WARNING! – THE FOLLOWING IS ANTISEMITIC ALTHOUGH IT IS ALL TAKEN FROM A REAL LIFE PERFORMANCE!
The setting twenty-ninth floor o the Palmolive building in Chicago! We’ve just aken a very hip nighttime ride down Lake Shore Drive tagging along Playboy owner’s Hugh Hefner’s Mercedes-Benz 360 SL Gullwing Coupe. The elevator buttons kight up one by one twenty eight floors to the last button witht he Playboy logo. The gig, Playboy after dark without the many hipsters of that bygone nineteen-sixties era. The Jewboy Sy is at the piano banging out one of his oldest most popular standards to his credit. Then after humbly delivered precocious explanations about his career, whips out another re-penned reprise to the same melody with a new verse. As if it was the the latest invention to get men to the moon before the end of the next decade. An addition to his masterpiece that could have taken but five minutes or less to reconfigure on the potty after a heroic dump? But Hef loves the Jews. And the Jews love Hef. The drinks are always on the house after dark! Especially if you went to Columbia in NYC and wrote something and kept typing the word ‘fuck’ in it a million times like a Ginsberg or Burroughs. Or at least the opportunity of schmoozing with all the ‘young stuff’ tottering around on five inch high heels sporting big knockers in over stuffed white strapless sequined gowns. all of them looking to go ‘downtown’ with any literary luminary having a current book on the NYT’s best seller’s list. Their ‘nana’s’ nice and tight and pointy snuggled in those ninteen-fifties torpedo bras. And the action is freely available to all cumer’s! Both high or very definitely down dirty and low! That is, if that dirty Bruce known as Lenny who keeps pouring out Hef’s champagne like lawn water between giving himself fixes in the john, doesn’t get there first! Then those gals will be on the flat of their backs just after midnight with their legs held high and their panties flying from their ankles like pennants at the annual Burnham Harbor yacht club regatta. Man, they’re all swinging even though know one knows anyone enough to stop using their last names and simply refer to each other by a first name. Not as of yet at least.
Hey! Did you notice that everybody’s wearing the very ‘in’ skinny overlong black bow ties on instead of the boring old verticality of ‘nine to five’ businessman cravats! Didn’t Norman Mailer write something about that concerning a description of one of his characters in his last book? I hope I’m not confusing that with talk show host George Gobel? Leave it to Hef to be ahead of the crowd! Oops! Song over! Don’t clap too soon before Hef! “Hey Sy remember! You wrote a song about me! About me! It’s all about me! Hey! Ain’t that hip?” It hasn’t been recorded yet. But, hint, hint, he intends to record it, if someone will come up with some scratch for the recording studio, more hint, hint. Just like that stageplay idea that went straight down the stand pipe about an old broad who was fucking with ‘big macher’ Robert Moses’ super highway plans for concreting over half of the ‘Village’ in New York! The grand design of indifferent urban planning that will get all the big city ‘schicker’s’ out of Manhattan and safely home to their Connecticut based wives by six o’clock. It will never happen man! I mean, haven’t you seen Billy Wilder’s new movie, “The Apartment?” Psst! Billy Wilder’s from Hollywood so he gets the use of his two names. “Hey Sy!” “Play it for us!” “The Best Is Yet To Come!” Cigarette break, so the broads have cleared out to the ‘powder room’! Except for Hef’s latest new discovery of the last hour and a half who is magically back to show off her big knockers to any and all willing to giver her a break in show biz!
So now its time to change up the tempo and so Hef saunters over to the studio built faux Lannan stone fireplace to check on two of his harem inmates trying to look demur upoon very uncomfortably thin cushions set upon the plush of the carpet’s ‘wall to wall’. Something along the lines of what would sixty years later come to be known as human trafficking. Their big and bad of the ‘wanta be’s‘ beautiful’s with their assets hanging out all over the place in static repose. Because Hef knows what his TV home crowd like to see. FLESH! As Hef runs down the list of the particulars mentally listed on each courtesan’s official manifest, the camera picks up upon their greatful and pleasing very appropriate smiles. Each wondering to themselves if their decision to brazenly show off their most pleasing parts ‘Être désintéressé’ is really going to get them a meal ticket to Hollywood, like Monroe, or a Broadway show like Liza, or possible six figure divorce settlements from some nobody in Hef’s coterie of well-fixed private gentlemen, of a more discrete, ‘who’s who‘. Of course all the boys back home in Waukegan think that they are just gold digging sluts! Hef cuts in to say that ‘We’ like to feel that that becoming a Playmate is just a beginning!” Translated roughly to, ‘Ending up as just a receptionist on call for an additional late night shift to personally deliver a cold Pepsi and a hot ‘schtup’ to Hef on his big round rotating bed!‘ The big German blonde with phenomenal tits abruptly intercedes to tell her recent life story. Hef is thinking to himself, “Go ahead you dumb broad and tell me how it got you the opportunity to meet Frank Sinatra to get a small part in his “Hole In The Head“, movie and of course get ‘schtuppe’ by ‘Ole Blus Eyes‘!” I wonder if somewhere in the room off-camera someone wonders what Italian penis tastes like after hearing the remark? Ask Lenny Bruce! He’s made a business out of sucking the dick of anyone who can get him someplace more important than the cheap dive he’s been living in lately. “More Champagne?”
“So girls come over with me to see what we featured in our last issue which has a portable kitchen posing as a HiFi cabinet!” Like good little concubines the two trot willingly over like two trained poodles pretending special interest in this high priced ‘boat anchor‘. Like it’s some lame hint about the last thing they each want in their lives! To be locked in a ‘hip’ kitchen somewhere as just another ignoble ‘hausfrau‘! “Not with those boobs honey!” “Hey!, isn’t that the phone?” No one heard a ring. “Hey it’s Ella Fitzgerald’s coming over!” Sorry girls your seance is ‘termini’. “Why don’t you girls go in the kitchen and fix us something to eat!“, cajoles a now very disinterested Hef. Here comes Lenny stubling down the stairs all doped up in close pursuit after two dames in slinky evening gowns who are trying to find any part of the room that is without him. Fucking Lenny, “Hey Hef, gimme a taste of your drink to wash the taste of your ass out of my mouth that I keep kissing!” Hef grabs for the back of his own neck to intercept the pain from this ‘schnorrer’ parasite leering too bombed out of his mind to give a shit about anything or anyone standing bleary eyed just before him. Hef is thinking to himself, “Keep the glass Lenny!” So now Hef sits down with Lenny who is slurring out some babble about how he was ‘kinda rude’ with the two girls who are half way back to their own part of Waukegan. These girls scattered out of the picture like scared rabbits. Very smart girls!
Now Lenny is going to pitch some dull-witted spur of the moment ego boosting self-serving project scam that is nothing more than a barely concealed dig at Hef’s own pet project that, not ironically, Lenny is now currently live ‘on air’ and very much amidst. “At first I thought it would be a typical artificial TV fake party but it has something good about it, pretty chicks being a good composite!“, drunkenly spiels Lenny! Some people have a built in self destructive death wish. Maybe after this, he won’t be back next week, or next month, or maybe next year, or ever? Hef’s ‘hip’ reply most earnestly being his own underlying secret in the decorum behind keeping this artificial madhouse rolling revealed by saying, “Well, we provide girls and we serve real liquor and it does the trick!” Hef’s stone-faced pipe puffing expression silently conveying, “Ring A Ding Ding you fucking ‘kike’ asshole, I showed you!” So now Lenny starting to get the message that once more on God’s green earth, he is no longer wanted nor his candor appreciated! So what does he do but put the deepp dig in about Hef being so ‘hip’ to be drinking on his show during the late night. Like this backhanded stab in the back is going to put Hef on the hot seat with the FCC the next morning! ” Fucking ‘kaker punum nafke vantz’!”
“So Lenny, let’s now dig our own grave just a little deeper!”, a silent self-destructive voice coos in the comic’s befuddled head. “You’ve been draining the man’s liquor and chasing the man’s harem and now let’s see if you can add some real insults to injury!” “I wondered about the show’s sponsor if they would condone you personally drinking on your own show?” If this is a Goy heaven for the late night suburban TV crowd, then Lenny has just made it his own private insight into Jew Hell! [C.U. shot on Lenny says the show’s producer in the control room] as the ‘schmuck‘ so earnestly rambles on, “Playboy is chic, and as you say sophisticated, and the magazine is full of car coats and sports cars and there is a prospective sponsor out there do figure that your viewer out there supposing he can’t afford that car coat and sports car!” His red bleary eyes captured in glorious black and white signaling that he might hopefully pass out at any moment, he continues on without interruption completely wired with even more venom,”I’m glad that you have some guts and are not interested in someone who’s got no money!” So then this little ‘schmendrick‘ turns to the camera and begins to berate the television audience, “You people out there are going to have to wait until your own magazine come along like Reader’s Digest or Field and Stream!” That’s right Lenny! Shit on all the Goyim! Those straight assholes that the Chabadnik rabbi taught you to revile in Hebrew school. They’ve all got day jobs unlike you who is usually past out on smack till your local connection shows up with another fix to get you functional! So now let’s really play out the most extreme cliche Jewish stereotype of critiquing the man’s magazine. The ‘bread and butter‘ of your current host’s existence and dismiss everything inside it. The same one that bought all that liquor that you personally sloshed down your nasty little hole. Let’s spew some more venom like an ungrateful guest! “Gee! How hip!” Now that the bourgeois bashing is momentarily left on hold for a moment as someone else less consequential can get a word in edgewise. Lenny continues on miffed and not quite sure if he is reflecting upon his own thoughts or just talking saying something completely nuts lost in his own alcoholic drug ridden fog. That’s right! “Let me give you another false double-edged compliment Hef, because that is what I do!“, Lenny thinks to himself. So then this little shit heel begins a diatribe of self-psychoanalysis about his own so interesting to the outer world shortcomings, ranting saying that it is, ‘just him coming across as exuberant’ he offers another extremely solipsistic insincere apology while trying to ‘play’ his wholly indifferent victim. Hef dryly counters, “You work areas of comedy that are considered pretty sick, do you onside yourself a sick comic?” The audience that hasn’t by now hasn’t gotten up out of their own late night boozy fog to turn to another channel screaming “Duh!” Or they would have with that particular worked if it was fifty-five years later like it is now!
So for those few TV land types not snoring away completely dead asleep or busily honking hard on their honey’s ‘hiney’, they get to hear this POS’s relevational foray into modern bathroom bound personal existentialism declaring that there is no such thing as a sick comic! Further declaring that its a ‘writer’s device‘. You mean like Planned Parenthood’s yanking a fetus out of the womb in the ninth month of pregnancy? My God! How erudite and ‘hip’ you are young man! Tell me that I just spent twenty minutes of watching you trying to destroy this TV show in every way possible! The criticism about your own culture now artfully demonstrated to be undeniably true! And you really expect anyone to believe any of this shit? Now that is truly sick! It would be ‘anti-Semitic’ if you weren’t a Jew, being such a bad Jew! So now what sort of ‘double entendre‘ can you come up with to top this? Well then leave it to Lenny! Ever mindful of remaining the center of attention as long as possible if you have anybody still looking in your general direction, you threaten to blow your snotty nose into someone else’s borrowed handkerchief on live TV! Whoopee! If it was the age of Cocaine that followed in the decade after we know it would have been fraught after the fact with the powdery white residue of Coca! Where’s Art forum when you need them? So now Lenny pulls up his own coat sleeve to reveal a needle pocked arm. And he shoots up with his forefinger to show a tiny little tattoo that is going to keep him out of being buried in a Jewish cemetery. “Oh poor Lenny!” Castigated and shunned by his own kind! A hapless victim! To quickly wind up this now overlong diatribe upon the doctrine of nineteen-sixties late night hipness, the final dig is offered to future generations of social media bloggers to whom Mister Bruce rails on that, “Anyone who writes letters to the editor much be complete far out wacko’s!” Say hello to the Millennial generations Lenny! You may have been way too ‘hip’ for me! Too ‘hip’ in a really ‘hip’ place! But tonight on this tape when you were alive you have proven that you were a real piece of shit!