Communism, cold-war paranoia, and a missing high school (Morse Science High has disappeared!) add up to the strangest, funniest, and most bizarre comedy recording ever made.

“The Howl of the Wolf Movie!  Presenting honest stories of working people portrayed by rich, Hollywood stars!”

It’s on UTV … “For YOU, the viewer!”

And don’t forget…

“…you can believe me, because I never lie … and I’m always right.”

What the hell does all this mean?

Well, your guess is as good as mine.  But if you’re an intelligent person with a strong affinity for the bizarre, you’ll enjoy it.  Immensely.

“Stop calling me Fred.  My name’s Adolf!”

This tidbit from the legendary Newt X sums it up perfectly:  “Don’t Crush That Dwarf is unusual for comedy, in that, rather than focusing on live monologues or studio gags, it’s a unified concept album that encompasses the full space of an album (both sides of the original vinyl) and comes together more like a novel than a joke. The story that unifies the piece features George Leroy Tirebiter, who is handed some food physically THROUGH his TV and finds himself involved in an unfolding story of a life in hell.”

To really try to explain the story and its ramifications is almost impossible.  You simply have to listen to it.  Better yet, listen to it with a bunch of friends.  Then sit around for hours analyzing it like the best and more interesting deep piece of philosophical literature you’ve ever heard performed on tape.  This is Shakespeare from the drug-addled 1970’s.  This is Goethe’s Faust filtered through Thorton Wilder’s Skin of Our Teeth. This is, as mentioned in the album itself, “Parallel Hell.”

“I’m going to cut off the soles of my shoes, sit in a tree, and learn to play the flute!”

Here’s the strangest thing – and I would take advantage of it if I were you, quick, before it gets corrected:  On Amazon.com they sell the album as a digital download for $9.99.  Right?  But it only has two tracks on it, both over 20 minutes long, and if you buy them singly you get the whole album for $1.98 (99 cents a track).  Ooops, somebody goofed!

This is my favorite of the Firesign Theater Albums, closely followed by The Giant Rat of Sumatra.