I love talking about the Warren Commi- I love talking about the Kennedy assassination. I really love it, man. I was just down in Dallas, Texas. And, uh, you can actually go to the Schoolbook Depository on the sixth floor. It's a museum called the Assassination Museum. Huh! And they have the window set up to look exactly like it did on that day. And it's really accurate 'cause... Oswald's not in it. Incredible, painstaking detail. I don't know who did the research but I applaud them.
But it's true! It's called the Sniper's Nest. And, you know, the boxes are set up, it's glassed in. You can't actually get to the window. And the reason they did that, of course, is they didn't want thousands of tourists every year, you know, come through to the window going, 'No way.' Yeah, that would've started this truth inertia happening. Who knows when it would've stopped?
But there's no way! You can get to the window next to it and you look down. You go, 'I can't even see the fucking road from here, man!' There's a tree right here. There's no way! Unless Oswald was hanging by his toes... upside down from the window ledge. Surely someone would have seen that! Either that or some pigeons grabbed onto him and flew him over the motorcade. You know, there was rumors of anti-Castro pigeons seen drinking in bars the week before the assassination. Someone overheard them saying, 'coup, coup... coup...' I'm the only one in the world, by the way, with an assassination pun. I rarely toot my own horn, but...
What do you think: leather jacket, hot lights, good call? (gunshot) Seven hundred fucking degrees. Quick impression? Keith Richards. 'Rah.'
But I love talking about the Kennedy assassination. People say to me- it's so weird. You wouldn't believe the attitude in America.
'Bill, quit talking about Kennedy, man. Let it go. 'K? It was a long time ago. Would you just forget it?'
I'm like, 'Alright, then don't bring up Jesus to me. As long as we're talking shelf life here.'
'Bill, you know Jesus died for you.'
'Yeah, yeah. It was a long time ago. Let it go. Forget about it. How about this? Let's get Pilot to release the fucking files. Quit washing your hands and release the piles, Filot!' 'Piles, Filot'? Files, Pilot. Pa pa pa pa, don't worry, don't worry. Everything's cool. Piles... Piles, Filot.
But it's true! It's called the Sniper's Nest. And, you know, the boxes are set up, it's glassed in. You can't actually get to the window. And the reason they did that, of course, is they didn't want thousands of tourists every year, you know, come through to the window going, 'No way.' Yeah, that would've started this truth inertia happening. Who knows when it would've stopped?
But there's no way! You can get to the window next to it and you look down. You go, 'I can't even see the fucking road from here, man!' There's a tree right here. There's no way! Unless Oswald was hanging by his toes... upside down from the window ledge. Surely someone would have seen that! Either that or some pigeons grabbed onto him and flew him over the motorcade. You know, there was rumors of anti-Castro pigeons seen drinking in bars the week before the assassination. Someone overheard them saying, 'coup, coup... coup...' I'm the only one in the world, by the way, with an assassination pun. I rarely toot my own horn, but...
What do you think: leather jacket, hot lights, good call? (gunshot) Seven hundred fucking degrees. Quick impression? Keith Richards. 'Rah.'
But I love talking about the Kennedy assassination. People say to me- it's so weird. You wouldn't believe the attitude in America.
'Bill, quit talking about Kennedy, man. Let it go. 'K? It was a long time ago. Would you just forget it?'
I'm like, 'Alright, then don't bring up Jesus to me. As long as we're talking shelf life here.'
'Bill, you know Jesus died for you.'
'Yeah, yeah. It was a long time ago. Let it go. Forget about it. How about this? Let's get Pilot to release the fucking files. Quit washing your hands and release the piles, Filot!' 'Piles, Filot'? Files, Pilot. Pa pa pa pa, don't worry, don't worry. Everything's cool. Piles... Piles, Filot.
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