Davy: Thank you, Mr. Raefelson.
Bob: Welcome back home. New year.
Peter: Are we doing that?
Mike: Are we rolling?
Peter: Are we rolling?
Bob: Yeah, you're on, babe.
cut to Peter (holding Take Meter): "--34 - 1 - 35!" (pretends to smash fingers)
cut to Micky (shooting imaginary machine gun): Soul brother!
cut to Davy: My sister had another baby--
cut to Mike: I had all the windows in my cars painted black--
cut to Peter: Hi, America! Hi, Televisionland.
cut to Micky
Bob: Micky, do-- so you think of--
Micky: I really hate these interviews, man.
(Bob laughs.)
Bob: What are you wearing, man?
Micky: A tablecloth.
Mike: Carpet.
(Micky shakes head at Mike.)
Bob: It's been a couple months since we've all seen ya, and you've changed.
(Micky leans over and Mike whispers in his ear.)
Peter: He's wearing an earring.
Micky: This is a carpet from Davy Jones's dining room.
(Peter laughs.)
Davy: That's Mike's line.
(Mike waves in victory to camera.)
Peter: Mike's line, Mike's line.
Mike: Thanks...
Bob: And how 'bout your hair? Where'd you get that from?
Micky: Uh, I just let it grow.
Bob: Peter, what have you got around your neck there?
Peter: Beads.
Bob: Yeah, but what are they strung from?
Peter: Well... (looking at beads) Uh, this one is, uh, strung-- (pretends to hang himself)
(Micky laughs.)
Bob: Davy? Did you get to see your family this summer?
Davy: Yeah, I saw my father, my sisters...
Bob: I wanna know--
Mike: Did you know--
Bob: What?
Mike: Did you know that a chick mailed herself to Davy? Davy didn't--
Bob: Oh! Yeah! What happened about that one?
Davy: Some, some young lady came up with the bright idea of mailing herself to us--
Mike: And it ruined her arm... (makes postage machine noises)
(Micky cracks up.)
Davy: And she put herself in a big box, put herself in a box this big, and sent herself up and put photographs on it. And we opened it and this young lady popped out.
Bob: What happened to her?
Peter: Popped her back in again.
(Micky continues to laugh.)
Davy: We shipped her to the Beatles.
cut to Micky: I really hate these interviews.
Mike: We'll do an interview together. You and me. Here we go. (clears throat) ...Well uh... t- tell me, Mick... uh, where did you g--.. uh--
Micky: I really hate these interviews, Mike.
Mike: --get your hair? ...Oh.
cut to Peter: "--35..." (pinches fingers) Oww!
cut to (Monkees get up and leave, Davy dancing and snapping fingers.)
Bob: Welcome back, everybody.
Davy (singing): "--some, everyone..."
Mike: It's because we walk so funny...
(Micky laughs...)