Martin: Well, in order to get into a deep trance, I've got to have some of this whiskey. (Takes whiskey from his jacket pocket, drinks from it.) Ahh, self medication. Hey, J----, you got any aspirin or ibuprofen, or Perkaset I could take with this? Gives it a little kick, you know?
J----: Um, no, dude. I mean, I have aspirin, but I couldn't score anymore Perkaset. My dealer, I mean cousin, hasn't had any lately.
Martin: Well, you always were a bitch-ass little girl.
J----: Fuck you, dude.
Martin: Anyway. . . (Drinks all of the whiskey down at once) Well, there Davey boy, you should have your fully tranced out channeler right quick. What's the name of this guy again? Bill Buckner?
Icke: Uh, Cooper. Bill Cooper.
Martin: I see. Let me see if I can't get a hold of him for you. (closes his eyes for a few seconds, opens them) Nah, it's just a busy signal.
Icke: Really?
Martin: No, I'm pulling your chain there, limey. One Bill Buckner coming up.
Icke: Uh, that's Bill Cooper.
Martin: Right, that's what I said. (closes his eyes, begins to shake a little) Hello?
Icke: Mr Cooper?
Martin/Cooper: That's right. Whose body am I in? God damn I'm fucked up. It's just like watching those lizard movies, huh?
Icke: Uh, right. Anyway, what can you tell us about the circumstances of your murder?
Martin/Cooper: Well, Mrs. Burns and I were engaged in a business transaction, and . . .
J----: Um, dude? Bill? Do you know how to work OS 10? Cause, like, I can't figure it out and stuff, and there's this fat kid that keeps making fun of me because I can't work it. I hate fat kids. Damn it, he's a fucker. He's a fuck face, too, dude. All fat and pathetic, and he keeps making fun of my voice because it's all nasal and whiny and stuff.
Martin/Cooper: Shut up.
J----: Fuck you, dude. At least I get laid.
Martin/Cooper: Shut up. I'm dead, and I only get so much time talking with the living before they cut me off, OK? Jesus, that kid talks too much. Icke, did you see his girl? Dizamn, she got fat titties.
Icke: Yeah, I saw them. I couldn't keep from staring, I felt like a retard.
J----: Fuck you both. That's why I get to fuck her, and you pathetic fuck heads just dream about it.
Icke: Excuse me, what is why?
J----: What?
Icke: You said, "that's why." The word "that" is an indefinite article which refers to a thing or concept. So, what exactly is why?
J----: Shut up, dude.
Icke: Anyway, you and Mrs. Burns were conducting business when. . . .
Martin/Cooper: Oh, yeah. There's this tap on the window of my Dart, right? So, I can't see through the window because of all the steam, so I roll it down. And there's Art Linkletter standing over me with a pistol, and he just fires and then I'm here.
Icke: But why? That's the key question.
Martin/Cooper: Because the book I was working on exposes the links between Mr. Linkletter, Art Bell, aliens, lizards, the government, the Mobil elite, the lady who sang "The Electric Slide," and Billy Ray Cyrus.
Icke: The lady who sang "The Electric Slide?"
Martin/Cooper: Oh, yeah, Dave. Let me tell you, the Electric Slide is a way to socially integrate acceptance of ritual behavior among urban folk. Billy Ray Cyrus hooked up the whole country line dancing fiasco as the rural equivalent, so they could affect the entire population of the United States. That garbage is ubiquitous in bars all over the country, and the next phase is to hit the young people with those boy bands and their synchronized fairy dancing. Dave, you've written a lot on the subject of ritual behavior, so I'm surprised you didn't make that up, I mean figure that out yourself.
Icke: Shit. I could've used that. Anyway, what is the connection?
Martin/Cooper: Well, that was the part I had yet to make up for my latest book which was to be called Behold a Pale White Kid Trying to do the Electric Slide. See, the government, which is controlled by lizards, stole some people - abducted them with alien ships, removed their brains and replaced them with micro chips which had receivers by way of which they received the information that led to their carrying out the diabolical plot. Billy Ray Cyrus was one of them, and another was the lady who sings "The Electric Slide." Now, Art Bell on the one hand is supposed to distract the idiots by humoring any imbecile who calls in claiming to have seen a ghost, alien, bigfoot, chupacabra, pink elephant, lizard-person, or thylacine living in his bathroom or whatever, and running with that to take the focus off the real lizard plot. Art Linkletter is just a spokesperson for the video tapes.
J----: Yeah, dude, Art Bell is a schill and double agent for the New World Order, dude.
Martin/Cooper: Go play with your ibook.
Icke: What about the video tapes, now?
Martin/Cooper: Oh, well they're just a standard thing. See, once you've become truly evil, and you start getting the New World Order newsletter, and you hang out at their bars and stuff, they start sending you video tapes with suggestions for how you should conduct yourself in order to achieve maximal evilness. Art Linkletter is the host of the whole series. I think it's called "So You've Decided to Become Evil." They just tell you how to run your company or church or whatever you run in ways that not only benefit you and screw the proletariat out of everything they've ever earned and worked hard for, but also how to benefit the whole evil community, and how to receive benefits from other evil people.
Icke: I see. Wow. Well, now that you've got the word out, can I ask a few questions about death? You know, whenever someone channels the dead they never ask anything good like what happens when you die, or is there a God, they only ask stupid shit about their relatives.
Martin/Cooper: Well, when you die, you go through a tunnel, at the end of which is a toll.
Icke: I heard there was a bright light.
Martin/Cooper: Well, that's what it looks like. But if you're in a dark tunnel, a lit match would look pretty bright. What happens is that when you get out of the tunnel there's a big toll booth that you have to pay to get through. Actually, it's more like a turnstile on a subway platform, but you get what I'm saying. But there are all these neon lights so people don't fall or run into the turnstiles - that's what the light is. Now, mostly there are old people, so there's a long wait. A lot of old ladies counting out change and so on. It really sucks. And then there are the middle-aged heart attack motherfuckers in business suits who are yapping on their cell phones about canceled meetings and post-death 401 (K) transfers, and they all want to pay with credit cards. Death Express, and so on. They want the frequent flyer miles so their wives can fly to Cancun. Anyway, you get through there and there's just this big room that kicks much ass. You just chill with other dead people. They're all here. I met Antonio Banderas' great grand mother yesterday. She was very nice. But it's really Aristotelian. That is, after you lose your body, you don't have any distractions and you know everything, and everything is good and calm and nice. And eventually, once nobody remembers you, you have to go back.
Icke: So, you stay there as long as someone remembers who you are?
Martin/Cooper: Well, yeah. I mean, if someone you knew died, and then twenty years later you saw them on the boulevard you'd shit a brick, right? So all the famous people, the really really famous ones anyway, are pretty much here for good.
Icke: Like who, for example?
Martin/Cooper: Well, I actually met Aristotle.
Icke: How did that happen?
Martin/Cooper: Well, he's a dick. He stands right on the other side of the turnstile yelling, "See, I told you!" (At this point, the connection was lost. As Martin explained to me later, his buzz was wearing down, and that's always bad news.)
Martin: Fuck, I got a headache.
J----: Riley, do you know how to work OS 10?
Icke: Damn, I should have asked him about God. And if there's anything good on TV once you die.
The tape ends here.
- David Icke