LSD pills being forced down their throats by a group of reckless hippies

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He emerged into the gray London street, set his shoulders and walked quickly through the narrow side roads until he came upon the lively, bustling and loudly-decorated center of London's fashion world. Situated just behind Oxford Circus, Carnaby Street was the Mecca for trendy styles in clothing and pop-art posters: at least, that was the way the British Tourist Association advertised it. The truth of the matter was that the street had lost almost all of its glamour so far as the in-crowd was concerned and it appealed nowadays only to foreign tourists and wide-eyed visitors from the provinces. The place had become little more than a landmark: a slightly more fashionable monument than Nelson's Column or the Houses of Parliament.

the Stones’ favourite inhabitants of the underworld applied pressure

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More disturbing, though, was the incident at a family party when a young mother asked him to keep an eye on her child who was sitting on a potty, while she left the room to take a telephone call. As soon as she’d gone Litvinoff took the potty to the lavatory, where he sat on it himself and released a huge bowel movement before nipping back to seat the child in place again. When the mother returned to find what her toddler had apparently produced she was beside herself. In later years he would complain to friends of a lack of support from his family but if some relatives began to keep their distance, one can understand why.

This is the land of knee-tremblers and wee bastards

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they pleaded for tolerance, Boyd flipped a finger at everything

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Catholicism has the appeal it has for all who lack sexual gifts: it assures them that the thing they're not good at, sex, is wrong anyway. Soft cocked, hard hearted; broad-hipped, narrow-minded; cold assed, hot tempered ... The middle class are endlessly vulgar, with no redeeming obscenity. They represent themselves as above sex, but they are beneath it - too cold, too frightened, too ambitious, too conventional, too unattractive for sex. To this day they love lovely things. They are themselves lovely things, robots like the "straights," performing as programmed; they are the true undesirables, the undesiring …

this cult of electric guitars and ass shaking has replaced Christianity

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The manhood of England, immersed in pools of Swedish flesh, must be beholden to their cunning music press which has facilitated the myth of their interminable swinging modernity. They need only get a bowl hairdo or some fey contemporary equivalent and they're awash in nubile Nords, thanks to a savvy and deceitful media organ. The Beatles are ultimately responsible, for without them and their psychedelic phenomenon, the country would be revealed as a chilly version of Portugal - a conservative backwater left only with distant memories of imperial glory.Indeed, before the Fab Four, England was drab and bowler-hatted; their parliament wore wigs, the food was bad, and the morality stultifying. No Swedish girl would have set foot on its soil. In the innocent days preceding "Beatlemania," Anita Ekberg and Ingrid Bergman were in Italy, almost certainly making love to their respective directors.

abortion, hairdos, shoplifting, Catholicism, vomit, rats, reform school.

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Three days after September 11, 2001 the Ricki Lake show is concerned with a world crisis of another kind: white-trash teens whose mothers dress like sluts. A fat, toothless hag in a sheer black peignoir and shiny go-go boots bumps and grinds her way onto the stage. Her teenage children are explaining to Ricki that they want the kind of mom who bakes cookies, not the kind who works in a titty bar and hits on their school friends. Christopher complains that his mother is dating one of his classmates - "And one of the stupidest ones too! My mom looks like a hooker, Ricki! When she takes me to school, she flashes her tits at people as we drive past!" 

Mom grins and sticks out her tongue at the camera. "It's hot where we live! I'm just airin' 'em out!"

“I am for art that does something other than sit on its ass in a museum.”

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Conversation became less lucid as the partygoers surrendered to the beat of the loud music coming from the stereo. They danced the latest steps—the Twist, the Monkey, the Mashed Potato—and ones they made up on the spot. Things got a little out of hand when Patty twirled into an antique spool cabinet and sent an Ed Kienholz sculpture crashing to the floor. Taylor knew it was a good party when the guests had gotten so high they started crawling on the wooden floor, oblivious to the splinters, spilled drinks, and puddles of melted cheese spilling from the platters. Cecil Beaton heard through the grapevine that the evening turned into “a fantastic orgy with people making love on the revolving horses and being photographed for an advanced movie,” but that may have been a bit of an exaggeration. At some point, however, the police did come because the party had become too noisy for even the rowdy crowd at the Santa Monica Pier. In California, in the cool night air, you even felt healthy when you puked.

There are certain films we just can't stop talking about

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Bizarre as this may sound, there was once a fad for what was called "petticoat punishment" – humiliating unruly boys, and teaching them refinement, by dressing them in girl's clothing until they mended their ways.  This seems to have occurred principally in England and Europe during the nineteenth century, but was never widely practiced in the U.S. Eddie gave friends a dramatic account: "My mother was punishing me.  She didn't know what the hell she was doing to me." Young Eddie's desire to dress as a woman went far deeper than masturbatory fantasy.  Like many men and women in what is currently known as the transgendered community, young Eddie had a strong need to dress as, and be accepted as, a member of the opposite sex.  (Many artists and performers have shared similar impulses – among them the macho Ernest Hemingway with his predilection for donning frilly garments and then playing the passive role in bed.) In Eddie, this impulse was so strong that by the time he turned twelve, he was already sneaking into his mother's room, "borrowing" her clothes (particularly her underwear) and trying them on. Having discovered proof at an early age that he would have made a beautiful girl, Eddie began to fantasize about what his life would have been like if he had actually had the good luck to be born female.  As with others in the same situation, young Eddie's need to let his (or her) female self out was so overwhelming, s/he began to look for opportunities to publicly dress as a girl safely and without anyone suspecting his/her actual motives.  First, s/he started joking about it with the neighborhood kids.  If a girl took off her shoes or a sweater, Eddie might swipe them and put them on.  The stratagem appears to have worked.  Most friends of the time recalled young Eddie's clowning around as "strictly for laughs," "a lark," "tongue-in-cheek," and "camp."  Almost no one, at least during his/her childhood and teen years, seems to have suspected anything more.

a newlywed's inexplicable attraction to angora and gorillas

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ED WOOD , JR. (1924-1978): Having no training, but boundless energy and enthusiasm, Wood wrote, directed, and acted in some of the most hilariously inept movies ever made. Born in Poughkeepsie, he was a World War II Marine veteran who had worn women's lingerie under his uniform. Wood arrived in Hollywood in 1948, and began his career in film aided by the "Wood Stock Company," which consisted of drinking buddies and cronies. He sadly drifted into the world of pornography, and died watching a football game on TV, shortly before the renewal of interest in his films. The popularity of Ed Wood's work today is due to the availability of obscure movies on video, "Bad Film " festivals, disclosure of his transvestite habits, and awards lauding him as the "worst director of all time."

what the culture needs is men and women who clearly don’t give a shit

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Blonde Bombshell was indeed made at the end of a period in Hollywood history which gave the Jews who ran the studios a chance to show what splendid work they could do before the Catholics started bullying them. The year after Bombshell, the sexually inadequate Catholic Legion of Decency, which could more accurately be called the Legion of Jealousy, put the heat on Hollywood and by threats of boycotts managed to establish a more spiteful attitude toward sex. No more Louise Beavers getting rough fucks on their days off; there followed the era of sweet nuns in artificial eyelashes and sweet priests like Bing Crosby (who off-screen was a mean, effeminate old drunk). Apart from the Legion of Decency’s fundamental flaw — it assumes that sex is wrong but never explains why — the Legion was intolerable in that it sought to impose a specifically Catholic sexual cruelty upon the general population of non-Catholics. This is simply against the law, but the Legion was tolerated for more than 30 years. The Times puts statements from the Pope on page one, even though they are the mad ravings of a sexual psychopath. The sexual inadequacies of people like the Pope would be none of my business if the afflicted would suffer in silence. But they try to punish the sexually healthy.

‘I don’t want to be like everybody else: that’s why I’m a Mod!’

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A new generation of Mods, mainly from Barnsley and Preston, were recruited at a Scooter rally in Southend and put up in digs and given a mechanic for their scooters. However, a shortage of Rockers led to Roddam recasting several of these Mods as the enemy: apocryphally one of the Rockers foregrounded in the police van would not show his face to the camera lest friends at home discovered his treachery. To the first call of ‘Action!’, down the slope and onto the beach to the west of the Palace Pier charged the Mods of ‘78, while from the opposite direction came a set of (less authentic) leather boys, with in the middle police on horseback jostling and jumping over them. Roddam was pleased with the first take until told that some of the extras playing policemen had been laughing and putting their hats on back to front. So as they reset the scene, Roddam ran over to the Mods and told them that the police – many of them punks – were ruining the shooting, and that they should go for them for real. Though balsa wood deck chairs were in place, Roddam’s goading led to scenes of genuine fighting and a realistic recreation of chaos. Cinematographer Brian Tufano, got in there amidst the flying stones and flying fists, capturing the aggro ‘on the hoof’.

'How can anyone live happily in Enfield?' I demanded.

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'They want to be reassured that their culture is the best that has ever existed in the entire history of the world. And what that means is coming up with one-hundred and one reasons as to why Coldplay are musically superior to James Brown. It doesn't matter what I do or don't like, it's a matter of telling the kids what they want to hear and thereby ensuring that they come back for more. The opinions we profess are market led, but these might not in fact be our real opinions …' 
'What else are you proposing to teach?'
'The usual, European modernist film, the novels of Colin Macinnes, folk rock from Bert Jansch to the present, the life and times of Benny Hill, the work ...'

If the Stones based their early sound on Chuck Berry, then the Pretty Things copped their musical style from Bo Diddley, while simultaneously succeeding in making the man who inspired them sound unbelievably sophisticated.

'Well, what did you think of it?'

'It sounds like a weak version of a lot of the music I like. It was okay, but it didn't rock like Nirvana.'

'Without the Pretty Things there wouldn't have been a Nirvana or Oasis.'

'What about Coldplay?'

'I don't think you can blame that particular aberration on Dick Taylor and Phil May.'