Atomic Rooster. A Spoonful of Bromide Helps The Pulse Rate Go Down. 1972.

Imagine for a moment that you're the hotel maid assigned to clean the rooms of the respective members of Atomic Rooster. After haplessly assessing the carnage, you compose yourself. You can do this. You wake the medicated groupies, you dump the mountainous ashtray, you pour out the last foul slosh of bong water. Miraculously, you're going to be just fine. You can actually see carpet through technicolor vomit and bile. You feel accomplished, if not a bit nauseous.

Then you find yourself face-to-face with a raccoon sized hair ball in the shower drain. You drop your dust pan, and solemnly admit defeat.