Текст книги "Napalm and Silly Putty"

Автор книги: Джордж Карлин

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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

“The captain has asked . . .” More shit from the bogus captain. You know, for someone who’s supposed to be flying an airplane, he’s taking a mighty big interest in what I’m doing back here. “. . . that you remain seated until he has brought the aircraft to a complete stop.” A complete stop. Not a partial stop. No. Because during a partial stop, I partially get up, partially get my bags, and partially leave the plane.

“Please continue to observe the No Smoking sign until well inside the terminal.” Folks, I’ve tried this. Let me tell you it is physically impossible to observe the No Smoking sign, even from just outside the airplane, much less from well inside the terminal. In fact, you can’t even see the airplanes from well inside the terminal.

Which brings us to “terminal.” Another unfortunate word to be using in association with air travel. And they use it all over the airport, don’t they? Somehow, I can’t get hungry at a place called the Terminal Restaurant. Then again, if you’ve ever eaten there, you know the name is quite appropriate.

? HYPERLINK “file:///E:\Documents%20and%20Settings\Dom\Desktop\1791_NapalmSillyPutty%5B1%5D\Napalm_body-contents.html” l “TOC-8” ??A BEDROCK-SOLID ALIBI ?

Most vitamin pills don’t have names or trademarks on them; they’re just plain-looking unmarked pills. And if you’re traveling with a lot of vitamins, and in order to save space you’ve put them all in one big jar, you have no way of proving what they are. If, for instance, the police should search your suitcase, all they’re going to know is that you have a big jar of unmarked pills. And should they be in the mood to break your balls, they can hold you for twenty-four hours while they “send these little things down to the lab and see what we’ve got here.” And you wind up in jail overnight for no reason at all.

That’s why I always travel with Flintstone vitamins. Not only do Flintstone vitamins contain all the vital nutrients kids need each day, they also keep grown-ups out of jail.

“Honest, Officer, they’re Flintstone vitamins. Look, there’s Wilma and Barney.”

“By God, Ben, he’s right. Look at this. It’s Dino! It’s a little purple Dino!”

Suddenly, you’re a free man. And a healthy one, too!

? HYPERLINK “file:///E:\Documents%20and%20Settings\Dom\Desktop\1791_NapalmSillyPutty%5B1%5D\Napalm_body-contents.html” l “TOC-9” ??RICE KRISPIES ?

I had an interesting morning; I got into an argument with my Rice Krispies. I distinctly heard, “Snap, crackle, fuck you!” I’m not sure which one of them said it; I was reaching for the artificial sweetener at the time and not looking directly into the bowl. But I heard it and I said, “Well, you can all just sit right there in the milk as far as I’m concerned until I find out which one of you said it.” Mass punishment. The idea is to turn them against one another.

Silly me. Big punishment! That’s what Rice Krispies do. Sit in the milk. That’s their job. You’ve seen them. Delicate, beige blisters of air, floating proudly in the milk. And you can’t sink them. They refuse to sink. The navy ought to use Rice Krispies in life preservers. That’s where they’re really needed.

And do you know how Rice Krispies manage to float for such a long time? By clinging to one another; they buddy up. They gather in little groups of eight, ten, or sometimes twelve, but if you’ve noticed, it’s always an even number. That’s because the electromagnetic polarity of the Krispies attracts them to one another. It binds them into pairs, like subatomic particles. They form little colonies, and you can’t sink them, not even with a spoon. They just come bobbing up over the sides of the spoon, laughing at you and reveling in their buoyancy. Hard to sink.

That’s what the fruit is for. Not for added taste; not for nutrition; it’s for sinking the Rice Krispies. Believe me, a good-sized peach, hurled at the bowl full force from a stepladder, can take down eighty or ninety of the little buggers in one glorious splash.

And I have absolutely no mercy. If I’m really pissed, I’ll climb up to the upstairs balcony and drop a watermelon on them. That’ll teach them to sass me at breakfast.

? HYPERLINK “file:///E:\Documents%20and%20Settings\Dom\Desktop\1791_NapalmSillyPutty%5B1%5D\Napalm_body-contents.html” l “TOC-10” ??THE MORNING NEWS ?

London police fired warning shots over the heads of rioters today. Unfortunately, they killed six members of the royal family watching from a balcony.

A Wisconsin woman claims that last month she was taken aboard a space ship where aliens cleaned her teeth, fitted her with a diaphragm, and gave her a Valium prescription good for three refills. She also claims that while aboard the ship she was introduced to Richard Simmons.

A spokesman for the Vatican announced today that in Rome a statue of St. Peter has come to life and is passing along fishing tips and veal recipes.

The California Humane Society has filed a criminal complaint against a man they say is keeping tropical fish in a moving blender. The man admits it is true but says he has never turned the blender above Mix. The Humane Society claims he’s had it up to Whip and Puree several times.

John Barrow, a Vermont man, is suing his minister for religious malpractice. He claims the minister wrongfully included him in a prayer being said to shrink the size of another man’s brain tumor. Although the cancer patient has completely recovered, Barrow says his own head is now the size of a walnut.

A Florida man who wrestles alligators for a living was eaten alive today when the alligator apparently did not understand the universal signal for “time-out.”

Amtrak officials have announced that as of the first of July, all passenger service will be discontinued except for a single train that will operate only in an eastbound direction.

Chief Justice William Rehnquist had an embarrassing moment in court last week. During an oral argument, the chief justice farted quite loudly. Recovering quickly, and displaying his vaunted wit, Rehnquist said, “One more outburst like that, and I’ll clear the court.”

The Loch Ness monster surfaced today, and in a clear Scottish accent asked if she had any messages.

A Kentucky man has been arrested for making an unauthorized deposit in a sperm bank.

The U.S. Army has announced that although it is true they performed mind-destroying drug tests on hundreds of soldiers in the 1960s, none of the victims has been promoted beyond the rank of lieutenant colonel.

An Ohio man whose library book was fourteen years overdue has taken his own life rather than pay the huge fine. Asked how such a thing could happen, his wife said, “I don’t know. We looked and looked, and simply couldn’t find it.”

And finally, here’s one for The Guinness Book of World Records. A Baltimore man recently broke a longtime mental record when a forty-four-year-long thought he was having came to an end. When asked what he had been thinking of he said he couldn’t remember, but that it would probably come back to him. He added that quite possibly it had something to do with his hat.

? HYPERLINK “file:///E:\Documents%20and%20Settings\Dom\Desktop\1791_NapalmSillyPutty%5B1%5D\Napalm_body-contents.html” l “TOC-11” ??FIVE UNEASY MOMENTS ?

Moment #1

Have you ever been in one of those serious social situations when you suddenly realize you have to pull the underwear out of the crack in your ass?

“Do you, Enrique, take this woman, Blanca, to be your lawful, wedded wife?”

“Huh? Hold on, Rev.” [Tugging violently at his pants] “Aah! Got it! Jesus, that was in deep. Yes. Yes, I do. Excuse me, Rev, sometimes my shorts get sucked up way inside my asshole.” Ain’t love grand?

Moment #2

Have you ever been at a really loud party where the music is deafening, and in order to be heard you have to scream at the top of your lungs? Even if you’re talking to the person right next to you? But then often, the music stops suddenly and everyone quiets down at the same time. And only your voice can be heard, ringing across the room:

“CHARLIE, I’M GONNA GET MY TESTICLES LAMINATED!!”

And everyone turns to look at Charlie’s interesting friend.

Moment #3

Have you ever been talking to a bunch of guys, and you laugh through your nose and blow a snot on your shirt? And then you have to just keep talking and hope they’ll think it’s part of the design? It works all right if you’re wearing a Hawaiian shirt. But otherwise, they’re gonna notice.

“Hey, Ed, check it out! Dave’s got a big snot on his shirt! Howie, look! Phil, c’mere! Dave just blew a big snot all over himself.”

Guys are such fun.

Moment #4

Did you ever meet a guy, and as you’re shaking his hand you realize he doesn’t have a complete hand? It feels like something is missing? And you’re standing there holding a handful of deformed, knoblike flesh?

It’s unnerving, isn’t it? But you can’t react; you can’t even look down at his hand. You have to make believe it feels great.

You can’t go, “Eeeaauuu! How creepy! Where’s your other fingers?”

You can’t say that. It’s not even an option. You have to hang in, smile big, and say, “Hey, swell hand! Gimme three! Okay! A high-three! Yo! Okay!”

Moment #5

Have you ever been talking to yourself when someone suddenly comes in the room? And you have to make believe you were singing? And you hope to God the other person really believes there’s a song called “Fuck Her”?

The American Bu$ine$$man’s Ten Steps ?to Product Development

1. Can I cut corners in the design?

2. Can it be shoddily built?

3. Can I use cheap materials?

4. Will it create hazards for my workers?

5. Will it harm the environment?

6. Can I evade the safety laws?

7. Will children die from it?

8. Can I overprice it?

9. Can it be falsely advertised?

10. Will it force smaller competitors out of business?

Excellent. Let’s get busy.

? HYPERLINK “file:///E:\Documents%20and%20Settings\Dom\Desktop\1791_NapalmSillyPutty%5B1%5D\Napalm_body-contents.html” l “TOC-12” ??THE BOVINE FECES TRILOGY ?

E Pluribus Bullshit

Every time you’re exposed to advertising in America you’re reminded that this country’s most profitable business is still the manufacture, packaging, distribution, and marketing of bullshit. High-quality, grade-A, prime-cut, pure American bullshit.

And the sad part is that most people seem to believe bullshit only comes from certain predictable sources: advertising, politics, salesmen, and lawyers. Not true. Bullshit is everywhere. Bullshit is rampant. Parents are full of shit, teachers are full of shit, clergymen are full of shit, and law enforcement is full of shit. This entire country is completely full of shit—and always has been. From the Declaration of Independence to the Constitution to the “Star Spangled Banner,” it’s nothing more than one big, steaming pile of red-white-and-blue, all-American bullshit.

Think of how it all started: America was founded by slave owners who informed us, “All men are created equal.” All “men,” except Indians, niggers, and women. Remember, the founders were a small group of unelected, white, male, land-holding slave owners who also, by the way, suggested their class be the only one allowed to vote. To my mind, that is what’s known as being stunningly—and embarrassingly—full of shit. And everybody bought it. All Americans bought it.

And those same Americans continue to show their ignorance with all this nonsense about wanting their politicians to be honest. What are these cretins thinking? Do they realize what they’re wishing for? If honesty were suddenly introduced into American life, everything would collapse. It would destroy this country, because our system is based on an intricate and delicately balanced system of lies.

And I think that somehow, deep down, Americans understand this. That’s why they elected—and reelected—Bill Clinton. Because given a choice, Americans prefer their bullshit right out front, where they can get a good, strong whiff of it. Clinton may have been full of shit, but at least he let you know it. And people like that.

In ’96, Dole tried to hide his bullshit, and he lost. He kept saying, “I’m a plain and honest man.” People don’t believe that. What did Clinton say? He said, “Hi folks! I’m completely full of shit, and how do you like that?” And the people said, “You know what? At least he’s honest. At least he’s honest about being completely full of shit.”

Will They Buy this Bullshit?

It’s the same in the business world. Everyone knows by now all businessmen are completely full of shit; the worst kind of lowlife, criminal cocksuckers you can expect to meet. And the proof is, they don’t even trust each other!

When a businessman sits down to negotiate with another businessman, the first thing he does is assume the other guy is a complete lying prick who’s trying to fuck him out of his money. So he does everything he can to fuck the other guy a little bit faster and a little bit harder. And he does it with a big smile on his face. That big, bullshit businessman’s smile.

And if you’re a customer, that’s when they give you the really big smile! The customer always gets that really big smile as the businessman carefully positions himself directly behind the customer, unzips his pants, and proceeds to “service” the account.

“I’m servicing this account . . .

[pelvic thrust!]

“This customer . . .

[thrust]

“needs

[thrust!]

“service!”

[thrust, thrust, thrust!]

Now you know what they mean when they say, “We specialize in customer service.” Whoever first said, “Let the buyer beware” was probably bleeding from the asshole. But that’s business. That’s business, and business is okay.

Bullshit from the Sky

But folks, I have to tell you, in the bullshit department a businessman can’t hold a candle to a clergyman. Because when it comes to bullshit. Big-time, major-league bullshit. You have to stand in awe—in awe!—of the all-time champion of false promises and exaggerated claims: religion. No contest.

Religion—easily—has the Greatest Bullshit Story Ever Told! Think about it: religion has actually convinced people—many of them adults—that there’s an invisible man who lives in the sky and watches everything you do, every minute of every day. And who has a special list of ten things he does not want you to do.

And if you do any of these ten things, he has a special place, full of fire and smoke and burning and torture and anguish, where he will send you to remain and suffer and burn and choke and scream and cry, forever and ever, till the end of time. But he loves you!

He loves you, and he needs money! He always needs money. He’s all-powerful, all-perfect, all-knowing, and all-wise, but somehow . . . he just can’t handle money. Religion takes in billions of dollars, pays no taxes, and somehow always needs a little more. Now, you talk about a good bullshit story. Holy shit!

? HYPERLINK “file:///E:\Documents%20and%20Settings\Dom\Desktop\1791_NapalmSillyPutty%5B1%5D\Napalm_body-contents.html” l “TOC-13” ??SHORT TAKES ?

Do you ever get that strange feeling of vuja de? Not déja` vu; vuja de. It’s the distinct sense that, somehow, something that just happened has never happened before. Nothing seems familiar. And then suddenly the feeling is gone. Vuja de.

Spirituality: the last refuge of a failed human. Just another way of distracting yourself from who you really are.

I have a problem with married people who carry their babies in backpacks or frontpacks or slings, or whatever those devices are called. Those baby-carrying devices that seem designed to leave the parent’s hands free to sort through merchandise. Hey, Mr. and Mrs. Natural Fibers, is it too much trouble to ask you to hold the fuckin’ kid? Are you so busy picking out consumer goods and reaching for your credit card that you can’t hold the baby? It’s not an accessory or a small appliance. It’s a baby.

Most of the time people feel okay. Probably it’s because at that moment they’re not actually dying.

You know what I like about the American form of government? They’ve worked things out so that you’re never far from a 7-Eleven.

You know what you never hear about? A bunch of Jews being hit by a tornado.

Don’t you hate it when people send you unsolicited pictures of their kids? What’s that all about? It bothers me. I hate to keep throwing away perfectly good pictures.

When I see a guy with hair on his back I immediately relegate him to the animal kingdom.

Every six minutes there’s a rape in this country, and boy, is my dick sore. I’m tellin’ ya, every day, house to house, there’s no letup. It’s a fuckin’ hassle.

I haven’t eaten an ice cream sandwich in forty-seven years.

Next time you see Bing Crosby playing a priest in a movie, picture him beating his children in real life.

I’ve never been quarantined. But the more I look around the more I think it might not be a bad idea.

Here’s some fun: Run into a bakery and ask if they can bake a cake in the shape of a penis. They’re never quite sure; they always have to have a meeting.

“Well, I don’t know. Wait just a moment.”

While they’re talking, pull out your schwanz and wave it all around.

“Good Lord, Helen! Quick! Order extra flour!”

I don’t think we should be governing ourselves. What we need is a king, and every now and then if the king’s not doing a good job, we kill him.

So far, this is the oldest I’ve been.

I think someone could make a lot of money if they set up a little stand at the Grand Canyon and sold Yo-Yos with 500-foot strings.

Road rage, air rage. Why should I be forced to divide my rage into separate categories? To me, it’s just one big, all-around, everyday rage. I don’t have time for fine distinctions. I’m busy screaming at people.

There’s something I like about the clitoris, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.

Driving is fun. Did you ever run over a guy? And then you panic? So you back up and run over him again? You ever notice the second crunch is not as loud as the first? I think it’s because the guy already has tread marks on him. But there he is, lyin’ right in front of your car. Might as well run over him again. What’re you gonna do this time, drive around him?

When Ronald Reagan got Alzheimer’s disease, how could they tell?

Sometimes they say the winds are calm. Well, if they’re calm, they’re not really winds, are they?

I think a good title for a travel book would be Doorway to Norway.

Next time they give you all that civic bullshit about voting, keep in mind that Hitler was elected in a full, free democratic election.

Would somebody please tell me what is so sacred about the Lincoln Bedroom? If it were the Ulysses S. Grant Bedroom, do you think people would’ve been as annoyed that Clinton rented it out to campaign donors? No. It’s just the bullshit Lincoln myth that caused the uproar.

Why do they keep trotting out this Billy Graham character? He has nothing to say, and basically no one gives a fuck.

Murder investigators say that in most cases husbands kill wives, wives kill husbands, children kill parents, and parents kill children. Thank God for a little sanity in the world.

Regarding the Boy Scouts, I’m very suspicious of any organization that has a handbook.

If there really are multiple universes, what do they call the thing they’re all a part of?

Where did this idea come from that if you’re a celebrity, and something bad happens to you, you have to devote your life to eliminating the same problem for everyone else? Michael J. Fox, Christopher Reeve, Mary Tyler Moore; they all work on curing their own afflictions. Why doesn’t a celebrity with milk leg ever do something about dandy fever? How about an actor with woolsorter’s disease raising money for the victims of swimming pool granuloma? That’s the trouble with Hollywood, no imagination.

Instead of warning pregnant women not to drink, I think female alcoholics ought to be told not to fuck.

? HYPERLINK “file:///E:\Documents%20and%20Settings\Dom\Desktop\1791_NapalmSillyPutty%5B1%5D\Napalm_body-contents.html” l “TOC-14” ??YOUR CHILDREN ARE OVERRATED ?

Something else I’m getting tired of in this country is all this stupid bullshit I have to listen to about children. That’s all you hear anymore, children: “Help the children, save the children, protect the children.” You know what I say? Fuck the children! Fuck ’em! Fuck kids; they’re getting entirely too much attention.

And I know what some of you are thinking: “Jesus, he’s not going to attack children, is he?” Yes he is! He’s going to attack children. And remember, this is Mr. Conductor talking; I know what I’m talking about.

And I also know that all you boring single dads and working moms, who think you’re such fuckin’ heroes, aren’t gonna like this, but somebody’s gotta tell you for your own good: your children are overrated and overvalued, and you’ve turned them into little cult objects. You have a child fetish, and it’s not healthy. And don’t give me all that weak shit, “Well, I love my children.” Fuck you! Everybody loves their children; it doesn’t make you special.

John Wayne Gacy loved his children. Yes, he did. He kept ’em all right out in the yard, near the garage. That’s not what I’m talking about. What I’m talking about is this constant, mindless yammering in the media, this neurotic fixation that suggests somehow everything—everything—has to revolve around the lives of children. It’s completely out of balance.

Let’s Get Real

Listen, there are a couple of things about kids you have to remember. First of all, they’re not all cute. In fact, if you look at ’em real close, most of them are rather unpleasant looking. And a lot of them don’t smell too good either. The little ones in particular seem to have a kind of urine and sour-milk combination that I don’t care for at all. Stay with me on this folks, the sooner you face it the better off you’re gonna be.

Second premise: not all children are smart and clever. Got that? Kids are like any other group of people: a few winners, a whole lot of losers! This country is filled with loser kids who simply . . . aren’t . . . going anywhere! And there’s nothing you can do about it, folks. Nothing! You can’t save ’em all. You can’t do it. You gotta let ’em go; you gotta cut ’em loose; you gotta stop overprotecting them, because you’re making ’em too soft. Today’s kids are way too soft.

Safe and Sorry

For one thing, there’s too much emphasis on safety and safety equipment: childproof medicine bottles, fireproof pajamas, child restraints, car seats. And helmets! Bicycle, baseball, skateboard, scooter helmets. Kids have to wear helmets now for everything but jerking off. Grown-ups have taken all the fun out of being a kid, just to save a few thousand lives. It’s pathetic.

What’s happened is, these baby boomers, these soft, fruity baby boomers, have raised an entire generation of soft, fruity kids who aren’t even allowed to have hazardous toys, for Chrissakes! Hazardous toys, shit! Whatever happened to natural selection? Survival of the fittest? The kid who swallows too many marbles doesn’t grow up to have kids of his own. Simple stuff. Nature knows best!

We’re saving entirely too many lives in this country—of all ages! Nature should be permitted to do its job weeding out and killing off the weak and sickly and ignorant people, without interference from airbags and batting helmets. We’re lowering the human gene pool! If these ideas bother you, just think of them as passive eugenics.

New Math

Here’s another example of overprotection for these kids, and you’ve seen this one on the news. Did you ever notice that every time some guy with an AK-47 strolls into the school yard and kills three or four of these fuckin’ kids and a couple of teachers, the next day the school is overrun with psychologists and psychiatrists and grief counselors and trauma therapists, trying to help the children cope?

Shit! When I was a kid, and some guy came to our school and killed three or four of us, we went right on with our arithmetic: “Thirty-five classmates minus four equals thirty-one.” We were tough! I say if a kid can handle the violence at home, he oughta be able to handle the violence at school.

Out of Uniform

Another bunch of ignorant bullshit about your children: school uniforms. Bad theory! The idea that if kids wear uniforms to school, it helps keep order. Hey! Don’t these schools do enough damage makin’ all these children think alike? Now they’re gonna get ’em to look alike, too?

And it’s not even a new idea; I first saw it in old newsreels from the 1930s, but it was hard to understand, because the narration was in German! But the uniforms looked beautiful. And the children did everything they were told and never questioned authority. Gee, I wonder why someone would want to put our children in uniforms. Can’t imagine.

And one more item about children: this superstitious nonsense of blaming tobacco companies for kids who smoke. Listen! Kids don’t smoke because a camel in sunglasses tells them to. They smoke for the same reasons adults do, because it’s an enjoyable activity that relieves anxiety and depression.

And you’d be anxious and depressed too if you had to put up with pathetic, insecure, yuppie parents who enroll you in college before you’ve even figured out which side of the playpen smells the worst and then fill you full of Ritalin to get you in a mood they approve of, and drag you all over town in search of empty, meaningless structure: Little League, Cub Scouts, swimming, soccer, karate, piano, bagpipes, watercolors, witchcraft, glass blowing, and dildo practice. It’s absurd.

They even have “play dates,” for Christ’s sake! Playing is now done by appointment! Whatever happened to “You show me your wee-wee, and I’ll show you mine”? You never hear that anymore.

But it’s true. A lot of these striving, anal parents are burning their kids out on structure. I think what every child needs and ought to have every day is two hours of daydreaming. Plain old daydreaming. Turn off the Internet, the CD-ROMs, and the computer games and let them stare at a tree for a couple of hours. It’s good for them. And you know something? Every now and then they actually come up with one of their own ideas. You want to know how you can help your kids? Leave them the fuck alone!

? HYPERLINK “file:///E:\Documents%20and%20Settings\Dom\Desktop\1791_NapalmSillyPutty%5B1%5D\Napalm_body-contents.html” l “TOC-15” ??CARS AND DRIVING: PART TWO ?

Reverse Logic

Here’s an embarrassing driving situation, the kind of thing that can haunt you for several hundred miles. One of those incidents you can’t just shake off. Like the time you almost got killed by the big tractor-trailer, and had to pull off the road for about twenty minutes and listen to your heart slamming up against your rib cage? BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! Well, this next thing is just like that, but this is one you do all by yourself.

Did you ever pull up to a red light, and go a little bit too far into the intersection? Just a few extra feet? So, you put the car in reverse and back up ju-u-u-u-st a little bit. And then you forget the car is in reverse? And so you sit there, innocently, waiting for the light to change. Looking around. Eager to get movin’ again. Don’t wanna keep the proctologist waiting. Da-dum, da-dum, dee-dee, da-dum.

At this point, folks, you are truly an accident waiting to happen. An insurance claim in progress. So, you sit some more, and you sit some more, and you wait, and you wait, and you wait. And you stare at the red light, and you look over at the woman on the right adjustin’ her tits, and you look at the guy on the left pickin’ his nose, and then finally—finally—the light changes and off you go! CRASH! CRUNCH! CRUMPLE! TINKLE! Directly backward into the grille of what was formerly a cute little red Yugo.

“Holy shit! How’d I get back here? This is where I was a coupla minutes ago!”

Apparently, you have to pay attention even at the red lights. I thought surely they were for resting. You know, drive a little, rest a little, drive a little, rest a little. Seemed that way to me. Guess not.

Oh, Brother!

Here’s a little red-light story somebody told me a long time ago. This guy’s drivin’ along, he’s got someone sittin’ right next to him in the passenger seat, and he goes straight through a red light. ZOOOOM!

Passenger says, “Whaddaya doin’?”

Driver says, “Never mind! My brother drives like this.”

They go a little farther, and come to another red light. ZOOM! Guy goes right through it!

“Whaddaya doin’?”

“Will you stop? I told ya, my brother drives like this.”

He keeps on goin’, and now he comes to a green light. He slams on the brakes.

“Whaddaya doin’?”

“Well, you never know. My brother might be comin’ the other way!”

Turn, Turn, Turn

Now, a couple of things to remember when you’re out in traffic. First of all, never get behind anybody weird. Y’ever get stuck behind a guy whose turn signal has been on for about eighty miles? And you’re thinkin’ to yourself, “Well, maybe he’s just a really cautious man. I’m not gonna pass him now, he may turn at any moment.”

And later you discover he was driving around the world—to the left!

Slow Dancin’ in the Fast Lane

Another pain in the ass you don’t want to get behind is anyone who drives real sss-l-l-l-o-o-o-ww. Boy, that’s good for your arteries, isn’t it? Someone really . . . really . . . sss-l-l-l-o-o-o-ww!

There are two classes of drivers in this category. The first is any four-foot woman in a Cadillac whose head you cannot see. This is certain death. At first you think, “Well, maybe it’s a remote-controlled, experimental robot car. No, I can see tiny knuckles on the wheel and a small patch of blue hair.” At this point I take no chances; I pull over immediately and take public transportation. I’m not about to fuck with a ghost car; let someone else flag down the Flying Dutchman, it’s not my job.

Another driver you don’t want to get behind is any man over seventy wearing a flannel cap with earflaps. In August. Keep your distance! Because, folks, you know how pissed you can get. Even though you think you’re a mighty cool customer, you do get mighty pissed out there.