George Carlin Reading His Book:"Brain Droppings"

Hi folks, this is George Carlin. I'm going to read my book to you. The book is called "Brain Droppings." I will read it to you. You'll have to get someone else to understand it for you.

For a long time, my standup material has drawn from three sources. The first is the English language: you know, words, phrases, sayings, and the ways we speak. The second source, as with most comedians, has been what I think of as the little world: those things we all experience every day, driving, food, pets, relationships, and idle thoughts. The third area is what I call the Big World: war, politics, race, death, the social issues. So, without actually having measured, I would say this book reflects the balance very closely.

Now, the first two areas in the book will speak for themselves. But concerning the Big World, let me say a few things. I'm happy to tell you, there's very little in this world world that I believe in. Listening to the comedians who comment on political, social, and cultural issues, I noticed that most of their material reflects kind of an underlying belief that somehow things were better once, and with just a little effort, we could set them right again. They're looking for solutions and rooting for particular results, and I think that limits the tone and substance of what they say. They're talented and funny people, but they're really nothing more than cheerleaders attached to a specific wished-for outcome.

I don't feel so confined. I frankly don't give a [ __ ] how it all turns out in this country or anywhere else for that matter. I think the human game was up a long time ago when the high priests and traders took over, and now we're just playing out the string. And that is, of course, precisely what I find so amusing: the slow circling of the drain by a once promising species, and the sappy, ever more desperate belief in this country that there is actually some sort of an American Dream which has merely been misplaced. The decay and disintegration of this culture is astonishingly amusing if you're emotionally detached from it. And I've always viewed it from a safe distance, knowing I don't belong. It doesn't include me. It never has. No matter how you care to define it, I do not identify with the local group, planet, species, race, nation, state, religion, party, union, club, association, neighborhood improvement committee. I have no interest in any of it. I love and treasure individuals as I meet them. I loathe and despise the groups they identify with and belong to.

So, if you hear something in this book that sounds like advocacy of a particular political point of view, please reject the notion. My interest in issues is merely to point out how badly we're doing, not to suggest a way we might do better. Don't confuse me with those who cling to hope. I enjoy describing how things are. I have no interest in how they ought to be, and I certainly have no interest in fixing them. I sincerely believe that if you think there's a solution, you're part of the problem. My motto: [ __ ] hope.

P.S. In case you're wondering, personally, I'm a joyful individual. I had a long, happy marriage and a close and loving family. My career has turned out better than I ever dreamed, and it continues to expand. I'm a personal optimist, but a skeptic about all else. What may sound to some like anger is really nothing more than sympathetic contempt. I view my species with a combination of wonder and pity, and I root for its destruction. And please don't confuse my point of view with cynicism. The real cynics are the ones who tell you everything's going to be be all right.

And P.P.S. By the way, if by some chance you folks do manage to straighten things out and make everything better, I still don't wish to be [Music] included.

Did you ever think about this? Do you ever think about how much information in the form of radio energy there is flying through the air all around us, all over the world, right now and all the time? AM, FM, UHF, VHF, shortwave, television, CB, walkie-talkie, cell phones, cordless phones, telephone, satellites, microwave relays, faxes, pages, taxi calls, police, sheriff, hospitals, fire departments, telemetry, navigation, radar, the military, government, financial, legal, medical, the media, etc., etc., etc. Trillions and trillions and trillions and trillions of separate little bits of electronic information flying all all around the world through the air at all times. Think of that. Think of how busy the air is. Then realize this: 100 years ago, there was none. None. Silence.

Here are seven things I'm tired of. I'm getting tired of guys who smoke pipes. When are they going to outlaw this [ __ ] guy with a [ __ ] pipe? It's an arrogant thing to place a burning barrier between you and the rest of the world. It's supposed to imply thoughtfulness or intelligence. It's not intelligent to stand around with a controlled fire sticking out of your mouth. I say, "Hey professor, you want something hot to suck on? Call me. I'll give you something to put in your mouth." I think these pipe smokers ought to just move to the next level and go ahead and suck a dick. Nothing wrong with sucking dicks. Men do it. Women do it. Can't be all bad if everybody's doing it. I I say, drop the pipe and go to the dick. That's my advice. I'm here to help.

I'm also getting sick of car alarms. Not the screeching and beeping that doesn't bother me. It's just the idea of a car alarm that I find offensive, especially the ones that talk to you. "Move away. Move away." Oh, really? That's when I reach for my sharpest key and I put a deep gouge in the paint job all the way around the car, 300 160 degrees. I might even make two trips around if I don't have a lunch in appointment that day. And then I walk away slowly, unconcerned about the screeching and beeping, because I know that no one takes car alarms seriously. Car alarms are a yepy boomer conceit, and they're responsible for most of the carjacking that's going on. Car alarms and the club have made it harder for thieves to steal parked cars, and so instead, they're stealing cars with people in them, and people are dying. And it's all because these selfish boomer degenerates can't stand to part with their personal property. [ __ ] Boomers and [ __ ] their pussified car alarms.

I'm also sick of having to look at bearded guys who don't know how to trim the lower edges of their beards where they extend back toward the neck. They trim too far up toward the chin, leaves a glaring fleshy strip where there ought to be hair. Guys, you need to let the beard extend far enough back under your chin so it reaches the point where your neck begins. Then, from the fold or angle that forms between your jaw and neck, you shave downward. If you don't have that fold, if you have a fat, fleshy pouch under your jaw with no definition, you shouldn't be trimming your beard at all. You should let it grow long and bushy so that it covers that goofy-looking pouch.

And I've just about had it with all these geeky [ __ ] who walk around listening to Walkman. What are these jack-offs telling us anyway? They're too good to protect participate in daily life. They're sealing themselves off. Big [ __ ] laws. And what is it they're listening to that's so compelling? I think a person has to be fairly uncomfortable with his own thoughts to have the need to block them out while simply walking around. I'd love to know how many of these obviously disturbed people become suicides.

I've also grown weary reading about clouds in a book. Doesn't this piss you off? You're reading a nice story, and sudden the writer has to stop and describe the clouds. Who cares? I'll bet you anything I can write a decent novel with a good, entertaining story and never once mention clouds. Really. Every book you read, if there's an outdoor scene, an open window, or even a door slightly AJ jar, the writer has to say, "As Bo and Velma walked along the shore, the clouds hung ponderously on the horizon like steel gray, loosely formed gorilla turds." I'm not not interested. Skip the clouds and get to the [ __ ]. The only story I know of where clouds were important was Noah's Ark.

Here's something else I don't appreciate: being put on hold and being forced to listen to someone else's radio. I don't even listen to my own radio. Why should I have to pay money to call some company and listen to theirs? And it's always the same [ __ ] soft rock. That sucky, non-threatening, easy listening [ __ ] music. Soft rock is an oxymoron. Furthermore, it's not rock, and it's not even music. It's just soft.

One more item: I'm tired of being unable to buy clothing that doesn't have writing and printing all over it. Insipid sayings, pseudo wisdom, cute slogans, team logos, designer names, brand trademarks, small business ego trips. The marketing pigs and advertising swine have turned us all into walking billboards. You see some [ __ ] walking by, and he's got on a fruity Dodger hat and a Hard Rock Cafe t-shirt. Of course, you can't see the shirt if he's wearing his hot [ __ ] Chicago Bulls jacket, the one that only 50 million other loser jock sniffers own. And since this cretinous sports fan, SLC consumer zombie is completely for sale to anyone, he rounds out his ensemble with FedEx sneakers, Value Jet socks, Wall Street Journal sweatpants, a Starbucks jock strap, and a Microsoft condom with Bill Gates's head on the end of it. No one in this country owns his personal appearance anymore. America has become a nation of obedient consumers, actively participating in their own [Music] degradation.

I have some questions about food terms. For instance, breadsticks. If drumsticks are for playing drums, you think bread sticks would be for playing bread, wouldn't you? "Would you like some bread sticks?" "No, thank you. I don't play bread. I play drums. Perhaps I'll have a drum roll." Shelled peanuts. Well, why don't shelled peanuts have shells? If you're clothed, you have clothes. So if you're shelled, you should have shells. You'd think they'd call peanuts without shells unshelled peanuts, wouldn't you? Same thing goes for pitted prunes and boned chicken. I ask you, where are the bones? I can't find them. In my opinion, it ought to be called deboned chicken. And that brings me to semi-boneless ham. What's going on here? Does it only have half a bone? Or does semi-boneless ham mean that some complete object that is not entirely a bone has been removed from the ham? I don't know. Waffle iron. Why on earth would you want to iron or waffle? Wouldn't that just flatten out all the little square things? No, no, no. I believe waffles should be dry-cleaned. Pancakes, of course, should always be ironed.

I grew up in New York City and I lived there till I was about 30. And at that time, I decided I'd had enough of life in a dynamic, sophisticated city, so I moved to Los Angeles. Actually, I moved there because of the time difference. I was behind in my work and I wanted to pick up the extra 3 hours. Technically, for the last 30 years, I've been living in my own past. I knew I didn't want to move to the Midwest. I could never live in a place where the outstanding geographic feature is the horizon. The Midwest seems like a nice place to catch up on your sleep. Another reason I could never live in the Midwest is that it gets really cold there. You've heard of exposure and hypothermia. I could never be comfortable in a place where you can die simply by going out to the mailbox. Living in an area where an open window can cause death seems foolish to me.

Of course, living in the South was never an option. The main problem being, they have too much respect for authority. They're soldier sniffers and cop lovers. I don't respect that, and I can never live with it. There's also way too much religion in the South to be consistent with good mental health. Still, I love traveling down there, especially when I'm in the mood for a quick trip to the 13th century. I'm not someone who buys all that "New South" [ __ ] that you hear. I judge a place by the number of lynchings they've had. Overall, Atlanta, Atlanta even found it necessary to come up with an apologetic civic slogan: "Atlanta, the city too busy to hate." I think they're trying to tell us something. There's also the communications problem. I have trouble understanding Southerners when they talk. Some of them sound like they're chewing on a dick. And I really have nothing against them individually, one by one, they can be quite charming. But when you take them as a whole, there's some really dangerous genetic material floating around down there.

So, by default, I live in Los Angeles. And it's kind of a goofy place. I'm sure you've heard they have an airport named after John Wayne. That ought to explain it. It has a charming kind of superstitious innocence. But if you really want to understand life in California, forget the grief clinics and yoga holics. Forget biofeedback, Feld, Christ, neurolinguistic programming, in the Alex standard technique. Disregard spirit guides, centering groups, dream workshops, bioenergetics, pyramid energy, and primal therapy. Ignore centering, fasting, ralphing, grounding, channeling, rebirthing, nurturing, self-parenting, and colon cleansing. And don't even think about polarity work, inversion swings, Flower Essences, guided synchronicity, harmonic brain wave synergy, and psycho calisthetics. You also need pay no attention to nude volleyball, spinach therapy, white wine hot tubs, jogging on hot coals, and the people who sing Christmas carols to zoo animals. Forget all that. The only thing you have to know about California is this: they have traffic school for chocaholics. Okay, okay. California is the only place where you might hear someone say, "Jason can't come to the phone. He's taking his wind lesson."

The problem most New Yorkers have with Los Angeles is that it's fragmented and lacks a vital center. The people have no common experience. Instead, they exude a kind of a bemused detachment that renders them intensely uninteresting. The West Coast experience is soft and peripheral. New York is hard and concentrated. California is a small woman saying, "[ __ ] me." New York is a large man saying, "[ __ ] you." Still, I live in California, but I'm not laid back, and I'm certainly not Mo. I associate those qualities with the komos. The solar system wasn't formed because matter was laid back. Life didn't arise from the oceans, and humans descend from the trees because DNA was mellow. It happened because of something called energy. New York has energy, and all I can say is this: if you can't handle it, stay the [ __ ] out.

Living in New York is a character builder. You must know who you are, what you're doing, where you're going, and how to get there. No [ __ ] tolerated. New York people are tough and resilient. All the rest of you are varying degrees of soft. Most outsiders can't handle New York, so they wind up back in Big Loins, Arkansas, bad-mouthing the city for the rest of their lives. Actually, most of the people who run New York down have never been there, and if they ever went, we would destroy them in 9 minutes. People hate New York because that where the action is, and they know it's passing them by. Most of the decisions that control people's lives are made in New York City, not in Washington, not on Pennsylvania Avenue. In New York City, Madison Avenue and Wall Street. People can't handle that. It pisses them off. [ __ ] them.

And I'm really glad the Yankees humiliated the Braves twice now in the World Series. I'm glad the gritty, tough, third-world, street-wise New York culture triumphed over the soft, suburban, wholesome, white Christian, tacky mall culture of Atlanta. Overgrown small towns like Atlanta have no business in the major leagues in the first place. So, concerning LA versus New York, I now have lived half of my life in each of America's two most hated, feared, and envied cities. And you want to know something? There's no comparison. New York even has a better class of [ __ ]. Even the lames in New York have a certain appealing, dangerous quality.

As an example of how hopeless California is, when I first got there, a long time back, 30 years, a policeman gave me a ticket for jaywalking. You have to understand the kind of people who live in California. They're willing to stand passive and inert on a curb when absolutely no traffic is coming, or maybe just a little traffic that you could easily dodge. They simply stand there obediently and wait for an electric light to give them permission to proceed. I couldn't believe this cop. I laughed at him. Ticket cost me about $20 in 1966. Since that time, I figure I've jaywalked an additional thousand times without being caught. [ __ ] that lame-ass cop. I've managed to PR rate that ticket down to about 2 cents a j-walk.

One thing I do find appealing in California is the emphasis on driving. I like to drive. I'm skillful at it, and I do it aggressively. And I don't mean I scream at people or flash them the finger. I simply go about my passage swiftly and silently with a certain deliberate, dark efficiency. In the land of the unassertive, the aggressive man is king. Of course, in Los Angeles, everything is based on driving. Even the killings. In New York, most people don't have cars. So if you want to kill a guy, you have to take the subway to his house. And sometimes on the way, the train is delayed, and you get impatient, so you have to kill somebody on the subway. That's why there are so many subway murders in New York. No one has a car. Basically, if more people in New York had cars, the subways would be a lot safer.

H. I hope you can tell the apple, and it's not the Big Apple, by the way. The real term is "Apple." The Apple is still number one in my heart. I'm so chauvinistic, I even root for New York to raise more money than Los Angeles on the arthritis ton. And you know something? We usually do. California, bordering always on the Pacific, and sometimes on the ridiculous. So why do I live here? Because the sun goes down a block from my [Music] house.

You know, there are some things you never see: a puppet with a heart on, a butterfly with a swastika design, the Latin word for douchebag, someone defecating in a church, a junkie with leisure time, a serial killer with a light-up bow tie, a mom-and-pop steel mill, a shot glass full of carrot juice, a bum with matching luggage, really interesting twins, condoms with pictures of the Saints, two homosexuals who own a bait shop, a pimp with a low profit margin, or a Rolls-Royce that's more than 50% primer [Music] paint.

What have happened to Eddie? Where'd he go? Seems like he was just here. And where's Billy and Bobby and Jackie and John, Jimmy, Paul, Vinnie, Tom, and Charlie and Richie? Where did they go? And where the [ __ ] did Cameron come from? And Jordan and Justin and Shane and Parker, Tucker, Tyler, Taylor, Carter, Flynn, Blake, and Cody? Who let these people in? Brett, Brent, Blair, Cassidy. Where are all these goofy names coming from? Say what you will about the national candidates in 1996, at least they had the decency to be named Bill, Bob, Al, and Jack. The popularity of first names is perishable. They pass in and out of favor. Occasionally, newspapers will print the most popular names given to babies that year, and they're never the same as years before. You don't run into many little girls named Bertha or Edith anymore. Nor are there a lot of Aunties and Effies, Opals, Hopes, or Pearls floating around in the daycare center. Ditto, Eellie, Myrtle, Agatha, and Mabel. And how many expectant parents are praying for a girl so they can name her Blanch, Clara, Agnes, or Lotty? None. You know why? Because most of these women are in nursing homes. But thanks to the trendy, the trendy, and the sheer passage of time, someday our substandard nursing homes will be filled with Ambers, Kaylas, Tiffanys, Caitlyns, Morgans, Courtneys, Cheyenne's, Ashley's, Megans, and Brittany, and Heathers. And that's not to overlook Judy, Lori, Susie, Debbie, Kelly, and Wendy, and any other name that can conceivably be spelled with a final "i." There are even some girls whose names don't end in "y" who can't resist the trend. "Hi, my name is Margaret, but somehow I spell it with an 'i'." There are women named Faith, Hope, Joy, and Prudence. Why not Despair, Guilt, Rage, and Grief? Seems only right. Tom, like you to meet the girl of my dreams: Tragedy. She spells it with an "i."

I had an uncle who was embarrassed because he had a woman's name. We told him, "Don't worry. Lots of men have women's names: Leslie, Marian, Chris, Dale, Lonnie." We tried to reassure him, but Old Uncle Margaret Mary, I guess he just couldn't handle it. I don't know why. Never bothered his wife. Turk. You know why hurricanes have names instead of numbers? To keep the killing personal. No one cares about a bunch of people killed by a number. "200 dead as Number Three slams ashore" is not nearly as interesting a headline as "Charlie kills 200." Death is much more satisfying and entertaining if you personalize it. Me, I'm still waiting for Hurricane Ed. Old Ed wouldn't hurt you, would he? Sounds kind of friendly. Hell, no. We are not evacuating. Ed's coming. Guess the white guy: Odell, Tyrone, Train, and Sparky. Guess the black girl: Kathy, Joan, Peggy, and Felicia. First names can even suggest how tough you are. Who would you want on your side in a bar fight? Arnold, Seymour, Jasper, and Percy, or Nitro, Hacksaw, Rhino, and Skull? And guys, which women would you rather run into when you're out drinking? Lillian, Priscilla, and Judith, or Trixie, Bubbles, and Candy?

The Kennedy family changed William Kennedy Smith's first name in order to influence the outcome of his rape trial. They changed it from Willie to Will because guys named Will hardly ever go to jail, while America's prisons are chuck full of Willies. Will is all-American. Will he? Just ask Michael Dukakis. He'll tell you about Mr. [Music] Horton.

People's names can be interesting because sometimes they carry with them a little emotional baggage that comes with the name. For instance, think of the names of the founders of the great religions. Those founders' names still today ring with an air of mystery: Christ, Moses, Buddha, Muhammad. But the Mormons? Joseph Smith. Not too impressive. "Come on, we're going to Utah." "Who said so?" "Joe Smith." Well, I got to go take a [ __ ]. Drop me a postcard. Let me know how you like it out there.

Well, I was raised Catholic, and I'm still waiting for a new Pope to choose the name Corki. Wouldn't that be fun? "His Holiness, Pope Corki V." 9th? I think you'd have to skip right to nine to give him a little credibility, don't you? Somehow, to me, Pope Corky the First doesn't command a great deal of authority. That's because some names are inappropriate in the wrong settings. You won't find many Skyler Vanderpols blowing into a harmonica on death row. No one in need of brain surgery is breaking down the door to see Dr. Lucky Lipshitz. And I'm sure only the most devoted offici anado would pay money to see a ballet dancer named Bruno McNalty. On the other hand, you'll know that America has relaxed its hopelessly tight eff [ __ ] if we ever elect a president named Booger. Get a president named Booger, Skeer, T-Bone Stump, or Downtown President Brown. You'll know that finally this country is relaxing and might be a comfortable place to live.

In ancient times, the rulers had magnificent names: Alexander the Great. Alexander the Great. Suppose he had been a less imposing figure. Do you think they would have called him Alexander the Marginal? As it is, he had detractors, you know, people who called him Alexander the Scumbag. History has other impressive names from simpler times: Edward the Fair, Charles the Bold, Catherine the Great. These days, they'd be Edward the Abuse Victim, Charles the Underachiever, and Katherine the Recovering Codependent. And let's not forget the historical figures we never hear of: Tiberius the Wanker and Lucretius the Dog [ __ ].

Some names are embarrassing. We had a guy in my neighborhood, Michael Hunt, who called himself Mickey because the only alternative was Mike Hunt. And as Beretta used to say, "That's the name of that [Music] tune."

Hi, welcome to the George Carlin Book Club. We've got books out the ass. Call now. Call now. Here are some of the titles you'll receive: How to Remove Chewing Gum from Your Bush, How to Turn Your Front Lawn into a Cat House, How to Remove an Infected Cyst from a Loved One, How to Make Two Small Hats Out of a Braier, How to Make a Braier Out of Two Small Hats, How to Have Really Nice Lymph Glands, How to Act Laid-Back During a Grease Fire, How to Spot a Creep from Across the Street, How to Dance with a Swedish Person, How to Induce a Clergyman to Grab You by the Nuts, How to Milk a Dog While It's Sleeping, How to Get Through College Without Books, How to Make a Small Salad Out of Your Work Pants, How to Lure a Weasel into a Cardboard Box, How to Filet a Panda, How to Get Tan with a Blowtorch, How to Make an Oil Lamp Out of Your Genitals, How to Style Your Hair with a Bull Whip, How to Convert an Old Leather Chair into 12 Pairs of Shoes, How to Achieve Multiple Orgasms with a Pair of Tweezers, How to Kill a Rat with a Paper Clip, How to Lease Out the Space Inside Your Nose, How to Spot Truly Vicious People in Church, How to Become a Total [ __ ] Grease Ball. Call now. Call [Music] now.

I like to look at tattoos on people. I think they're really cool, you know, but I would never get one. I always thought it was a bad idea to let some guy draw a picture on me that'll probably never come off. You know, I'm conservative on this one. Not only the thing never comes off, but it hurts to put it on, and you got to pay the guy. Plus, if you do want to take it off, it hurts again, and you got to pay the guy again. Another reason not to get a tattoo is that a tattoo is positive identification. No one should ever do anything to help the police in any way, especially when you may be the object of their interest. So I never got a tattoo, but I had some good ideas. I was going to get dotted lines tattooed on all my joints wherever I bend, with little instructions: "Fold here. Do not glue." I also thought about getting a necklace of hickeys. Here's one I almost went through with: I was going to get my nipples tattooed as radio dials, volume and tuning, and the hair in the middle of my chest would be the speaker. And for stereo, I just raise my arms: armpit speakers.

I guess the most popular tattoo of all time has to be "Mom." A lot of guys get "Mom." No one ever gets "Pop." You know why? 'Cause you can't read "Pop" in the mirror. In a mirror, "Mom" comes out "Mom." "Pop" comes out "909." What the [ __ ] is that? If you guys want to get a "Mom" tattoo and save a little money, here's how you do it: just get two letters done. Saves you a little money. Get about a 1-inch capital "M" tattooed on each cheek of your ass in pink and brown ink. Then, when you bend over, it says "Mom." And then later, if you're having sex with your girlfriend and her parents are in the next room, don't want to make any noise, when you finish up, you can just lie on your back, draw your legs up to your chest, and silently say, "Wow."

Here's another good tattoo idea for you guys: at the top of your inner thigh, right next to your groin, you put "In case of emergency, pull handle." Or get your penis tattooed to resemble a candy cane. Great for Christmas [ __ ]. But be very careful not to let the tattoo guy bend your penis into the J shape. Not good. Get the words "tote bag" tattooed on your scrotum. Or "Bloomingdale's" might be good. "Cartier" might be more appropriate. "Little hairy pouch for your precious jewels." How about a tattoo of The Three Stooges peering into your [ __ ]? Or a serpent coming out? Or a nice tattoo of Madonna with her hand up your ass? Here's a good one for right next to your [ __ ]: "No Gerls or JBL's welcome." Depends on what puts a smile on your face. Face here would be a great tattoo for right in the middle of your forehead: "I have colored ink in my skin." Or "Your message here. 50 cents." How about this, right in the middle of your forward? Yeah, it's a tattoo, you miserable prick. Right in the middle of my forehead: "If you don't like it, suck my dick." This will keep you from having to deal with that bothersome job market.

And here's a solution to an age-old tattoo problem: If your girlfriend's name, say Susie, is tattooed on your arm, and you break up with her, don't have the tattoo removed. Just have the tattoo reworked so that it says "[ __ ] Susie." By the way, you don't actually have to do all these things. They're just suggestions. Think them over first. Sit down, have six or seven vodkas, and give them a few seconds' thought. Besides, you want to know something? Tattoos are P. They're yesterday's thing. I'm looking for the next big thing in body decoration, and I think I might have it.

You know, everyone's skin has imperfections, right? It's unavoidable: pock marks, wrinkles, bullet holes, scars, blotches, stab wounds, cysts, warts, needle holes, acne pits, and enlarged pores. I think people should see these imperfections and disfigurements as positive things. Flaws and defects can actually be forms of decoration. Moles: God's punctuation marks. Moles are great, and they can be useful if you want a really interesting look. The only problem is they're usually randomly placed. They don't represent anything. I think plastic surgeons should offer a new service: rearranging people's moles. Think of your moles as fashion accessories. "God, look at all the moles that guy has!" "Yes, and aren't they nicely arranged?" There are lots of things you can do with moles: make the double helix, do a happy Hitler face, spell out the name of your bowling team on your back. And how about moles with Velcro so you could change your look every day? Here's something novel: choose a good-sized mole on your arm and tattoo little legs sticking out of the sides. People will constantly be trying to shoe the bug off your arm. It's great for picking up girls.

Next, body piercing. Now, the piercing movement is off to a good start, and I like the idea behind it: self-esteem through self-mutilation. I've always said, "When in doubt, punch a hole in yourself." That part is fine. But I think the piercing people are missing a good bet: vital organs. I mean, skin is one thing, that's easy. But how about getting your lungs or your kidneys pierced? Why not some lovely diamond studs all over the surface of your liver? Or a couple of nice 18-karat gold rings hanging from your thyroid gland? Well, you know, stuff like this might not be dangerous enough for today's happening people. What's really going to be great is when the ozone layer is completely gone, and everyone has melanomas. Then you'll start to see fashion skin cancer. Bet it happens. Probably starting Malibu. People will use their skin cancers to form little designs. Since it's Malibu, a lot of them will do their zodiac sign. Of course, if your sign is Cancer, you're really in good shape. I believe skin cancer will eventually become part of every American's fashion arsenal. "That's a lovely growth, Bambi. 20 mm in, right between your eyes. God, I'm so jealous."

Before I leave this subject, I have two more ideas for the truly avant-garde. How about living small? Live mammals medically grafted onto your skin. Huh? Wouldn't you like to have a prairie dog living in the middle of your chest, sharing your blood supply? How about an adult male Norwegian rat sewn onto the top of your head, keeping an eye on everything? I think we also might want to take a page from Africa's book and get into deliberate scarring. Not ritual scars that form coherent designs. Random scarring. Let a bunch of drunks with swords inflict hundreds of small, deep cuts on your skin. Or have a friend throw boiling grease all over you and then sit back and see what develops. I don't believe the body decorating trend has reached its peak yet, and as it does, I shall try to be at the forefront, always continuing to point America toward the hot new look.

One morning recently, there was something I couldn't remember. I sort of knew what it was related to, but uh, I couldn't quite bring it to mind. Seemed like the letter "M" was involved. Then suddenly, it came to me. I remembered it. That was in the in the morning. Then later that afternoon, even though I was able to recall my experience that morning of not being able to remember something, I could no longer remember what the thing was, what it was related to, or what letter of the alphabet had been involved. And what strange to me is that that morning, the first time I couldn't remember it, the thing did eventually come back to me. But later that afternoon, in spite of this earlier success, I drew a complete blank. I still don't know what it was. And the nice thing is that a month from now, I'll have no memory of the incident whatsoever, unless, of course, something reminds me of [Music] it.

As you're listening to this, I'll bet you have your stuff with you or nearby. I'll bet anything in your pockets, guys have stuff in their pockets. Women have stuff in their purses, or some women have pockets, and some guys have purses. That's okay. It's all different ways of carrying your stuff. Then there's all the stuff you have in your car. You got stuff in the trunk. Lot of different stuff. Spare tire, jack, tools, old blanket, extra pair of sneakers just in case you wind up barefoot on the highway some night. And you've got other stuff in your car in the glove box. Stuff you might need in a hurry: flashlight, map, sunglasses, automatic weapon, you know, just in case you wind up barefoot on the highway some night. So, stuff is important. You got to take care of your stuff. You got to have a place for your stuff. Everybody's got to have a place for their stuff. That's what life is all about: trying to find a place for your stuff. That's all. Your house is a place to keep your stuff. If you didn't have so much stuff, you wouldn't need a house. You could just walk around all the time. A house is just a pile of stuff with a cover on it. You can see that when you're taking off in an airplane. You look down, you see all the little piles of stuff. Everybody's got his own little pile of stuff, and they lock it up. That's right. When you leave your house, you got to lock it up. Wouldn't want somebody to come by and take some of your stuff. 'Cause they always take the good stuff. They don't bother with that crap you're saving. Ain't nobody interested in your fourth-grade arithmetic papers, National Geographics, commemorative plates, your prize collection of Navajo underwear. They're not interested. They just want the good stuff, the shiny stuff, the electronic stuff. So when you get right down to it, your house is nothing more than a place to keep your stuff while you go out and get more stuff. 'Cause that's what this country is all about: trying to get more stuff. Stuff you don't want, stuff you don't need, stuff that's poorly made, stuff that's overpriced, even stuff you can't afford. Got to keep on getting more stuff. Otherwise, someone else might wind up with more stuff. Can't let that happen. Got to have the most stuff. So you keep getting more and more stuff and putting it in different places: in the closets, in the attic, in the basement, in the garage. And there might even be some stuff you left at your parents' house: baseball cards, comic books, photographs, souvenirs. Actually, your parents threw that stuff out a long time ago. But now you got a house full of stuff, and even though you might like your house, you got to move. Got to get a bigger house. Why? Too much stuff. And that means you got to move all your stuff, or maybe put some of your stuff in storage. Storage. Imagine that. There's a whole industry based on keeping an eye on other people's stuff. Or maybe you could sell some of your stuff. Have a yard sale. Have a garage sale. Some people drive around all weekend just looking for garage sales. They don't have enough of their own stuff. They want to buy other people's stuff. Or you could take your stuff to the swap meet, the flea market, the rummage sale, or the auction. Lot of ways to get rid of your stuff. You can even give your stuff away. Salvation Army and Goodwill will actually come to your house and pick up your stuff and give it to people who don't have much stuff. It's part of what the economists call the redistribution of stuff.

Okay, enough about your stuff. Let's talk about other people's stuff. Did you ever notice when you visit someone else's house, you never quite feel at home? You know why? No room for your stuff. Somebody else's stuff is all over the place. And what crummy stuff it is. God, where did they get this stuff? And you know how sometimes when you're visiting someone, you unexpectedly have to stay overnight? Gets real late, you know, you decide to stay over. So they put you in a bedroom they don't use too often 'cause Grandma died in it 11 years ago and they haven't moved any of her stuff, not even the vaporizer. Or whatever room they put you in, there's usually a dresser or a nightstand, and there's never any room on it for your stuff. Somebody else's [ __ ] is on the dresser. Have you noticed that? Their stuff is [ __ ] and your [ __ ] is his stuff. Get this [ __ ] off of here so I can put my stuff down. Crap is also a form of stuff. Crap is the stuff that belongs to the person you just broke up with. "When are you coming over here to pick up the rest of your crap?"

Now let's talk about traveling. Sometimes you go on vacation. You got to take some of your stuff. Mostly stuff to wear. But which stuff should you take? Can't take all your stuff. Just the stuff you really, really like, the stuff that fits you well. That month, in effect, on vacation, you take a smaller, second version of your stuff. Let's say you go to Honolulu for two weeks. You got to take two big suitcases of stuff. Two weeks, two big suitcases. That's the stuff you check onto the plane. But you also got your carry-on stuff, plus the stuff you bought in the airport. So now you're all set to go. You got stuff in the overhead rack, stuff under the seat, stuff in the seat pocket, and stuff in your lap. And let's not forget the stuff you're going to steal from the airline: silverware, soap, blanket, toilet paper, salt and pepper shakers. Too bad those headsets won't work at home. And so you fly to Honolulu and claim your stuff, if the airline didn't drop it in the ocean. And you go to the hotel, and the first thing you do is put away your stuff. There's lots of places in a hotel to put your stuff. "I'll put some stuff in here." "You put some stuff in there." "Hey, hey, don't put your stuff in there, that's my stuff." "Hey, here's another place. Put some stuff in here." And there's another place. "Hey, put hey, hey." You know what? We got more places than we got stuff. We're going to have to go out and buy more stuff. Finally, you put away all your stuff, but you don't quite feel at ease 'cause you're a long way from home. Still, you sense that you must be okay because you do have some of your stuff with you. And so you relax in Honolulu on that basis. That's when your friend from Maui calls and says, "Hey, why don't you come over to Maui for the weekend? Spend a couple of nights over here." Oh no. Now what do you bring? Can't bring all this stuff. You got to bring an even smaller version of your stuff. Just enough stuff for a weekend on Maui. The third version of your stuff. And as you're flying over to Maui, you realize that you're really spread out now. You got stuff all over the world: stuff at home, stuff in the garage, stuff at your parents' house, maybe stuff in storage, stuff in Honolulu, and stuff on the plane. Supply lines are getting longer and harder to maintain. Finally, you get to your friend's place on Maui, and they give you a little room to sleep in. There's a nightstand, not much room on it for your stuff, but it's okay 'cause you don't have much stuff. Now you got your 8x10 autograph picture of Drew Carey, large can of Gorgonzola-flavored cheese whiz, small unopened packet of brown confetti, a relief map of Corsica, and a family-sized jar of peppermint-flavored petrified egg whites. And you know that even though you're a long way from home, you must be okay because you do have a good supply of peppermint-flavored petrified egg whites. And so you begin to relax in Maui on that basis. That's when your friend says, "Hey, I think tonight we'll go over the other side of the island to visit my sister. Maybe spend the night over there." Oh no. Now what do you bring? Right? You got to bring an even smaller version. The fourth version of your stuff. Just the stuff you know you're going to need: money, keys, comb, wallet, lighter, hanky, pen, cigarettes, contraceptives, Vaseline, whips, chains, dildos, and a book. Just the stuff you hope you're going to need. Actually, your friend's sister probably has her own dildos. And by the way, if you go to the beach while you're visiting the sister, you're going to have to bring that's right, an even smaller version of your stuff. The fifth version: cigarettes and wallet. That's it. You can always borrow someone's suntan lotion. And then suppose while you're there on the beach, you decide to walk over to the refreshment stand to get a hot dog. That's right, my friend, number six. The most important version of your stuff: your wallet. Your wallet contains the only stuff you really can't do without. Well, by the time you get home from Hawaii, you're probably fed up with all your stuff and all the problems it creates. And so about a week later, you clean out the closet, the attic, the basement, the garage, the storage locker, and all the other places you keep your stuff, and you get things down to manageable proportions. Just the right amount of stuff to lead a simple and uncomplicated life. That's when the phone rings. It's a lawyer. Seems your aunt has died and left you all her stuff. Oh no. Now what do you do? Right? You do the only thing you can do. The honorable thing. You tell the lawyer to stuff [Music] it.

These are some of the things I think about when I'm sitting home alone and the power goes out. If something in the future is canceled, what is canceled? What has really happened? Something that didn't occur yet is now never going to occur at all. Does that qualify as an event?

Here's something to think about: a place you've never seen, but for many years you've pictured it in your mind. And then you find see it. After you leave, do you continue to picture it the old way? Imagine a place called Moravia, a non-existent country. See it in your mind. See a few details. Okay. Now Moravia ceases to exist. Is your picture of the original, non-existent country different from what it looks like now that it ceases to exist? They're both non-existent. Okay. Picture Moravia again, the original way. Now Moravia is invaded by a neighboring country, Boronia. Picture Boronia. It's completely different from Moravia. Different geography, different ethnic stock, beliefs, way of life, government, everything. See it. Okay. Boronia invades Moravia and occupies it and begins to make some changes. Now picture Moravia again. Does it look different? Isn't that weird? Looks a little like Boronia, doesn't it?

Here's another one: maybe you've done this. You've never been to your friend's place of work, but you've pictured it 'cause he's talked about it. Then he changes jobs, but it's a similar job. Do you bother to change your mental picture of where he works? And how much do you change it? Or or you have a friend who works at one Wendy's and gets transferred to a different Wendy's. Do you picture a whole new Wendy's, or do you get lazy and say, "Well, they're all pretty much the same, so I'll just go with the old Wendy's"?

Here's something I think about: if a radio station changes its call letters, moves its studio across town, hires all new disc jockeys, and changes the style.

Of music, it plays, but keeps the same frequency on the dial. Is it still the same radio station? Suppose they only changed the music.

Here's something I like to think about. On a given day, flight 23 goes from New York to Los Angeles. The following month, flight 23 goes from New York to Los Angeles again, but the crew is different, the passengers are different, and it's a completely different airplane. How can both flights be flight 23? They can't.

A week is not based on anything in nature, as are days or months or years. So birds, they don't understand weeks or weekdays. They do know enough to come back to the sidewalk cafe every day for crumbs. But suppose the cafe is in the business district and it's closed on the weekends. What do the birds think of that? I'll bet they're really glad when Monday rolls around, unlike the rest of us. These are some of the thoughts that kept me out of the really good [Music] school.

You know what we need? New zodiac signs. The old ones, I don't know, they depict an obsolete world. The Archer, the Water Bearer. And talk about obsolete, the Virgin. What we need, need are modern zodiac signs that represent today's reality: The Serial Rapist, The Lone Gunman, The Suicide Bomber, The Paranoid Schizophrenic, The Transsexual Crackhead, The Money Launderer, The Disgruntled Postal Worker, The Diseased Homeless Veteran, The South American Drug Lord, The Third Generation Welfare Recipient, The Human Immuno Deficiency Virus, and The Personal Trainer. And in case you're one of those people who doesn't relate well to the real world, here's a nice safe zodiac for you: The Soccer Mom, The Sensitive Male, The Special Needs Child, The Role Model, The Overachiever, The Jogger, The Little Leaguer, The Recycler, The Anchor Person, The Codependent, The Domino's Delivery Boy, and The Recovering Shopaholic.

Item: A man is seated in a football stadium with a small TV set tuned to the game. The sideline camera takes his picture, and his image travels through the lens, out of the camera, to the truck, to the satellite, to a ground station several miles away, back into the air, and then to the man's TV set. He sees himself on the screen. The image travels from his eyes to his brain. His brain sends a signal to his arm to start waving. The image travels to the camera, through the lens, to the truck, to the satellite, to another ground station a thousand miles away, where it is retransmitted into the air and picked up by a cable company that sends it to the man's parents' TV set. The image travels from the screen to his mother's eyes, along the optic nerve to her brain, where it references her memory and recognition takes place. Her brain then sends a series of signals to her lungs, throat, lips, and tongue, and she says, "Look, it's Mike." [Music]

Baseball is different from any other sport, and I mean really different. Just for starters, in an odd way, baseball is the only sport you cannot watch in a mirror. Sensibly, all the other sports are symmetrical. Basketball, football, hockey. You can watch them in the mirror. The numbers are backwards, but the games make sense. Baseball, not symmetrical. Guy hits the ball, he runs to third base. It's counterintuitive. Spoils the game. And a home run. Trout is really interesting. Guy hits the ball, trots slowly around the bases in the wrong direction, and nobody gives a [ __ ]. Everybody cheers.

But let's get more basic. Baseball is different from other sports in a number of other ways. First of all, in most sports, you score points. Points or goals. Baseball, you score runs. In most sports, the ball or object is put in play by the offensive team. In baseball, the defense puts the ball in play, and only the defense is allowed to touch the ball. In fact, in baseball, if an offensive player touches the ball intentionally, he's out. Sometimes unintentionally, he's out. In most sports played with a ball, you score with the ball. And without the ball, you cannot score. In baseball, you score without the ball, and only the ball can prevent you from scoring. In most sports, the team is run by a coach. In baseball, the team is run by a manager, and only in baseball does the manager or coach wear the same clothing the players do. If you'd ever seen John Madden in his Oakland Raiders football uniform, you would know the reason for this custom.

Now, I've mentioned football as well. Baseball and football are the two most popular spectator team sports in this country, and as such, wouldn't you think that maybe they might tell us a little about ourselves, about our qualities, our values, and perhaps how we have changed over the last 150 years? For those reasons, I enjoy comparing baseball and football. Baseball is a 19th-century pastoral game. Football is a 20th-century technological struggle. Baseball is played on a diamond in a park. The baseball park. Football is played on a gridiron in a stadium, sometimes called Soldier Field or War Memorial Stadium. Baseball begins in the spring, the season of new life. Football begins in the fall, when everything is dying. In football, you wear a helmet. In baseball, you wear a cap. Football is concerned with downs. What down is it? How many downs do we have left? Baseball is concerned with ups. Who's up? Are you up? I'm not up. He's up. In football, you receive a penalty. In baseball, you make an error. Whoops. In football, the specialist comes in to kick something. In baseball, the specialist comes in to relieve somebody. Football has hitting, clipping, spearing, piling on, personal fouls, late hitting, and unnecessary roughness. Baseball has the sacrifice. Football is played in any kind of weather: rain, snow, sleet, hail, fog. Can't see the game, don't know if there is a game going on. Mud on the field, can't read the uniforms, can't read the yard markers. The struggle will continue. In baseball, if it rains, we don't go out to play. I can't go out, it's raining out. Baseball has the seventh inning stretch. Football has the two-minute warning. Baseball has no time limit. We don't know when it's going to end. We might have extra innings. Football is rigidly timed, and it will end, even if we have to go to sudden death. In baseball, during the game, in the stands, there's kind of a picnic feeling. Emotions may run high or low, but there's not that much unpleasantness. In football, during the game, in the stands, you can be sure that at least 27 times you are perfectly capable of taking the life of a fellow human being, preferably a stranger.

And finally, the objectives of the two games are completely different. In football, the object is for the quarterback, otherwise known as the field general, to be on target with his aerial assault, riddling the defense by hitting his receivers with deadly accuracy in spite of the blitz, even if he has to use the shotgun with short bullet passes and long bombs. He marches his troops into enemy territory, balancing this aerial assault with a sustained ground attack that punches holes in the forward wall of the enemy's defensive line. In baseball, the object is to go home and to be safe. I hope I'll be safe at home. I don't give a hoot. Not since 1959. That was the last one I gave. Well, I might have given a hoot in 1967, just one, as a favor to a friend. But that was it. I'm not sure I even have any left. Frankly, I'd be afraid to look. I think I'm all out of hoots. If you want one, you're going to have to find it on your own. Maybe you could rent a hoot or steal one. I'll bet by now there's a black market in hoots. Hot hoots. By the way, in addition to those who don't give a hoot, there are many others who will not take a hoot. Too proud. These are the same people who will not take any guff, but they might give you some lip. Athletes like that physical [ __ ], you know, when they're pleased with each other, they bump chests and butt heads and bang forearms. Why don't they just punch each other in the [ __ ] teeth? Wouldn't that be great? Teammates, I mean, after a touchdown pass, why doesn't the guy who caught the ball just go over and kick the quarterback right in the nuts? Same with the slam dunk in basketball. The guy who scores, or to grab a chair and beat the living [ __ ] out of the guy who fed him the ball for about 45 minutes. If this type of celebration were more common, the postgame show from the winner's locker room would be a lot livelier. And I also think there should be at least one sport where the object is to kill someone. Death ball. Let's face it, athletes are mostly physical freaks with serious personality defects where competition is concerned, and they just love someone to motivate them. Well, what greater motivation can there be than trying to avoid being killed? It's a [ __ ] natural. And for me, what could be more fun than watching one of these jackoffs motivate his ugly ass into an early grave every game?

Here's another thing I love: losing streaks. I wish some year a baseball team would lose 162 games. I especially like decades-long postseason losing streaks. In fact, as soon as my teams are out of the running, I start actively rooting for the Cubs, Red Sox, Bills, and Vikings to get as far as they can in the postseason so that ultimately they can let the big prize slip away one more time. I think it is infinitely more interesting a news story for a team to repeatedly fail at the highest level than it is for them to finally win. If the Cubs ever win a World Series, the news coverage will be the most boring bunch of [ __ ] you can imagine. [Music]

Some people don't like puns, you know, or wordplay. I do. Anticlimax. That's what my uncle was good at. The game of chess. The peace movement. Seersucker: a person who blows. Clairvoyance: passing gear. Clothing worn by light-skinned blacks who wish to be thought of as white. Outspoken: when you lose a debate. Hormone: the sound a prostitute makes so you'll think you're a real good [ __ ]. Drug traffic: driving to your connection's house. Sex drive: similar to drug traffic but with a different destination. Douche: a female Duke. Octopus: an eight-sided vagina. Trample: a sexual lubricant popular with [ __ ]. Parakeet: a Keat that takes care of you until the real Keat arrives. Pussyfoot: a rare female birth defect requiring the use of open-toed shoes. Beer nuts: the official disease of Milwaukee. Cotton balls: the final stage of beer nuts. Cowand: an occupational disability common among dairy farmers. Woodpecker: a 17th-century prosthetic device. Leatherette: a short sadomasochist. Cap pistol: a small gun that can be hidden in your hat. A gay barbarian: a Tilla the Hun. The reason for most violence against gays is that heterosexual men are forced to prove that they themselves are not gay. It goes like this: men in strong male subcultures like the police, the military, and sports, and a few other cesspools, they bond very strongly. Hunting and fishing and golfing friendships also produce this unnatural bonding. These guys bond and bond and bond, and they get closer and closer until finally they're just drunk enough to say, "You know, I really love these guys," and that frightens them. So they quickly add, "But I'm not a queer." See the dilemma? Now they have to go out of their way to prove to the world, to their buddies, and to themselves that they don't harbor homoerotic feelings. And it's only a short step from "I'm not a queer" to "In fact, I hate queers." And another short step to "Let's go kill some queers." And what they really seek to kill is not the queer outside; it's the queer inside. They fear gay bashers are repressed homosexuals attempting to deny the queer inside. But certain signals get past the screen. That's why you see so many policemen with those precious little well-groomed mustaches. You'd see more of the same mustaches on athletes and military men, but those two groups are not allowed to express themselves freely. Military drones and many sheeplike athletes have dress codes and are forbidden to wear facial hair. The idea is to limit and reduce their individuality. These are men who have chosen to allow the organization to run their lives. That's why athletes, police, and military men have that rigid, unbending body language. They're severely repressed. Guess what they're repressing? Why do you think they call those police cars [Music] cruisers?

People used to take drugs. Now they do drugs. Some people don't do drugs, they do bunch. And sometimes, instead of taking drugs, they take meetings. They used to have meetings. Now, instead of having meetings, they have relationships. Some people who don't do drugs but have a relationship will take a meeting while they do lunch. People used to get sex. Now they have sex. So far, they don't do sex, although they do say, "Let's do it." If the sex is overly aggressive, we say the person was taken. I guess if one's not giving, the other's going to take. We take a lot of things. Things we take a lot of good things. We take time, we take heart, we take solace, medicine, advice. We take a job, take a break, take a vacation, a leave, a nap, a rest, a seat. We take a meal. We take, take, take until we can't take anymore. Maybe it's because our inner nature is not primarily one of giving, but of taking. Even these things we take that should balance our lives and give us rest, do not. We make work out of them. We do them aggressively, always in control. Take. But when we give, we give a lot of bad things. We give trouble, heartache, sorrow. We give someone a hard time, a migraine, give them a heart attack, and give him a big pain in the ass. So I say, give up, get [ __ ], take a hike, and have [Music] fun.

What's all this stuff about motivation? I say if you need motivation, you probably need more than motivation. You probably need chemical intervention or brain surgery. Actually, if you ask me, this country could do with a little less motivation. The people who are causing all the trouble seem highly motivated to me: serial killers, stock swindlers, drug dealers, Christian Republicans. I'm not sure motivation is always a good thing. You show me a lazy prick who's lying in bed all day watching TV and only occasionally getting up to piss, and I'll show you a guy who's not causing any trouble. [Music]

You know what America lacks? A present. America has no now. We're reluctant to acknowledge the present. I guess it's too embarrassing. Instead, we reach into the past. Our culture is composed of sequels, reruns, remakes, revivals, reissues, re-releases, recreations, reenactments, adaptations, and anniversaries. Memorabilia, oldies radio, and nostalgia record collections. World War II has been refought on television so many times the Germans and Japanese are now drawing residuals. Of course, being essentially full of [ __ ], we sometimes feel the need to dress up this past preoccupation, as with pathetic references to reruns as "encore presentations." Even instant replay is a form of token nostalgia, a brief visit to the immediate past for re-examination before slapping it onto a highlight video for further review and re-review on into the indefinite future. This year-mania of ours includes fantasy baseball camps where aging sad sacks pay money to catch baseballs thrown by men who were once their heroes. It's part of the fascination with sports memorabilia, a memory industry, and it's so lucrative it has attracted counterfeits. In this case, the age of hyphens. We are truly retro Americans. And our television newscasts not only reflect this condition, they feed it. Everything they report is twisted into some reference to the past. If there's going to be a summit meeting, you'll be told all about the last six summit meetings. If there's a big earthquake, they'll do a story about big earthquakes of the past. If there's a mine disaster, you'll hear about every mine disaster since the inception of mining. They're obsessed with looking back. I swear, I actually heard this next thing during a newscast. As the anchor man went to a commercial break, he said, "Still ahead, a look back." Honest. He said, "Hurricane Hugo, one year later." Why the anniversary of the Exxon Valdez oil spill? For what reason? The anniversary of the Bay of Pigs, Pan Am flight 103, the hostages in Iran, the fall of the Berlin Wall, VJ Day, VE Day, Vietnam. Who gives a [ __ ]? Bugs' 50th birthday, Lassie's 55th, the golden jubilee of Gone With the Wind, the start of the Korean War, Barbie celebrates her 35th, the 25th anniversary of the New York blackout, Bambi turns 50. [ __ ], I didn't even like Bambi when I was supposed to. How much do I care now? There's really no harm, I guess, in reviewing the past from time to time. Knowing where you've been is part of knowing where you are, and all that happy horse [ __ ]. But the American media have an absolute fixation on this. They rob us of the present by insisting on the past. If they were able, I'm sure they would pay equal attention to the future. Trouble is, they don't have any film on it. And so on television news, there is oddly very little emphasis on the present, on today's actual news. The present exists only in 30-second stories built around 8-second sound bites. Remember, sound bite is their phrase. That's what they give you. Just a bite. No chewing, no digestion, no nourishment. Malnutrition. Another way they avoid the present moment is to look ahead on their own schedules. The television news industry seems to revolve around what's coming next. "Still to come," "Just ahead," "Up next," "Coming up this half-hour," "More to come, stay with us," "Still ahead." Also, later, they even preview what's going to happen as little as one hour later. During the 5:00 news, the empty-headed prick who does the 5:00 news will suddenly say, "Here's a look at what's coming up on the 6:00 news." Then the empty-headed prick who does the 6:00 news will appear in shirt sleeves in the newsroom to create the illusion of actual work and tell you about several stories that the empty-headed prick who does the 5:00 news should already have told you about if he were really a newsman. And so it goes around the clock. On the 5:00 news, they tell you about the 6:00 news. At 6:00, they tell you about 11:00. At 11:00, they plug the morning news. The morning man promos the noon time lady. And sure enough, a little later, after afternoon, here comes that empty-headed prick from the 5:00 news to tell you what he's going to do on the 5:00 news. You know, if a guy were paranoid, he might not be blamed for thinking that the people who run things don't want you dwelling too much on the present. Because, keep in mind, the news media are not independent. They're a sort of bulletin board and public relations firm for the ruling class, the people who run things. Those who decide what news you will or will not hear are paid by and tolerated purely at the whim of those who hold economic power. If the parent corporation doesn't want you to know something, it won't be on the news, period. Or at the very least, it will be slanted to suit them, and then barely followed up. Enjoy your snooze, folks. [Music]

The Primitive Sergeant. You know, there was a first time for everything. At some point, every custom, every practice, every ritual had to be explained to people for the first time. And it must have been tricky, especially in primitive societies. For instance, the first human sacrifice, not of the enemy, but the first ritual killing of a member of your own tribe. Someone had to announce it to the people. Someone with authority, but probably not the top guy. A sergeant. A primitive sergeant addressing a band of early cave people or hunter-gatherers, whatever, explaining the human sacrifice. Of course, first, he would have to get his other announcements out of the way. "All right, listen up. Uh, you people in the trees, you want to pay attention, please. The guys in the bushes, you want to put the woman down? Thank you very much. Okay. Is everybody here? Andy, Andy, check the caves. Make sure everybody's out here. And Andy, don't wake up the bears, huh? Don't wake up the bears. Okay? Remember what happened last time. We can't spare any more people. Okay. Few things I want to go over, then I'm going to tell you about something new, something we haven't tried before. So I don't want you to be nervous. I know you don't like new things. I remember last year, a lot of people freaked out when someone came up with the wheel. People went nuts. They said, 'Well, this is it. It's all over. The end of the world.' Blah, blah, blah. And somebody pointed out that we didn't have any axles. I think it was Richie. He said, 'If we really want to invent something special, we ought to come up with the axle.' Well, I guess you're always going to have a couple of wise guys. But anyway, we went ahead, as you know, and made a couple of hundred of these big stone wheels, which is kind of stupid when you think about it. The only thing you can do with them is roll them down the hill, which isn't such a top-notch idea. I think the people who live at the bottom of the hill will bear me out on that. Okay, moving along here. It has come to my attention that some people have been drawing pictures on the walls of the caves. Pictures of bulls, antelopes, couple of horses. I think I even seen a goat on one of the walls. Listen, let me tell you something. Might seem like fun to you, but it looks awful if you can't keep a place clean. Maybe you don't deserve a nice cave. You don't see the bats drawn pictures on the wall, do you? No. They hang upside down, they take a crap, they don't bother anybody. You people don't know when you're well off. Maybe you'd like to go back to living in the trees, huh? Huh? Remember that? Remember the trees? Competing with the baboons and gibbons for hazelnuts and loganberries? Degrading. So there'll be no more drawing on the walls. Couple of thousand years from now, people are going to come here, they're going to study these caves. The last thing they want to see is a lot of horse pictures on the walls. Oh, okay. Continuing on here. As some of you might have noticed, last night the fire went out. Couple of guys on guard duty were jacking around, playing grab ass, and one of them, Octavio, the short guy with the bushy hair, well, one of the short guys with the bushy hair, anyways. Octavio fell on the fire, and the fire went out. Unfortunately for Octavio, he died in the incident. Unfortunately for us, he was the only one who knew how to light the fire. So we're going to have a contest. First guy to get a fire going and keep it going wins a prize. It's a hat. Nothing fancy, just a regular hat, the kind with the ear flaps. Okay, next item here. It has come to my attention that some people have been drawing pictures on the walls of the caves. Pictures of bulls, antelopes, couple of horses. I think I even seen a goat on one of the walls. Listen, let me tell you something. Might seem like fun to you, but it looks awful if you can't keep a place clean. Maybe you don't deserve a nice cave. You don't see the bats drawn pictures on the wall, do you? No. They hang upside down, they take a crap, they don't bother anybody. You people don't know when you're well off. Maybe you'd like to go back to living in the trees, huh? Huh? Remember that? Remember the trees? Competing with the baboons and gibbons for hazelnuts and loganberries? Degrading. So there'll be no more drawing on the walls. Couple of thousand years from now, people are going to come here, they're going to study these caves. The last thing they want to see is a lot of horse pictures on the walls. Oh, okay. Continuing on here. As some of you might have noticed, last night the fire went out. Couple of guys on guard duty were jacking around, playing grab ass, and one of them, Octavio, the short guy with the bushy hair, well, one of the short guys with the bushy hair, anyways. Octavio fell on the fire, and the fire went out. Unfortunately for Octavio, he died in the incident. Unfortunately for us, he was the only one who knew how to light the fire. So we're going to have a contest. First guy to get a fire going and keep it going wins a prize. It's a hat. Nothing fancy, just a regular hat, the kind with the ear flaps. Okay, next item here. We're starting to get some complaints from the women about dating procedures. This mainly concerns the practice of clubbing the women on the head and dragging them back to the cave by the hair. They would like us to discontinue this practice, especially the hair part. It seems some of them go to a lot of trouble and expense to fix up their hair for a date, and they feel the dragging has a negative effect on their appearance. As far as the clubbing is concerned, they'd like to eliminate that too, because what happens is a lot of them have an enjoyable date, and then they can't remember it in the morning. Moving right along. As you all know, it's been our practice when we find a new plant that looks good to eat, we test it on the dogs to see if it's poison. Everybody remember the berries we tested last week on the big brown dog, huh? How many ate the berries simply because the dog didn't die that day? Quite a few. Well, I got bad news. The dog died last night. Apparently, it was a slow-acting poison. Yeah, Llo. Yeah, you didn't eat the berries, but this morning you ate the dog. Well, Llo, you got about a week. Food chain. How many times do I got to tell you people, food chain? By the way, anyone who's getting into that new cannibalism crap, I won't mention any names, but I'd strongly suggest not eating Llo, okay? Or anyone else, for that matter. All right, now we got to talk about the hated band of enemy people who live in the dark valley. As some of you might know, the hated band of enemy people who live in the dark valley snuck into the camp last night and stole a whole bunch of our stuff. They got those sticks we were saving, they got the rocks we piled up near the big tree. They also took 16 trinkets, the ones we got in the trade with the friendly bent-over people from the tall mountains near the sun. I think it was them. It was either them or the guys with the really big foreheads down by the river. Anyways, as I recall, we came off for cool 200 animal skins for those trinkets, and frankly, the chief and I think we got screwed. By the way, speaking of screwing, they also stole several of our women last night, along with a couple of those sensitive men we've been using as women. Okay, a new problem has come up that we're going to have to deal with. It concerns the growing menace of people chewing the leaves of the dream plant. It's gotten completely out of hand. At first, it wasn't so bad, you know. After a long day of hunting or gathering, whatever, people would chew a couple of leaves to relax. Recreational chewing. No harm, no foul. But then some guys couldn't leave it alone, you know. They would chew way too much and lose control. Some of them became verbally abusive. Of course, they couldn't help what they were saying. It wasn't them talking, it was the leaves talking. But hey, nevertheless. Then we found out some people were chewing on the job, not only endangering the lives of their co-hunters or co-gatherers, whatever, but also lowering the amount of food we acquire while somehow at the same time greatly increasing the rate of consumption of their own food. One of the gatherers, a short guy with bushy hair, I think it was Narus, he got whacked out of his skull on leaves last week, and he came in from gathering with a grand total, get this, a grand total of six berries and one nut. And this guy had been out in the bushes for eight days. But now we're running into an even more serious problem with the dream plant that affects the safety of everyone. It seems that some people are chewing the leaves and then running around in circles at high speed. As a result, we're starting to get a huge increase in the number of accidents. People are crashing into each other. Please try to remember, chewing and running around in circles at high speed don't mix. If you're going to run around in circles, don't chew. If you're going to chew, for God's sakes, don't be running around in circles. Designate someone. So try to be aware of the signs of leaf abuse. If you're chewing in the morning, you got a problem. If you're chewing alone, you got a problem. It's no disgrace, get some help. Say no to leaves. Okay, now, like I said earlier, we got a new thing we're going to be doing, and I want to announce it today. It's going to be a custom. Remember customs? Who can name a custom? Nat? Going to sleep at night. Well, that's close, Nat. That's almost like a custom. Who else can name a custom? Killing the animals before we eat them. Okay, actually, Jewels, that's more like a necessity, isn't it? Yeah, more like a necessity. Looking for a custom here. Another custom. Dwayne, washing the rocks and drying them off before you throw them at the enemy during a rock fight. Is that what you've been doing, Dwayne? Really? Well, I guess that would explain the disproportionately high number of rock injuries in your squad, wouldn't it? Anyway, this new custom is quite different, and it might come as something of a surprise to you. So make sure you're sitting down, or at least leaning on something firm. You people standing over near the cliff, you might want to drift over this way a little bit. Now, I want you to remember that no matter what I say, this is going to please the corn god, okay? The new custom is going to help with the corn, got it? Remember a couple of years ago, we had no corn, and we had to eat the trees, and a lot of people died. How many want to go back to eating the trees? Okay, I rest my case. Huh, Dwayne? You thought the trees were pretty good? You never disappoint me, Dwayne. You know that. Folks, you don't have to look very far for a tragic example of abusing the dream plant, do you? All right, here's the new thing we're going to do. It's called a human sacrifice. Each week, to appease the corn god, we're going to kill one member of the tribe. All right, calm down, calm down. Come on, hey, sit down, sit down. Hey, hey, hold on. Hey, hear me out on this, would you please? Relax. Hear me out on this. We're going to start having a human sacrifice every week, probably on Saturday night. That's when everybody seems to loosen up pretty good. So starting next Saturday night, about the time we run out of berry juice, we're going to pick one person, probably a young virgin, and we'll throw her in the volcano. Oh, girls, girls, please sit down. Girls, sit down, please. Stop with the rocks. Stop, please. Calm down, ladies. We're not going to do it today, I promise. Relax. Calm down. Okay, so we throw the virgin in the volcano. By the way, how many remember the volcano? Remember the fire? Remember the lava? What word comes to mind when we think about the volcano? Hot, right? The volcano is hot. Was that Dwayne? No, no way. No, no. If this idea is going to work at all, it's got to be done while the volcano is actually erupting. I don't think the corn god is going to be impressed if we throw some chicken in a dormant volcano. It's meaningless. I think he's looking for something a little more screaming involved. Okay, so we throw the virgin in the volcano. What's that? How does this help with the corn? Good question. Look, Morley, I just make the announcements, okay? I'm not involved with policy. It came down from the high priest. That's all you got to know. This is one of those things you just got to accept on faith. It's like that custom we started last year of cutting off a guy's head to keep him from stealing. At first, it seems severe, am I right? But you got to admit, seems to work. Okay, one last point. You may say, "Why does it have to be a young virgin? Why can't we throw a wrinkled old man in the volcano?" Well, let me put it this way: Did you ever get a real good look at the high priest? Okay. Once again, I rest my case. Now, the only problem we anticipate with this new custom is the distinct possibility of running out of virgins. You got to figure, best-case scenario, we're not going to see any corn till late next year. So it looks like we're going to be and virgins at quite a clip here. And hey, girls, don't, girls, don't take this the wrong way, but we don't have that many virgins to begin with, am I right? No offense, girls, really. No. Hey, you're very lovely. You're very lovely. Well, I guess that's about all I got for you today, folks. I want to thank you for listening. Good night, everybody. Walk home slowly and walk safely. In case you didn't notice, the sun went down, and it's completely [ __ ] dark. [Music]

I don't like moths because I can't predict their flight patterns. They don't seem to know where they're going. I don't like that. And they're always hanging around light bulbs. Somehow, they're even able to get inside the sealed light fixture, between the bulb and the outer glass. How do they do that? One day you can clean out a hundred old dead moths and then put the clean globe back on the light, and a month later, there'll be another 20 full-grown dead moths inside the globe. How do they get in there? And what is this attraction to light all about, anyway? You know what I think they're doing? I think they're trying to read the writing on the light bulb. It's hard to read, isn't it? The writing on a light bulb is placed right where you can't read it when the light is on because the light is too bright. Then when the light is off, you can't read it because there's not enough light. No wonder moths are so [ __ ] up.

Whenever I hear about a peacekeeping force, I wonder, if they're so interested in peace, why do they use force? My watch stopped. I think I'm down a quartz. Don Ho can sign autographs 3.4 times faster than Ephraim Zimbalist Jr. The truth is, Pavlov's dog trained Pavlov to ring his bell just before the dog salivated. Is the kidney a bean-shaped organ, or is the bean a kidney-shaped legume? Why does Filipino start with an F and Philippines start with PH? Why do shoelaces only come in certain sizes? How can a color be artificial? I look at red Jell-O and it's just as red as it can be. Why is it the other side of the street always crosses the street when I do? Sometimes, when I'm told to use my own discretion, if no one is looking, I'll use someone else's. But I always put it [Music] back.

I'm tired of television announcers, hosts, newscasters, and commentators nibbling away at the English language, making obvious and ignorant mistakes. If I were in charge of America's broadcast stations and networks, I would gather together all these people whose jobs include speaking to the public, and I would not let them out of the room until they had absorbed the following suggestions. And I'm aware that media personalities are not selected on the basis of intelligence. I know that, and I try to make allowances for it. Believe me, I really try. But still, there are some liberties taken with speech that I think require intervention, if only for my own sake. I won't feel right if this chance goes by and I keep my silence. Number one: The English word "forte," spelled F-O-R-T-E, and meaning specialty or strong point, is not pronounced "forte." Got that? It's pronounced "fort." The Italian word "forte," F-O-R-T, used in music notation, is pronounced "forte," and it instructs the musician to play loud. She plays the skin flute, and her fort is playing forte. Look it up if you don't believe me. And don't give me that whiny [ __ ]. "Forte" is listed as the second preference. There's a reason it's second, because it's not first. Here's another thing. You hear this all the time, and believe me when I tell you, irony deals with opposites. It has nothing to do with coincidence. If two baseball players from the same hometown on different teams receive the same uniform number, it's not ironic, it's a coincidence. If Barry Bonds attains lifetime statistics identical to his father's, it will not be ironic, it will be a coincidence. Irony is "a state of affairs that is the reverse of what was to be expected; a result opposite to and in mockery of the appropriate result." For instance, if a diabetic, on his way to buy insulin, is killed by a runaway truck, he is the victim of an accident. If the truck was delivering sugar, he is the victim of an oddly poetic coincidence. But if the truck was delivering insulin, ah, then he is the victim of an irony. If a Kurd, after surviving a bloody battle with Saddam Hussein's army and a long, difficult escape through the mountains, is crushed and killed by a parachute drop of humanitarian aid, that, my friend, is irony writ large. Daryl Stingley, the pro football player, was paralyzed after a brutal hit by Jack Tatum. Now, Daryl Stingley's son plays football, and if the son should become paralyzed while playing, it will not be ironic, it will be coincidental. If Daryl Stingley's son paralyzes someone else, that will be closer to ironic. If he paralyzes Jack Tatum's son, that will be precisely ironic. I'm tired of hearing "prodigal" being used to mean wandering, given to running away or leaving and returning. The parable in the Book of Luke tells of a son who squanders his father's money. Prodigal means recklessly wasteful or extravagant. And if you say, "Popular usage has changed that," I say, [ __ ] popular usage. Here's another one that bothers me: The phrase "sour grapes" does not refer to jealousy or envy, nor is it related to being a sore loser. It deals with the rationalization of failure to attain a desired end. In the original fable of Aesop, the fox and the grapes, when the fox realizes he cannot leap high enough to reach the grapes, he rationalizes that even if he had gotten them, they would probably have been sour anyway. Rationalization. That's all "sour grapes" means. It doesn't deal with jealousy or sore losing. Yeah, I know, you say, "Well, many people are using it that way, so the meaning is changing." And I say, "Well, many people are really [ __ ] stupid too. Should we just adopt all their standards?" Here's another one: Strictly speaking, "celibate" does not mean not having sex. It means not being married. No wedding. The practice of refraining from sex is called chastity or sexual abstinence. No [ __ ] priests don't take a vow of celibacy, they take a vow of chastity, sometimes referred to as the non-nookie clause. And speaking of sex, the Immaculate Conception does not mean Jesus was conceived in the absence of sex. It means Mary, his mother, was conceived without original sin. That's all it has ever meant. And according to the tabloids, Mary is apparently the only one who can make such a claim. The Jesus thing is called virgin birth. Even Catholics get that one wrong. Momentarily means for a moment, not in a moment. The word for "in a moment" is "presently." "I will be there presently, Dad." And then, after pausing momentarily, I will kick you in the nuts. No other option and no other alternative are redundant. The words "option" and "alternative" already imply otherness. "I had no option, Mom. I got this huge erection because there was no alternative." "This rule is not optional. The alternative is to be wrong." You should not use "criteria" when you mean "criterion" for the same reason that you should not use "criterion" when you mean "criteria." "These is my only criterion." And by the way, a light-year is a measurement of distance, not time. It will take light-years for young basketball players to catch up with the number of women Wilt Chamberlain has [ __ ]. Is a scientific impossibility, probably in more ways than one. And a lot of people on television should be told: An acronym is not just any set of initials. It applies only to those initials that can be pronounced as words. MAD, DARE, NATO, UNICEF. Those are acronyms. FBI, CIA, and KGB are not. They're just [ __ ]. And I know I'm fighting a losing battle with this one, but I refuse to surrender. Collapsing a building with explosives is not an implosion. An implosion is a very specific scientific phenomenon. The collapsing of a building with explosives is the collapsing of a building with explosives. The explosives explode, and the building collapses inwardly. That is not an implosion. It is an inward collapsing of a building followed by a series of smaller explosions designed to make it collapse inwardly. Period. [ __ ] you. [Music]

Here's another pointless, thankless objection I'd like to register. I say it that way because I know you people, and I know your goddamn popular usage slammed the door on this one a long time ago, but here goes anyway. A copout is not an excuse, not even a weak one. It is an admission of guilt. When someone cops a plea, he admits guilt to some charge in exchange for better treatment. He has copped out. When a guy says, "I didn't get to [ __ ] her because I reminded her of her little brother," he's making an excuse. But if he says, "I didn't get the [ __ ] because I'm an unattractive schmuck," he is coping out. The trouble arises when an excuse contains a small amount of self-incriminating truth. This one is directed to the sports [ __ ]. You are destroying a perfectly good figure of speech. "Getting the monkey off one's back" does not mean breaking a losing streak. It refers only to ending a dependency. That's all the monkey represents. A strong yen. A losing streak does not compare, even remotely, not in a literary sense, and not in real life. Here's one that you hear from truly dense people: "The proof is in the pudding." Well, the proof is not in the pudding. The rice and the raisins are in the pudding. The proof of the pudding is in the eating. In this case, "proof" means "test." The same is true of "the exception that proves the rule." Oh, these things piss me off. Here we go. "An eye for an eye" is not a call for revenge. It's an argument for fairness. In the time of the Bible, it was standard to take a life in exchange for an eye, but the Bible said, "No, the punishment should fit the crime. Only an eye for an eye. Nothing more." It is not vindictive; it is mitigative. "Don't make the same mistake twice." Seems to indicate three mistakes, doesn't it? First, you make the mistake. Then you make the same mistake. Then you make the same mistake twice. If you simply say, "Don't make the same mistake," you'll avoid the first mistake. Unique needs no modifier. Very unique, quite unique, more unique, real unique, fairly unique, and extremely unique are wrong, and they mark you as dumb, although certainly not unique. Healthy does not mean healthful. Healthy is a condition. Healthful is a property. Vegetables aren't healthy, they're dead. No food is healthy unless you have an eggplant that's doing push-ups. Push-ups are healthful. There is no such thing or word as "kudo." Kudos, K-U-D-O-S, is a singular noun meaning praise, and it is properly pronounced "kudos." There is also a plural form, spelled the same but pronounced "kudos." Please stop telling me "so and so picked up another kudo today." Here's another one that bothers me: When they say "race, creed, or color," that's wrong. Race and color, as used in that phrase, describe the same property, and creed is a stilted, outmoded way of saying religion. Leave this tired phrase alone. It has lost its usefulness. Besides, it reeks of insincerity, no matter who uses it. "As of yet" is simply stupid. "As yet, I've seen no progress on this one." But of course, I'm speaking as of now. Here's one you can win some money on in a bar if you're within reach of the right reference book: "Chomping at the bit" and "old stomping ground" are incorrect. "Some Saturday afternoon when you're getting bombed on your old stamping ground, you'll be champing at the bit to use this one." Sorry to sound so picky, folks, but I listen to a lot of radio and TV, and these things have bothered me for a long time. Join the George Carlin Book Club. We've got books out the ass. Call now. Here are some titles you'll receive: "Where to Go for a Free [ __ ]." "Eat, Run, Stay Fit, and Die Anyway." "You Give Me Six Weeks and I'll Give You Some Bad Disease." "Why You Should Never Mambo with a Policeman." "The Stains in Your Shorts Can Indicate Your Future." "Earn Big Money While Sitting in Your Car Trunk." "Where to Take a Short Woman." "I Give Up Hope and It Worked Just Fine." "Why You Should Never Yodel During an Electrical Storm." "Fill Your Life with Croutons." "Six Ways to Screw Up Before Breakfast." "I Suck, You Suck." "Reorganizing Your Pockets." "Where to Hide a Really Big Snot." "While You Must Never Give Yourself a Neck Operation." "The Wrong Underwear Can Kill." "Now You Can Cure Cancer by Simply Washing Up." "Lightweight Summer Ensembles to Wear on the Toilet." "Why No One Should Be Allowed Out Anymore." "A Complete List of People Who Are Not Making Progress." "Where to Throw Up Secretly." "10 Things No One Can Handle at All." And "Why You Should Not Sit for More Than 6 Weeks in Your Own Filth." Call [Music] now.

I dread the deaths of certain super celebrities, not because I care about them, but because of all the [ __ ] I have to endure on television when one of them dies. All those tributes and retrospectives. And then, the bigger the personality, the worse it is. For instance, imagine the crap we'll have to endure on TV when Bob Hope dies. First of all, they'll show clips from all his old Road movies with Bing Crosby, and you can bet that some news anchor [ __ ] will turn to the pile of clothing next to him and say, "Well, Tammy, I guess Bob's on the road to heaven now." Then there'll be clips of all those funny.

Costumes you wore on his TV specials, including the hippie sketch where they'll show him saying "Far out, man, far out!" The they'll show them golfing with Dead Presidents, kissing blonde bombshells, and entertaining troops in every war since we beat the [ __ ] out of the Pelian. And at some point, a 70-year-old veteran will choke up and say, "I just missed seeing him at Iwo Jima 'cause I got my legs blown off." He's quite a guy. Ex-presidents, including the dead ones, will line up four abreast to tell us what a great American he was. Show business perennials will desert golf courses from Palm Springs to O's lawn to lament sadly how this time Bob hooked one into the woods.

And regarding his talent, a short comedian in a checkered hat will speak reverently about Hope's incredible timing. And this stuff will be on every single newscast day and night for a week. There'll be special one-hour salutes on Good Morning America, The Today Show, and CBS This Morning. Ted Koppel will ask Henry Kissinger if it's true Bob Hope actually shortened some of our wars by telling jokes close to the front lines. CNN will do a series of expanded "Show Biz Today." One of the cable channels will do a one-week marathon of his movies. And it goes without saying that NBC will put together a three-hour primetime special called "Thanks for the Memories." But at the last minute, they'll realize Bob Hope's audience skews older and they'll sell it to CBS. Then there'll be the funeral, carried live on the Dead Celebrity Channel, with thousands of grotesque, acne-ridden fans seeking autographs from all the show business clowns who dug out their best black golfing outfits to attend. "Quote, 'One of the hottest burials to hit this town in decades,' " Variety. And all this [ __ ] will go on for weeks and weeks and weeks until Milton Berle dies, and then it'll start all over again. I dare not even contemplate Ronald Reagan.

Another thing that bothers me in speech these days: the pre-epidemic, pre-board, pre-screen, pre-record, pre-taped, pre-existing, pre-order, pre-plan, pre-test, precondition, pre-register. In nearly all of these cases, you can drop the "pre" and not change the meaning of the word. They say the suicide film was not pre-screened by the school. No, of course not, it was screened. You can call and pre-qualify for a loan over the phone. Your loan is preapproved. Well, if my loan is approved before I call, then no approval is necessary. The loan is simply [Music] available.

There are many popular beliefs that are rooted in familiar expressions and sayings, and many of them simply aren't true. "Everything comes in threes." Not true. In reality, everything comes in ones. Sometimes, when three ones come in a row, it seems like everything comes in threes. By the way, in medieval times, it was widely believed that everything came in twenty-sixes. They were wrong, too. It just took them longer to recognize a pattern. People say, "When you die, you can't take it with you." Well, that depends on what "it" is. If it's your dark blue suit, you can certainly take it with you. In fact, not only can you take it with you, you can probably put some things in the pockets. "You learn something new every day." Actually, you learn something old every day. Just because you just learned it doesn't mean it's new. Other people already knew it. Columbus is a good example of this. "The sky's the limit." Well, how can the sky be the limit? The sky never ends. What kind of a limit is that? The Earth is the limit. You dig a hole, and what do you keep getting? More Earth. The Earth's the limit. "You get what you pay for." Clearly, this is not true. Have you been shopping lately? Only a naive person would believe that you get what you pay for. In point of fact, if you check your purchases carefully, you'll find that you get whatever they feel like giving you. And if corporations get any more powerful, you soon might not even get that. "Tomorrow is another day." Not true. Today is another day. We have no idea what tomorrow is going to be. It might turn out to be another day, but we can't be sure. If it happens, I'll be the first to say so. But, you know what? By that time, it'll be today again. "Nice guys finish last." Not true. Studies have shown that, on the average, nice guys finish third in a field of six. Actually, short guys finish last. By the way, in medieval times, it was widely believed that nice guys finished twenty-sixth. You can see how limited those people were. "If you've seen one, you've seen them all." Do I even have to talk about this one? This should be obvious. If you've seen one, you've seen one. If you've seen them all, then you've seen them all. I don't understand how this one even got started. "Those were the days." No, those were the nights. Think back. Weren't the nights better days? You had to work nights. You went to parties, danced, drank, got laid. Those were the nights. "There's no such thing as a free lunch." Well, what about when you eat at home? I don't pay when I eat lunch at home. It's free. Sometimes I'll leave a tip, but basically, it's a free lunch. Yeah, I know we had to buy the food at the store, but as the Zen Buddhists say, the food is not the lunch. "You pays your money and you takes your choice." Well, I think what I said earlier still applies here. You pays your money and you takes whatever they jolly well give you. Actually, when you get right down to it, you pays your money and you loses your money. "Everybody has his price." Not so. Would you believe there are millions of people who do not have their price? Thanks to a government mix-up, many people have their neighbor's price. "They don't make them like they used to." Actually, they do make them like they used to. They just don't sell them anymore. They make them and they keep them. "Two wrongs don't make a right." Well, it just so happens that two wrongs do make a right. Not only that, but as the number of wrongs increases, the whole thing goes up exponentially. So that while two wrongs make one right, and four wrongs make two rights, it actually takes sixteen wrongs to make three rights, and 256 wrongs to make four rights. Seems to me that anyone who is stringing together more than 256 wrongs needs counseling, not mathematics. "If it's not one thing, it's another." Not always. Sometimes, if it's not one thing, not only is it not another, but it turns out to be something else altogether. "You can't win them all." Not true. Believe it or not, there's a man in Illinois who, so far, has won them all. But don't get too excited. It has also been discovered that under certain circumstances, it is possible to lose them all. By the way, there's no record of anyone having tied them all. "You can't have it both ways." Well, that depends on how intimately you know the other person. Maybe you can't have it both ways at once, but if you've got a little time, you can probably have it six or seven ways. "Things have to get better, they can't get any worse." This is an example of truly faulty logic. Just because things can't get any worse, there's no reason to believe they have to get better. They might just stay the same. And by the way, who says things can't get any worse? For many people, things get worse and worse and worse. "Nobody ever said life was fair." Not so. I specifically remember as I was growing up, at least 12 different people telling me life was fair. One person put it this way: "Life, you'll find, is fair." George. Oddly enough, all 12 of those people died before the age of 27. "It takes two to tango." Sounds good, but simple reasoning will reveal that actually, it takes only one to tango. It takes two to tango together, maybe, but one person is certainly capable of tangoing on his own. By the way, in medieval times, it was widely believed that it took twenty-six to tango. "There's a sucker born every minute, and two to take him." Well, this may have been true in the past, but now, if you adjust for the increased population base, birth control, and the so-called moral decline, not only are there five suckers born every minute, there are now 53 to take him. "Life is short." Sorry, life is not short. It's just that since everything else lasts so long—mountains, rivers, stars, planets—life seems short. Actually, life lasts just about the right amount of time until you die. Death, on the other hand, is short. "What you don't know won't hurt you." Hmph. Why don't we just ask Abe Lincoln and John Kennedy about this one?

A few more oxymorons: mandatory options, mutual differences, non-dairy creamer, open secret, resident alien, silent alarm, sports sedan, wireless cable, mercy killing, lethal assistance, business ethics, friendly fire, genuine veneer, full-time daycare, death benefits, holy [Music] war.

I'm going to give you 15 rules to live by because life is not as difficult as people think. All you need is a good set of rules. Since it's probably too late for you, here are some guidelines to pass along to your children.

Number one: Relax and take it easy. Don't get caught up in hollow conceits such as "doing something with your life." Such twaddle is outmoded and a sure formula for disappointment.

Number two: Whatever it is you pursue, try to do it just well enough to remain in the middle third of the field. Keep your thoughts and ideas to yourself and don't ask questions. Remember, the squeaky wheel is the first one to be replaced.

Number three: Size people up quickly and develop rigid attitudes based on your first impression. If you try to delve deeper and get to know people, you're asking for trouble.

Number four: Don't fall for that superstitious nonsense about treating people the way you would like to be treated. It's a transparently narcissistic approach and may be the sign of a weak mind.

Number five: Spend as much time as you can pleasing and impressing others, even if it makes you unhappy. Pay special attention to shallow manipulators who can do you the most harm. Remember, in the overall scheme, you count for very little.

Six: Surround yourself with inferiors and losers. Not only will you look good by comparison, but they will look up to you, and that will make you feel better.

Number seven: Don't buy into the sentimental notion that everyone has shortcomings. It's the surest way of undermining yourself. Remember, the really best people have no defects. If you're not perfect, something is wrong.

Eight: If by some off chance you do detect a few faults in yourself, first accept the fact that you are probably deeply flawed. Then make a list of your faults and dwell on them. Them carry the list around and try to think of things to add. Blame yourself for everything.

Number nine: Beware of intuition and gut instincts. They are completely unreliable. Instead, develop preconceived notions and don't waver unless someone tells you to. Then change your mind and adopt their point of view, but only if they seem to know what they're talking about.

Number ten: Never give up on an idea simply because it is bad and doesn't work. Cling to it even when it is hopeless. Anyone can cut and run, but it takes a very special person to stay with something that is stupid and harmful.

11: Always remember, today doesn't count. Trying to make something out of today only robs you of precious time that could be spent daydreaming or resting up.

Number 12: Try to dwell on the past. Think of all the mistakes you've made and how much better it would be if you hadn't made them. Think of what you should have done and blame yourself for not doing so. And don't go easy; be really hard on yourself.

13: If by chance you make a fresh mistake, especially a costly one, try to repeat it a few times so you become familiar with it and can do it easily in the future. Write it down. Put it with that list of your faults.

14: Beware also of the dangerous trap of looking ahead. It will only get you in trouble. Instead, try to drift along from day to day in a meandering fashion. Don't get sidetracked with some foolish plan.

15: And finally, enjoy yourself all the time and do whatever you want. Don't be seduced by that mindless chatter going around about responsibility. That's exactly the sort of thing that can ruin your life. [Music]

In the privacy of your own home, as opposed to what? The privacy of someone else's home? You have no privacy in someone else's home. That's why you got your own home. "Down the pike." He was the meanest guy ever to come down the pike. Fine, but what about guys who come up the pike? Not everyone lives north of the pike. Some guys have to come up the pike, and they're really mean because nobody mentions them at all. And what about a guy who doesn't even use the pike? He arrives on Amtrak. Boy, was the meanest guy ever to arrive on Amtrak. Doesn't sound right, does it? "Like a bat out of hell." We say some guy was gone like a bat out of hell. Well, how do we know how fast a bat would leave hell? Maybe he would leave real slowly. In fact, why should we assume that a bat would even want to leave hell? Maybe he likes it there. Maybe hell is just right for a bat. Maybe it's bat heaven. And now that we're on this subject, how do we know hell has bats in the first place? What would a bat be doing in hell? Usually, a bat is in the belfry. Why would he want to split his time between two places? Then again, maybe that's why he's in such a hurry to leave hell. He's due back at the belfry.

And why do we say "out like a light"? The primary function of a light is to be lit, not to be out. Why choose a light to represent the concept of being out? Why not "on like a light"? The same is true of "dropping like flies." The wrong quality is being emphasized. Flies are known for flying, not dropping. And let's forget "meteoric rise." Meteors don't rise, they fall. "You can talk until you're blue in the face." Well, you can't talk until you're blue in the face. In order to talk, you need oxygen. Blue of the face is caused by a lack of oxygen. So if you're blue in the face, you probably stopped talking a long time ago. You might be making some gestures. In fact, if you're running out of oxygen, I would imagine you're making quite a number of gestures, and rather flamboyant ones at that.

When we point out someone's lack of popularity, especially a politician's, we sometimes say, "He couldn't get elected dog catcher." Well, first of all, since when do they elect dog catchers? I've never seen one on the ballot. Have you? The last time you were in the voting booth, did it say "President, Vice President, Dog Catcher"? No. And why do they imply that getting elected dog catcher would be easy? I think it would be hard. A lot of people have dogs; they wouldn't vote for you. And many of the people who don't have dogs still like them. I should think it would be quite difficult to get elected dog catcher. "One thing leads to another." Not always. Sometimes one thing leads to the same thing. Ask an addict. "The pen is mightier than the sword." Needs to be changed. Needs to be updated. It's overdue. It should have been changed much earlier in the 20th century. To: "The typewriter is mightier than the machine gun." But at this point, it should probably read: "The word processor is mightier than the particle beam weapon." "Unidentified person." Well, what exactly is an unidentified person? Doesn't everyone have an identity? Maybe they mean he's a person they can't identify, but that would make him an unidentifiable person. I guess if nothing else, he could always be referred to as "that guy we can't identify." "Open a can of worms." Well, why would you have to open it? Are there really sealed cans of worms? Who sealed them? Worms are usually put in a can after it has been opened and emptied of something else, like corn or pumpkin meat. Uncover a can of worms, maybe, but not open. "Wild and woolly." Whenever I hear something described as wild and woolly, I always wonder where the woolly part comes in. Wild, I understand. But woolly? I have some sweaters that are woolly, but they're kind of conservative. They're not wild at all. "In the wrong place at the wrong time." How can this be? Shouldn't it be "in the right place at the wrong time"? If a guy gets hit by a stray bullet, he's in the right place—where his day's activities have taken him—at the wrong time—when a bullet is passing by. If it were the wrong place, the bullet wouldn't have been there. Here's another: "In the right place at the right time." That's also questionable. Let's say a guy wins a prize for being a bank's millionth customer. All you really have to say is he was in the right place. After all, it had to be the right time. That's the only time they were giving away the prize. If it hadn't been the right time, it wouldn't have been the right place twenty minutes later. The bank wouldn't be the right place anymore. "You never know." Not true. Sometimes you know. You don't have to be a rocket scientist. "Rocket scientist" implies that rocket scientists are somehow smart. Well, how smart can they be? They build machines that travel thousands of miles to drop fire and radiation on people. That doesn't sound smart to me. "The oldest trick in the book." Sometimes in the movies, when the bad guy is holding a gun on the good guy, the good guy says, "It won't work, Murdoch. My men are right behind you with their guns drawn." And the bad guy says, "You can't fool me, Murdoch. That's the oldest trick in the book." Well, exactly what book are these guys talking about? Have you ever seen a book with a bunch of tricks in it? Magic tricks, maybe, but I don't think the thing with the guns would be in there. Do you? A prostitute might have a book of tricks, but once again, probably no mention of the two guys with the guns. And anyway, even if there really were a book with a lot of tricks in it, how would you know which trick was the oldest? They were all printed at the same time. You'd have to say, "You can't fool me, Murdoch, that's the trick that appears earliest in the book." But I guess that's not good movie dialogue, is it?

When they say someone is "not going to win any popularity contests," what popularity contest are they talking about? I've never heard of these contests. Where do they have them? And who wins? Whoever is winning these popularity contests can't be all that popular. You never hear about them. "You could hear a pin drop." Well, you can't hear a pin drop. Not even a bowling pin. When a pin is dropping, it's just floating through the air. There's very little noise. You might be able to hear a pin land, but certainly not [Music] drop.

Here are some more of my favorite redundant expressions: total abstinence, subject matter, honest truth, join together, general public, harbinger of things to come, new initiative, audible gasp, advanced warning, execution style killing, future plans, gather together, Jewish synagogue, lag behind, manual dexterity, occasional irregularity, outer rim, plan ahead, basic fundamentals, first time ever, personal friend, and shrug one's [Music] shoulders.

I call this "Peace on You." I'm not disturbed by war. To me, it's more like entertainment. War may be a lot of things, but it's never a bad show. It's the original Greatest Show on Earth. Otherwise, why would they call it a "theater of war"? I love it. And as far as I'm concerned, "The show must go on." But I realize there are some people who really worry about this kind of thing. And so, as a good citizen, I offer two ideas for peace. It's the least I can do. Many people work on war plans. Not too many work on peace plans. They even have a War College at Fort McNair, Washington. They call it the National Defense University, but it's a War College. They don't have a Peace College. And they have war plans for every contingency, no matter how remote. If Easter Island gives us some crap tomorrow, we have a plan and a computer that tells us exactly how to thoroughly bomb the [ __ ] out of Easter Island. You name the country, we've got the plan: Chad, Myanmar, Upper Volta, Burkina Faso, Liechtenstein. Just give us some crap, and we'll come there and bomb the [ __ ] out of you, 'cause we've got a plan. Well, so do I. Two of them. George's plans for peace.

My first plan is worldwide, year-round, non-stop folk dancing. In short, everyone in the world would be required to dance all the time. It leaves very little time for fighting, and what combat does occur is inefficient because the combatants are constantly in motion. When it was suggested that this plan might be impractical, I offered an alternative wherein only half the people would be dancing at any given time. The problem with this was the distinct possibility that while half the people were dancing, the other half would be robbing their homes. So now I've stripped it down to a symbolic plan: 24-hour, non-stop, worldwide folk dancing once a year. Each year, on a designated day, everyone in the world would stop what they were doing and dance for 24 hours nonstop. Any kind of dancing you want: square dance, minuet, grind, Peabody, cakewalk, merengue, samba, mashed potato. Doesn't matter. Just get out there and dance. Even hospital patients, shut-ins, cripples, and people on life support. If you're too sick to dance, you just die while the doctors and nurses keep dancing. Wouldn't this be a good way to weed out the weaker people? Dance or die. Natural selection with a beat. One good result, of course, would be that during the actual dancing, no fighting could take place. But the plan would also tend to reduce violence during the remainder of the year because for six months following the dance, everyone would be talking about how much fun they had had, and for the six months after that, they would all be busy planning what to wear to next year's dance.

Another plan I have is World Peace Through Formal Introductions. The idea is that everyone in the world would be required to meet everyone else in the world formally at least once. You'd have to look the person in the eye, shake hands, repeat their name, and try to remember one outstanding physical characteristic. My theory is, if you knew everyone in the world personally, you'd be less inclined to fight them in a war. "Who, the Malaysians? You're kidding! I know those people." The biggest problem with compulsory worldwide formal introductions would be logistics. How would it work? Would you line up everyone in the world single file and have one person at a time move down the line, meeting all the others? And then, when they finish, they get on the end of the line, and the next person starts? Or would you divide everyone into two long lines and have them move past each other laterally? That seems inefficient because for at least part of the time, each line would have a large number of people with nothing to do. And also, once you finish the first pass, everyone would still have to meet the people in their own line. Either way, it would take a long time. In fact, children would be born during the introductions, and then you'd have to meet them, too. And it's probably important to remember that because of their longer names, some nationalities would move through the lines more slowly than others. Russians, for example. Russian names tend to be long. If you've ever bought an ID bracelet for a Russian person, you know what I mean. The engraving alone can run you over $200. I'm afraid the Russians would move through the line very slowly. "Vladimir Denisovich Zerovski." "This is Yevan Vasili Arbatov." "Yevan Vasili Arbatov, meet Vladimir Denisovich Zerovski." Major delay. On the other hand, the Chinese tend to have short names. "Chin Lu." "Wuhan." "Wuhan, Chin Lu." "See you later." Moving right along. Which is why there are so many Chinese people: less time saying hello, more time to [ __ ] . Peace on you, but only if you really deserve it.

I call this "Watch Your Mouth." It has to do with the way people speak. I'm easily annoyed by people's speech habits, and I regard certain words and phrases as warnings to break off contact immediately. In the interest of maintaining good mental health, I try to avoid the following people: those who can't resist saying "God forbid" every time they mention the possibility of an accident or death, even though they don't believe in God; people who say "God rest his soul" following the mention of a dead person, even if they hated the person and don't believe in God. These are the same ones who say "knock wood" and really mean it. Sometimes they'll even glance around half-heartedly for something to knock on before giving up and just standing there like the morons they are. And speaking of morons, can't we somehow prevent adults from using words like "tushy," "boo-boo," and "no-no" when speaking to grown-ups? Why don't we just send these people to their rooms without supper? Tell them there's not going to be any yummy in their tummy. And while we're at it, let's include all those colorful risk-takers who actually use "heck" and "darn" for emphasis. What the [ __ ] is this, 1850? I also think we'd be better off if we could eliminate anyone who has a "can-do" attitude or is referred to as "take-charge." "All business" or "no-nonsense." Have these people sedated. And let's include the ones who describe themselves as "goal-oriented." Please leave me alone. Then there's those people who tell you, "I'm a people person." "I'm a people person." Oh yeah? Me too. [ __ ] people. And what about these guys who have no job and they say to you, "Are they keeping you busy?" I happen to resent even the assumption that there are people who have the authority to keep me busy, least of all do I appreciate it from some guy who doesn't seem to have a whole lot to do himself. And let's punish every homely man. Whoever thought it was clever to say, "I'm not just another pretty face." And I think it's time to start slapping around these people who can't tell a simple story without repeatedly saying, "You know what I'm saying?" "You know what I'm saying?" Here I am, trying to listen to the guy, and he's a person who is constantly checking on how he's doing. "Blah, blah, blah. You know what I'm saying?" No, no. The question is not, "Do I know what you're saying?" The question is, "Do you know what you're saying?" You follow me on that? I'm also getting tired of "arguably." It's weak. It tries to have things both ways. Take a stand.

And here are some jock sports fan adjectives that ought to be outlawed. Listening to a sports call-in radio station for about an hour, you will be amazed at the number of times you hear the following words: incredible, unbelievable, tremendous, outstanding, big, huge, it was huge, dude, large, major, key. Do these guys sound like maybe someone's penis size is on their minds? I can also do without people who tell me that something, anything, is either "the name of the game" or "what it's all about." "That's what it's all about, man." "That's what it's all about." "Hey, that's the name of the game." Oh, it is, huh? Well, [ __ ] you. And let's lose these guys who think it's cute to say "ouch" when someone delivers a small put-down.

There's another strain of speaker that I try to avoid: the pretentious and arrogant person. People who refer to themselves as "yours truly." What kind of grandiose crap is this? Some of them even speak of themselves in the third person. Athletes and entertainers are big on this demented [ __ ] . "I'm gonna do what's right for Leon Spinks." I think people like this are mentally ill. And you can include those very special people who use the "royal we." I also instantly dismiss anyone who tells me that some other person "has class," "is classy," or "is a class act." The last of these being the most arrogant. What these speakers are telling you is that since they are among the few people who recognize class, it is their obligation to point it out to sorry-ass folks like you. If you manage to listen to them just a little longer, you'll find they're completely full of [ __ ] . And this is the same type of person who uses the word "tasty" when referring to music. The previous reference to class is of the same order of arrogance as the phrases "not too shabby," "he's no dummy," "I give him high marks," "he's got his head on straight," and "he really showed me something." All of these phrases reek of presumed superiority. And just when I thought all those precious twerps were about to stop saying "not to worry" and "by the by," along came "what say you?" And "at the end of the day." To deepen my suffering, "at the end of the day" is probably the most pretentious expression to come along since the Mah Chow crowd descended on us. And "just a tad" has a phony ring to it. So it is just a sco. Speak English. And be on the alert for anyone who tells you that something they did was "life-affirming." Some celebrity said he quit doing his TV show because it stopped being life-affirming. Hey, ski-chic, when you finish affirming your life, get over here and give my dick a couple of jerks. And can't we figure out something evil to do to these people who call themselves "survivors"? Such self-regard. "I'm a survivor." Good. We'll be sure to tell everyone at your funeral that you're a [ __ ] survivor. This one is almost too easy: guys who can't leave a room without saying, "I'm out of here." "I'm out of here." You know what I say to them? Good. Stay the [ __ ] out of here.

There are also certain reckless people in this country who are abusing "ongoing" and "early on." Leave these terms alone, please. They mark you as a counterfeit. "Early on" has faux poetic aspirations, and "ongoing" has only a very narrow area where it is distinctly appropriate. And some of these "ongoing" felons are the same ones who have vandalized the phrase "even as we speak." First, they shortened it to "as we speak," then they started using it every four minutes or so. Even as I write this, my pissed-off-ness is ongoing. And [ __ ] all the [ __ ] people who say "God bless" and then don't bother to complete the sentence. Who are they? I haven't the slightest. But if I were God, I would not honor such a request anyway. [Music]

Enjoy. You know, some people talk about reincarnation, and I suppose it would be nice if reincarnation were a reality. But I have problems with the mathematics. At some point, originally, there must have been a time when there were only two human beings, don't you think? And they both died, and presumably their souls were reincarnated into two other bodies. But that still leaves us with only two souls. We now have nearly 6 billion people on the planet. Where are all the extra souls coming from? Is someone printing up souls? Wouldn't that tend to lower their value?

On a... tell a little about myself. I'm 63. That's 17 Celsius. But I've never told you much about my childhood. And listen, I was unusual even before I was born. During pregnancy, my mother carried me very low. In fact, for the last 6 weeks, my feet were sticking out. She was the only woman in the neighborhood who had maternity shoes. But she told me I was a big help when it came to climbing stairs. And I was a healthy baby, except I have one ear that's a little folded and bent. The doctor said it happened because apparently, at the precise moment I was being conceived, my mother and father fell off the hood of the car. My parents chose what at that time was the very latest method of childbirth. You've heard of Lamaze? This was LAZ. The mother receives powerful narcotics, the father is sent to Bolivia, and the nurse does all the screaming. Soon as I was born, I noticed babies have it pretty easy: wake up, cry, piss, roll over, drool, suck, eat, gag, belch, puke, get giggle, crap, crawl, stand, fall, cry, scream, bleed, [CP], sleep, and dream. I went through the usual stages: imp, rascal, scallywag, whipper-snapper, and of course, after that, it's just a small step to full-blown sociopath. I'm probably the only child who went directly from shenanigans to crimes against nature. I was always a little different. Most kids had a dog named Spot. You know what I called my dog? Stain. Different. Instead of my thumb, I sucked my ring finger. And I had a strange ambition: I just wanted to live longer than Jesus. My mother said it was because I was sensitive, so she washed me in Woolite. And I was a hip kid. Oh, when I saw Bambi, it was the midnight show. My cap gun had a silencer. My lemonade stand had dance hostesses. And one night at dinner, when I was about 10, I leaned over to my father and I said, "Hey, man, when am I going to load up on some of that breast milk again?" Still, I was practical. When one of my playmates died in an accident, I asked his mother if I could have his toys. As a boy, I was negatively affected by two things. First of all, I grew up on the side of a very steep hill, and I think that can throw you off a little. And here's another thing: when you look at a map lying on a table, North is usually the direction pointing away from you. But my front door faced South. So, as you can see, as soon as I left my house, everything was backwards. Things like that have an effect. There's one other thing I should mention. You know how when you're real little, your dad throws you up in the air and catches you? Well, one day my dad threw me up in the air, and I went so high I could see the curvature of the Earth. I believe I even caught a glimpse of Sri Lanka. At the time, of course, it was still called Ceylon. Anyway, after he threw me up in the air, he didn't wait around. He walked away. They said after that, I was never really the same. They would whisper, "The boy's no longer playing with a full bag of jacks." What happened was, I became a loner. I just wanted to be by myself. I had an imaginary friend, but I didn't bother with him. [ __ ] him. Let him get his own friends. I got no time for people like that. When you're a loner, of course, you have to make up your own games. Tag is difficult. I used to play cop. And instead of hide-and-seek, I would play a pathetic little game called hide. One time, I remained hidden for over a month before I realized that no one was looking for me. It was sad, really. But there are compensations. To this day, I remain unchallenged at musical chairs. My mother would say, "Why are you always playing alone?" And I would say, "I'm not playing, Ma. I'm [ __ ] serious." They first noticed I was strange when I insisted on listening to the circus on the radio. I guess I was a bad boy. Besides [ __ ] in my pants, I would also [ __ ] in other people's pants. Eventually, she sent me to a child psychologist. It was all the vogue at the time. So I went, and I honestly believe he was crazier than I was. I should have stabbed him many times in the eyes with a railroad spike while I still had the chance. I consider it a lost opportunity. One problem was that my mother was very strict, and on top of that, she was a physically imposing woman. Thinking back, the person she most reminds me of is Charles Aznavour. I didn't really like her, you know. I remember staring at the orphanage and feeling envy. Of course, it wasn't all bad. I have some pleasant memories, too. Every Sunday after church, my mother and I would buy the Sunday papers and walk home together, and then she'd get drunk and try to make pancakes. In a way, I take all the blame, though. I was hard to handle, and it wasn't easy on her. As I said, I'm 63 now, and she still isn't over postpartum depression. Yet she's a typical mom. She still thinks I'm going to be tall. And, you know something? Her wish is coming true because she's getting smaller. Soon I will be, too. I guess the thing I miss most about childhood is riding piggyback. And here's something I don't tell too many people: I still like to ride piggyback occasionally. I really do. And I don't mean to cross the room. I'm talking about long trips. I went to Florida last winter piggyback. Fortunately, I have very indulgent friends, and I pay top [Music] dollar.

Why are there no recreational drugs taken in suppository form? A tree: first you chop it down, then you chop it up. If a painting can be forged well enough to fool experts, why is the original so valuable? Why does it always take longer to go somewhere than it does to come back? If you can't beat them, arrange to have them beaten. No one ever mentions when the swallows leave Capistrano. What do they just die there? And how do we know it's the same swallows every year? The swallows know that on March 19th, the tourists come back to Capistrano. We have mileage, yardage, and footage. Why don't we have "inage"? They say, "Let's stop underage drinking before it starts." Please explain that to me. Sounds tricky. The news story said someone had overcome a fatal disease. Wow. I put a dollar in one of those change machines. Nothing changed. Now that the year 2000 is here, I hope the crime of the century happens real soon so I get to read about it. They say, "If you outlaw guns, only outlaws will have guns." Well, [ __ ] , those are precisely the people who need them. I once found a throw rug in a catch basin. One of the best expressions in the English language is "Who says so?" I guarantee if you keep saying "Who says so?" long enough, sooner or later, someone will take you into custody. Beethoven was so hard of hearing, he thought he was a painter. I went to the missing person's bureau. No one was there. Meow means wolf in cat. When primitive people practice the rain dance, does it rain at the end of the practice? And if it doesn't, how do they know they did the dance correctly? If you live to be a 100, your lucky number goes up by one. Amy Vanderbilt, the foremost authority on etiquette, committed suicide and apparently didn't have the courtesy to leave a note. They keep saying, "You can't compare apples and oranges." I can. An apple is red and distinctly nonspherical. An orange is orange and nearly spherical. So what's the big problem? After a flood, where do all the robots go? When Pappy blows through his pipe, why doesn't he get sprayed with burning ash? George Washington's brother was the uncle of our country. If you fall asleep on the couch in a house where a woman is present, there will be a blanket or a coat covering you when you awaken. When blowing out your birthday candles, suppose you wish for one candle to stay lit. Is it possible for your wish to come true? The day after tomorrow is the third day of the rest of your life. Why must hailstones always be the size of something else? And if it must be that way, why don't they have hailstones the size of testicles? I often think how different the world would have been if Hitler had not been turned down when he applied to art school. So far, the KKK has not produced any really great composers. You know, when you look at some of Picasso's paintings, makes you wonder what kind of woman he visualized when he masturbated. You know, he used the sun to make electricity, then we use the electricity to operate sunlamps and tanning machines. "Prefix" has no suffix, but "suffix" has a prefix. If a really stupid person becomes senile, how can you tell? I read somewhere that in the last census, 1.6% of the people were not counted. How can they know that? What exactly is "viewer discretion"? If viewers had discretion, most television shows would not be on the air. Remember, inside every silver lining there's a dark cloud. Dogs lead a nice life. You never see a dog with a wristwatch. What exactly is "midair"? Is there some other part of air besides the mid part? I'd like to live in a country where the official motto was "You never know." It would help me relax. The reason they call it the American dream is because you have to be asleep to believe it. It goes without saying that I'm not the only person who has noticed this, but I never got to spell it out my way before.

Comedy's nature has two sides. Everybody wants a good time and a couple of laughs, and of course, the comic wants to be known as a real funny guy. But the language of comedy is fairly grim and violent. It's filled with punch lines and gags and slapstick. After all, what does a comic worry most about? Dying. He doesn't want to die. "Geez, I was dying. It was like death out there. Like a morgue. I really bombed." Comics don't want to die, and they don't want to bomb. They want to go over with a bang and be a real smash. And if everything works out, they're successful, and they make you laugh, they can say, "I killed them. I slowed those people. I knocked them dead." And what phrases do we use when we talk about the comic? "He's a riot. A real scream. A rib-splitter and knee-slapper. My sides hurt. My cheeks ache. He broke me up. Cracked me up. Slayed me. Fractured me. He had me in stitches. I busted a gut. I get a real kick out of that guy. Laugh. I thought I'd [Music] die."

Well, that's about it, folks. I hope if you enjoyed hearing my book, I'm going home now and write my second book. If you'd like to come over to the house and listen to me type, you're perfectly welcome to do so. [Music]