in there.
I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do. Don't sit down, Marsha. Back to the yard with Father Flotsky. Hello, Dutch. Dutch, you don't remember Father Flotsky now, do you, son? You know, Dutch, you know there's an old story that once a boy goes the bad road, the good road is hard to follow. When the good road is hard to follow, the bad road opens when the good road closes. You're not a bad boy, Dutch.
Killing six children doesn't make anybody bad now. You don't remember, do you, Dutch? This is Arthur Shields for Swiss Colony wine. Now, Dutch, I told him up there in the tier that I take the gun away from you and I'm going to do it, Dutch. Now, come on. He's going to give it me. Come on, Dutch. Give me that gun now. Come on, Dutch. Come on, don't be schmucking him. Give me the gun. Give me that gun there.
Yadda, yadda. Yadda, yadda, Father. You're right. He's a goddamn nut. Try to give me all that Rosicrucian jazz and all those other non-schedule theologies there. They're no good, the lot of them. Pour it in. You men, the prison guards, I know this smacks of an insalubrious deed. I've got a job to do. A pension, I'm not going to screw up. I know it's cold, guys, but what the hell? You know what this gig is?
It's dog-eat-dog. You know what the gig was when you took it? I only hope that your old lady swung with Mutual of Omaha. Dutch, you've got three seconds. Three big ones. You got to listen to anybody? I'm a listen to nobody. I'm a listen to nobody in this whole stinking prison ward. Nobody. Dutch isn't to me, Bubby. Who is that? It's Kiki, the hospital attendant. The one who gave you the bed baths.
Give up, Bubby. Don't scrub your good time. Kiki, you nasty, you. Kiki, baby, I'll give it all up to you. Did you hear that? He's giving it up for me. I feel just like Wally Simpson. I don't believe it. He's giving it all up for me. Did you hear that, you bitches in cell block 11? My nerves. He's giving it up for me. Did you hear, Morden? I heard him, you fruit. Watch it, warden. Don't overstep your bounds now.
Are we going to get all our demands? What do you want? A gay bar in the West Wing? All right, she'll get, she'll get. What else? I want to be the Avon representative of the prison. *crowd laughs* Ladies and gentlemen, we'd like you to meet Shorty Pettistain, who is one of the up-and-coming jazz French trumpeters, do they call him, Oscar? No, man, I blow a French horn, man. Would you get a little closer to the microphone?
Get a little closer, Oscar. French horn, man. French horn. Yeah. And what do they call you, a French hornist? Well, you know, like I blow horn, man. Would you speak up a little bit, Oscar? I blow horn, man. Yeah, yeah. Fine. And tell me, how do you like Dixieland, Oscar? Well, I mean, you know. Well, what about, would you say, Tchaikovsky? Yeah, man. You don't, you don't, you don't. No, man, no. I mean, you know, like, I mean, he grows, I mean, you know.
Man, I mean, I dig more like, you know, Bartok scene or Shasta Kovic or some bit like that, man, because, I mean, I'm more swinging. Well, well, how would you compare the kind of music you play with, how would you compare that with art, you know, what kind of art, artistic? Man, well, like, I think art blows the most. I mean, he came with a band about three years ago, man. And, like, he was a real, you know, small-town cat.
And, I mean, he was swinging, man, but he was a small-town cat. Uh-huh. And, I mean, he started to blow with us, and it was a real nut, you know. Yeah, uh-huh. Yeah. And, uh, who, uh, who are you appearing with currently now here in San Francisco? Well, man, I'm on the show with Stan, you know. Oh, uh-huh, Stan. It's, uh, Mike Combo, and, uh, we're playing with, uh, on the same stand with Stan, man.
Uh-huh. And how are the, how are the crowds receiving you down there? Well, yeah, man. 