Original subtitles

**

(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 **