Bill Hicks was the last comedian to tell the truth and make us laugh by doing it. He had a keen grasp on the English language and kept his finger on the pulse of the rapidly-vaporizing, and now dead, American Dream.
His shows, TV spots and rare clips are here for you to enjoy. This archive was put together as a thank you for all your loyalty and comments. There’s no better audience than Google Analytics and your anonymous IP addresses inflate our egos like miniature blowjobs with teeth. We’ll continue to add his rare TV performances and work he did alongside other comedians such as Sam Kinison and Rodney Dangerfield.
Once you listen to Bill Hicks, you will find it hard to replace him with the trash-boys who are “big” today. If good comedy is something you appreciate like we do here at the Elf Wax Times, just listening to Bill Hicks won’t cut it. Go out and do something. Make something. Be somebody better tomorrow than what you are today. There will never be another comic like Bill Hicks. You can forget that. But people like you and I can do what we can to ensure his dark, reason-clad brand of Humor lives on.
As one club owner in Austin, Tx put it: There is Bill Hicks, and then there is everyone else.
So eat a hit of acid, grab your favorite bong and be prepared to laugh your asses off, dear readers.
“So what happened to Bill Hicks?”
Mr. Hicks died in 1994 of pancreatic cancer that spread to the liver, probably lesser attributable to his smoking than to the paranoid conspiracy propagated by we here at The Elf Wax Times involving his intentional poisoning by government-administered radioactive materials slipped into a drink. The Russians do it. Why shouldn’t we?
Hicks was a professional comedian who was in his prime and preparing to move on to bigger and better things when doctors gave him one year to live. Almost fittingly, he spent his last three months in total silence as he waited to die. What more could he say?
We need Bill Hicks more today than we have ever needed him. But hell – if he were alive, he’d just make the joke that we can’t think for ourselves since we need him to form an opinion on which we can attach, like thoughtless, instinct-driven leeches.
And that is what Bill represents, in death but mainly in his life: you’ve got to think for yourself. Don’t let government-sponsored anti-drug commercials tell you what you can’t do with your body. Don’t let the corporate-sponsored news tell you what to think with your own brain.
Don’t listen to music that sucks. Don’t sell yourself short, and don’t do it by accepting any version of reality that isn’t the motherfucking truth as you would understand it. Be yourself. Think for yourself. And stop spawning little trucker babies.
