Текст книги "Napalm and Silly Putty"

Автор книги: Джордж Карлин

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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

You don’t see chickens hanging around in drug gangs, do you? No. You don’t see chickens strappin’ someone to a chair and hookin’ up their nuts to a car battery. And when’s the last time you heard about a chicken who came home from work and beat the shit out of his hen? Huh? It doesn’t happen. You know why? Because chickens are decent people.

Back to abortion: The central question seems to be “Are fetuses human beings?” Well, if fetuses are human beings, why aren’t they counted by the census? If fetuses are human beings, why is it there’s no funeral following a miscarriage? If fetuses are human beings, why do people say, “We have two children and one on the way,” instead of saying, “We have three children”?

Some people say life begins at conception; I say life began a billion years ago, and it’s a continuous process. And actually, it goes back farther than that. What about the carbon atoms? Human life could not exist without carbon. So is it possible that maybe we shouldn’t be burning all this coal? I don’t mean to be picky, I’m just lookin’ for a little consistency.

The hard-core pro-lifers tell us that life begins at fertilization, when the sperm fertilizes the egg. Which usually occurs a few minutes after the man says, “Sorry, honey, I was gonna pull out, but the phone startled me.”

But even after fertilization it’s still six or seven days before the egg reaches the uterus and pregnancy begins. And not every egg makes it. Eighty percent of a woman’s fertilized eggs are rinsed out of her body once a month during those delightful few days she has. They end up on sanitary napkins, and yet they are fertilized eggs. So, what these antiabortion people are actually telling us is that any woman who’s had more than one period is a serial killer. I don’t mean to be picky, I’m just looking for a little consistency.

And speaking of consistency, Catholics—which I was until I reached the age of reason—Catholics and other Christians are against abortions, and they’re against homosexuals. Well, who has less abortions than homosexuals? Here’s an entire class of citizens guaranteed never to have an abortion, and the Catholics and Christians are just tossin’ them aside. You’d think they’d be natural allies.

And regarding the Catholics, when I hear that the Pope and some of his “holy” friends have experienced their first pregnancies and labor pains, and raised a couple of children on minimum wage, I’ll be glad to hear what they have to say about abortion. In the meantime, what they ought to do is tell these priests who took a vow of chastity to keep their hands off the altar boys. When Jesus said, “Suffer the little children come unto me,” pedophilia is not what he was talking about. He had something else in mind.

? HYPERLINK “file:///E:\Documents%20and%20Settings\Dom\Desktop\1791_NapalmSillyPutty%5B1%5D\Napalm_body-contents.html” l “TOC-90” ??I’VE GOT YOUR SANCTITY OF LIFE ?

One phrase that comes up quite a bit in abortion discussions is “sanctity of life.” What about that? Do you think there’s such a thing as sanctity of life? Personally, I think it’s a bunch of shit. Who says life is sacred? God? Great, but if you read your history you know that God is one of the leading causes of death and has been for thousands of years. Hindus, Moslems, Christians, Jews, all taking turns killing one another, because God told them it was a good idea. The sword of God, the blood of the lamb, vengeance is mine. Millions of dead people. All because they gave the wrong answer to the God Question:

“Do you believe in God?”

“No.”

BAM! Dead.

“How about you? Do you believe in God?”

“Yes.”

“Do you believe in my God?”

“No.”

BAM! Dead!

“My god has a bigger dick than your god.”

For thousands of years all the bloodiest and most brutal wars have been based on religious hatred. Which, of course, is fine with me; any time “holy” people are killing one another, I’m a happy guy. But please, don’t kill each other and then give me that shit about “sanctity of life.” Even if there were such an absurd thing, I don’t think you could blame it on God.

You know where the sanctity of life comes from? We made it up. You know why? Because we’re alive. Self-interest! Living people have a strong incentive to promote the idea that somehow life is sacred. You don’t see Bing Crosby runnin’ around talking about this shit, do you? You don’t hear much from Mussolini on the subject. And what’s the latest from JFK? Not a goddamn thing! You know why? Because JFK, Mussolini, and Bing Crosby are all fuckin’ dead. They’re fuckin’ dead, and dead people give less than a shit about the sanctity of life.

The only people who care about it are the living. So the whole thing grows out of a biased point of view. It’s a self-serving, man-made bullshit story; one of those things we tell ourselves in order to feel noble. “Life is sacred.” Makes us feel good. But let me ask you this: If everything that ever lived is dead, and everything alive is going to die, where does the sacred part come in? Can you help me on that?

Because even with all we preach about the sanctity of life, we don’t practice it. Look at what we kill: Mosquitoes and flies, because they’re pests. Lions and tigers, because it’s fun. Chickens and pigs, because we’re hungry. And people. We kill people. Because they’re pests. And because it’s fun!

And here’s something else I noticed. Apparently, the sanctity of life doesn’t apply to cancer cells, does it? You rarely see a bumper sticker that says Save the Tumors. Or I Brake for Advanced Melanoma. No. Viruses, molds, mildew, maggots, fungus, weeds, intestinal worms, E. coli bacteria, the crabs. Nothin’ sacred about those things. Just us.

So, at best, the sanctity of life is a selective thing. We choose which forms of life we feel are sacred, and we get to kill the rest. Pretty neat deal. You know how we got it? We made the whole thing up! Same way we made up the death penalty. The sanctity of life, and the death penalty. We’re such a versatile species.

? HYPERLINK “file:///E:\Documents%20and%20Settings\Dom\Desktop\1791_NapalmSillyPutty%5B1%5D\Napalm_body-contents.html” l “TOC-91” ??READY OR NOT, HERE WE COME! ?

The latest disaster for the solar system is that the United States has decided go to Mars. And, of course, later we intend to colonize deep space with our Salad Shooters and Snot Candy and microwave hot dogs. But let me ask you this: What are we going to tell the Intergalactic Council the first time one of our young women throws her newborn baby out of a seventh-story window? And how do we explain to the Near-Stellar Trade Confederation that our representative was late for the meeting because his breakfast was cold, and he had to spend thirty minutes beating the shit out of his wife?

Do you think the elders of the Universal Board of Wisdom will understand that it’s simply because of quaint local customs that over 80 million of our women have had their clitorises and labia cut off and their vulvas sewn shut in order to make them more marriageable and unable to derive pleasure from sex and thus never be a threat to stray from their husbands’ beds?

Can’t you just sense how eager the rest of the universe is for us to show up?

? HYPERLINK “file:///E:\Documents%20and%20Settings\Dom\Desktop\1791_NapalmSillyPutty%5B1%5D\Napalm_body-contents.html” l “TOC-92” ??NEVER HEARD OF HIM! ?

You ever notice that suddenly overnight someone you never heard of becomes a big celebrity; and you never heard their name before? Ever? And you think, Who the fuck is this? How can this happen without me noticing? Usually it’s because the person is in some line of work you’re not interested in, like popular music or network television. They’re on some TV show you wouldn’t watch unless you were strapped in bed in a nuthouse, but suddenly there are big magazine articles about them, and they’re on Leno and Letterman. Don’t you feel really good two years later when they’ve completely disappeared; gone back to the supermarket? It’s very satisfying.

? HYPERLINK “file:///E:\Documents%20and%20Settings\Dom\Desktop\1791_NapalmSillyPutty%5B1%5D\Napalm_body-contents.html” l “TOC-93” ??SHORT TAKES ?

Have you ever been on trial for murder? It’s weird. You don’t know what to do with yourself. Singing is out. Mostly I stare at the judge.

Is a vegetarian permitted to eat animal crackers?

I’ve figured out how to commit the perfect double murder. You pick one person up by the ankles and beat the other person to death with him. They both die, and there’s no murder weapon.

Peg Leg Bates’s wife is one person who never had to wait for the other shoe to drop.

Have you ever had a hatchet go right through your face? Not a glancing blow, but a full-on shot, deep into your forehead? Deep enough so you can shake your head and the hatchet doesn’t fall out? It’s the strangest feeling. Because just after the hatchet goes in, and before there’s any pain, you can feel a gentle puff of cool air on your brain. It feels good. But since it’s the only way to get that feeling, I try not to get too hung up on it.

Wouldn’t it be great if just one of these times at Daytona or Indianapolis, because of accidents and various mechanical failures, there were simply no cars at all left to finish the race? What color flag would they wave then?

Suggested bumper sticker We Are the Proud Parents of a Child Whose Self-Esteem Is Sufficient that He Doesn’t Need Us Advertising His Minor Scholastic Achievements on the Bumper of Our Car.

When did they pass a law that says the people who make my sandwich have to be wearing gloves? I’m not comfortable with this; I don’t want glove residue all over my food. It’s not sanitary. Who knows where these gloves have been? Let’s get back to human hands making sandwiches for human beings.

As you swim the river of life, do the breast stroke. It helps to clear the turds from your path.

YOU PICK IT, I’LL LICK IT.

Have you ever tried to throw away an old wastebasket? You can’t do it. People keep bringing it back: “Here, Howie, I found your wastebasket in the garbage.” Apparently, you have to completely destroy a wastebasket in order to convince people you really don’t want it anymore.

In Los Angeles, there’s a hotline for people in denial. So far no one has called.

Just once I’d like to see a high-speed funeral procession. A hearse, some flower cars, and a bunch of limousines tearin’ ass through town at 70 miles an hour, on their way to the cemetery. Maybe someday a race-car driver will put that in his will.

You know a business that doesn’t lend itself too easily to the Internet? Pay toilets.

Here’s something I consider a crime against society: women with hyphenated names. Hey, lady, pick a fuckin’ name, will you?

“Hi. I’m Emily Jarrikov-Fortescu.”

“Hi. I’m George Jerkmeoff-Fuckyoutoo!”

Attention women: You don’t attain self-esteem or personal dignity by adding a name to your name. Modern feminists apparently think hyphenation is a radical act. It’s not. Castrating a man in a parking lot with a Coke bottle is a radical act. Hyphenating your name is pretentious, middle-class bullshit.

No one ever knows what’s next, but they always do it.

You know what they don’t have? A really good French football player. You never hear about some guy named Pierre La Doux smashing through the line of scrimmage and picking up a first down. Why is that?

The only hip thing left to do in America is to blow up a building. Believe me.

Fun Stuff: Walk into a gun store, buy three guns and a bunch of ammunition. Then ask them if they have any ski masks.

I have a very inexpensive security system. If someone breaks into my house, I run next door and throw a brick through my neighbor’s window. That sets off his alarm and when the police arrive I direct them to my house.

As Asian immigrants become more completely assimilated into American society over the next few generations, their standards of hard work and academic excellence will drop, and they will feel more at home here.

Some teenage girls delay getting abortions because they’re afraid to comply with the parental notification laws. Especially if one of the parents also happens to be the father of the child.

Here’s a plastic surgery option: have one nostril sewn shut. ?I feel like I might be ready for that.

Regarding the Pledge of Allegiance and other patriotic nonsense: what does placing your hand over your heart have to do with anything? Or removing your hat when the flag is passing by? Am I missing something?

True Stuff: There is actually a Tow-Truck Hall of Fame.

I just realized I haven’t been scared in a really long time.

Didn’t the first guy who wore a sombrero realize it was completely impractical when eating pussy?

I don’t understand motivation books. What happened here? Suddenly everybody needs to be motivated? It’s a fairly simple thing: either you want to do something or you don’t; there’s no mystery. Besides, if you’re motivated enough to go to the store to buy a motivation book, aren’t you motivated enough to do that? So, you don’t need the book. Put it back. Tell the clerk, “Fuck you, I’m goin’ home. I’m already motivated.”

Safety Tip: Always wear a leather glove when giving a porcupine a hand job.

You know a word you don’t hear enough anymore? Hosiery.

? HYPERLINK “file:///E:\Documents%20and%20Settings\Dom\Desktop\1791_NapalmSillyPutty%5B1%5D\Napalm_body-contents.html” l “TOC-94” ??SPORTS SHOULD BE FIXED:?SECOND HALF ?

Basketball: No Harm, No Fun

Continuing my attempt to improve professional sports with basketball, once again I propose to make the game more exciting by changing the rules. But in this case I concentrate less on violence and injuries and a bit more on spicing up the game.

To begin with, basketball would be faster and a whole lot more exciting if they had a three-second shot clock. Never mind that passing shit; as soon as the ball is in play, get that son of a bitch up in the air. I didn’t pay to watch a game of catch, I’m lookin’ for a 700-point ball game.

Here’s another good suggestion: all free throws should be taken as jump shots. Players should have to drive from half-court, pull up at the foul line, and shoot the jumper. Much more exciting. And speaking of foul shots, I would retain the six-foul limit, but I would increase it to six fouls per quarter per man. This way you avoid that stupid foul-trouble shit and keep the stars on the court.

Next, I think before anyone touches a rebound, it should be allowed to bounce one time and then let the players fight over it. And if a rebound goes into the stands, the spectator who catches the ball should be allowed to shoot two free throws for his team. Get the fans involved.

And here’s something interesting no one else has thought of: when one of those hyperactive players dives into the crowd trying to keep a ball from going out-of-bounds, he should have to stay and sit in the stands for three minutes. Like the penalty box in hockey. And by the way, when is one of those diving, Charlie Hustle guys gonna break his fuckin’ neck on a chair? You just don’t see enough of that sort of thing.

Here’s another good idea: fifty points for any shot made from beyond the half-court line. It would be great for those lopsided games in the fourth quarter. And I’ll guarantee you some guys would practice that shot and get good at it. Then they could just hang around half-court the whole game, and when the teams switch baskets at halftime, all they’d have to do is turn around and face the other way.

Something else I’ll bet has never come up at a meeting of the rules committee: bonus points for any shot that goes in the basket after bouncing off another guy’s head. Fifty points if it’s a teammate, 100 if it’s an opponent. Believe me, you’d see a lot of good fights. And, actually, the brain injuries alone would make this one well worth trying.

Two more suggestions. If a team falls behind by more than 15 points, they have to let their girlfriends come in and help them on defense. It’s just the kind of motivation these macho duds need to keep the games close.

And last—and, honestly, I do not think this is excessive—during overtime periods I would allow the players to use small personal weapons, excluding firearms. I think knives and blackjacks, employed sparingly, would contribute to some rousing finishes in these evenly matched games.

? HYPERLINK “file:///E:\Documents%20and%20Settings\Dom\Desktop\1791_NapalmSillyPutty%5B1%5D\Napalm_body-contents.html” l “TOC-95” ??DON’T BLAME THE LEADERS ?

You, the People

In the midst of all my bitching, you might’ve noticed that I never complain about politicians. I leave that to others. And there’s no shortage of volunteers; everyone complains about politicians. Everyone says they suck.

But where do people think these politicians come from? They don’t fall out of the sky; they don’t pass through a membrane from a separate reality. They come from American homes, American families, American schools, American churches, and American businesses. And they’re elected by American voters. This is what our system produces, folks. This is the best we can do. Let’s face it, we have very little to work with. Garbage in, garbage out.

Ignorant citizens elect ignorant leaders, it’s as simple as that. And term limits don’t help. All you do is get a brand new bunch of ignorant leaders.

So maybe it’s not the politicians who suck; maybe it’s something else. Like the public. That would be a nice realistic campaign slogan for somebody: “The public sucks. Elect me.” Put the blame where it belongs: on the people.

Because if everything is really the fault of politicians, where are all the bright, honest, intelligent Americans who are ready to step in and replace them? Where are these people hiding? The truth is, we don’t have people like that. Everyone’s at the mall, scratching his balls and buying sneakers with lights in them. And complaining about the politicians.

Vote? No!

For myself, I have solved this political dilemma in a very direct way. On Election Day, I stay home. Two reasons: first of all, voting is meaningless; this country was bought and paid for a long time ago. That empty shit they shuffle around and repackage every four years doesn’t mean a thing.

Second, I don’t vote, because I firmly believe that if you vote, you have no right to complain. I know some people like to twist that around and say, “If you don’t vote, you have no right to complain.” But where’s the logic in that? Think it through: if you vote, and you elect dishonest, incompetent politicians, and they screw things up, then you’re responsible for what they’ve done. You voted them in. You caused the problem. You have no right to complain.

I, on the other hand, who did not vote—who, in fact, did not even leave the house on Election Day—am in no way responsible for what these politicians have done and have every right to complain about the mess you created. Which I had nothing to do with. Why can’t people see that?

Now, I realize last year you folks had another one of those really swell presidential elections you treasure so much. That was nice. I’m sure you had a good time, and I’m sure that everyone’s life has now improved. But I’m happy to tell you that on Election Day I stayed home. And I did essentially what you did. The only difference is when I got finished masturbating I had something to show for it.

The 20th Century World-Hostility Scoreboard

The following is a list of hostilities that took place in the 20th Century among the civilized peoples of the world. The uncivilized were unable to provide reliable statistics.

2 ?

world wars ?

250 ?

civil wars ?

311 ?

holy wars ?

1 ?

cold war ?

516 ?

wars of liberation ?

331 ?

wars of containment ?

691 ?

wars of honor ?

296 ?

declared wars ?

856 ?

undeclared wars ?

4 ?

brushfire wars ?

2 ?

vest-pocket wars ?

413 ?

limited wars ?

1,987 ?

acts of war ?

7,756 ?

warlike acts ?

88 ?

police actions ?

2 ?

nuclear attacks ?

6,578 ?

government massacres ?

4 ?

holocausts ?

943 ?

jihads ?

693 ?

pogroms ?

614 ?

longterm persecutions ?

12,111 ?

acts of treachery ?

575 ?

betrayals of the masses ?

958 ?

grabs for power ?

400 ?

putsches ?

50 ?

total enslavements ?

837 ?

partial enslavements ?

4 ?

total genocides ?

461 ?

partial genocides ?

13,658 ?

cease-fire violations ?

3,115 ?

boundary disputes ?

1,432 ?

border clashes ?

3,047 ?

social conflicts ?

798 ?

sectarian rivalries ?

13,678 ?

civil disturbances ?

946 ?

carpet bombings ?

4,288 ?

threats to security ?

286 ?

popular uprisings ?

1,877 ?

areas of unrest ?

622 ?

strife-torn regions ?

165 ?

internal upheavals ?

745 ?

political repressions ?

12,194 ?

acts of sabotage ?

1,633 ?

swift reprisals ?

818 ?

armed resistances ?

639 ?

repressive measures ?

1,126 ?

violent outbursts ?

9,876 ?

mass detentions ?

11,904 ?

guerilla operations ?

3,466 ?

suicide missions ?

823 ?

slaughters ?

1,200 ?

bloodbaths ?

43,096 ?

atrocities ?

161 ?

reigns of terror ?

715 ?

rebellions ?

28 ?

revolutions ?

21 ?

counterrevolutions ?

746 ?

coups ?

745 ?

countercoups ?

457 ?

insurgencies ?

458 ?

counterinsurgencies ?

4,622 ?

covert operations ?

3,422 ?

direct interventions ?

617 ?

enemy incursions ?

13 ?

measured responses ?

295 ?

commando strikes ?

694 ?

retaliatory raids ?

844 ?

surprise attacks ?

236 ?

protective reactions ?

2,155 ?

frontal assaults ?

213 ?

responses in kind ?

17,867 ?

hostile incidents ?

4,756 ?

belligerent moves ?

938 ?

naked aggressions ?

849 ?

foreign adventures ?

601 ?

overseas entanglements ?

307 ?

arms races ?

98 ?

international powder kegs ?

515 ?

regional tinderboxes ?

818 ?

military flashpoints ?

2,415 ?

heated exchanges ?

911 ?

shows of force ?

668 ?

heightenings of tension ?

735 ?

deliberate provocations ?

921 ?

military confrontations ?

639 ?

dangerous escalations ?

3,721 ?

terrorist bombings ?

438 ?

preemptive strikes ?

630 ?

outside aggressions ?

8,571 ?

violent disturbances ?

646 ?

surgical strikes ?

82,879 ?

ultimatums ?

788,969,747 ?

heated arguments ?

823,285,571 ?

shoving matches ?

917,704,296 ?

fistfights ?

942,759,050 ?

snotty phone calls ?

That’s how we did, folks. Not a bad record, although we could have done better, considering the number of fools in our ranks.

? HYPERLINK “file:///E:\Documents%20and%20Settings\Dom\Desktop\1791_NapalmSillyPutty%5B1%5D\Napalm_body-contents.html” l “TOC-96” ??ROCKETS AND PENISES IN THE PERSIAN GULF ?

History Lesson

I’d like to talk a little about that “war” we had in the Persian Gulf. Remember that? The big war in the Persian Gulf? Lemme tell you what was goin’ on.

Naturally, you can forget all that entertaining fiction about having to defend the model democracy those lucky Kuwaitis get to live under. And for the moment you can also put aside the very real, periodic need Americans have for testing their new weapons on human flesh. And also, just for the fun of it, let’s ignore George Bush’s obligation to protect the oil interests of his family and friends. There was another, much more important, consideration at work. Here’s what really happened.

Dropping a Load for Uncle Sam

The simple fact is that America was long overdue to drop high explosives on helpless civilians; people who have no argument with us whatsoever. After all, it had been awhile, and the hunger gnaws. Remember that’s our specialty: picking on countries that have marginally effective air forces. Yugoslavia is another, more recent, example.

Surfing Unnecessary

But all that aside, let me tell you what I liked about that Gulf War: it was the first war that appeared on every television channel, including cable. And even though the TV show consisted largely of Pentagon war criminals displaying maps and charts, it got very good ratings. And that makes sense, because we like war. We’re a warlike people. We can’t stand not to be fucking with someone. We couldn’t wait for the Cold War to end so we could climb into the big Arab sandbox and play with our nice new toys. We enjoy war.

And one reason we enjoy it is that we’re good at it. You know why we’re good at it? Because we get a lot of practice. This country is only 200 years old, and already we’ve had ten major wars. We average a major war every twenty years. So we’re good at it!

And it’s just as well we are, because we’re not very good at anything else. Can’t build a decent car anymore. Can’t make a TV set, a cell phone, or a VCR. Got no steel industry left. No textiles. Can’t educate our young people. Can’t get health care to our old people. But we can bomb the shit outta your country, all right. We can bomb the shit outta your country!

If You’re Brown, You’re Goin’ Down

Especially if your country is full of brown people. Oh, we like that, don’t we? That’s our hobby now. But it’s also our new job in the world: bombing brown people. Iraq, Panama, Grenada, Libya. You got some brown people in your country? Tell ’em to watch the fuck out, or we’ll goddamn bomb them!

Well, who were the last white people you can remember that we bombed? In fact, can you remember any white people we ever bombed? The Germans! That’s it! Those are the only ones. And that was only because they were tryin’ to cut in on our action. They wanted to dominate the world. Bullshit! That’s our job. That’s our fuckin’ job.

But the Germans are ancient history. These days, we only bomb brown people. And not because they’re cutting in on our action; we do it because they’re brown. Even those Serbs we bombed in Yugoslavia aren’t really white, are they? Naaah! They’re sort of down near the swarthy end of the white spectrum. Just brown enough to bomb. I’m still waiting for the day we bomb the English. People who really deserve it.

A Disobedient American

Now, you folks might’ve noticed, I don’t feel about that Gulf War the way we were instructed to feel about it by the United States government. My mind doesn’t work that way. You see, I’ve got this real moron thing I do, it’s called “thinking.” And I guess I’m not a very good American, because I like to form my own opinions; I don’t just roll over when I’m told. Most Americans roll over on command. Not me. There are certain rules I observe.

Believe You Me

My first rule: Never believe anything anyone in authority says. None of them. Government, police, clergy, the corporate criminals. None of them. And neither do I believe anything I’m told by the media, who, in the case of the Gulf War, functioned as little more than unpaid employees of the Defense Department, and who, most of the time, operate as an unofficial public relations agency for government and industry.

I don’t believe in any of them. And I have to tell you, folks, I don’t really believe very much in my country either. I don’t get all choked up about yellow ribbons and American flags. I see them as symbols, and I leave them to the symbol-minded.

Show Us Your Dick

I also look at war itself a little differently from most. I see it largely as an exercise in dick-waving. That’s really all it is: a lot of men standing around in a field waving their dicks at one another. Men, insecure about the size of their penises, choose to kill one another.

That’s also what all that moron athlete bullshit is about, and what that macho, male posturing and strutting around in bars and locker rooms represents. It’s called “dick fear.” Men are terrified that their dicks are inadequate, and so they have to “compete” in order to feel better about themselves. And since war is the ultimate competition, essentially men are killing one another in order to improve their genital self-esteem.

You needn’t be a historian or a political scientist to see the Bigger Dick Foreign Policy Theory at work. It goes like this: “What? They have bigger dicks? Bomb them!” And of course, the bombs, the rockets, and the bullets are all shaped like penises. Phallic weapons. There’s an unconscious need to project the national penis into the affairs of others. It’s called “fucking with people.”

Show Us Your Bush

So, as far as I’m concerned, that whole thing in the Persian Gulf was nothing more than one big dick-waving cockfight. In this particular case, Saddam Hussein questioned the size of George Bush’s dick. And George Bush had been called a wimp for so long, he apparently felt the need to act out his manhood fantasies by sending America’s white children to kill other people’s brown children. Clearly the worst kind of wimp.

Even his name, “Bush,” as slang, is related to the genitals without actually being the genitals. A bush is sort of a passive, secondary sex characteristic. It’s even used as a slang term for women: “Hey, pal, how’s the bush in this area?” I can’t help thinking, if this president’s name had been George Boner . . . well, he might have felt a little better about himself, and he wouldn’t have had to kill all those children. Too bad he couldn’t locate his manhood.

Premature Extraction

Actually, when you think about it, this country has had a manhood problem for some time. You can tell by the language we use; language always gives us away. What did we do wrong in Vietnam? We “pulled out”! Not a very manly thing to do. No. When you’re fucking people, you’re supposed to stay with it and fuck them good; fuck them to death; hang in there and keep fucking them until they’re all fucking dead.

But in Vietnam what happened was by accident we left a few women and children alive, and we haven’t felt good about ourselves since. That’s why in the Persian Gulf, George Bush had to say, “This will not be another Vietnam.” He actually said, “this time we’re going all the way.” Imagine. An American president using the sexual slang of a thirteen-year-old to describe his foreign policy.

And, of course, when it got right down to it, he didn’t “go all the way.” Faced with going into Baghdad he punked out. No balls. Just Bush. Instead, he applied sanctions, so he’d be sure that an extra half a million brown children would die. And so his oil buddies could continue to fill their pockets.

If you want to know what happened in the Persian Gulf, just remember the first names of the two men who ran that war: Dick Cheney and Colin Powell. Dick and colon. Someone got fucked in the ass. And those brown people better make sure they keep their pants on, because Dick and Colin have come back for an encore.