All language subtitles for Russell.Brand.Messiah.Complex.2013.1080p.WEBRip.x264-RARBG

**

(cheers and applause)

(cheers and applause)

**

(man speaking German)

(announcer)
Ladies and gentlemen...

Russell Brand.

**

(cheers and applause)

* Your own personal
Jesus *

* Someone who
hears your prayers *

* Someone who cares *

* Your own personal
Jesus *

* Someone to hear
your prayers *

* Someone who's there **

(cheers and applause)

Hello, everyone!

I'm really happy to be
with you here in London.

I'm from near here.

I'm happy to be
with you.

Are you all right?

Do you feel basically
benevolent?

You're really near the stage
for that level of enthusiasm.

I'm really, really happy
to be in London.

I've been
traveling around a lot.

I've been in America a lot.

So I'm incredibly
grateful to be here.

I've spent a lot of time
in airports.

Dealing with airport security
has made me think actually

have we not considered that

with the world perhaps
on the precipice of another

Middle Eastern war,
with environmental

and economical disasters all
around us,

isn't it possible
that airport security have

taken possession of fruit a bit
fucking seriously?

Have you got any fruit?

Have you been near fruit,
have you seen fruit?

Remember those
Munch Bunch commercials?

You smell zesty.

I got a pretty impressive
criminal record for drugs.

Hard drugs.

Man drugs.

I'm not keen to add
to my charge sheet

"was arrested on suspicion
of fruit smuggling."

I don't want to
wind up in Wormwood Scrubs

with me new cellmates.

"Yeah, I fucking killed some
cunt to get in here."

"I ran a pretty successful
crime organization.

What did you do?"

"I smuggled a bunch of
bananas into this country!

"And I'd do it again,
I would!

I ain't learned a thing!"

I don't do that
voice often

'cause it
comes to me too easily.

(cheers and applause)

Yeah, I know,
I feel it too.

Ah...

"Messiah Complex."

This is my show,
this is the image.

It was designed by the American
street artist Shepard Fairey.

Messiah complex

is a psychological condition
wherein the sufferer

believes themselves
to be Jesus Christ,

the messianic figure
sent to Earth to save humanity.

Why would you be interested
in that subject, Russell?

You're such an unassuming,
well-balanced young man.

Well, my interest has been
piqued by the knowledge that

there is a mental hospital in
Jerusalem with a ward

exclusively dedicated to

sufferers of
the messiah complex.

Don't you think that's a bit of
a cruel thing to do

to someone who
thinks they're Jesus--

put them in a room full
of other people

who also think
that they are Jesus?

That's going to cause conflict,
surely.

"Oh, what a day it is
to be the Son of God

in Jerusalem's holy city."

"Ooh, I'm going to have to stop
you there, brother.

"For it is I that
wear the thorny crown

and bear the golden chalice
of our Lord."

"Oh, my brother, you are
mistaken.

"You are sick
with a malady.

"But I heal thee.

I heal thee,
I heal thee."

"You are mistaken."

"You are mistaken."

"You are mistaken."

"You are mistaken."

"You are mistaken."

"You are mistaken."

"You are mistaken.

But I forgive you."

"Oh, well-played!"

What social,
cultural conditions

would require someone to conjure
a Christ of the mind?

What is lacking
from our society

where people are in so much
desperate need

for something to believe in

they create their own
personal Jesus in their heads?

Well, the German philosopher
Friedrich Nietzsche

famously said--

All right, um, I should warn you
at this point, okay,

there's clever
things in this show, okay?

Uh, don't worry about it.

Maybe you are
a clever person

and you'll already know
the clever thing,

in which case you'll get
the warm, clever-person glow

of knowing something,

like the first few
seconds of wetting yourself.

"Oh, I knew the clever thing.

I already knew that
clever thing."

(mumbling)

Or maybe you won't
know the clever thing,

you know, but don't feel
embarrassed about this

because, you know,
I only know this stuff

because someone took the time
to tell me.

Just because I know
and you don't know,

it doesn't mean
I'm better than you,

it just means I'm different
from you

in a way that's better.

The German philosopher
Friedrich Nietzsche said,

"God is dead."

Well, what are the repercussions
of such a statement?

The implications are that

there is nothing that we can
believe in

that isn't
tangible and palpable,

that can't be described and
understood by our senses.

We can only believe in that
which we can understand.

To this, the British
writer G.K. Chesterton

responded, the death of God
doesn't mean that

man will believe in nothing,

but that he will believe in
anything.

Ooh.

This means there is
a vacuum of belief.

What has fallen into
this vacuum of belief?

Well, I would argue one thing is
the phenomenon of celebrity,

where we have
a pantheon of celebrities

that we overvalue,
over-worship,

overpay, over-extol the virtues
of, celebrate unduly.

Now I'm aware of some
hypocrisy at this point

because I am a celebrity.

I've not come to London to moan
about celebrity,

not in these
fantastic boots!

I'm not complaining about
a cultural ideology

that has plucked me from a life
of poverty and obscurity

and dropped me into a life

that's kind of like
a tumble dryer

filled with tits and money.

Like a crystal maze
filled with vaginas.

Keep that for later.

I'm just saying what cultural
consequences are impacting us

as a result of that ideology?

That my friends are all kind of
normal people,

they are
impressed by celebrity.

My mate Mick, for example--

Mick is a very, uh,
heavy person

in body and mind
and manner of, uh, speaking.

He speaks in a slow, uh,
faltering voice,

as if he's about
to, uh, say something,

uh, important, then he,
uh, doesn't.

But you will not fully
appreciate the phenomenon of

Mick without seeing him, so here
is a photograph

of the moment Mick met Usher.

(audience laughing)

The reason this image is
significant

is because
when it is discovered by

extraterrestrial archaeologists

picking through the wreckage of
our civilization,

they will assume

that it was Usher that asked for
that photo to be taken.

Look at Usher.

He's all enthusiastic.

He's leaning in.

Mick looks like he's forgotten
what's happening.

I would argue that this is
because Mick has no integral

relationship with Usher,
his music or his dancing.

He just acknowledges that Usher
is famous

and fame is
a commodity to be craved.

Now am I influenced
by those ideas,

me, as a person
who has access to fame?

I thought surely not, I've done
too much work on meself.

But then I remembered
the Olympics, right?

'Cause when it was
announced that the Olympics

would be held in our country,
I was very cynical.

I was like--
(scoffing)

Fuck that shit.

Sport is sanitized war.

It's a festival of propaganda
designed to distract us from

what's truly important to keep
us spellbound and docile,

passive consumers reduced
to nonentities, inactive

and not participating
in our society.

But when the Olympics started

and we won a few medals, I got
so influenced and into it

that by the closing ceremony of
the games, I was fucking in it.

Dressed as Willy Wonka on top of
a bus, signing

"I Am the Walrus."

Doing a fucking
mobile!

By then I didn't want to hear
anybody talking negatively

about the Olympics.

"Hey, you realize this is
distracting us from wars."

I'll fucking do a war on you

if you don't get behind these
Olympics.

Best thing that's
happened to this country!

The day after that,

a moment of which I was
temporarily quite proud.

I got a phone call from
Noel Gallagher.

(audience cheering)

Well, I hope you're still
cheering him

after this hurtful comment.

He goes-- left an
answering phone message.

"Well, well, well.

"Two weeks of glory
and how does it all end?

"Old Mr. Skinny Legs
on top of a bus

murdering
The fucking Beatles."

I don't care about things
like nation,

concepts such as nations
don't mean anything to me.

It's an artificial construct.

I don't care about hierarchal
systems such as the monarchy.

For me, it's a meaningless
form of social control.

But during the Olympics,

I don't know
what happened to me.

I was on a chat show,

the producer
came in and asked me,

"Russell, in the next
dressing room,

"we've got two lady gold
medalists, Olympic rowers.

Would you like to
meet them?"

I said, "Yes!

Yes, I would, ma'am!"

"Who are you
calling ma'am?"

"The queen!"

"Is she here?"

"No, she's here
in my heart!"

Because in that moment,

I felt connected to
the Olympic games,

I felt connected to
those lady Olympic rowers,

I felt connected to the nation,

I felt connected to
the child,

the tangled,
broken boy I'd once been.

All these phenomenon suddenly is
linked as inextricably

as the rings
of the Olympic logo.

Sounds quite good,
doesn't it?

Let's see
what it looked like.

(audience laughing)

I look like an evil
Jesus Mr. T.

"I pity the fool who don't get
behind these Olympic games.

I do,
I pity them."

My mate Matt, when he saw that
photograph,

said to me, "At what point

"did you take
your shirt off?

And why?"

And the answer is, of course,
I recognized

that the gold medals were
the epicenter of the attention.

I want to be the epicenter
of the attention.

That means I gotta get
the medals then one-up them.

Shirt off plus medal trumps
just medals.

I win.

See Brian May
in the top corner?

He looks like he's trying to
explain what's happening.

"This is a confusing one.

"Okay, well, Russell, he's an
extrovert character.

"He's got excited,
he's took his top off.

"Freddy would have done
the same thing.

We called him
Mr. Fahrenheit."

The problem with having an
image such as this one

in our shared cultural archive

is that I look
so fucking mental

that this photo can be used to
retrospectively validate

anything that
I might get accused of.

What can I be accused of

that seems implausible now that
photo exists?

"Hey, hey, did you hear?

"Russell Brand's been caught
going into supermarkets

and masturbating
into the yogurts."

"Well, don't be ridiculous.

Why would anybody do that?
That's absurd."

"Well, have
you seen this photo?"

"Fucking hell!
He does it!

"He's addicted
to cock yogurt!

"He thinks his balls
are a dairy!

He stirs it in
with the tip."

"Hey, you know, they found out
what's causing global warming."

"What is it,
corporate irresponsibility

and an inability to act on an
international level?"

"No, no, no,
it's fucking Russell Brand."

"Don't be stupid.

How can Russell Brand cause
global warming?"

"Have you seen this photo?"

"Ahh!

"What's he plotting
behind those eyes?

"What is he building in there?

What is he
building in there?"

So how have I gone
from a position

where I was indifferent
and indeed cynical about

the Olympic games to being so
fucking excited about it

that I've took me
top off on one day

and dressed up as Willy Wonka
on another?

Well, because I received an
alternative cultural narrative.

What is informing me, what's
telling me the story

of what the Olympics means?

It is, of course-- that's
a rhetorical question

I just done there--
don't know if you saw it.

It is our media.

It's our media that tells us our
stories, the stories

we believe about
ourselves and one another.

Um, organizations like
the "Daily Mail."

I don't like
the "Daily Mail" very much.

Yeah, thanks.

(chuckling)

Yeah, I didn't feel like
I was really

going out on a limb there.

Friend of
mine once said,

"Tyranny is the deliberate
removal of nuance,"

meaning that things
are kind of complicated,

you have to think a little bit
to understand them.

But in the world of
the "Daily Mail,"

things are either
good or bad, black or white--

preferably white.

Another thing that
the "Daily Mail" will do

is they remove information from
a context

where it's perfectly
harmless and innocuous

and resituate the information
to cause

the maximum damage possible.

Here is an example of
them doing it to me.

I'd done this interview for
"Rolling Stone" magazine once,

right, and they asked me a kind
of cute question.

"Hey, Russell,
what advice would you give to

any young pop stars
out there?"

I thought this isn't
a serious question,

I'm not meant to go, "Keep your
teeth clean, take your vitamins,

write a letter to your mum
every day."

Right?

It's clearly a joke question
that requires a joke answer.

So I went inside of my brain,

which has never
really been my ally,

to look for a joke answer.

Here is the joke answer
my brain come up with.

Advice for young pop stars?

I think they should
all take heroin,

'cause all my
favorite musicians did.

Then... then my brain added--
with a final flourish--

Also, heroin is quite
a strong drug

and it will weed out
a lot of the weaker ones.

"Justin Bieber should take
heroin," says Brand!

Without a trace of humor.

Like as if I'd done
a fucking press conference.

All right, everyone, thanks for
coming, thanks for coming.

All right, yeah, just sit there,
there's a handout...

Nice to see you again.

Is this on,
is this on, yeah?

Thanks.

Justin Bieber should take
heroin!

No further questions!

They know I was joking,
but they elect to render

the information in a humorless
way to create the most damage.

I wouldn't mind if it was like,
they genuinely didn't realize it

was a fucking joke.

But this is not what happened at
the "Daily Mail" offices.

Way down deep in the belly of
the Earth at the "Daily Mail"

where the demons lurk,

virgins
hanging on the wall,

Hitler hails in the belly of the
Earth at the "Daily Mail."

This is not what happened.

And you'll like this bit 'cause
I do some acting here.

I'm very good actor

and I refute
the charge that I'm not

and that I'm always the same in
every film I'm in...

(cheers and applause)

... playing a version
of myself perhaps with a hat on.

Here is some acting.

"Come in to my office where I am
the editor of 'The Daily Mail.'"

Sometimes a character will
speak in exposition

to move the plot along.

"Boss, I've had
some terrible news!"

"I can see that from your
expertly rendered

"facial expressions.

"But first, I must finish
the copy for tomorrow's

"front page
of 'The Daily Mail.'

"No immigrants, obviously.

"No gays, that's disgusting,
isn't it?

Ed Miliband's dad's a bit of
cunt, isn't he?"

"It's Russell Brand!"

"Oh, that prick,
what's he done now?"

"He said-- he said-- he said
that Justin Bieber

should take heroin!"

"Ooh, that is bad.

"Was he acting, though?

"'Cause he could have been
acting.

"He's a very good actor,
isn't he, Russell Brand?

Maybe he was doing
the acting that he does?"

"I don't think so,
boss.

Maybe he was joking?"

"Hmm, what,
a professional comedian

"who's also a recovering
heroin addict?

"No, no, no.

"This bears all the hallmarks of
the beginning of a campaign

"to get vulnerable young pop
figures onto hard drugs.

"We gotta stop him now

"before he gives crack to
One Direction

"and starts
jacking up the royal baby.

"Also, I've seen some
pretty compelling evidence

"that he's going into
supermarkets

"and wanking
into the yogurts.

The guy's a menace."

I don't want to be part of their
corrosive, corrupted narrative

so I'm stepping outside of it.

If you have a story, you're
going to need heroes.

Here are the heroes
that I have selected.

Tonight I want to
explain to you

why I love these heroes so much,

why they are so important
and I also

want to subtly imply to you

that I am a little bit
like them.

So watch out for that.

That's going to be
fun for you.

First hero.

Gandhi.

Now Gandhi I admire very much
because he's the pioneer

of nonviolent protest

and the ingenious form
of public insurrection

that makes it very hard for
oppressors to control you

or arrest you.

"I can't seem to
arrest Gandhi.

He's gone all limp."

Brilliant.

He's inspired.

I also admire Gandhi because he
successfully united

the Hindu and Muslim populations

against the imperial
invading force

that were
colonially exploiting India.

It doesn't matter who that
country was.

That is an irrelevant detail.

Let's just assume they were
trying their hardest.

My second hero, Che Guevara.

I love Che Guevara because he
gave up the life of an

Argentinean aristocrat

to live the life of
a guerilla warrior

in the Cuban jungles,
fighting for the people.

My next hero, Malcolm X.

I admire Malcolm X because he is
a great orator

who told a new story to
a subjugated class of people

and elevated their consciousness
and changed their destiny.

And Jesus I like because I think
I look a bit like him.

All four of these men of course
have one thing in common,

they are all martyrs.

Gandhi,
shot dead.

Che Guevara, shot dead.

Malcolm X, shot dead.

Jesus, I don't know
how he died.

I mean, there's no real
information available

on that subject.

I'm not going to spend my life
doing research.

I'm a busy, sexy man.

Jesus was of course crucified,
which makes it all the more

intriguing
for in this picture,

he's wearing a crucifix
necklace.

Incredible foresight
from Jesus there.

Remarkable perspicacity
from Jesus in this instance.

"Hey, Jesus, what's the, uh,

what's the crucifix necklace
all about?"

"You'll see.

Spoiler alert!"

Would these men have garnered
such emblematic potency

if they had not died at
the insistence of the state

by the hand of the assassin

but had died in the manner that
I was reported to have done

earlier this year?

Yeah, I was pretty confused
when I read that.

The afterlife's not
all it's cracked up to be.

Basically, the same as before,

just me
Googling my own name.

Here's the story.

"Actor Russell--

"Brilliant actor Russell Brand,
star of stage and screen--

"Actor Russell Brand
died today

shortly after
a snowboarding accident."

This bit's pretty insensitive,
I think.

Check it.

"The actor, a novice
snowboarder..."

Don't put that as number two

of the things
I'm fucking known for.

Snowboarding.

"Oh, what did he want to be
remembered for?"

"His snowboarding."

I just fucking died of
snowboarding!

Don't make the fucking
manner of my death

the lynchpin of my legacy.

Digging me out.

"Elvis Presley died today.

The singer and relaxed
defecator..."

He died on the toilet
trying his hardest.

"Michael Jackson
died today.

The entertainer
and heavy sleeper..."

Huh?

"Today we lost Lady Diana,
princess, tunnel explorer..."

What?

Ooh...

I'm saying don't say that.

I'm saying it
to say don't say it.

I'm saying it so--
that actually happened.

Look, someone said that.

I'm saying this merely as a
warning to say don't say it.

It's like if anything,

I'm sucking that concept out of
the air into my body.

So in a way
it didn't happen.

Is this real?

Are we in a vortex?

Is this
a parallel realm?

Am I going to wake up
in a ditch in Croydon tomorrow

with my finger in my ass?

What happened?!

Wouldn't be the first time.

Diana is an important cultural
figure as an archetype

because of the way she appears
in the narrative of her fame

at different
evolutionary points.

Each of these points,
female sexuality,

you will notice, is
either repressed or maligned

as this is a necessary component

of a misogynistic,
patriarchal society.

When she first came to
prominence, she was rendered as

the archetype of the virgin.

Oh, Diana,
see-through skirt.

In the second archetype, she
appears as the divine mother

when she done them princes.

In the third archetype, when her
marriage broke down,

she was rendered as
the archetype of the whore!

Remember that, when her
marriage broke down?

In fact, at the time
her marriage broke down,

all the "Daily Mail"
wanted to talk about was,

"How come she's going out with
that brown Muslim geezer?

Why is one of
them princes ginger?"

Then... when she died--

"She fucking what?

Good-bye, England's rose!"

Now she is rendered
as the fourth

available archetype, the martyr.

The saint.

"Death makes angels of us all

"and gives us wings
where we had shoulders,

smooth as raven's claws,"
said Jim Morrison.

Meaning that death has
the power to sanitize, cleanse

and help us to reevaluate
the way we see people.

Another example of this is
of course Michael Jackson,

who I earlier mentioned.

I love
Michael Jackson.

I always loved Michael Jackson.

I think he's
a great guy.

Yeah, yeah, some people here
love Michael too.

Why not?

But do you remember there was
a time in the story of

Michael Jackson where it
wasn't okay to love him no more?

Just before he died,
remember that?

I loved Michael straight through
that dip because me, I think,

in the case of genius,

you've gotta separate a man's
work from his hobbies.

Anyway, we don't even know
if he done anything, do we?

Let's be honest.

We don't know that
anything happened.

We do know that he gave
a $20 million

out-of-court settlement
to that kid Jordie Chandler.

Does seem like a lot of money
to give to a kid

who you didn't fuck.

"Why'd you give
that kid $20 million?"

"I didn't fuck him!"

"I didn't
say you did!

Who's saying you fucked him?"

"Well, I just so clearly didn't
fuck him.

"Giving $20 million
to a lot of kids.

"Here you go, here you go,
here you go.

"Hee-hee, hee-hee-hee!

Don't go!"

Human heroes are incapable of
fulfilling their roles

of gods
'cause they are flawed.

They are not distilled
divine qualities

as gods are supposed to be,

but flawed, even in the case of
truly great men like Gandhi.

Gandhi, as close to a secular
saint as is possible to be.

Gandhi, author
of the great maxim,

"Be the change you wish to
see in the world,"

meaning if you
want a more peaceful world,

be a more peaceful guy.

If you want a world free from
oppression, be a guy

who don't go around
oppressing people.

I love Gandhi for many reasons.

One of the main ones--
very consistent wardrobe.

He'd be a shit contemporary
celebrity.

"So what was Gandhi wearing on
the carpet tonight, John?"

"He's wearing
a fucking blanket, isn't he?

"He's always wearing a blanket.

"I don't know why you
send me out here.

"It's not that interesting,
I don't know, it's a blanket.

It's a normal blanket
he's always got on."

I'm going to tell you
something about Gandhi now.

You won't like it.

You'll feel a feeling
in your tummy,

then you'll
blame me for that feeling.

It ain't my fault.

I love Gandhi.

I just want us all to be honest
with each other, okay?

So remember while I'm telling
you this, I love Gandhi.

This show isn't called
"Gandhi: What a Wanker."

I love him.

But we've got to deal with
truth, haven't we?

So let's try and do it.

Now, Gandhi, he was often
arrested for revolutionary

activity inside of India and
consequently imprisoned.

His wife, a loyal woman,

who he married when she was just
13 years of age--

let's park that,
one thing at a time--

would often go to prison
with Gandhi

and serve the sentence with him.

One time while they two of 'em
are banged up,

Mrs. Gandhi gets very ill.

The British doctors
visit her at her bedside.

They say, "You're very ill,
Mrs. Gandhi.

"Fortunately, we can heal you

using our modern pharmaceutical
techniques."

Gandhi says, "No, no, no,
no, no, we're Hindu people.

"We only believe in
Ayurvedic medicine.

"So we don't want any of your
modern British

pharmaceutical rubbish."

Mrs. Gandhi goes,
"Ooh, do I get a say in this?"

"Shh, I'll handle this!"

He wouldn't let her have
no medicine.

She died.

There's the feeling
in your tummy.

Yeah, Gandhi--

Gandhi "be the change
you want to see in the world

Ben Kingsley ten Oscars dressed
in a blanket" Gandhi--

let his wife die,
then two weeks later,

as if orchestrated by an
invisible karmic force

that designates
and designs all our reality,

Gandhi himself gets ill from
the very same condition.

The doctors visit
Gandhi at his bedside, go,

"Oh, Gandhi, you've got that
thing now,

"but with you being
a Hindu and only believing

"in Ayurvedic medicine,

"you won't want
access to any of our modern

British pharmaceuticals,
will you?"

He goes, "You'd think
that, wouldn't you?

But now that's it's me,
I will have it."

Ahh!

Gandhi, no!

Don't make me think,
Gandhi.

You bastard.

Gandhi was a snide.

But I thought about it
a little bit

and do you think it could be
that Gandhi understood

he had a unique mission to
liberate India from tyranny

and as such, he was exempt from
conventional morality?

In the case of greatness
with a unique mission,

are you exempt
from conventional morality

or is that dressing it up
too much?

'Cause I think this is actually
quite a recognizable thing

in everybody's lives.

Men, you will all
understand this.

Women, when you hear it, you
should feel a flicker of shame

for the way you've
treated us.

You know what it's like.

You're a man,
you're me.

It's nighttime,
you're asleep.

Ah, blissful dreams.

Free, free from the tyranny and
nonsense and lies of the day.

Sweet, sweet sleep.

"Russell, wake up!"

"Hmm, all right.

What time is it?"

"Doesn't matter.

"Russell, I've just heard a
noise downstairs in our house.

"I think it's a murderer.

"Why don't you
go downstairs

"with your face and your
life and yourself and that

"and carry out some
investigation

"stroke intervention
which you are woefully

under qualified to enact?"

"Can we both go?"

"No.

Just you."

"What about for better or for
worse, sickness and health?"

"In case of emergency
downstairs,

you're on your
fucking own."

So I go downstairs in the scary,
spooky all-different-now house,

looking for a murderer,

wondering what
I'm going to say to him,

trying to remember sort of

self-defense video
stuff I've seen.

I think you're meant to be loud
and take the fucking initiative

and that, shouting,
getting loud...

"No!

No, don't murder me,
I'll murder you!"

I have a cat.

All the while thinking,
why am I down here on my own?

She's up there.

She should be here
as well.

Like 'cause if I meet a murderer
and something happens

and I die, that's it,
there's no more me.

That's end
of the me show.

Gone, finished, over.

If she
was here as well,

you know, and something
happened...

that would be really bad,

but after an appropriate
period of grieving,

I could get
another fucking wife.

I can't get another life.

Who's going to carry on
my unique mission,

appearing in films as
a version of me with a hat on?

It's vital stuff.

So in a way, if you think about
it carefully,

after what you've just heard,

isn't it feasible that I'm
a little bit like Gandhi?

Yeah?

It's all right.

Don't feel obliged
to applause.

My ego's in pretty good shape.

I'm standing on a stage,
comparing myself to Gandhi.

What if I had died that night

at the hands of that imaginary
murderer?

What if I had died
on that fictional ski slope

on a pretend snowboard?

What would
my legacy be?

What kind of man am I?

What kind of life
have I lived?

What are my achievements?

Yes, sure, I am four times
Shagger of the Year.

Thank you, thank you.

Yeah, it almost makes the title
of shagging worthwhile.

But that's not the kind of
life that I want to lead.

That's not the man
that I want to be.

That is why I look to great men
like Che Guevara

for inspiration.

Che Guevara
is a complex figure.

He was a little bit
homophobic.

He was somewhat ruthless,

but we need only
glance at Che

to know that that is what
a leader should look like.

Glorious, glamorous, great hair,
great beard,

severe stare, intense guy.

That is what
a leader looks like.

This isn't.

(cheers and applause)

You know when extraterrestrials
come to our planet,

you know what they're
going to say, don't you?

"Take us to your leader."

We're going to
take 'em to him.

I'm going to be
embarrassed.

They won't believe us.

"Yeah,
he's the leader."

"What, this guy?
Him?

"With the face like
a little painted egg?

'Cause on our planet, he
wouldn't be made milk monitor."

Look at him.

How can
he hold up a nation?

He can't even hold up
his own thumb.

"Oh, I think
I've got me thumb up."

Doesn't that bother you on
a visceral level,

as a mammal,
that that is your leader?

Uh-oh!

It's not right!

What's happened to us?

We've forgotten
who we are.

Oh no.

David Cameron would not die
for what he believes in.

He'd let us die
for what he believes in,

but he ain't like a Che Guevara
leader.

Che Guevara, a man who
died for what he believed in.

Che Guevara, a man who, while
looking down the barrel of a gun

that contained the bullet that
would end his life,

said to the man who was about to
shoot him, "Shoot, you coward.

"You're only
killing a man.

"You can't kill
the idea.

The idea lives on."

The idea to which Che Guevara
was referring was communism.

Now, I know communism isn't
a very popular idea anymore,

but I looked it up on
the Internet

and it just
means sharing.

It's not that bad.

We tell children
to do it.

"Share, you little cunt."

People worry.

They all know about--
what about Russia?

Lack of food,
lack of freedom, gulags.

They didn't do it
properly.

They fucked it up.

They didn't
follow the manual.

They misused it.

If someone doesn't use it
properly, you can't blame

the thing itself,
right?

That's not fair.

I mostly use my iPad for
looking at pornography, right?

So that's not Steve Jobs'
fucking fault, is it?

"Hey, Steve,
this thing's all clogged up.

"It certainly doesn't
swipe.

"Jesus.

It's like it's been glazed."

"Check your warranty,
you pervert."

For me,
the travesty with Che Guevara

is that he's been reduced to
a meaningless icon

because of his
unconventional appearance,

great hair, great beard.

His philosophy
has been ignored.

And that for me is a very
great travesty.

I was determined not to ignore
the philosophy of Che Guevara

for I want to be inspired.

I want to do something
that I believe in,

something that I understand.

What issue could I speak about
with authority?

I found one.

It's drugs.

I know a lot about drugs.

I've done a lot of
research.

Research.

I took a lot of drugs.

Drug addict.

"I'm doing research here
in my lab."

"That's a phone box."

"Get off me.

Get off my equipment."

"Well,
it's a crack pipe."

"Take your
hands off me, Officer!

"I'm a scientist!

Agh!"

Because of this experience,
when I was invited

to the Houses of Parliament to
speak before a drugs committee,

in spite of my intuitive dislike
of all forms of authority,

I was glad to go

because I wanted to express
for me the important opinion

that drug addiction is an
illness, not a crime.

Thank you.

Thank you for cheering
and sort of identifying

yourselves as drug addicts
as well.

You will be
sent to the gulags.

Also, like it's just--

I mean, not only is it sort of
ineffectual and kind of--

I mean, so stupid to
treat drug addicts as criminals,

really, and it's kind of daft
to have drugs illegal.

I mean,
we're in London.

We live in London.

Have you noticed that
the illegal status of drugs

doesn't appear to be having
a massive impact?

Drug addicts do not give
a fuck if the drugs are illegal.

I've never seen this happen.

When I was out there
as a junkie...

"Hey, you.

You realize that's illegal,
don't you?"

"What?
Shit!

"I been doing
this every day!

"Afraid I'm gonna be
addicted now.

When I stop,
my legs go funny."

"You're in a lot of trouble,
mate.

It's fucking
against the law."

"Stop in the name
of the law!

"That's
a contraband substance.

Subsection C, class A drug."

"Oh, fuck, shit,
that's my hobby out the window.

"Don't worry,
I'll get another hobby.

"I can take up golf.

I've already got
the swing sorted."

Drug addicts don't care
if drugs are illegal.

So I went to express
some of these ideas

to this parliamentary committee,

but I got such a-- hmm--
inherent dislike

of authority, you know?

I hate authority.

If someone tells me what to do,
I sort of say, "Well, fuck off.

"That is one thing
I won't be doing.

"We can discuss the ways
in which I won't be doing it

later in the back of your
police car, Officer."

As a result, I took
a kind of adolescent,

truculent attitude to
the proceedings

and I went to Parliament,
sort of dressed stupid.

Very tight trousers,

tight top,
long leather coat,

big thick belt, sunglasses,
cowboy hat.

I thought one of my
mates would say to me,

"Russell, you're not going to
Houses of Parliament

dressed like that."

But one did,
so I had to.

Predictably, there was a phone
call from Noel Gallagher

when I was in there.

"Russell, why are you in the
Houses of Parliament on my

"television dressed as the
WWF wrestler The Undertaker?

"People ain't gonna fucking
listen to what you're saying if

you're dressed like a cunt."

They will know,
they will know.

But actually Noel
was right.

People didn't listen to me.

They just focused on
what I was wearing.

But I suppose
it's fair enough.

You know, politicians may have
some difficulty trusting you

if you go to Parliament dressed
as Guy Fawkes.

At the time I went to
speak to that committee,

I also went on some
news programs

to further explain
some of my philosophies

and ideas around the treatment
and legislation

around addiction.

I went on that thing
"Newsnight,"

but I don't like them programs,
news programs, you know?

I particularly don't like
"The News," the main one.

"The News."

"The News."

Fuck off.

It's not "the" news.

It's up its
own ass.

"The News."

Yeah,
this is the news, man.

No, no, no.

What that should be called is

"Some News Within Prescribed
Parameters

"in Keeping With
the Agenda of Our Sponsors

"Designed to Exacerbate
Your Fear

"and Limit Your Freedom

Followed By
the Weather Forecast."

Don't antagonize when
I was going there.

Don't like
the studio environment.

It kind of looks like--

Why does it got to look
like a spaceship for?

"Here's the news
from the Enterprise."

All the people in
the background on the computers

and the plastic desk and all
that stuff.

And the music.

I don't like
the music.

It's so bombastic and
self-involved and grandiose.

* Dum-dum-dum
the news *

* Here comes the news
I've got some views *

* I'm going to fuck you in the
mind with a cock of news *

* Gonna ejaculate current
affairs into your eyes **

Because of that, I felt of sort
of agitated and irritated

and nervous
when I was going in there.

I had the demeanor and,
to a degree,

facial expression,
that my cat has

if you try to
gently submerge him in water.

Let's have a look at
the footage.

Could we do more to
break their addiction

or is their compulsion
just too strong?

The recovering drug addict
and comedian Russell Brand--

"Here to tell us that drugs
are just harmless fun

"is this pie-eyed

Charles Manson
Rasputin figure."

I'll tell you what's
really bad.

I remember that moment.

I remember the camera
being on me

and the red light coming on

that indicates
that they're filming.

And I remember thinking,

oh, the camera's on you,
Russell.

Come on,
just do a normal face.

You can do it.

You're as good
as the other boys.

You can do this.

Looks like I'm thinking
a very high-pitched noise.

(shrieking)

It's like I'm trying to break
the sound barrier with my mind.

(vocalizing)

People laugh at me.

They laughed at me.

Yeah.

'Cause of my unconventional
appearance, my great hair,

cool beard, my philosophy
was ignored.

Now any of you that
have been listening will know

that that is exactly what
happened to Che Guevara.

Che Guevara is a man so
successfully extracted from his

image that at this point in
time, he can be used as an

exhibition for cars
to promote their product.

Have a look at that.

That's Che Guevara at
a Mercedes exhibition.

They've replaced the star on his
beret with the Mercedes logo.

Yeah, he'd be fine
with that, Che Guevara.

Not like he drove corporations
out of Cuba

at gunpoint or anything.

I don't want to belabor
the point,

but Mercedes is another
one of the companies

that made stuff for the Nazis.

I can't get too deep into after
the whole Hugo Boss debacle.

(cheers and applause)

How come I get in more trouble
for saying that they made stuff

for the Nazis than they did for
making stuff for the Nazis?

Seems like a weird scale.

Che is not alone among my
heroes in being posthumously

appropriated for corporate end.

Here's a photograph of Gandhi
advertising Apple Computers.

"Be the change
you wish to see in the world."

I can't imagine that the change
that Gandhi would wish to see

in the world would be iPhones
getting thinner and thinner

and thinner and thinner
and thinner and thinner

until you don't know whether to
make a phone call

or put some
cheese on it and fucking eat it.

I can't imagine that Gandhi
would approve of

the iPhone factory in China

where working conditions
were so bad

that the people that work there,

they were jumping out of
the windows of the building

and killing themselves

and management
solved that problem

by putting nets up around
the building.

I'd like to
have been at that meeting.

"It's happened again, boss."

"Ugh.

"That's the fourth bloody
suicide this week.

We've got to do something."

"I'm so glad you've said that
because I've got a plan, right?

"What we could do is pay the
workers a proper amount of

"money, maybe
give them a pension plan.

I thought maybe a Bring Your
Daughter to Work Day."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa.

"You're really
over-thinking this.

Put some fucking nets up."

Also, what do you say
to someone

who's made the decision
to jump off of a building

and end their life

when you're getting them down
from the net?

"Oi, you.

"Come on.

"Down from the net.

"Back to work.

"That counts
as your tea break.

"It's fun on there,
it's like a big trampoline.

"Stop crying.

"Get in there.

Make them thinner."

"That's not my department."

That ain't the change

that Gandhi would
wish to see in the world.

Unless maybe his wife worked
at that factory.

"Go on then, love."

"You're going to jump next,
ain't you, Gandhi?"

"Oh, yeah, yeah,
I'll be right behind you.

Fuck off."

Why are they doing this to us?

Why are they positioning our
heroes in these

meaningless landscapes?

Why are they creating
a cultural malaise

in which
nothing has nutrition,

where our food lacks nutrition,
where there's an emptiness

in my stomach
that can't be filled by drugs

or fame or money?

Who is that benefits
from this system?

Who is that benefits from us
having a void within ourselves

that can never be filled?

Who is that claims that
they can fill this void?

Well, it's people like this guy,
isn't it?

I never trusted him.

I never trusted him
when I was a kid.

He's the Jimmy Savile
of corporate logos.

I don't like the idea

of buying food from someone
whose mouth

looks like
a horizontal vagina.

Look at this stuff, man.

"M,"
registered trademark.

I'm lovin' it.

Registered trademark.

How can "M" be a registered
trademark?

That is one of our letters.

What am I supposed to do
if I need a word

what's got an "M" in it?

Use a "B"
on its side?

You "banipulative"
"boney-grabbing,"

"botherfuckers."

Also, check this slogan:
I'm lovin' it.

We heard it a thousand times.

I'm lovin' it, I'm lovin' it,
I'm lovin' it, I'm lovin' it.

But what does it mean?

What does it mean?

Well, they've dropped the "G,"
interestingly,

and apostrophized it because
then it seems colloquial.

They're our friends.

Hey, I'm lovin' it,
we're lovin' it.

We're all
just the same.

You can trust us.

Also, by dropping the "G,"
they make it colloquial

and therefore,
it can be owned.

They can trademark it if it's
not a conventional piece of

English language.

Most importantly, though,
by dropping the "G"

and making it colloquial,

it distracts us from the actual,
literal meaning

of the verb to love
in the continuous form.

I'm lovin' it.

The act of love.

'Cause I don't think
McDonald's would want us to have

the image of Ronald McDonald
in the act of love

with his hard,
thin, white clown cock,

tapering towards the end,

and his bright red pubes,
sliding into a Filet-O-Fish.

I'm lovin' it, I'm lovin' it,
I'm lovin' it, I'm lovin' it.

What are you loving, Ronald,
with your fat-saturated food

deliberated marketed
at young people?

Obese schoolboys--
so you can waddle after them in

your clown shoes and fuck 'em,
you painted nonce?

I don't mind a little bit of
hyperbole,

but these people
are going to town.

There's actually a product that
I quite like-- Dr Pepper.

But unbelievably satisfying?

That is a bold claim for
a brown, fizzy drink.

Unbelievably satisfying!

What does that even
fucking look like?

"Are you enjoying
that beverage?"

"I'll say I am!

"It's unbelievably
satisfying.

"I'm going to have to
recategorize my understanding of

"satisfaction to incorporate
the experience I've just had.

"I can't believe how satisfied
I am and I am me.

"So who is it that's satisfied

"and who is it that
can't believe it?

It's a fucking paradox
in a can is what I'm drinking."

If we're using words like
"unbelievably satisfying"

to describe a brown,
fizzy drink,

what language is left for love?

"What was it like when you
looked into her eyes at the site

"of the canal beneath
the orange streetlamp?

"What was it like when you
realized in that moment

that perhaps you could
love again?"

"Oh, yeah, that was unbelievably
satisfying actually."

What language is left for God?

"What was it like when you
realized that your consciousness

"is invisibly interconnected
with all consciousness

"and there is no separation,
that we are all one,

"that we can change
our reality at any moment

with a simple decision?"

"Oh, you know, that was
unbelievably satisfying."

"What was it like when you drank
that Dr Pepper?"

"Oh, hm,
my teeth hurt a little bit."

That is a more
realistic slogan.

My teeth hurt a little bit.

Or...

or maybe the problem can be
solved with a comma.

Unbelievably comma...

... given the shit
we put in it...

... satisfying.

But you'd be hard-pushed to
top our friends

over at Gillette

with their slogan--
"Gillette.

The best a man can get."

Is it?

Shaving?

Type of shaving.

Well, I am a man
and I've shaved before.

So I'm just gonna offer
this up there.

Um, you know, shaving's good,

but have you ever
been in a situation

with one person, they're here,
and they're

sucking your cock

and there's another person here
and they're putting

their tongue
into your bottom?

It's better than shaving.

Don't set the bar
so fucking low.

Though if you are
going to do that,

it is polite to have a little
shave first.

Hmm...

If a product has
an advertisement

it means you don't need it.

No one ever has to say,
"Go to sleep.

"Breathe.

Love people."

If they're advertising it,
you don't need it.

Why are they doing this?

Why are they confusing us
with this erroneous,

duplicitous
information all the time?

This hyperbole, these lies,
these meaningless claims,

these peculiar offers?

Well, it's obviously for money,
isn't it,

but they've got so much.

How much money
do they need?

All of the money,
all of it.

Do you know there are 147
interconnected corporations

that control half of
the world's wealth?

That's not very many, 147.

That's just that little back
paddock there.

Maybe we should just let them
maraud throughout our planet

and do what they want.

And we could if it were not for
things like global poverty

and world hunger,
stains on our collective soul.

World hunger could be solved
with $40 billion of investment.

I know that sounds like a lot,

but not compared to
the $50 trillion

controlled by
American millionaires,

$11 trillion of which is held
in offshore bank accounts.

Now I don't know what an
offshore bank account means

but it sounds a bit like
a beach.

Sounds like they've
got so much fucking money,

they've sent some to go on
fucking holiday somewhere.

The relationship between those
two figures,

of having that much money

and not using it to alleviate
the problem

is like having
500 quid in your pocket--

Right, if I had 500 quid
in my pocket

and a starving child said,

"Can I have 40 pence
please?"

Going, "No, fuck off!

"500's a round number,
I need it.

This money's
going on holiday."

Ha-ha-ha-ha!

How can this story be
maintained?

How is that
narrative succeeded?

I suppose because it's remained
uninterrupted

by better storytellers.

Men like Malcolm X who said that
people's rights have to change

and be acknowledged
by any means necessary.

Whatever it takes,
whatever it takes.

That's what we'll do.

Whatever it takes.

Malcolm X,
a very great hero,

altered the narrative of
his people.

Who taught you
to hate your hair?

Who taught you to hate the color
of your skin?

My favorite Malcolm X story

involves the arrest of
Joseph Hinton.

Whenever anyone was
arrested in Harlem,

his parish, Malcolm X would go
to advocate for their release.

On this particular day in
Harlem,

when he was
in the police station,

a crowd gathered outside as is
often the case

when Brother Malcolm
would go somewhere.

And there was that hot,
febrile atmosphere

that it can
sometimes be before a riot.

You know, when it can go either
way at football,

or a street protest.

I like that feeling.

Not 'cause I think that-- I want
people to get hurt

or things to get smashed,

although I don't mind things
getting smashed

a little bit sometimes.

I just like that feeling that
reality isn't permanent,

that things aren't permanent,

that they can be disrupted
and changed,

even in very
trivial situations,

very trivial examples.

Like when I was at school,
you know, when you're at school

and you're at your desk

and you're doing your work
and through the window

you see that a dog has
come in the playground.

"There's a dog in
the playground!"

The teachers don't
want you to see it.

Shut the fucking curtains.

"There's a dog in
the playground!

"There's a dog
in the playground!

"Fuck algebra,
fuck the police!

"You can't control us, there's
a dog in the playground!

Nothing's real!"

I like it.

I like the disruption
of what's normal.

That's why I go to riots.

I don't go
so much now.

I used to go to more protest
riots, call them what you will.

I got a good one.

This story
you will like it.

But it involves some
public nudity,

so before I tell you it,

there are two things
that are very,

very important
for you to bear in mind.

One, I was on a lot of drugs
at the time, okay?

And two, it was very,
very cold that day.

It was in SoHo.

There's a huge crowd of
protestors.

I'm part of that crowd
and it's that vibe of

oh my God, it's
going to fucking kick off.

I'm excited and I'm enjoying it,

but I'm not
the center of attention

and it doesn't seem right.

I see in the distance
a police van.

I think if I get
on that police van,

I'll be the fucking center
of attention.

So I hustle through the crowd,
get on top of the police van.

Sure enough,
the crowd roars.

"Yes!"

Like Mick with Usher.

Just the visibility
is enough sometimes.

"Yes, go on,
that bloke"

is the sort of feeling,

that it's a positive
thing I'm doing.

So I feel I've got to keep
these people entertained.

I've got to keep their interest
sustained.

And what do I do?

Like even in that
Olympic photograph,

I take my
fucking top off, right?

So I just rip my top off.

The crowd goes,
"Yes!"

Like that--
they're really into it.

It's a proud moment for me.

Oh, fuck, I've not told you
something really important.

Malcolm X

successfully negotiates
the release of

Joseph Hinton.

As the two emerge from
the police station,

the crowd looked
to Malcolm X to ascertain

is this a situation for conflict
or acquiescence?

Malcolm X raises his hand

and with
a single hand gesture,

the crowd immediately
disperses.

Single hand gesture,
that's all it took.

Everyone just
dropped it and went home.

A New York City police officer
observing that day said,

"That is too much power
for one man to have."

Back to me!

I'm on top of the van,
I've took my top off,

and I'm hearing
the crowd fucking loving it.

"Go on!"

I think I've gotta keep these
people entertained.

Take down my trousers.

"Yes, go on, mystery man,"
they're saying.

I figured I'd just
take this to the nth degree,

let's take it to
the next level.

I pull down my underpants,

wave them above my head as
a flag of anti-capitalism,

a flag of triumph.

Power to the people!

Revolution!

About this point, I notice that
everyone in the crowd

has gone really quiet, right?

I seem sort of
embarrassed.

I look down to
the direction of their stare

and I gotta tell you, right?

Some women
don't know this.

The male penis has an enormous
capacity for variance in size.

And he did not show up
for me that day.

It was really bad.

Really bad.

It looked like they were was
a bald patch in my pubes.

Honestly.

It was really-- you know that
nightmare you have where you're

naked in public at a riot
on a police van

with an imaginary cock?

That--
that happened!

That's my life!

I was up there
fucking freaked out,

so I tried to just like
wank it into a normal size,

which is a sex crime.

Indecent exposure, which is
still on my criminal record.

Even the wanking was kind of
embarrassing.

Not proper wanking, you know?

It was like putting
a Smurfs hat on,

then taking it off again.

Smurf hat on,
Smurf hat off.

Smurf hat on, Smurf hat off.

So embarrassed, man.

But I tell you, as soon as my
hand went to my cock,

that crowd began to disperse.

It was like I was able to
disperse an entire crowd

with a single hand gesture.

So in a way...

I'm a little bit like
Malcolm X.

Malcolm X is obviously not
a perfect human being

and therefore flawed.

Served a lot of time
for drug dealing

and for pimping women.

Che Guevara, not perfect
in spite of successfully

overthrowing a government
in his early 30s.

Apparently didn't
change his shirts very much

and smelled a bit.

Disappointing, isn't it, to find
that out about Che Guevara.

These men all represented

the people's interest against
a visible, identifiable enemy.

How would they cope now with our
amorphous, unknowable foes

when evil comes named after
innocent fruit

with the white
beaming face of the clown

hidden behind unknowable numbers

and baffling words like
"derivatives" and "bundles"?

How would these men confront
an evil that isn't obvious

and labeled?

In the old days,
history came up, tagged up

with swastikas and obvious.

Even in a picture
of him as a child,

I'll bet you'll recognize
this man.

Right, you know
who that is, do you?

Even at 10?

Yeah.

Actually, it's not me,
it's actually Hitler but...

Same basic personality type.

Let's look at Hitler
as a 10-year-old boy

before the abuse and torture
he endured as a child,

before the horrors he witnessed
in the First World War,

before the anti-Semitism

that swept across that part of
Europe and corrupted him

and influenced him.

If you look into the eyes of
that 10-year-old boy,

a 10-year-old Hitler,

you can see that he's already
a right little bastard.

At 10!

Look at--

"Take the photo,
you pig dog.

I'll have you killed."

He's already got
two henchmen, also.

"Yes, mein Fuhrer.

He is a poor
photographer."

My favorite thing though about
this photo

is that kid there,
down in front of him.

Look at his little face.

That is exactly the expression
I'd have if I knew that

Adolf Hitler
was right behind me.

"Is he still there?"

"Yeah, seriously.

Adolf Hitler is right behind
you, mate."

"I know."

"Don't worry.

He's more scared of you
than you are of him."

"I don't think so."

That little kid, curiously
enough, by some extraordinary

quirk of fate

is the Austrian philosopher
Ludwig Wittgenstein,

the logician and thinker
who continues to influence

philosophy to this day.

Incredibly important
philosopher.

Isn't it amazing that
in Austria, in one school,

in one class,

you have the best
philosopher of the day

and the worst dictator
in history?

You gotta feel sorry for
the teacher of that class.

"How's work today, dear?"

"Mmm.

Another tough one, actually."

"Oh really?
What happened?"

"Well, okay.

"Just a couple
of examples.

"Um.

One kid said to me, 'If you
consider, Miss'"--

and that's weird, 'cause I'm
a bloke, so that threw me--

"'If you consider, Miss,
eternity not to be

"'an infinite temporal duration,

"'but the quality of
timelessness,

"does eternity belong to those
who live in the present?'

"So that was tricky.

"A couple of paintings,
this little one now,

"fucking thinking about it all
through lunch.

"Couldn't really
get me head around it.

"Then there's another kid,

"just keeps asking me
if I'm Jewish.

"I'm worried about that boy.

"He's pushy,
I don't like him.

"A lot to say,
opinionated child.

"Mind you, he's a very
enthusiastic student.

"I will say that.

Always got his
hand up in class."

Oh yes, yes.

Literally Sieg Heiling.

You see that cross above
Hitler's head?

Do you think that was done
by a gleeful archivist?

"Oh my God, I found a picture of
Wittgenstein and Hitler in one

class and what a break..."

Or do you think it
was Hitler's teacher

when Hitler left school--

"Watch out for this
little cunt."

What terrifies me more
than the extremity of Hitler

is the mundanity of Hitler.

You know, not the terrible
Holocaust

or the horrific
Second World War,

but that Hitler is actually just
a normal bloke.

Hitler had an
older sister called Paula.

Paula Hitler.

Paula Hitler.

"Paula!

You've used
all the hot water!"

"Oh, what are you gonna do?"

"I will have revenge
and ultimate power."

It's the mundanity of Hitler
that's terrifying.

He's just a normal man,

just a normal person
like any of us.

You know that in terms of
our DNA, we are 98% identical

to a chimpanzee.

If we're 98% identical
to a chimpanzee,

how different
can we be from each other?

Baffling idea.

Do you know that 60% of human
DNA is in a fruit fly?

Those fruit flies, them idiots,
you move fruit-- they come up.

How do they get in there?
I hate them.

60% of our DNA
is the same as them.

100% of my DNA is in my cat.

But that's because I get
lonely sometimes.

Oh.

Oh.

Oh, come, Russell, have a good
laugh about Hitler,

but don't fuck the cat.

Well, he shouldn't have such
a prominent anus then.

Second-most noticeable
thing about him.

(meowing)

Tail up in the air like
a little furry fuck handle.

82% of human DNA

is identical to the DNA
in the feline species.

50% of human DNA
is found in a banana.

A stupid yellow crescent moon
banana.

So if someone says, "Hey, is
that a banana in your pocket

or are you just
pleased to see me?"

Say, "What difference
does it make?

"Just pop it
in your mouth.

"Be careful with
the skin.

Why don't you
find the day..."

So if our heroes
are all flawed

and our villains are just
mundane people like us,

what can we
believe in with impunity?

Jesus Christ?

Surely we can
believe in Jesus.

Well, yeah, of course we can,
but which Jesus?

'Cause I don't want to
believe in the Jesus Christ

of the neo-Conservative right of
Fox News, of Rupert Murdoch

or the "Daily Mail,"

that bigoted
homophobic Jesus,

the Jesus that they've
manufactured to prop up

their authoritarian ideas.

Like check this picture, right,
of Jesus that we was

mucking about with earlier.

This is actually an image of
Constantine the emperor

who converted to
Christianity in 325 AD

fused with Sol Invictus,

the Roman sun god that the
people previously worshipped.

So their allegiance would now be
referred to this

new Messianic figure who was
associated with their leader.

That's why, look, that halo,
the sun, that's leftover

from Sol Invictus.

There's no mention of Jesus
wandering around with a halo in

the fucking Bible.

"Thanks for the fishes
and loaves.

What's
the fucking light bulb?"

It's not in there.

They added that on to make
the Romans think,

"Oh yeah, he's all right,
he's basically the same."

You know,
Jesus seems really lovely,

what I've read in the Bible.

Everything He says
seems kind of cool.

Love thy neighbor as you
love thyself.

Give to the poor,
receive treasure in heaven.

The kingdom of heaven
is within.

Sounds all right, doesn't it?

Sounds sort of like a hippie
Commie gay type of a guy.

So where is this Jesus

of the far right
fucking coming from,

who's really bothered about
homophobia?

In America, from listening to
the neo-Conservative right,

you'd think
that's all He cared about.

Like, "Don't be gay!"

You'd think it was called "The
Bible: Don't Be a Fucking Poof."

Like...

It's not in there.

There's one little bit in
Leviticus.

Don't lay down
with another man.

It's not like a central thing.

You'd think if Jesus was that
concerned about homosexuality

He had the perfect opportunity
to address the issue

in His top 10
do's and don'ts.

Put it in there.

Number 10:
Don't be gay.

Nip it in the bud.

It's not in there.

No mention of the old "gayness"
in the anus.

As far as the 10 Commandments
are concerned, homosexuality is

not considered as important
an issue as

thou shall not covet
thy neighbor's oxen.

So if you're in a situation
where you're really buzzed up

and you've gotta do something
sinful for relief,

Jesus would prefer it

if you had gay sex to you
coveting your neighbor's oxen.

"Jesus, I had a terrible day
at work.

"I'm either going to
fuck this geezer in the ass

or I'm gonna
covet my neighbor's oxen."

"Well, don't do that,
you better--"

"Thanks, Jesus.

"I'm going to slide my hard cock
up into his ass,

my balls
banging on his balls."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, do what you
gotta do, mate.

"Just don't look
over next door's fence

"at that oxen, then imagine
in your mind

"what it would be like
if that oxen was your oxen.

Don't do that,
will you?"

"No, no, no, I won't.

"I'm going to come in his
asshole.

"I'm going to suck my
come out of his ass,

"kiss him with rivers of
cum connecting our lips...

"cum bubbles
floating off into the sky

like a homosexual snowstorm."

"Yeah, yeah,
yeah, yeah, yeah.

"Do what you gotta do, mate.

Just remember,
that is not your oxen."

So you have to download

homophobic Jesus from
media outlets

like Fox News in America.

Fox News is like
"Daily Mail" live.

I don't like that Fox News.

Not only is Fox News bigoted,
it's also misleading.

I once watched
it for 12 hours

and there was not one story
about foxes.

"A fox in a waistcoat
rescued a boy from a well."

Just stories about immigrants,
really.

Not even stories,
just shouting.

"Immigrants!

"Immigrants!

Immigrants!"

All right.

What?

"Immigrants!"

You know that an immigrant

is just someone who used to be
somewhere else.

"Ahh!

Have you always been there?"

"No, no, no,
I used to be over there."

"Ahh!

"Keep still!

"I can't relax with people
moving around.

"Keep still on
this spherical rock

"in infinite space.

"Keep still on
the spherical rock

"with imaginary geopolitical
borders

"that have been drawn in
according to the economic

"reality of the time.

"Do not pause to reflect that
free movement of global capital

"will necessitate free movement
of a global labor force to meet

"the demands created by the free
movement of that capital.

"That is a complex economic idea

"and you won't
understand it.

"Just keep still
on the rock.

"And don't be gay on it!

"Gays!

There are gays!"

"What?"

"Gays."

"What about them?"

"There are them."

"What are you
worried about?"

"What if they do
a gay marriage?"

"I don't know."

"Well, it's a bit gay!"

"Yeah, I
think it's a bit gay.

Yeah, shouldn't worry,
I don't think it affects you."

An astronomer told me once--

and this is in his jurisdiction,
so we can trust him.

He said, "Russell, you will
never understand the vastness

"of the Milky Way, the galaxy
that we live in.

"It's too big to conceptualize
in your little, little mind.

"So just imagine for a moment

"that the Milky Way
was the size of Great Britain,

"then 30 times the size
of Great Britain.

"If that was our solar system--

"Mars, Venus, us,
you remember from school--

"would fit into a single teacup
somewhere in Croydon.

"There are 400 million

"known galaxies
in our universe.

"How can you know that

"and then care if someone
sticks their cock

"up someone else's ass?

These are not the black holes we
need to concern ourselves with."

It's hard to live without
meaning in infinite space

when Nietzsche has said that
God is dead,

when Chesterton has proved
that we'll believe in anything,

when Gillette say that

the best a man can get is
a type of shave,

when Dr Pepper tells us we
should be unbelievably satisfied

with a brown drink,

what's left to believe in when
our heroes are flawed,

when our villains are mundane?

What can unite all of us
together, what can we all share?

What can unify us against
the tyranny and the oppression,

the fear, the loneliness
and the emptiness?

What's left for us?

God?
Can we believe in God?

Well, I do, but you're not
going to trust me.

I've proved over
the course of the evening

I'm a fucking lunatic.

But Einstein, we can trust
Einstein, can't we,

who, when asked if he
was religious, responded,

"Well, there are forces
in this universe

"that I will never understand

"and I hold these
forces in great reverence

and to that degree,
I am religious."

I suppose what
Einstein is saying is that

the realm of the senses is
limited and prohibited

in any judgments we make

within that tiny little
limited realm.

I'm not of any
actual fucking value.

With our sensory perception,
for our sight,

an optic level, we can only see
between infrared light

and ultraviolet light.

There are thousands of rays of
cascading light invisible to us,

all around us.

We have a limited decibel range
that we can hear.

We can't hear
the sound of a dog whistle.

We can't hear the sound of me

thinking on the news--
thank God.

How would we conceptualize
smell if none of us had it?

If that concept was inaccessible
through lack of

sensory instrument of the nose?

How would we understand
the difference between

the smell of paint and bacon

and Che Guevara's
shirts?

It would be
meaningless to us.

But just because we don't have
the information, that doesn't

mean the information isn't
there, that there aren't

frequencies, energy,
interconnected prism--

because we can't see it that
don't mean it ain't there.

Us not knowing about something

don't mean that the thing
doesn't exist.

My cat doesn't know
there's an Internet.

There's an Internet.

"Meow.

"I don't know.

I'm too sexy."

"Yes, you are.

"Come here.

And now another
quick dip."

(shrieking)

That's why I think
we need stories that

are tied to permanent
phenomenon.

Stories that can't be
forgotten or submerged.

The Celtic people

that used to occupy these
islands, revered the rivers,

thought the rivers
were sacred.

So that would prevent them

from ever being disrespectful
to the rivers

or polluting the rivers.

The Nordic people thought their
ancestors were in the trees,

so mass-deforestation
wasn't an option.

The Native American people
believed that God

is in the soil.

How then would you
feel about fracking?

No wonder these stories have
been rewritten and forgotten.

No wonder our heroes have been
replaced by

sequin-covered vacuous fools.

You can't have a society with
these kinds of members

because these men
rewrite history.

You can't have a man
with a brain like Gandhi,

a heart like Che Guevara,
the courage of Malcolm X.

I'm aware that these are
the qualities of the Scarecrow,

Tin Man and Lion are looking for
in "The Wizard of Oz."

That doesn't
undermine them.

All I'm saying is I'm glad that
I have these heroes that

represent values
outside of our popular culture

and I urge all of you to
choose heroes as well

because if you
don't choose heroes,

heroes will be chosen for you
and they will not

represent values
that empower you

but powers that enslave you,
ideas that enslave you.

I'm not saying this is
something you have to deal with

immediately now, like, "Fuck,
I better get a hero!

You, Russell!"

No.

That's not why I've gathered
you all here.

It's not going to
turn into a rally.

Everyone take your clothes off!

Let's fuck each other,
it's cool now!

Whoo!

"But I'm here with
my mum!

Sorry, it's what he wanted."

My mum's here as well,
don't freak out.

My mum's here listening to that
come river-- that bit.

Just thinking, "Oh,
there he is, my boy."

(laughing)

It's funny 'cause it's true.

She don't mind that
sort of stuff.

That's why I've
got this personality now.

"Well done, well done,
darling."

I suppose what's interesting
is that inherently,

innately, we already
possess the creative power

to control our own lives
and to control our destiny.

Like, you see earlier, we were
mucking about that crucifix

that Jesus was wearing.

Well, of course, Jesus has the
right to wear that crucifix

because that's
the resurrected Christ.

See the wounds in His hands,
the resurrected Christ.

But also the cross
was a religious symbol

that preceded Christianity.

African cultures worship
the crucifix,

Celtic cultures
worshipped the crucifix

and it was widely regarded
to be the intersection

of the two energies
necessary for life--

male and female.

And from the intersection of
those two energies,

all life, all reality
can be created.

The vertical
male phallic energy--

on a good day, if you
don't take drugs,

if the weather's
nice and warm--

perfectly normal, thank you--

intersecting with the horizontal
vaginal energy of the female.

Not like Ronald McDonald's
mouth, a sloppy blow job.

(shrieking)

No one needs that fucking shit
in their religious life.

Where those
two energies intersect,

all creativity is possible.

We already have divine
creative energy within us.

That's what these stories are
trying to remind us,

and we share that energy with
each other and with the soil.

And what is the most
powerful of these energies,

the energy that the patriarchy
and misogyny

constantly tries to repress?

The divine
female sexual energy,

the creative energy
of the female.

That is why I worship
divine sexual female energy.

Yes, thanks, thanks, thanks.

I'm saying that not only because
it's true

but also because it's nearly
the end of the show now

and I know if I say
stuff like that

about women
and divine sexual energy,

at the end of the evening,

there's no way I ain't getting
laid after the show tonight.

How can you
compare the potency

of the creative forces within
humanity?

How can you even imagine

the male energy has the potency
of female sexual energy?

Just witness the orgasms.

"Oh!

"More, hit me!

Oh!"

Versus...

(groaning)

(snoring)

Female sexual energy's so
sublime, delicate and divine,

even in masturbation, it's an
aesthetic spectacle,

as if accompanied by
a breeze and muslin drapes,

a delicate Rachmaninoff concerto
across the clitoris.

(vocalizing)

Oh, that's so beautiful.

A sexuality so divine,
so pleasing to the eye

that it can be used on the telly
to advertise chocolate.

Flake adverts, Galaxy adverts,

that's fucking female sexual
energy.

"Oh, Flake, Flake, oh!"

You cannot use male
masturbation energy

to sell chocolate.

(grunting)

"Have a Flake!"

I've given up
masturbation now

as a result of a trip
to London Zoo.

I see
a chimpanzee doing it.

(imitating chimpanzee shrieking)

I thought, no, man.

It's not different
enough.

Also male masturbatory energy,

that is the energy
of bigotry.

That is the energy
that doesn't allow us

to transcend the circuitry
of it,

the angry Rupert Murdoch,

George Osborne,
David Cameron energy of wanking.

Can't even get his
fucking thumb up,

can you imagine
what his cock looks like?

Jesus Christ.

Them people don't know
how to fuck properly.

That's why they're angry.

That's why their
policies are so ugly.

George Osborne, that man--
try and think of him fucking.

Try and think of it.

Doesn't know how to
move his hips.

Doesn't know
how to do the final move.

Doesn't know the G-spot,
under turn.

Doesn't know how it works.

That's why
they're so angry.

They're wanking
all the time.

Cuts, cuts, ah!

Guilty, angry little
conservative wanks.

George Osborne never had an
orgasm that didn't end up

on his little tummy.

Angry little wanks.

"Cut the benefit!

Ah!"

I bet when he comes,
it frightens him.

"Oh!

(speaking gibberish)

"Bad boy Georgie!

Bad boy Georgie!"

They don't want us to have free,
liberated sexual energy,

access to the divine
and infinite for our own

infinite creativity.

That is why I worship at
the altar of the vagina.

There will never be
a clearer metaphor for God.

From nothing comes all life,
comes all creation

and I'm happy
to whisper my prayers

and liturgies there on my knees
night after night.

And get it all
in your mouth also.

Don't be scared of nothing
down there.

Don't be afraid of anything
on each other's bodies.

George Osborne,
he wants boundaries, barriers,

rules down there.

"Don't put that bit
in your mouth.

That's where
poo poo comes from."

Get it in your gob!

Right in there.

Dilate it.

Make it wink.

And while we're on
the subject,

let's address the inequality
and hypocrisy

in the heterosexual world

of the male/female
ass-lick pact.

How can rimming be
considered a fair swap

between the genders when the
commodities are so different?

The female, as if it's been
drawn by Walt Disney.

"Ah, come here."

"Ahh!"

So cute, so perfect,

like it could dispense
nothing more toxic

than little pink Tic Tacs.

(vocalizing)

"Ahh!"

Get it in your gob.

Free them.

"Ahh!

Ahh, I'm coming, I'm coming!"

They always tell you.

"I'm coming, I'm coming!"

"I know, I know.

It's obvious,
it's obvious."

They don't do that
with other stuff.

"I'm having a sandwich,
I'm having a sandwich!

I'm parallel parking,
I'm parallel parking!"

Sometimes
I do it though.

A little announcement.

"I'm coming."

With me, it's more warning.

"I'm coming, so if you want to,
please hurry up."

"My jaw hurts now."

Liberate yourself
down there.

Get it all in your mouth.

(vocalizing)

(vocalizing continues)

I'm coming, I'm coming,
I'm coming!"

(vocalizing)

"Right.

Now you do me."

(grunting)

Walt Disney's circle replaced by
the King Kong hair knot.

Come on, take a bite
of the old leather bagel.

The Tic Tac tune drowned out by
German oompah-pah music.

(vocalizing)

(imitating farting)

You want someone to put
that in their mouth,

you've gotta
make 'em come first.

You gotta make them access
the heroin

that's already within them,

the divinity
already within them,

the revolution that's in every
single one of us.

That is why
I guarantee to any woman

kind enough to sleep with me
tonight, you will come first.

Any woman that I sleep with
will always be the first coming.

And I will
always be

the second coming

and that is why I'm
a little bit like Jesus.

(cheers and applause)

**

**

* Your own personal
Jesus *

* Someone to hear
your prayers *

* Someone who cares *

* Your own personal
Jesus *

* Someone to hear
your prayers *

* Someone who's there *

* Feeling unknown
and you're all alone *

* Flesh and bone by
the telephone *

* Lift up the receiver
I'll make you a believer *

* Take second best put me
to the test *

* Things on your chest
you need to confess *

* I will deliver
you know I'm a forgiver *

* Reach out and touch faith *

* Reach out and touch faith *

* Your own personal
Jesus *

* Someone to hear
your prayers *

* Someone who cares *

* Your own personal
Jesus *

* Someone to hear
your prayers *

* Someone who's there *

* Reach out and touch faith **