20x02 - Rock Hard
Posted: 10/05/21 06:09
♪ It seems today that all you see ♪
♪ Is v*olence in movies and sex on TV ♪
♪ But where are those good old-fashioned values ♪
♪ On which we used to rely? ♪
♪ Lucky there’s a family guy ♪
♪ Lucky there’s a man who positively can do ♪
♪ All the things that make us ♪
♪ Laugh and cry ♪
♪ He’s… a… Fam… ily… Guy! ♪
Ah, the record store– full of the greatest albums of all time and the employees who hate every one of ’em.
Hey, do you have the Eagles’ Greatest Hits?
Yeah. It’s under “O” for “obvious.”
And “overrated.”
Thank you, bearded failures. You know, it’s stores like this where you learn about the real history of rock and roll, not the watered-down version you get in every movie about a musician’s life.
Yeah, all those biopics are the same story: unsupportive parents, hit song, band turmoil…
Having giant horse teeth and dying of AIDS. All of ’em are exactly the same. Check out this section for the Doors. Jim Morrison is a legend, whether we like it or not. He had the good sense to die before we could see him at the Pechanga Casino and go, “Oh, my God, that’s him?”
♪
It was the ’60s, a time of great fateful missed Frisbee catches. The iconic band was formed one day when Ray Manzarek met Jim Morrison on Venice Beach.
Thanks! I’m Ray Manzarek. What’s your name?
Jim Morrison. Light my fire.
W-Wait a minute, wait. What’d you just say? Say that again.
Light my fire?
Yeah, that! That could be a song that’s tolerated for generations! What do you say you and I form a band?
A band? But this is the ’60s. We don’t have nearly enough floppy heads of hair to do that.
Hey, you guys starting a band? Mind if we join?
Yes. You’re both in.
We are gonna be huge, you guys. And nothing’s gonna get between us– not dr*gs or alcohol or the first toxic relationship that comes my way.
Look out! Easily manipulated runaway comin’ through!
Screw you guys! I’m following that lady, and there’s nothing you can do about it! I am the Doors!
Jim, be reasonable. We haven’t even named ourselves that yet.
Look, I’m gonna get right to it and say I miss making music with you b*stards.
Thanks! I’m Charles Manson. What’s your name?
Jim Morrison. k*ll Sharon Tate.
Wait a minute. What did you just say? Say that again.
♪
(humming)
♪ This is how women on dr*gs dance. ♪
Yeah.
Jim Morrison. Love me two times.
W-Wait a minute. What’d you just say? Say that again.
Well, Jim, I’m flattered you broke into my home, but I have a serious boyfriend and I think you should leave.
But I’m a rock star!
And he’s an astronaut. You know, unfortunately for you, this is the one time in history where astronauts are cooler than rock stars.
Well, I don’t care. You’re my muse, and I’m moving in with my trash bags of bad poetry.
“The caterpillar–
“a tiny hair snake?
Nay. Because of his many, many legs.”
“The snake.
“A large, hairless caterpillar?
Nay. On account of no legs.”
“The snakeapillar…”
Wow. Such a genius, huh? Now, I do have a boyfriend, but I’m also a free spirit. (quietly): That’s my fun little way of sayin’ I’m a sl*t. So, how’d you like to have sex with my kite-sized woman weave? Mm, it’ll mesh perfectly with my giant nest of tight ringlets.
(moaning)
LOIS: Oh, Jim.
PETER: Call me the Lizard King.
LOIS: (moans) Oh, Lizard King!
PETER: Yeah. Now call me Archduke Salamander, Emperor of Newts.
LOIS: (exhales) You’re the Archduke…
PETER: Ah, I’m done.
(Velcro ripping)
(giggles) Velcro. Just like my shoes.
♪
Early on, Jim Morrison had terrible stage fright, so he performed with his back to the crowd. The only thing that calmed his nerves was what everyone was using back then, Strawberry Nesquik. It upset his stomach terribly because of his lactose intolerance, a condition that would escalate to full-on cream bigotry.
Yeah, that’s the stuff.
♪
♪ And a one, two, three. ♪
(stomach gurgles)
Uh-oh.
(flatulence)
(quietly): My fart’s stuck in the pants.
Well, get it out. We’ve got a show to do.
(cheering)
We all feeling good tonight?
(cheering)
I know I’m feeling good.
(jingling)
(amplified flatulence)
(woman coughs)
Uh, this next one’s called “Break On Through.”
♪
(cheering)
Yes. “Break on through.”
(soft chatter)
Jim, there’s someone you have to meet.
Hello. I’m someone with no knowledge of music who is somehow controlling the music industry, and I want to make you a star.
How do I know I can trust you?
‘Cause I’m not just an agent– I’m a fan.
Really?
Absolutely. In fact, I’d love your autograph on the bottom of this contract, in absence of any legal counsel.
Come on, buddy, you’re embarrassing me.
They did it. They signed the contract that would make their cocaine dealer rich. And then it was off to the studio for a shirtless rehearsal.
(clacking)
♪
(hawking)
(coughing, chokes)
What the hell, Jim? You look terrible. Are you back on the Quik?
(clearing throat)
Please, I’ve barely stirred today. Look, I’m sorry. I’m ready now, all right? I’m ready to make this college dorm room poster.
(inhales)
Damn it, Jim. We’re here to make an album, not a poster.
(grunts) Make an album? Why didn’t you say so? Bring in the terrible, too-involved girlfriends, guys!
(tapping)
(strumming)
Jim, meet my girlfriend, Yoko O-yes. She’s beloved by everyone close to me and prides herself on not messing with a good thing.
I’m just gonna get out of the way and let you guys do your music. You won’t even know I’m here.
♪
(cheering)
You guys want to see something? You want to see if it’s as big as they say it is?
What the hell is he doing now?
PETER: That night marked the end of Jim Morrison’s rock god status, when he was unable to find and expose his penis in a Florida music venue.
(booing)
Like every man who can’t find his penis, Jim Morrison moved to Paris, where he did heroin one night and drowned in a bathtub. There was a movie about the Doors. If you’re a bunch of guys in college wanting to make all the girls go away, put on the movie The Doors. Poof, they’re gone. Then it’s just you and your buddies. You could’ve gotten laid, but you put on The Doors. Why’d you do that?
♪
Well, if we learned anything from Jim Morrison’s tragic tale, it’s that white guys definitely invented rock and roll.
What? That’s bullcrap! Rock and roll was invented in the Mississippi Delta by Black people.
Jerome, if Black guys invented rock and roll, then how come everyone else in a vintage vinyl record store is a stock photo meme white guy?
You ain’t heard of the Black man who invented rock and roll ’cause he never got a movie about his life. But I’m-a educate y’all on the greatest rocker of all time, Delta bluesman Muddy Drawers.
♪
Muddy grew up in a shotgun shack in the Deep South. His family was so poor, they lived underneath the mighty Mississippi. They all had to share one room and one mustache.
Well, I’m off to make something of myself with this here guitar.
Don’t go chasin’ no white women!
Too far away! Can’t hear you!
♪
In those days, Black people had nothing, but they still had to wear suits everywhere. The only instrument Muddy could afford was a one-string guitar. That one guitar string was also the family belt.
♪
Despite all his setbacks, Muddy would do whatever it took to master the guitar, even if it meant making a deal with the devil himself. So he headed on down to the crossroads. The Crossroads being a fancy school in Los Angeles. Tobey Maguire’s kid goes there. You’d see him sometimes, dropping off. Not all the time but sometimes.
Hey, Tobey! See you at the holiday show! (scoffs) Stupid fanboy. You ain’t ever getting that invite to dinner with the Gyllenhaals.
Muddy was right. He never got invited to dinner with Jake Gyllenhaal or his sleepy-eyed sister, which is probably for the best. She looks like she chews with her mouth open. But Muddy did get his guitar lessons. From the devil.
Sign here and you’ll be the greatest guitar player who ever lived. All it’ll cost you is… your soul.
Okay. You got yourself a deal.
And just so you know, with this purchase of a soul, I will also give a soul to a child in need.
Yeah, yeah, I don’t want that.
It’s no additional cost to you.
(skeptical): Mm-hmm.
It’s just my way of giving back, out of my end.
Seems like it’s probably baked into the price.
So Muddy went out and created a new sound, the sound of rock and roll. It was so groundbreaking that an apathetic sound mixer put down his newspaper and his stale cup of coffee to pay attention.
♪
♪ This song has one line ♪
♪ I’m gonna sing it several times ♪
♪ That’s it ♪
♪ Well ♪
♪ This song has one line ♪
♪ I’m gonna sing it several times ♪
♪ Not just once ♪
♪ Listen ♪
♪ This song has one line ♪
♪ I’m gonna sing it several times. ♪
♪
The song was a hit and got Muddy his first record contract.
♪
Now, since he was a Black performer, naturally, he went on tour in the part of the country that’s so r*cist it’s known as the Boston of the South. He was given a white driver. The record company chose an Italian American man so Muddy would be used to hearing all the worst racial slurs before he got there.
Big crawdads guy, huh?
Oh, yeah. They’re the best.
Please look at the road while you’re driving. I wouldn’t know about crawdads. Never had ’em.
What? You got to try ’em! Here, take the rest of mine. I insist.
JEROME: But Muddy had had crawdads. Many times. That was just his little trick for getting free crawdads from coarse Italians.
♪
What are you working on?
I’m trying to write a nice letter to my wife Margerie, but I never been any good with… Damn it, what are those things?
Words?
Yeah, I-I never been any good at words. In fact, I’m downright great at ’em.
I could help you if you want.
Yeah? Could you make it sound so she thinks me, a white guy, is the one who actually wrote it?
Easy. Write this. “Dearest Margerie, I can’t wait to get home and back that big fat ass up. Back, back, back it up. Back, back, back it up. Wu Tang Clan ain’t nothing to mess with.”
PETER: Dearest Margerie, a lady who worked at the hotel we were staying at had, like, the freckliest chest I’ve ever seen. Yours, Vinny.
JEROME: Ultimately, Vinny went his own way with the letter.
♪
Hey, Muddy, I was thinking, since we made it to the part of the story where we realize that we’re not so different from each other, we should celebrate.
Yeah? What did you have in mind?
I don’t know. Maybe… that!
♪
(tires screech)
Whoa, whoa, whoa! This is a “whites only” carnival.
It’s okay, Vinny. Let’s get out of here.
No! This is unacceptable, and it will not stand!
My friend is a human being!
We demand recourse!
(slurping)
Unconscionable!
JEROME: And though the trip was soon over, a friendship was formed that transcended race. But it would not last long.
What the hell?! All the pages in my songbook are torn out!
PETER: Dear Muddy, I have something to confess. I stole all your songs, and my real name is Elvis Presley.
That son of a b*tch! Damn you, Elvis Presley! (sighs) Oh, well. There’s still an exciting future ahead of me. This ain’t the end of my story. Oh, no. The screen’s turnin’ sepia. This is the end of my story! I got to get to a stool for the one “old-timey Black guy musician” photo anyone will ever know me by.
Muddy didn’t make it to the stool in time for his photo. Elvis never gave him the credit he deserved. And people were pissed when Green Book won that Oscar. The end.
♪
Great story, Jerome. Elvis really was the best.
Peter, is that Stewie?
PETER: Oh, yeah. Looks like he’s gonna do one next.
You’re gonna let the baby do one?
Oh, I’m sorry, are your children funny?
No.
Ah, here it is. Elton John’s Greatest Hits, a collection of songs by the one gay guy on earth with a worse haircut than Pete Rose.
♪
We’ll defer that end-of-year bonus to the following fiscal quarter, harvest the losses on our cap gains– that’s a no-brainer– and, let’s see, update my beneficiary designations? (chuckles): Uh, yeah, I think so. Damn, I’m good.
Elton John, what the hell do you think you’re doing?!
It’s just a little number crunchin’, Pop.
What’s going on in here?
Why don’t you ask your son, the tax man? I found these under his mattress! W-2s!
I-I was holding them for a friend. Wh-Wh-What are you doin’, Pop?
No son of mine is gonna be a heterosexual paper pusher. You need to be a loud-and-proud performer like your gay old dad!
(air whooshing softly)
Aah! You hit me!
Oh, Elton. I’m telling you this because I love you. You’ll never find someone to love you. Not even Dolly Levi could help you.
Who’s Dolly Levi?
(gasping)
Oh, where did we go so wrong?!
STEWIE: So Elton John collaborated with Bernie Taupin, who would write the lyrics for Elton’s songs. Bernie was married three times in a desperate bid to convince the world he was not a h*m*.
(plays note)
All right, Bernie, what do you got?
Uh, how ’bout this? “Yours are the sweetest eyes I’ve ever seen.”
They are?
Whoa! I-I’m not gay.
You’re not? Y-You just seem very…
Yeah. I’m British. We all seem that way, even if we’re not but secretly are.
♪
Elton, meet the best producer in the business.
Kid, how would you like to sign with my label, Naive-Young-Talent Records. Together, we are gonna make me millions!
Sounds fair to me. Let’s get to it!
From then on, Elton’s new male producer rode him day and night. When Elton was tired of playing, he’d get right behind him and push him on the stool until he was finished. Sometimes Elton would cry because of how hard he was pushing. But it paid off, because, in the end, they had a massive load. Of hits. Just a– just a big, messy load of hits. The night Elton John performed at Dodger Stadium, he was so nervous, he almost never left the dressing room.
CROWD (in distance): Elton! Elton! Elton! Elton!
Whoa, dude, no! I’m just a straight moment of clarity.
Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t, uh…
But his reflection had walked away, never to return. And he had to do his own makeup.
(cheering)
Also, due to a scheduling error, the Dodgers had a game that night, and Elton had to bat fourth in the lineup.
ANNOUNCER: It’s a mince-off single and the Dodgers win!
(cheering, whooping)
STEWIE: Elton John was heavily involved in the L.A. party scene, and things took a dark turn one night when he and Bernie went to a party in the Hollywood Hills, one where you park way down at the bottom and have to walk all the way up.
(panting)
God, how much farther is it?
I don’t know. You didn’t get a TripTik.
That’s ’cause the rock star doesn’t get the TripTik. The writer gets the TripTik. Damn it, here comes another person walking to the same party. Let’s stop, so we don’t have to walk with him the whole way.
When they said this party was “far out,” they weren’t kidding.
(forced chuckling) I know, right? Yeah.
♪
Look, we’ve got to be close. I can hear the music.
Damn it! We’re in the wrong canyon!
Well, I’m exhausted. Come on, let’s just go home.
I don’t know. I kind of want to stay out. Hang on. Hey! What’s the cocaine sitch like at that party?!
Enough to k*ll a Belushi! But you probably don’t want to come! It’s a real sausage fest over here!
I’m going to that (bleep) party.
Elton, if you leave me right now, it’s a big deal, because this is the time of the story where that’s a big deal.
What’d you say?! I couldn’t hear you over the sound of snorting! Have fun getting home without a TripTik, trip d*ck! Whoa-ho! Looks like Elton learned how to write!
(snorting)
♪
How is he, Doctor?
Well, looks like your husband’s gonna be all right, Mr., uh…
I’ve been married three times! I’m Bernie Taupin!
You know what, don’t worry about it. I already forgot who you are. Anyway, congratulations. Elton will be back on his knees in no time.
Look at me. At some hospital next to a Denny’s by the airport. All day long, it’s just Denny’s and the jets.
Wait, what’d you just say? Say that again.
The important thing is you’re alive.
Thanks. Hey, what do you say we get the ole team back together for a “what do they look like now” credits montage?
Well, we can, but I’m not sure you’ll like it.
STEWIE: That’s what I look like?! Who is letting me out of the house like– Someone in the future is seriously failing me!
BRIAN: Yeah, you look like a Candy Land villain that came to life.
STEWIE: I know!
You look like a Muppet that teaches kids about being gay.
STEWIE: All right, that’s enough. Why are we making fun of me? I’m not a bad guy. Let’s just make fun of Sean Hannity again.
BRIAN: He looks like a guy who just OD’d on Just For Men.
STEWIE: He looks like Alan Thicker.
BRIAN: He’s a guy whose wife yells at him for getting his ball powder all over the bathroom.
STEWIE: All right, we could do this all day. For more Hannity slams, go to Family Guy’s YouTube page. And, hey, if you think of your own, leave it in the comments.
BRIAN: He’s the guy your mom dates twice and then yells at you for the remote.
STEWIE: (laughs) Okay. But now we’re done.
Well, I can’t think of a better way to end our visit than by remembering the four lads who started a band in 1962 and changed the world forever.
Steve, Dal, Bob and Robin.
John, Paul, George and Ringo.
Who?
Steve, Dal, Bob and Robin. The Trashmen.
Oh…
♪ Uh, well, everybody’s heard ♪
♪ About the bird ♪
♪ B-B-B-Bird, bird, bird ♪
♪ B-Bird’s the word ♪
♪ Uh, well, a bird, bird, bird ♪
♪ Bird is the word, uh, well… ♪
♪ Is v*olence in movies and sex on TV ♪
♪ But where are those good old-fashioned values ♪
♪ On which we used to rely? ♪
♪ Lucky there’s a family guy ♪
♪ Lucky there’s a man who positively can do ♪
♪ All the things that make us ♪
♪ Laugh and cry ♪
♪ He’s… a… Fam… ily… Guy! ♪
Ah, the record store– full of the greatest albums of all time and the employees who hate every one of ’em.
Hey, do you have the Eagles’ Greatest Hits?
Yeah. It’s under “O” for “obvious.”
And “overrated.”
Thank you, bearded failures. You know, it’s stores like this where you learn about the real history of rock and roll, not the watered-down version you get in every movie about a musician’s life.
Yeah, all those biopics are the same story: unsupportive parents, hit song, band turmoil…
Having giant horse teeth and dying of AIDS. All of ’em are exactly the same. Check out this section for the Doors. Jim Morrison is a legend, whether we like it or not. He had the good sense to die before we could see him at the Pechanga Casino and go, “Oh, my God, that’s him?”
♪
It was the ’60s, a time of great fateful missed Frisbee catches. The iconic band was formed one day when Ray Manzarek met Jim Morrison on Venice Beach.
Thanks! I’m Ray Manzarek. What’s your name?
Jim Morrison. Light my fire.
W-Wait a minute, wait. What’d you just say? Say that again.
Light my fire?
Yeah, that! That could be a song that’s tolerated for generations! What do you say you and I form a band?
A band? But this is the ’60s. We don’t have nearly enough floppy heads of hair to do that.
Hey, you guys starting a band? Mind if we join?
Yes. You’re both in.
We are gonna be huge, you guys. And nothing’s gonna get between us– not dr*gs or alcohol or the first toxic relationship that comes my way.
Look out! Easily manipulated runaway comin’ through!
Screw you guys! I’m following that lady, and there’s nothing you can do about it! I am the Doors!
Jim, be reasonable. We haven’t even named ourselves that yet.
Look, I’m gonna get right to it and say I miss making music with you b*stards.
Thanks! I’m Charles Manson. What’s your name?
Jim Morrison. k*ll Sharon Tate.
Wait a minute. What did you just say? Say that again.
♪
(humming)
♪ This is how women on dr*gs dance. ♪
Yeah.
Jim Morrison. Love me two times.
W-Wait a minute. What’d you just say? Say that again.
Well, Jim, I’m flattered you broke into my home, but I have a serious boyfriend and I think you should leave.
But I’m a rock star!
And he’s an astronaut. You know, unfortunately for you, this is the one time in history where astronauts are cooler than rock stars.
Well, I don’t care. You’re my muse, and I’m moving in with my trash bags of bad poetry.
“The caterpillar–
“a tiny hair snake?
Nay. Because of his many, many legs.”
“The snake.
“A large, hairless caterpillar?
Nay. On account of no legs.”
“The snakeapillar…”
Wow. Such a genius, huh? Now, I do have a boyfriend, but I’m also a free spirit. (quietly): That’s my fun little way of sayin’ I’m a sl*t. So, how’d you like to have sex with my kite-sized woman weave? Mm, it’ll mesh perfectly with my giant nest of tight ringlets.
(moaning)
LOIS: Oh, Jim.
PETER: Call me the Lizard King.
LOIS: (moans) Oh, Lizard King!
PETER: Yeah. Now call me Archduke Salamander, Emperor of Newts.
LOIS: (exhales) You’re the Archduke…
PETER: Ah, I’m done.
(Velcro ripping)
(giggles) Velcro. Just like my shoes.
♪
Early on, Jim Morrison had terrible stage fright, so he performed with his back to the crowd. The only thing that calmed his nerves was what everyone was using back then, Strawberry Nesquik. It upset his stomach terribly because of his lactose intolerance, a condition that would escalate to full-on cream bigotry.
Yeah, that’s the stuff.
♪
♪ And a one, two, three. ♪
(stomach gurgles)
Uh-oh.
(flatulence)
(quietly): My fart’s stuck in the pants.
Well, get it out. We’ve got a show to do.
(cheering)
We all feeling good tonight?
(cheering)
I know I’m feeling good.
(jingling)
(amplified flatulence)
(woman coughs)
Uh, this next one’s called “Break On Through.”
♪
(cheering)
Yes. “Break on through.”
(soft chatter)
Jim, there’s someone you have to meet.
Hello. I’m someone with no knowledge of music who is somehow controlling the music industry, and I want to make you a star.
How do I know I can trust you?
‘Cause I’m not just an agent– I’m a fan.
Really?
Absolutely. In fact, I’d love your autograph on the bottom of this contract, in absence of any legal counsel.
Come on, buddy, you’re embarrassing me.
They did it. They signed the contract that would make their cocaine dealer rich. And then it was off to the studio for a shirtless rehearsal.
(clacking)
♪
(hawking)
(coughing, chokes)
What the hell, Jim? You look terrible. Are you back on the Quik?
(clearing throat)
Please, I’ve barely stirred today. Look, I’m sorry. I’m ready now, all right? I’m ready to make this college dorm room poster.
(inhales)
Damn it, Jim. We’re here to make an album, not a poster.
(grunts) Make an album? Why didn’t you say so? Bring in the terrible, too-involved girlfriends, guys!
(tapping)
(strumming)
Jim, meet my girlfriend, Yoko O-yes. She’s beloved by everyone close to me and prides herself on not messing with a good thing.
I’m just gonna get out of the way and let you guys do your music. You won’t even know I’m here.
♪
(cheering)
You guys want to see something? You want to see if it’s as big as they say it is?
What the hell is he doing now?
PETER: That night marked the end of Jim Morrison’s rock god status, when he was unable to find and expose his penis in a Florida music venue.
(booing)
Like every man who can’t find his penis, Jim Morrison moved to Paris, where he did heroin one night and drowned in a bathtub. There was a movie about the Doors. If you’re a bunch of guys in college wanting to make all the girls go away, put on the movie The Doors. Poof, they’re gone. Then it’s just you and your buddies. You could’ve gotten laid, but you put on The Doors. Why’d you do that?
♪
Well, if we learned anything from Jim Morrison’s tragic tale, it’s that white guys definitely invented rock and roll.
What? That’s bullcrap! Rock and roll was invented in the Mississippi Delta by Black people.
Jerome, if Black guys invented rock and roll, then how come everyone else in a vintage vinyl record store is a stock photo meme white guy?
You ain’t heard of the Black man who invented rock and roll ’cause he never got a movie about his life. But I’m-a educate y’all on the greatest rocker of all time, Delta bluesman Muddy Drawers.
♪
Muddy grew up in a shotgun shack in the Deep South. His family was so poor, they lived underneath the mighty Mississippi. They all had to share one room and one mustache.
Well, I’m off to make something of myself with this here guitar.
Don’t go chasin’ no white women!
Too far away! Can’t hear you!
♪
In those days, Black people had nothing, but they still had to wear suits everywhere. The only instrument Muddy could afford was a one-string guitar. That one guitar string was also the family belt.
♪
Despite all his setbacks, Muddy would do whatever it took to master the guitar, even if it meant making a deal with the devil himself. So he headed on down to the crossroads. The Crossroads being a fancy school in Los Angeles. Tobey Maguire’s kid goes there. You’d see him sometimes, dropping off. Not all the time but sometimes.
Hey, Tobey! See you at the holiday show! (scoffs) Stupid fanboy. You ain’t ever getting that invite to dinner with the Gyllenhaals.
Muddy was right. He never got invited to dinner with Jake Gyllenhaal or his sleepy-eyed sister, which is probably for the best. She looks like she chews with her mouth open. But Muddy did get his guitar lessons. From the devil.
Sign here and you’ll be the greatest guitar player who ever lived. All it’ll cost you is… your soul.
Okay. You got yourself a deal.
And just so you know, with this purchase of a soul, I will also give a soul to a child in need.
Yeah, yeah, I don’t want that.
It’s no additional cost to you.
(skeptical): Mm-hmm.
It’s just my way of giving back, out of my end.
Seems like it’s probably baked into the price.
So Muddy went out and created a new sound, the sound of rock and roll. It was so groundbreaking that an apathetic sound mixer put down his newspaper and his stale cup of coffee to pay attention.
♪
♪ This song has one line ♪
♪ I’m gonna sing it several times ♪
♪ That’s it ♪
♪ Well ♪
♪ This song has one line ♪
♪ I’m gonna sing it several times ♪
♪ Not just once ♪
♪ Listen ♪
♪ This song has one line ♪
♪ I’m gonna sing it several times. ♪
♪
The song was a hit and got Muddy his first record contract.
♪
Now, since he was a Black performer, naturally, he went on tour in the part of the country that’s so r*cist it’s known as the Boston of the South. He was given a white driver. The record company chose an Italian American man so Muddy would be used to hearing all the worst racial slurs before he got there.
Big crawdads guy, huh?
Oh, yeah. They’re the best.
Please look at the road while you’re driving. I wouldn’t know about crawdads. Never had ’em.
What? You got to try ’em! Here, take the rest of mine. I insist.
JEROME: But Muddy had had crawdads. Many times. That was just his little trick for getting free crawdads from coarse Italians.
♪
What are you working on?
I’m trying to write a nice letter to my wife Margerie, but I never been any good with… Damn it, what are those things?
Words?
Yeah, I-I never been any good at words. In fact, I’m downright great at ’em.
I could help you if you want.
Yeah? Could you make it sound so she thinks me, a white guy, is the one who actually wrote it?
Easy. Write this. “Dearest Margerie, I can’t wait to get home and back that big fat ass up. Back, back, back it up. Back, back, back it up. Wu Tang Clan ain’t nothing to mess with.”
PETER: Dearest Margerie, a lady who worked at the hotel we were staying at had, like, the freckliest chest I’ve ever seen. Yours, Vinny.
JEROME: Ultimately, Vinny went his own way with the letter.
♪
Hey, Muddy, I was thinking, since we made it to the part of the story where we realize that we’re not so different from each other, we should celebrate.
Yeah? What did you have in mind?
I don’t know. Maybe… that!
♪
(tires screech)
Whoa, whoa, whoa! This is a “whites only” carnival.
It’s okay, Vinny. Let’s get out of here.
No! This is unacceptable, and it will not stand!
My friend is a human being!
We demand recourse!
(slurping)
Unconscionable!
JEROME: And though the trip was soon over, a friendship was formed that transcended race. But it would not last long.
What the hell?! All the pages in my songbook are torn out!
PETER: Dear Muddy, I have something to confess. I stole all your songs, and my real name is Elvis Presley.
That son of a b*tch! Damn you, Elvis Presley! (sighs) Oh, well. There’s still an exciting future ahead of me. This ain’t the end of my story. Oh, no. The screen’s turnin’ sepia. This is the end of my story! I got to get to a stool for the one “old-timey Black guy musician” photo anyone will ever know me by.
Muddy didn’t make it to the stool in time for his photo. Elvis never gave him the credit he deserved. And people were pissed when Green Book won that Oscar. The end.
♪
Great story, Jerome. Elvis really was the best.
Peter, is that Stewie?
PETER: Oh, yeah. Looks like he’s gonna do one next.
You’re gonna let the baby do one?
Oh, I’m sorry, are your children funny?
No.
Ah, here it is. Elton John’s Greatest Hits, a collection of songs by the one gay guy on earth with a worse haircut than Pete Rose.
♪
We’ll defer that end-of-year bonus to the following fiscal quarter, harvest the losses on our cap gains– that’s a no-brainer– and, let’s see, update my beneficiary designations? (chuckles): Uh, yeah, I think so. Damn, I’m good.
Elton John, what the hell do you think you’re doing?!
It’s just a little number crunchin’, Pop.
What’s going on in here?
Why don’t you ask your son, the tax man? I found these under his mattress! W-2s!
I-I was holding them for a friend. Wh-Wh-What are you doin’, Pop?
No son of mine is gonna be a heterosexual paper pusher. You need to be a loud-and-proud performer like your gay old dad!
(air whooshing softly)
Aah! You hit me!
Oh, Elton. I’m telling you this because I love you. You’ll never find someone to love you. Not even Dolly Levi could help you.
Who’s Dolly Levi?
(gasping)
Oh, where did we go so wrong?!
STEWIE: So Elton John collaborated with Bernie Taupin, who would write the lyrics for Elton’s songs. Bernie was married three times in a desperate bid to convince the world he was not a h*m*.
(plays note)
All right, Bernie, what do you got?
Uh, how ’bout this? “Yours are the sweetest eyes I’ve ever seen.”
They are?
Whoa! I-I’m not gay.
You’re not? Y-You just seem very…
Yeah. I’m British. We all seem that way, even if we’re not but secretly are.
♪
Elton, meet the best producer in the business.
Kid, how would you like to sign with my label, Naive-Young-Talent Records. Together, we are gonna make me millions!
Sounds fair to me. Let’s get to it!
From then on, Elton’s new male producer rode him day and night. When Elton was tired of playing, he’d get right behind him and push him on the stool until he was finished. Sometimes Elton would cry because of how hard he was pushing. But it paid off, because, in the end, they had a massive load. Of hits. Just a– just a big, messy load of hits. The night Elton John performed at Dodger Stadium, he was so nervous, he almost never left the dressing room.
CROWD (in distance): Elton! Elton! Elton! Elton!
Whoa, dude, no! I’m just a straight moment of clarity.
Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t, uh…
But his reflection had walked away, never to return. And he had to do his own makeup.
(cheering)
Also, due to a scheduling error, the Dodgers had a game that night, and Elton had to bat fourth in the lineup.
ANNOUNCER: It’s a mince-off single and the Dodgers win!
(cheering, whooping)
STEWIE: Elton John was heavily involved in the L.A. party scene, and things took a dark turn one night when he and Bernie went to a party in the Hollywood Hills, one where you park way down at the bottom and have to walk all the way up.
(panting)
God, how much farther is it?
I don’t know. You didn’t get a TripTik.
That’s ’cause the rock star doesn’t get the TripTik. The writer gets the TripTik. Damn it, here comes another person walking to the same party. Let’s stop, so we don’t have to walk with him the whole way.
When they said this party was “far out,” they weren’t kidding.
(forced chuckling) I know, right? Yeah.
♪
Look, we’ve got to be close. I can hear the music.
Damn it! We’re in the wrong canyon!
Well, I’m exhausted. Come on, let’s just go home.
I don’t know. I kind of want to stay out. Hang on. Hey! What’s the cocaine sitch like at that party?!
Enough to k*ll a Belushi! But you probably don’t want to come! It’s a real sausage fest over here!
I’m going to that (bleep) party.
Elton, if you leave me right now, it’s a big deal, because this is the time of the story where that’s a big deal.
What’d you say?! I couldn’t hear you over the sound of snorting! Have fun getting home without a TripTik, trip d*ck! Whoa-ho! Looks like Elton learned how to write!
(snorting)
♪
How is he, Doctor?
Well, looks like your husband’s gonna be all right, Mr., uh…
I’ve been married three times! I’m Bernie Taupin!
You know what, don’t worry about it. I already forgot who you are. Anyway, congratulations. Elton will be back on his knees in no time.
Look at me. At some hospital next to a Denny’s by the airport. All day long, it’s just Denny’s and the jets.
Wait, what’d you just say? Say that again.
The important thing is you’re alive.
Thanks. Hey, what do you say we get the ole team back together for a “what do they look like now” credits montage?
Well, we can, but I’m not sure you’ll like it.
STEWIE: That’s what I look like?! Who is letting me out of the house like– Someone in the future is seriously failing me!
BRIAN: Yeah, you look like a Candy Land villain that came to life.
STEWIE: I know!
You look like a Muppet that teaches kids about being gay.
STEWIE: All right, that’s enough. Why are we making fun of me? I’m not a bad guy. Let’s just make fun of Sean Hannity again.
BRIAN: He looks like a guy who just OD’d on Just For Men.
STEWIE: He looks like Alan Thicker.
BRIAN: He’s a guy whose wife yells at him for getting his ball powder all over the bathroom.
STEWIE: All right, we could do this all day. For more Hannity slams, go to Family Guy’s YouTube page. And, hey, if you think of your own, leave it in the comments.
BRIAN: He’s the guy your mom dates twice and then yells at you for the remote.
STEWIE: (laughs) Okay. But now we’re done.
Well, I can’t think of a better way to end our visit than by remembering the four lads who started a band in 1962 and changed the world forever.
Steve, Dal, Bob and Robin.
John, Paul, George and Ringo.
Who?
Steve, Dal, Bob and Robin. The Trashmen.
Oh…
♪ Uh, well, everybody’s heard ♪
♪ About the bird ♪
♪ B-B-B-Bird, bird, bird ♪
♪ B-Bird’s the word ♪
♪ Uh, well, a bird, bird, bird ♪
♪ Bird is the word, uh, well… ♪