You know what I don't want on MTV? I'll tell you what.
Aerosmith, Vanilla Ice and Cher, ok? No Crosby, no Stills, no Nash.
No bald guys, no fat guys, no fat bald guys. No rock stars who look like history professors, ok?
R.E.M., no. Marky Mark, no. PM Dawn, no.
No half hour comedy hour, no one hour comedy hour.
No rock, no jock, no Ed, no Dre, no Pauly, no Joan.
All I want is Cindy Crawford, ok? "House of Style" 24 hours a day.
No MTV news unless it's news about Cindy. What she's doing, what she's wearing, what she smells like, ok?
No music, unless it's songs about Cindy, ok?
I want half hour specials about Cindy.
I want hour long rockumentaries about Cindy.
I want Cindy unplugged, I want acoustic Cindy.
I want long drawn out slow-motion shots of Cindy walking, Cindy sleeping, Cindy eating an eskimo pie naked
on the roof of the Empire State Building, ok?
I wanna change "The House of Style" to "The House of Cindy".
Not MTV - CTV. No rock, no promos, no Richard Gere.
Just me and Cindy, ok?
I think you hear me knocking, Richard, and I think I'm coming in.
And I got a box full of eskimo pies with me.
You know something, folks? I think rock'n'roll is taking itself a little bit too seriously lately, ok?
They're making two hour movies based on bands.
They made a two hour movie about the Doors.
Do we need this? No, we don't.
I can sum it up for you in five seconds:
I'm drunk, I'm nobody, I'm drunk, I'm famous, I'm drunk, I'm dead, ok?
There's the whole movie: "Big fat dead guy in a bathtub", there's the title for you.
Don Henley's gonna tell me how to feel about the environment, I don't think so, ok?
I got two words for Don Henley: Joe Walsh, ok?
Sting, he wants to save the seals, he wants to save the rainforest.
How about saving your hair, ok pal?
R.E.M.: "Shiny happy people" - hey, hey, hey, hey, hey!
Pull that bus to the side of the pretentiousness turnpike, ok pal?
I want everybody off the bus. I want the shiny people over here, and the happy people over here, ok?
I represent angry, gun toting, meat eating people, pal.
I got two words for Michael Stipe: Steve Tyler, ok?
I think Mama Cass said it best when she said:
One word: Drugs.
I grew up in the 70s. We did a lot of drugs, and listened to a lot of bad music -
and wore a lot of stupid clothing like bellbottoms and platform shoes.
So you want some advice: Here it is.
These are your pants, these are your pants on drugs, ok?
Five words, folks: KC and the Sunshine Band.
Cocaine, there's a good idea.
I wanna do a drug that makes my penis small, makes my heart explode -
makes my nose bleed, and sucks all my money out of the bank.
Could I do that? Could I sit in a room and sweat for seven hours?
I wanna make this face all night:
I wanna talk to complete idiots about nothing for hours on end -
with no penis and a nose bleed. Is that possible? Where do I sign up for that?
And when it comes to crack, I've got a little piece of advice for you, folks.
Never do a drug named after a part of your own ass, ok?
I think you hear me knocking, and I think I'm coming in.
I'm already in. I'm wandering around the house and you know what?
I found your bellbottoms.