Richard Pryor: Drive you to drink, jack, you know? I tried drinkin' for a while but I used to go into bars and check out the people that were drinkin' and they weren't happy. And they get beat up a lot. No -- drunks, they start out cool. Brother be cool at first and he goin': [quiet, polite] "Give me a Scotch and soda, please." Real cool. 'Bout a hour later: [instantly imitates a drunk, yelling at a bartender to his right] "WHAT?! WHAT YOU MEAN I'M DRUNK?! HUH? I wasn't drunk when I came in here! And I ain't gonna leave till I'm sober. Now, you can dig that, baby. Bartender?! Are you the bartender? Give everybody in here somethin'. Give 'em a beer. And twenty straws. Ha ha! Whoooo!" [applause, Pryor turns to his left] "Hey! Huh? What you lookin' at, bitch? What? No, I don't know what time it is. It's time for you to stop messin' with me. That's what time it is. I know I'm ugly but I don't look like no clock. That's right, baby. [turns to his right] What? What are you worried about? You the bartender. If I say somethin' to this piece of wood, then you say somethin'. Otherwise, you can freeze on your thing, baby. You know, 'cause I'll bust you apart. Ha haaaa! Whooo! [turns to his left, looks up] What you want, big ol' dude? Apologize to who? For what? I don't care if she your mama-- [suddenly falls to the floor and tries to fend off blows with his arms as if being punched and kicked by the big ol' dude] Hey, man! Wait a minute, man! [rises] I'm just kiddin', man, baby. What you doin'?! You done kick me in the ass, baby! [feels his sore ass] You in a world o' trouble now! No, don't hold him -- let him go, baby! Come on, you want some of me? [puts his fists up to fight but is instantly knocked to the floor, bounces back up again] Wait a minute, man. I'm only kiddin' ya now." [pretends to vomit all over himself noisily, much applause.] That's why I don't drink so much. Take acid, either. White dudes take acid. They do. They take acid and go see "The Exorcist." They crazy. White dude gave me some acid once at a party, too, jack. And I thought I was crazy before I took it. It saned me right up. Dude say: [nerdy white dude's voice] "This is far out." I said, "What?" Says: [nerdy white dude's voice] "It's far out." I took it, jack. [mimes taking the acid, then as the white dude] "You're gonna be trippin'!" 'Bout twenty minutes later, I was at the party: "Hey, blood, what's happenin'? [mimes one half of a complex handshake for two brothers] Everything is cool. White dude gave me some stuff I'm gonna be trippin'! You know, I ain't goin' no place without my luggage. Believe that. [runs his lips over his teeth, something feels funny, he puts his left hand up to his face, then starts waving it back and forth, his eyes riveted to his hand, then he starts waving both hands around in the air watching them intently] Look at this, man! I can catch my hand! [eyes bug out, mouth opens wide, a high-pitched squeal] Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! [suddenly the squeal becomes low-pitched and Pryor starts moving -- and talking -- in slow motion] Uh oh. I've got to get out of here! [running in very slow motion across home base, another high-pitched squeal] Whaaaaaaaa! [suddenly stops, clutches his chest, in a normal but panicked voice] I don't remember how to breathe! I can't breathe! [opens mouth, bobs head] One, two, three. Ain't nothin' happenin', man!" [nerdy white dude's voice] "Told ya it was far out!" [tripping again] "I'm gonna die! I don't even know who I am, I'm gonna die! I'm gonna die! I'm gonna die! I'm gonna die! I'm gonna die! I'm gonna die! I'm gonna die! I'm gonna die! I'm gonna die! [keeps repeating "I'm gonna die!" over and over in an increasingly funky rhythm and then starts dancing goofily to the beat - it begins to sound like an auctioneer's chant - abruptly, he stops and raises an arm triumphantly while speaking gibberish that sounds vaguely like an African tribesman - this segues into a brief pseudo-native American chant - finally, Pryor flaps his arms in slow motion as if about to fly away] What - in - the - world - is - happening - to - me?!" [Much applause. Pryor waves to the audience.]
Richard Pryor: Richard Pryor: How you doin'? Thank you very much for coming here to New York. Uh, hope I'm funny. I'd like to dedicate this to, uh, show to Miles Davis, my friend. He's in the hospital, sick. But he's cool. Miles always gets women, though, 'cause he talks so cool. You know, Miles go: [scratchy whisper] "What's happenin'?" I get women, too. I can't keep 'em but I get 'em. Women always leave me, man! I don't mind 'em leavin' but they tell you why. You know what I mean? Just leave! Don't tell me why! 'Cause there ain't nothin' you can do but stand there and look silly, right? You be ... [imitates a man standing there and looking silly: points to himself in surprise, shrugs helplessly, rolls his eyes, shakes his head in disbelief] And the madder you get, women get cool when you get mad. [as an angry man] "WELL, GO ON AND GET OUT THEN!" [as a cool, calm woman] "I'm leaving." [as the man] "I DON'T EVER WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN!" [as the woman] "Don't worry, you shan't."
Interviewer: (quickly wraps the interview up) Okay, Mr. Wilson, I think you're qualified for this job. How about a starting salary of $5,000? Mr. Wilson: Your momma! Interviewer: (fumbling) Uh.. $7,500 a year? Mr. Wilson: Your grandmomma! Interviewer: (desperate) $15,000, Mr. Wilson. You'll be the highest paid janitor in America. Just, don't... don't hurt me, please... Mr. Wilson: Okay. Interviewer: [ relieved ] Okay. Mr. Wilson: You want me to start now? Interviewer: Oh, no, no... that's alright. I'll clean all this up. Take a couple of weeks off, you look tired.
Mr. Wilson: Tree. Interviewer: Tree. (nods head, prepares the test papers) Dog. Mr. Wilson: Tree. Interviewer: Fast. Mr. Wilson: Slow. Interviewer: Rain. Mr. Wilson: Snow. Interviewer: White. Mr. Wilson: Black. Interviewer: Bean. Mr. Wilson: Pod. Interviewer: (casually) Negro. Mr. Wilson: Whitey. Interviewer: Tarbaby. Mr. Wilson: (silent, not sure what he heard correctly) What'd you say? Interviewer: Tarbaby. Mr. Wilson: Ofay. Interviewer: Colored. Mr. Wilson: Redneck. Interviewer: Jungle bunny. Mr. Wilson: (starting to get angry) Peckerwood! Interviewer: Burrhead. Mr. Wilson: (defensive) Cracker! Interviewer: (aggressive) Spearchucker. Mr. Wilson: White trash! Interviewer: Jungle Bunny! Mr. Wilson: (angry) Honky! Interviewer: Spade! Mr. Wilson: (really upset) Honky Honky! Interviewer: (relentless) Nigger! Mr. Wilson: (immediate) Dead honky! (face starts to flinch)
Chevy Chase: UNICEF fell under attack this week when Syria formally protested the charitable organization's new Christmas card, which says, in ten different languages, "Let's kill the Arabs and take their oil!"
Richard Pryor was SNL's first African-American host.
Richard Pryor is the first first African-American host on SNL .
The sketches "Racist Word Association" and "Early Suicide Pill" used the same sets in this episode.
Pryor agreed to host only if Shelly Pryor, Gil-Scott Heron, Thalmus Rasulala, and Annazette Chase could perform in the episode. Lorne Michaels agreed but said "He better be funny." on the flight back to New York.
This episodes features the first appearance of John Belushi's Samurai Futaba. His only line in English was "I can dig where you're coming from."
Aside from Chevy Chase, Garrett Morris is only one of two people to say "Live From New York, it's Saturday Night" during the first season (the other being Ron Nessen in Episode 17), and is also the only cast member to do so other than Chase.
Fearing Pryor would say things that were too offensive for television at the time, the show is placed on seven-second delay for the very first time. As a result in its original airing, NBC bleeped the word "a**" (spoken twice by Pryor) from the show's West Coast rebroadcast. It has since been left intact.
Chevy Chase: Our top story tonight- Generalissimo Francisco Franco is still dead. This would become one of Chevy's trademark lines, and although Franco's prolonged death struggle inspired it, so too did the actions of a New York Post writer. The Post held an inside contest at the start of each year, in which reporters selected which prominent figure they expected to die before the year was out. This contest, known as the "Ghoul Pool," awarded $300 to the reporter whose selection died earlier than any other reporter's. When Franco became deathly ill early in 1975, a Post reporter thought he had $300 for sure. In fact, he had counted his Spanish chick before it hatched. As a weakened Franco continued his brave struggle with the Grim Reaper, another Post reporter's pick had died. With his Ghoul Pool winnings gone, the Franco man completed a fake Post headline claiming, FRANCO STILL DEAD.
S 37 : Ep 22
Aired 5/19/12
S 37 : Ep 21
Aired 5/12/12
S 37 : Ep 21
(1:00:24)
S 37 : Ep 20
Aired 5/5/12
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