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Angels In America - Chapter 4

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Alphabet land.
This is where the Jews lived when they first arrived.
Now, 100 years later the place to which...
their more seriously fucked-up grandchildren repair.
This is progress?
-It's a terrible mess. -It's a little dirty.
It's messy, not dirty.
That's an important distinction: It's dust, not dirt.
Chemicallmineral, not organic, not like microbes, more like....
-Can I take your tie off? -No, wait, I'm uncomfortable, actually.
Me too, actually.
Being uncomfortable turns me on.
Your boyfriend.
He's sick.
We can cap everything that leaks in latex.
We can smear our bodies with nonoxynol-9...
safe, chemical sex.
Messy, but not dirty.
Look, I want to, but I don't wanna beg.
-Come on, please. -No, I should go.
Hurry home to the missus.
Married gentlemen, before cruising the Ramble...
should first remove their bands of gold.
Go, if you're going.
I'm not staying.
What kind of cologne is that?
Very butch, very heterosexual high school.
-You smell nice. -So do you.
Smell is an incredibly complex and under-appreciated...
physical phenomenon...
inextricably bound up with sex.
I didn't know that.
It is, the nose is really a sexual organ.
-You know what a smell is? -Yeah, it's some sort of.... No.
It's made of the molecules of what you're smelling.
Some part of you where you meet the air is...
Little molecules of Joe.
Up my nose.
Smelling and tasting.
First the nose, then the tongue.
They work as a team, see. The nose tells the body...
the heart, the mind...
the fingers, the cock...
what it wants and then the tongue explores.
What does that taste like?
Words are the worst things. Breathe. Smell.
Let's stop talking.
Or if you have to talk, talk dirty.
Fuck. Will you look at this.
First goddamn orgasm in months and I slept through it.
Ten East.
I've had a wet dream.
-The Calvin Klein underwear man? -It was a woman.
You turning straight on me?
Not a conventional woman.
Grace Jones?
-An angel. -How fabulous.
I'm scared and also full of....
I don't know, joy or something.
-Are you the duty nurse? -Yo.
-Call you back, there's a man bothering me. -Je t'aime.
-Are you the duty nurse? -Yo, I said.
Why are you dressed like that?
You don't like it?
Nurses are supposed to wear white.
Doctors are supposed to be at home in Westchester, asleep.
Emergency admit, Room 1013. These are the charts.
Start the drip, gamma G, and he'll need a CTM.
-Radiation in the morning so-- -Liver cancer? Oncology's on six, doll.
-This is the right floor. -lt says liver cancer.
I don't give a fuck what it says.
I said this is the right floor. You got it?
He's a very important man.
Okay, then I shouldn't fuck up his medication?
I'll be back in the morning.
Safe home.
The Lord moves in mysterious ways.
Get out of here, you.
I got nothing to say to you.
Just doing my job.
I want a white nurse.
My constitutional right.
You're in a hospital, you don't have any constitutional rights.
Find the vein, you moron.
Don't start jabbing that spigot in my arm...
till you find the fucking vein, or I'll sue you so bad...
they'll repossess your teeth, you dim black motherfucker.
Watch yourself.
Don't talk like that when I'm holding something this sharp.
Or I might slip and stick it in your heart, if you have one.
Oh, I do. Tough little muscle, too, never bleeds.
I'll bet.
I've done drips a long time. I'll slip this in so easy, you'll think you were born with it...
or I can make it feel like I just hooked you up to a bag of liquid Drano.
So you be nice to me...
or you'll be one sorry asshole come morning.
-Nice. -Nice and quiet.
I hurt.
I'll get you a painkiller.
-Will it knock me out? -Sure hope so.
Then shove it.
Pain's nothing. Pain's life.
Sing it, baby.
When they did my face-lifts...
I made the anesthesiologist use a local.
Lifted up my whole face like a dinner napkin.
I was wide awake to see it.
Bullshit, no doctor would agree to do that.
I can get anyone to do anything I want.
For instance, let's be friends.
We shall overcome
Jews and coloreds, historical liberal coalition, right?
I mean, my people being the first ones to sell retail to your people.
Your people being the first mine could afford to hire...
to sweep out the store Saturday mornings.
And we all held hands, rode the bus to Selma.
Not me, of course. I don't ride buses, I take cabs.
But the one thing about the American Negro is...
he never went Communist.
Loser Jews did, but you people, you had Jesus.
Reds never got to you. I admire that.
Your chart didn't mention that you're delusional.
I'm barking mad.
Sit, talk.
I'd rather suck the pus out of an abscess.
I'd rather drink a subway toilet.
Thanks for the offer of conversation, but I'd rather not.
For Christ's sake, what do I have to do, beg? I don't wanna be alone!
I fucking hate hospitals and nurses.
They're a waste of time. Weakness and wasting.
I wanna kill the....
They can't kill this though, can they?
No, it's too simple.
It knows itself.
It's hard to kill something when it knows what it is. Like pubic lice.
-Ever had pubic lice? -None of your business.
I picked up some super crabs once from some kid.
Took 20 drenchings of Kwell...
finally shaving to get rid of the little bastards.
Nothing could kill them. And every time I had an itch I'd smile...
because I learned to respect them.
These unkillable crabs. Because I learned to identify.
Determined lowlife.
Like me.
You seen lots of guys with this?
So how do I look, comparatively?
I'd say you're in trouble.
I'm gonna die soon?
That was a question.
Probably. Probably so.
I appreciate the honesty, whatever.
If I live, I could sue you.
Emotional distress, the whole hospital.
But I'm not prejudiced.
I'm not a prejudiced man.
No, these racist guys, simpletons.
I never had any use for them.
Too rigid.
You gotta keep your eye on where the most powerful enemy really is.
I save my hate for what counts.
Well, and I think that's a good idea. Good thing to do, probably.
Look, this didn't come from me, and I don't like you...
but let me tell you a thing or two.
They have radiation for you tomorrow, for the sarcoma lesions...
and you don't want that. Radiation will kill your T cells...
and you don't have any you can afford to lose.
So you tell the doctor no thanks for the radiation.
He won't wanna listen.
Persuade him, or he'll kill you.
You're just a nurse. Why should I listen to you...
over my very qualified, very expensive Wasp doctor?
He's not queer, I am.
Don't wink at me.
You said thing or two. So that's one.
I don't know what strings you pulled to get in on the azidothymidine trials.
I have my little ways.
Watch out for the double blind.
They'll want you to sign something that says they can give you M&M's...
instead of the real drug. You'll die, but they'll get...
statistics they can publish in The New England Journal of Medicine.
You can't sue them because you signed. If you don't sign, no pills.
So if you have any strings left, pull them.
Everyone is put through the double blind and with this...
time's against you. You can't fuck around with placebos.
You hate me?
-Yes. -So why are you telling me this?
I wish I knew.
You're a butterfingers spook-faggot nurse.
I think you have little reason to wanna help me.
Consider it solidarity. One faggot to another.
Any more of your lip, boy, and you'll be flipping...
Big Macs in east Hell before tomorrow night!
And get me a real phone!
With a hold button.
I mean, look at this, one little line?
How am I supposed to perform basic bodily functions on this?
Hello, who's this?
Get me an outside line.
Well, dial it for me.
It's a medical emergency, darling, dial the fucking number...
-or I'll strangle myself with the phone cord! -All right!
Area code 202...
Hello, Martin Heller.
Hi, Martin.
Yeah, I know what time it is. I couldn't sleep, I'm busy dying.
Listen, Martin.
Those pills that I have?
You know, those pills....
What do you call them, azido....
Yeah, AZT.
I want my own private stash, Martin.
Of serious, honest-Abe medicine...
that I control here in the room with me.
No placebos.
No, I'm no good at tests, Martin, I'd rather cheat.
Send me my pills with a get-well bouquet pronto...
or I'm gonna ring up CBS, and sing Mike Wallace a song.
You know the ballad of adorable Ollie North...
and his secret Contra slush fund?
You only think you know all I know. I don't even know what all I know.
Half the time I just make it up, it still turns out to be true.
We learned that trick in the '50s.
Tomorrow, you two-bit, scum-sucking, shitheel flypaper...
insignificant, dried-out little turd...
a nice big box of drugs for Uncle Roy...
or there's gonna be seven different kinds of hell to pay!
The oboe.
The official instrument of the lnternational Order of Travel Agents.
If the duck was a songbird, it would sound like this.
Nasal, desolate...
the call of migratory things.
I'm cold.
It's freezing.
What happened to global warming?
Where'd you get that?
From the great Antarctic pine forest, right over the hill.
There are no pine forests in Antarctica.
This one's a blue spruce.
There are no blue spruce in--
I chewed this pine tree down with my teeth.
Like a beaver.
I'm hungry, I haven't eaten in three days.
I'm gonna use it to build something.
Maybe a fire.
Lucky I brought these.
-Snow'll melt. -Let it.
I don't understand why I'm not dead.
When your heart breaks, you should die.
But there's still the rest of you.
There's your breasts and your genitals....
They're amazingly stupid, like babies or faithful dogs.
They don't get it, they just want him.
Want him.
Eskimo back.
I know.
I wanted a real Eskimo, someone chilly and reliable.
An Eskimo dressed in seal pelts.
Not this. This is just some lawyer, just....
Hey, buddy.
I looked for you. I've been everywhere.
Well, you found me.
No, I'm not looking now.
I guess I'm having an adventure.
-Who with? -No one you know.
No one I know, either.
-ls it fun? -Scary fun.
Can I come with you? This isn't working anymore, I'm cold.
-I wouldn't want you to see. -You think it's worse than what I imagine?
-It's not. -I should go.
Bastard. You fell out of love with me.
-That isn't true, Harper. -Then come back!
I can't.
Blues for the death of heaven.
I tried to tell you. There's no Eskimo in Antarctica.
No. No trees, either.
So where'd you get that?
The Botanical Gardens' arboretum. It's right over there.
Prospect Park.
-We're still in Brooklyn, I guess. -Here's the law for real.
Damn. What a lousy vacation.
I don't know about this....
Turn on the lights!
For pity's sake, don't I look like his mother?
Pitt residence.
No, he is out.
-This is his mother. -Do you know where he is?
I have no idea where he is.
I have no idea. You could leave now.
I really wish you would.
So he-- No, that was the superintendent.
My son was supposed to meet me at the airport.
I don't sit around waiting more than three and three quarters hours for anyone so he--
Oh, my Lord.
Wait. Officer, I don't....
She what?
Pine tree?
Why would she chew....
You have no business laughing about it. You can stop that right now.
That's ugly.
I don't know where that is. I've only just arrived from Salt Lake...
and I barely found Brooklyn.
I will take a taxicab.
Yes, of course, right now.
No hospital.
We don't need any of that. She's not insane, she's just peculiar.
You tell her Mother Pitt is coming.
-That was tacky. -lt was divine.
He was one of the great glitter queens. He couldn't be buried like a civilian.
Trailing sequins and incense, he came into the world...
trailing sequins and incense, he departed, and good for him.
I thought 20 professional Sicilian mourners were a bit much.
A great queen, big fucking deal.
That ludicrous spectacle in there...
just a parody of the funeral of someone who really counted.
We don't. Faggots.
We're just a bad dream the real world's having...
and the real world's waking up.
And he's dead.
Lately, sugar, you've gotten very strange.
Lighten up, already.
I apologize. It was only a for-God's-sake funeral.
A cause for a fucking celebration.
Sorry if I can't join in with the rest of you death junkies...
gloating about your survival in the face of...
his ugly demise. Unlike you, I have nothing to gloat about.
Never mind.
And you look like Morticia Addams.
-Like the wrath of God. -Yes.
That is the intended effect. My eyes are fucked up.
Fucked up, how?
Everything's closing in, weirdness on the periphery.
-Since when? -For three weeks.
Since that night....
And what does the doctor say?
-I haven't been. -For God's sake, why?
I was improving before.
Do you remember my wet dream?
The angel?
-lt wasn't a dream. -Of course it was.
No, I don't think so. I think it really happened.
I'm a prophet.
Say what?
I've been given a prophecy, a book. Not a physical book.
Or there was one, but they took it back...
but somehow there's still this book in me. A prophecy.
It really happened. I'm almost completely sure of it.
-Stop looking at me as-- -You're scaring me.
It was after Louis left me...
I'd been having these horrible nights, and then....
And then she arrived.
Greetings, prophet!
The Great Work begins.
The Messenger has arrived.
Oh, God! There's a thing in the air! A thing!
I am the bird of America.
The Bald Eagle...
Continental Principality...
Lumen, Phosphor, Fluor, Candle.
I unfold my leaves...
bright steel in salutation open sharp before you.
Prior Walter.
Long-descended, well-prepared.
No, I'm not prepared for anything. I have lots to do, l--
American prophet, tonight you become American eye...
that pierceth dark, American heart all hot for truth...
the true great vocalist...
the knowing mind, tongue-of-the-land...
Shoo! You're scaring the shit out of me!
Get the fuck out of my room, please!
Oh, please.
Now, remove from their hiding place...
the sacred prophetic implements.
The what?
Remove from their hiding place the sacred prophetic implements.
-Your dreams have revealed them to you. -What dreams?
You have had dreams revealing to you....
I haven't had a dream I can remember in months.
No dreams, you....
Are you sure?
-Yes, well, the two dead Priors-- -No, not the heralds, not them.
Other dreams, implements. You must have....
One moment.
Now this is a dream, obviously. I'm sick and so....
Okay, it's a pretty spectacular dream, but still.
Quiet! Prophet, a moment, please, l....
The disorganization is....
He says he hasn't had any....
In the kitchen. Under the tiles. Under the sink.
You want me to tear up the kitchen floor?
Get a shovel or an axe...
or some tool for dislodging tile and grout...
and unearth the sacred implements.
No fucking way! The ceiling's bad enough!
I'll lose the lease! I'll lose my security deposit!
I'll wake up the downstairs neighbors, their hysterical dog....
-Do it yourself. -Submit!
Submit to the will of heaven!
What did you....
And lo, the prophet was led by his nightly dreams...
to the hiding place of the sacred implements and....
Revision in the text.
The angel did help him to unearth them...
for he was weak of body, though not of will.
You cracked the refrigerator.
You probably released a whole cloud of fluorocarbons.
That's bad for the environment!
My wrath is as fearsome as my countenance is splendid.
Open the suitcase.
Oh, look at this.
Like wow, man, totally Paleozoic.
Oh, God, no!
-That was terrible, I don't wanna see that. -Remove the book.
From the council of continental principalities...
met in this time of crisis and confusion...
heaven here reaches down to disaster.
And in touching you, touches all of earth.
Peep stones.
Open me, prophet.
I am the book.
-Read. -Wait.
How come....
How come I have this erection? It's very hard to concentrate.
The stiffening of your penis is of no consequence.
-Well, maybe not to you, but-- -Read!
You are mere flesh.
I am utter flesh. Density of desire, the gravity of skin.
What makes the engine of creation run? Not physics...
but ecstatics makes the engine run.
The pulse.
The pull.
The throb.
The ooze.
Excuse me for just a minute. Just a minute. Okay.
Priapsis, dilation...
engorgement, flow.
The universe aflame with angelic ejaculate.
No shit.
The heavens a-thrum to the seraphic rut, the fiery grapplings...
the feathery joinings of the higher orders...
infinite, unceasing!
The blood-pump of creation!
Holy estrus!
Holy orifice!
Ecstasis in excelsis!
Oh, God!
The body is the garden...
of the soul.
What was that?
Plasma orgasmata.
Yeah, well no doubt.
Whoa, wait a minute. Excuse me, please.
-You fucked this angel? -She fucked me, she....
Well, she has eight vaginas.
Well, they're hermaphrodites, really...
and they used to copulate ceaselessly before....
They live in heaven, a city that looks like San Francisco...
and there are earthquakes there, or rather, heavenquakes.
Our maker, our master grew weary of us...
our songs and fornications.
Seeking something new, God split the world in two...
and made you.
Human beings.
Uni-genitalled, female, male.
In creating you, our Father-lover...
unleashed sleeping creation's potential for change.
In you the virus of time began!
"The virus of time"?
In making people, God apparently set in motion...
a potential in the design for change, for random event...
for movement forward.
As the human race began to progress, travel, intermingle...
everything started to come unglued.
Manifest first as tremors in heaven.
So human progress...
Migration, science, forward motion--
...shakes up heaven.
You think and you imagine.
Migrate, explore...
and when you do, Paradise itself shivers and splits!
Progress, movement...
shaking Him!
He began to leave us.
Bored with His angels, bewitched by humanity.
In mortifying imitation of you, His least creation...
He would sail off on voyages no knowing where.
Quake follows quake, absence follows absence...
nasty chastity and disorganization.
Then April 18, 1906, in that day....
April 1906, the....
The great San Francisco earthquake, right? that day, the King of the universe....
He left.
He abandoned.
And did not return.
-Abandoned. -Yes.
I smell a motif.
The man that got away.
Well, it occurred to me, Louis....
Even now, if he came back....
Listen to your girlfriend. I think the time has come to let him go.
That's not what the angels think.
They think it's all gone too far. Too much loss is what they think.
We should stop somehow, go back.
But that's not how the world works, Prior. It only spins forward.
Yeah, but forward into what?
Surely you see towards what we are progressing.
Before life on earth becomes finally merely impossible...
it will, for a long time before...
have become completely unbearable.
You have driven Him away.
You must stop moving!
-Stop moving? -You cannot understand.
You can only destroy.
You do not advance. You only trample!
Poor blind children, abandoned on the earth.
Groping, terrified, misguided...
over fields of slaughter...
over bodies of the slain.
There is no Zion save where you are.
If you cannot find your heart's desire in your own backyard...
you never lost it to begin with?
Turn back. Undo.
Till He returns again.
Please, angel or dream, whatever you are...
I don't understand this visitation!
I don't understand what you want from me. I'm not a prophet. I'm a sick, lonely man.
And what are you?
Did you come to save me or destroy me?
Stop moving, that's what you want? Answer me!
-You want me dead. -Yes.
No. Yes.
This is not in the text. We deviate no more.
I want you to go away.
I am tired to death of being done to...
walked out on, infected, fucked over!
And now, tortured by some mixed-up, irresponsible angel!
Some.... Leave me alone!
You can't outrun your occupation, Jonah.
Hiding from me one place, you will find me in another.
I stop down the road...
waiting for you.
You know me, prophet.
Your battered heart, bleeding life in the universe of wounds...
vessel of the book now.
On you, in you, in your blood we write...
have written, stasis.
The end.
-You've been spending too much time alone. -Not by choice. None of this by choice.
This is worse than nuts.
What, don't migrate, don't mingle? It's malevolent.
Some of us didn't exactly choose to migrate.
I hardly think it's right to get offended. I didn't invent this shit. It was visited on me.
Visited by who, Prior? It's from you, what else is it?
-Something else. -That's crazy.
-Then I'm crazy. -You're not crazy.
-lt was not an angel. -Then I'm crazy.
The whole world is, why not me?
It's 1986, there's a plague, half my friends are dead...
and I'm only 31.
And every morning I wake up, I think Louis is next to me in the bed...
and it takes me long minutes to remember that this is real.
This isn't just an impossible, terrible dream. So maybe, yes, I'm flipping out.
Well, you better not. You'd better not fucking flip out.
This is not dementia, and this is not real. This is....
This is just you, Prior, afraid of what's coming.
Afraid of time.
And you want to go backwards so bad you called down an angel.
-Some comfort, some angel. -Some cosmic reactionary.
But there is no angel. You hear me?
For me?
I can handle anything, but not this happening to you.
Maybe I am a prophet.
Not just me, all of us who are dying now. Maybe we've caught the virus of prophecy.
Be still, toil no more.
Maybe the world has driven God from heaven, incurred the angels' wrath.
I believe I've seen the end of things.
And having seen, I'm going blind, as prophets do.
It makes a certain sense to me.
And if I hate heaven, my only resistance is to run.
Okay, answer me this.
How can a fundamentalist theocratic religion...
function participatorily in a pluralist, secular democracy?
I can't believe you're a Mormon.
I can't believe I spent three weeks in bed with a Mormon.
Good morning.
-Why didn't you tell me? -I did.
Yeah, after I asked you.
I thought you were a Protestant, or something.
Well, I'm not.
-Sleep well? -No.
But you're a lawyer, you're a serious lawyer.
The chief clerk of the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court is a Mormon, Louis.
I don't like cults.
The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints is not a cult.
Any religion that isn't at least 2,000 years old is a cult.
And I know people who would call that generous.
Why is it such a surprise?
I know. Most of the men I go to bed with turned out to be--
Of course it's a surprise!
I thought you were all out West somewhere with the salt flats.
And cactuses. There's some sort of profound displacement going on here.
It's creepy and you hid it from me.
Louis, I love you.
-No, you don't. -Yes, I do.
You think you do, but that's just the gay virgin thing.
No, I do, I never felt....
I never wanted something so much. I never....
I do. I love you.
No, you don't, you can't. It's only been a few weeks.
It takes years and years to fall in love. Four and a half years, minimum.
You and l, Louis, we are the same. We both want the same thing.
We have to talk.
No records! What are you, deaf?
I told you, I don't have any records for their shitty little committee.
It's not how I work, I don't....
Yeah, those notes were lost. Lost in the fire, water damage, I don't know.
I threw up 15 times today. I counted.
What are you looking at? 15 times.
Hang up the phone. I have to watch you take these.
The limo thing? For the love of Christ! I was acquitted twice for that.
What are they trying to do, kill me dead with this harassment?
I've done things in my life, I never killed anyone.
Present company excepted, and you deserved it.
Get the fuck out of here. Yeah.
They can't start tomorrow if we don't show, so don't show.
-I'll pay the old harridan back, just-- -Put down the phone!
Suck my dick, Mother Teresa!
-This is life and death. -Put down the phone.
Touch that phone and I'll bite. And I got rabies.
From now on I supply my own pills.
I already told them, push their jujubes to the losers down the hall.
Your own pills.
No double blind, remember? A little birdie warned me.
Jesus, these cramps.
Now I know why women go berserk once a month.
Oh, fuck!
Good, I made her laugh.
I don't trust this hospital.
For all I know Lillian-fucking-Hellman's in the basement switching the pills around.
Wait a minute, she's dead, isn't she?
Oh boy, memory.
Hey, Ethel, didn't Lillian die? Did you see her up there?
Ugly broad, nose like a....
Like even a Jew should worry with a punim like that.
See anyone fitting that description up there in Red heaven?
She won't talk to me.
Look at her. She thinks she's some sort of death watch.
Who are you talking to?
-I'm self-medicating. -With what?
-Acid something. -Azidothymidine?
100-proof elixir vitae.
Give me those keys.
-You scored. -lmpressively.
There may be 30 people in the country who are getting this drug.
Now there's 31. Give me the keys.
There are 1 00,000 people who need it.
Look at you. The dragon atop the golden hoard.
-lt isn't fair, is it? -No, but as Jimmy Carter said, neither is life.
So put your brown eyes back in your goddamn head, baby.
I'm not moved by an unequal distribution of goods on this earth.
It's history. I didn't write it.
Though I flatter myself I'm a footnote, and you are a nurse.
So minister and skedaddle.
If you live 15 more years, you won't swallow all those pills. I want some.
-That's illegal. -Ten bottles.
I'm gonna report you.
There's a nursing shortage, I'm in a union, I'm scared.
-I have friends who need them bad. -Loyalty. I admire that.
But, no.
-Why? -Because you repulse me.
Why? You'll be begging for it next.
Why? Because I hate your guts and your friends' guts.
That's why.
Give me. So goddamned entitled.
Such a shock when the bill comes.
From what I read, you never paid a bill in your life.
Nobody worked harder than me.
Yeah, things are tough all over.
You talk about fairness. You're coming in here looking for fairness.
They couldn't touch me when I was a lawyer.
Now that I'm dying, they try this.
That's fair? What am l? A dead man.
What was I saying?
God, I can't remember anything.
I'm a dead man.
You expect pity?
I expect you to hand over those keys and then...
-move your nigger ass out of my room. -What did you say?
-Move your nigger, spade... -You shit-for-brains...
-...faggot Blacky ass out of my room. -...filthy-mouthed, selfish...
-Slave! Mongol! Ape! -...cock-sucking, cloven-hoofed pig.
-Kike. -Now you're talking.
-Greedy kike. -Now you can have a bottle.
But only one.
Oh, God, I thought he'd never go.
What are you gonna do, sit there all night?
Just till morning.
Cock crows, you go back to the swamp?
No, I take the 7:05 to Yonkers.
Yonkers? What the fuck is in Yonkers?
The disbarment committee meetings. You've been harking about it all week.
-I'll have a look-see. -They won't let you through the front door.
You're a convicted and executed traitor.
I'll walk through a wall.
Fucking succubus.
Fucking blood-sucking old bat.
Worst thing about being sick in America, Ethel...
is you're booted out of the parade.
Americans have no use for the sick.
Now, look at Reagan.
He's so healthy, he's hardly human.
He's 100 if he's a day. He takes a slug in the chest...
two days later he's out West, riding ponies in his PJs.
I mean, who does that?
That's America.
It's just no country for the infirm.
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