The Last of the Manson Girls

Fuck You, Krassner Thank you, Mr. President.

So, yeah, Nixon won. He was looking good in those debates against Humphrey though. I mean,

he's sweating less than he used to. I wonder if he's using a new antiperspirant or if he

just wakes up every morning and rubs himself with the ashes of JFK. But we're stuck with

him now because George Wallace woke up and saw his own shadow which means eight more

years of Vietnam. Although I do wish Lenny Bruce was still alive for this. He could finally

call the President a dick and not get arrested for it. Hey, don't blame me though. I did

my part. I actually worked with the Yippies to organize the protests for the 68 democratic

convention. Trust me when I say that was not meant to be a riot. We were trying to save

the riot for the republicans. But I don't know for the Yippies, we don't separate our

culture and our politics. I mean for us there's this direct linear connection between a kid getting

arrested for pot in this country and a kid getting burned to death with napalm on the

other side of the globe. So, the Yippies, we organized this movement. And it was big,

and it was mad, and it was beautiful. And we could actually feel the world making this

real progress. But then, something happened, and all that changed.

Friday night in Los Angeles, a movie actress and four of her friends were murdered, and

the circumstances were lurid. In a scene described by one investigator as

reminiscent of a weird religious rite. The movie actress was Sharon Tate, 26.

Honey blonde hair, beautiful, married to a famous director, about to have his baby. Her

acting career is just starting to take off. It's the American Dream, right? Yeah, until

it wasn't. While the police admitted they had no suspects

in the Bel Air massacre, there were two more murders 15 miles away in the Silver Lake section

of Los Angeles. Market owner Leno Labianca and his wife Rosemary were found by their

children stabbed and mutilated. Hollywood was more anxiety ridden than ever.

You could cut the fear with a knife. Yeah I probably could have worded that better.

A wandering band of members of a so-called religious cult with a leader they call Jesus

has had three of it's followers arrested in the investigation of the murder of Sharon

Tate and six others. Charles Manson was America's Frankenstein

monster, a logical product of the prison system in which he spent half his life; racist, paranoid,

and violent. Once released, Manson collected disillusioned middle class runaways using

sex, hallucinogenic drugs, and brainwashing techniques he'd learned while incarcerated.

He programmed his followers to be near replicas of himself.

You have to make love to it. You have to know it. You have to know every part of it. And

to know you know it is to know it, so that you can pick it up at any second and shoot.

Whatever is necessary to do, you do it. When somebody needs to be killed, there is no wrong.

You do it. This? I'm X-ed out. It means I'm taking myself

out of your society. I'm taking my thought out of your tower. I'm X-ed out. Out of your

system and out of your world. Manson's trial got international media attention.

Even Nixon got involved. I guess he doesn't have anything better to do.

The people in power better give it up. Nixon better give it up because if he doesn't the

whole thing's going to be destroyed. Manson's followers, the ones who weren't in

jail, would hold this vigil for him outside of the courthouse.

What do you know? Listen, they've hid his word from you. Charlie

hasn't been able to speak in the courtroom. The defendants haven't been able to put on

a defense. They've thrown the constitution in the wastebasket. Where does that leave

your law. It's anarchy. Total anarchy is coming. Just your run of the mill psycho hippie cult

murderers, right? Yeah, that's what I thought until I heard Mae Brussell's conspiracy program.

Charles Manson was a patsy, same as Lee Harvey Oswald, Sirhan Sirhan, and James Earl Ray.

The so-called Manson murders was part of a hidden war against the youth culture orchestrated

by military intelligence. After the Manson murders, people didn't trust hippies anymore.

And why would they? Any long-haired flower child could be a Helter Skelter cultist.

Mae Brussell had been collecting proof of a CIA conspiracy to install a fascist U.S.

oligarchy since the JFK assassination. A satire about Manson's involvement in a government

plot to destroy the counterculture could mean big sales for my magazine, The Realist. So

I invited her to my office to see how much she really knew about the Manson murders.

I'm not even a stand-up comedian. I am a social satirist, and a writer and a publisher. I

mean seriously, you folks have wasted your money tonight. Don't get me wrong. It's going

to help me turn my water back on, but that doesn't make you any less duped.

I don't really believe any of this Manson conspiracy stuff. I'm writing a satirical piece for The

Realist. You know how you reinforce the status quo,

Paul? By making those trying to change it look dangerous.

It was Tex Watson, not Manson who led the female killers on both nights of murder. Before

the murders, Tex Watson was in contact with a Navel Intelligence officer, first initial

N, last name Dight. Like Light but with a D.

N. Dight? To Mae, there were no accidents. Her mantra

was, "There are no justs." Charlie Manson couldn't have just sent out four kids to slaughter

people they didn't even know. Tex Watson couldn't just be a Texas yokel enamored by Manson's

harem of girls. N. Dight couldn't just be a figment of some paranoid revolutionary's

imagination. Dight presented himself as a hippie artist

but he was really a west coast conduit for CIA funds in medical research, electrode implants,

LSD experiments. Mae, this is California. Here that's just,

you know, Tuesday. Right. No justs. Find Dight. Get him on the record and he can

confirm or deny it, can't he? Sure, find a CIA spook and get him to spill

on the biggest murder of the 20th century. How do you suppose I do that?

You can't start by reading your mail. I can't get an interview with Manson. I've

tried. He writes you.

But it's all gibberish about Christ and Satan and scorpions and shit.

Read between the lines.

This is all just nonsense.

There are no justs, Paul.

Holy shit. There really are no justs.

Hello? Squeaky?

Yes, this is Lyn Fromme. Hey.

Hi. To whom am I speaking? I'm Paul Krassner. I publish a magazine called

The Realist. Charlie said you'd be calling us.

He did. Uh-Huh.

Charlie wrote me a letter. He said to give you a call.

Did he say why? He didn't. But I would like to talk to you.

That's all journalist wants to do. Nothing but talk, talk, talk. Everybody has all sorts

of questions they just have to have answered. What answers are you looking for, Paul?

I'd like to ask about N. Dight? N. Dight?

Do you know him? Do you have any acid, Paul? Sorry?

Lysergic acid. LSD. The guy who we used to get

it from disappeared. We went to his house and he's just gone. I don't know if he was

thrown in jail or what. Uh-huh.

Do you have any? I do.

Come see us, Paul. Come see me.

Squeaky Fromme. She's no more assuming than

your typical red-headed waitress who likes to sneak a couple tokes of pot in the bathroom.

You know, the type of girl you can really bring home to mom. Just tell your mom to hide

all the kitchen knives first.

What's the worst that can happen?

Well there's that.

Hey man, what are you up to?

You some kind of pervert, man? No, my name's Paul Krassner. I'm a journalist.

We got nothing to say to the press. You're worse than the cops.

No, I called see. I talked to Squeaky and she said--

Oh, we don't call her that anymore. Look, if I could just talk to Squeaky--

Brenda, it's fine. Paul is a friend of ours. We've been expecting him.

He's a fucking news pig. No, he writes for that funny magazine you

like, The Realist. The one that's makes fun of Nixon.

Yeah, it is. Fuck Nixon. Sorry man. Just a little paranoid. that's

all. Cops are always shaking us down. Sandy here just got of jail and, uh... Well why

didn't you tell me that we were gonna have company? I would have bought more rice.

Sorry. Brenda's she's-- Brenda McCann. So you're Sandra Good.

Am I? Did she say you just got out of jail?

Oh, it was nothing. Six months for helping a prisoner bust out of L.A. county lock-up.

Allegedly. I know, right. The system makes everyone a

prisoner. Holding even one person against their will when we're all in a cage, it's

just baloney, you know? I'm sorry. I'm being rude. Won't you come

in? We're out of milk too. Jesus, nobody tells me anything.

We're not going to hurt you, Paul.

Squeaky?

Welcome home, Paul.

Uh, home? This is our home, isn't it?

Your home. Isn't that what I said? What did I say?

You said "Welcome home" like I lived here. Make yourself at home is all I meant. Our

home is your home, Paul. As much as you want it to be.

And don't call me Squeaky. Lyn is fine.

No, no, no, don't you fucking walk away from me.

Thanks for having me over. No problem, Paul. / You're welcome. / Sure.

I watched you once. Sorry?

I saw you do stand-up at The Committee in San Francisco a few years ago.

Oh yeah, The Committee. Right. Did you like the show?

It was far out. You know, funny but heavy too. When I first met Charlie and people asked

me what he was like. I compared him to Lenny Bruce and you.

That's the weirdest compliment I've ever gotten. We were good friends, you know. Me and Lenny,

not me and Manson. Charlie. You could be friends with Charlie if you want to.

He'd like you I bet. I sure hope so.

What's that supposed to mean? No, I just, um, I, I, I, I just--

You just, you just, you just what? Uh, I, I, mean, um... you're--

We're what, huh? The Manson Family? A bunch of psycho hippie cult members who are responsible

for seven murders? Nine.

Well, um, there's Hinman and Shea, the five Tate victims, and the LaBiancas makes nine.

I told you. He's just like the fucking rest. What rest? I'm not like the rest. The rest

they're, pshh, I mean especially the dead rest if that's the rest that you're talking

about. We're not what The Bug says we are.

What's The Bug? Vince Bugliosi, the prosecutor.

He's the one who told all those Helter Skelter lies when he put Charlie back in the joint.

The Bug made us look like some crazy Satanic death cult.

All so he could be the one who got Charlie Manson.

The Bug couldn't understand the big picture. The young people are rising up.

There's a revolution coming. In your schools. In your courtrooms.

In all your institutions built on lies. The prison doors are going to open wide.

The balance of power is shifting. Those condemned to die will find a new life.

There's a reckoning on the horizon. Where those sentenced in false courtrooms

will have justice. Then The Bug and his ilk will find themselves

up on the cross. He threatened us, you know.

While we were keeping vigil outside the courthouse during Charlie's trial.

He said, "We're gonna get you 'cause you sucked Charlie Manson's dick."

I mean, blowjobs aren't even a capital offense. Actually, I think they are in matters of national

security. Then The Bug had the audacity to accuse us

of threatening him. He said he was going to send us to the gas

chamber. He's the one with murder on his mind.

I mean, look at us. Do we look like we would threaten anyone?

You girls want to drop some acid?

There is no wrong.

Paul? Paul? Paaaul? Cease to exist.

There is no wrong. Come to now.

No sense makes sense.

Whoa. Black-eyed susans. Teach me your secret

language. But they can help us. Where are we going anyway?

We're taking Paul to see Lawrence Merrick. What is it asshole day and no one told me?

Sandy, all I'm saying is using murder as a means to an end is wrong.

There is no wrong, Paul. There is. Trust me on this.

You're trapped in the illusion. Oh, am I the one?

You've bought into the ugliness. It's all you can see. Even when beauty is standing

right in front of you. I know what you want, Paul.