Текст книги "Napalm and Silly Putty"

Автор книги: Джордж Карлин

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

And so, our job is done. The plastic is here, we can now be phased out. And I think that’s already begun, don’t you? I mean, to be fair, the planet probably sees us as a mild threat, something to be dealt with. And I’m sure it can defend itself in the manner of a large organism; the way a beehive or an ant colony would muster a defense. I’m sure the planet will think of something. What would you be thinking if you were the planet, trying to defend yourself against this pesky, troublesome species?

“Let’s see, what might I try? Hmmm! Viruses might be good; these humans seem vulnerable. And viruses are tricky, always mutating and developing new strains when new medicines or vaccines are introduced. And perhaps the first virus I try could be one that compromises their immune systems. A human immunodeficiency virus that makes them vulnerable to other infections that come along. And perhaps this virus could be spread sexually, making them reluctant to engage in the act of reproduction, further reducing their numbers.”

Well, I guess it’s a poetic notion, but it’s a start. And I can dream, can’t I?

No, folks, I don’t worry about the little things. Bees, trees, whales, snails. I don’t worry about them. I think we’re part of a much greater wisdom. Greater than we will ever understand. A higher order. Call it what you like. I call it The Big Electron. The Big Electron. It doesn’t punish, it doesn’t reward, and it doesn’t judge. It just is. And so are we. For a little while. See ya.

? HYPERLINK “file:///E:\Documents%20and%20Settings\Dom\Desktop\1791_NapalmSillyPutty%5B1%5D\Napalm_body-contents.html” l “TOC-39” ??SHORT TAKES ?

You know what we need? Black Jell-O.

I don’t understand why prostitution is illegal. Selling is legal, fucking is legal. So, why isn’t it legal to sell fucking? Why should it be illegal to sell something that’s legal to give away? I can’t follow the logic. Of all the things you can do to a person, giving them an orgasm is hardly the worst. In the army they give you a medal for killing people; in civilian life you go to jail for giving them orgasms. Am I missing something?

Wouldn’t it be great if you could make a guy’s head explode just by looking at him?

Guys don’t seem to be called Lefty anymore.

JOIN THE RANKS OF THE UNCLEAN.

In someone else’s house, when I sit on a warm toilet seat after seeing another person leave the bathroom, if that person was a man I’m not quite comfortable. But if it was a woman I feel just fine. Unless it was a really fat or old woman. Then it feels kind of creepy.

The reason I talk to myself is that I’m the only one whose answers I accept.

To my great disgust, the trend of naming children with what, until recently, had been considered surnames continues unabated. The latest abominations: Walker, Parker, Kendall, Flynn and McKenna. God help us.

Why aren’t there any really disturbing pop songs, like

“Tomorrow I’m Gonna Fuck Your Wife”?

If you were trying to clean up the world with a gun, you could sure do a lot worse than starting with a whole bunch of dead prosecutors.

I was thinking the other day that they ought to make those handicapped ramps a little steeper. And put a few curves in them, too. I could use some laughs.

Think of how entertaining it would be if all the people on TV still had their original teeth.

I think we ought to just go ahead and make “zillion” a real number. “Gazillion,” too. A zillion could be ten million trillions, and a gazillion could be a trillion zillions. It seems to me it’s time to do this.

A long time ago in England a guy named Thomas Culpepper was hanged, beheaded, quartered, and disemboweled. Why do I have the impression women were not involved in these activities?

I read somewhere that in Mexico City 300 tons of fecal matter are deposited in the air every day. So I guess you could say that not only does shit happen, it also falls on your head.

In Maine, in order to save energy, there are several lighthouses that are closed at night.

What’s all the fuss about same-sex marriages? I’ve been the same sex all my life, and I was married for years. No problem. What’s the big deal?

I think the best home security system of all would be one that locks the burglar inside his own house.

Sometime when you’re watching a street musician, walk over in the middle of a song and whisper to him that you don’t like his music. Then take a dollar out of his cup and walk away.

Sometime after John Denver’s airplane crashed, a sheriff on TV was speculating that a pelican had flown into the plane. He actually said, “Birds are a hazard to aircraft.” Funny, I always thought it was the other way around.

You know what’s a fun thing to do? Go through your address book every few years and cross out the dead people.

If a group of people stand around in a circle long enough, eventually they will begin to dance.

Jesus doesn’t really love you but he thinks you have a great personality.

Baseball entered its death throes when it began referring to fielding as “defense.”

Have Some Fun: Walk into a gift shop and tell them you came in to get your gift.

Sony would be real smart to come up with a combination CD player and colostomy bag called the Shitman.

May I ask what all these grown men are doing walking around with fruity-looking backpacks? You see some goofy, twenty-eight-year-old yuppie wearin’ a backpack. Like he’s out prospecting for borax. What’s in these packs that’s so important? The nuclear launch codes? It’s embarrassing. I don’t know why I’ve allowed it to go on as long as I have.

I don’t understand people who protest things in the street by walking around holding signs. I say, if you’re gonna be on the street, use the time productively. Destroy some property.

How can it be a spy satellite if they announce on television that it’s a spy satellite?

Why is it every time some celebrity gets cancer the National Enquirer says he’s “vowed to lick this thing.” Just once I’d like to hear a guy say, “I’ve got cancer, and this is it. I’ll be dead in a few months.”

Why don’t they have a light bulb that only shines on things worth looking at?

Even though men are complete assholes, you know what makes me sad about feminism? Somewhere along the way we lost “Hey, toots!”

? HYPERLINK “file:///E:\Documents%20and%20Settings\Dom\Desktop\1791_NapalmSillyPutty%5B1%5D\Napalm_body-contents.html” l “TOC-40” ??BRAVE NEW WORLD OF SCIENCE ?

Scientists in Switzerland announced today they have been able to make mice fart by holding them upside-down and tapping them on the stomach with a ballpoint pen.

A pair of Siamese twins in Australia, surgically separated six months ago, has been sewn back together. Apparently, each of them could remember only half the combination to their locker.

Medical researchers have discovered a new disease that has no symptoms. It is impossible to detect, and there is no known cure. Fortunately, no cases have been reported thus far.

The Nobel Prize in mathematics was awarded yesterday to a California professor who has discovered a new number. The number is “bleen,” which he says belongs between six and seven.

The surgeon general warned today that saliva causes stomach cancer. But apparently only when swallowed in small amounts over a long period of time.

A Swedish entomologist claims that common houseflies are highly intelligent and can be trained to fix umbrellas and dance in a circle.

Botanists in England have developed a plant that may help solve the world’s hunger problems. Although it has no food value of its own, when the plant reaches maturity it sneaks across the yard and steals food from the neighbors.

An x-ray technician at New York Hospital has died from a rare disease known as cancer-of-the-part-in-the-hair. In a desperate attempt to treat himself, twenty-eight-year-old Norris Flengkt shaved his head completely bald. Unfortunately, the cancer thought it was simply a wider part and proceeded to devour his entire skull.

Engineers at General Motors have developed a revolutionary new engine whose only function is to lubricate itself.

Astronomers announced that next month the sun, the moon, and all nine planets will be aligned perfectly with the earth. They say, however, the only noticeable effect will be that the Nome to Rio bus will run four days late.

Thanks to the sharp eyes of a Minnesota man, it is possible that two identical snowflakes may finally have been observed. While out snowmobiling, Oley Skotchgaard noticed a snowflake that looked familiar to him. Searching his memory, he realized it was identical to a snowflake he had seen as a child in Vermont. Weather experts, while excited, caution that the match-up will be difficult to verify.

Geologists claim that although the world is running out of oil, there is still a two-hundred-year supply of brake fluid.

According to astronomers, next week Wednesday will occur twice. They say such a thing happens only once every 60,000 years and although they don’t know why it occurs, they’re glad they have an extra day to figure it out.

A team of microbiologists announced today they have discovered something they cannot identify. According to them it is long and thin and smells like a tractor seat.

? HYPERLINK “file:///E:\Documents%20and%20Settings\Dom\Desktop\1791_NapalmSillyPutty%5B1%5D\Napalm_body-contents.html” l “TOC-41” ??IT’S NOT A SPORT ?

To my way of thinking, there are really only three sports: baseball, basketball, and football. Everything else is either a game or an activity.

Hockey comes to mind. People think hockey is a sport. It’s not. Hockey is three activities taking place at the same time: ice skating, fooling around with a puck, and beating the shit out of somebody.

If these guys had more brains than teeth, they’d do these things one at a time. First you go ice skating, then you fool around with a puck, then you go to the bar and beat the shit out of somebody. The day would last longer, and these guys would have a whole lot more fun.

Another reason hockey is not a sport is that it’s not played with a ball. Anything not played with a ball can’t be a sport. These are my rules, I make ’em up.

Soccer. Soccer is not a sport because you can’t use your arms. Anything where you can’t use your arms can’t be a sport. Tap dancing isn’t a sport. I rest my case.

Running. People think running is a sport. Running isn’t a sport because anybody can do it. Anything we can all do can’t be a sport. I can run, you can run. For Chrissakes, my mother can run! You don’t see her on the cover of Sports Illustrated, do you?

Swimming. Swimming isn’t a sport. Swimming is a way to keep from drowning. That’s just common sense.

Sailing isn’t a sport. Sailing is a way to get somewhere. Riding the bus isn’t a sport, why the fuck should sailing be a sport?

Boxing is not a sport either. Boxing is a way to beat the shit out of somebody. In that respect, boxing is actually a more sophisticated form of hockey. In spite of what the police tell you, beating the shit out of somebody is not a sport. When police brutality becomes an Olympic event, fine, then boxing can be a sport.

Bowling. Bowling isn’t a sport because you have to rent the shoes. Don’t forget, these are my rules. I make ’em up.

Billiards. Some people think billiards is a sport, but it can’t be, because there’s no chance for serious injury. Unless, of course, you welch on a bet in a tough neighborhood. Then, if you wind up with a pool cue stickin’ out of your ass, you know you might just be the victim of a sports-related injury. But that ain’t billiards, that’s pool, and that starts with a P , and that rhymes with D , and that brings me to darts.

Darts could have been a sport, because at least there’s a chance to put someone’s eye out. But, alas, darts will never be a sport, because the whole object of the game is to reach zero, which goes against all sports logic.

Lacrosse is not a sport; lacrosse is a faggoty college activity. I don’t care how rough it is, anytime you’re running around a field, waving a stick with a little net on the end of it, you’re engaged in a faggoty college activity. Period.

Field hockey and fencing. Same thing. Faggoty college shit. Also, these activities aren’t sports, because you can’t gamble on them. Anything you can’t gamble on can’t be a sport. When was the last time you made a fuckin’ fencing bet?

Gymnastics is not a sport because Romanians are good at it. It took me a long time to come up with that rule, but goddammit, I did it.

Polo isn’t a sport. Polo is golf on horseback. Without the holes. It’s a great concept, but it’s not a sport. And as far as water polo is concerned, I hesitate to even mention it, because it’s extremely cruel to the horses.

Which brings me to hunting. You think hunting is a sport? Ask the deer. The only good thing about hunting is the many fatal accidents on the weekends. And, of course, the permanently disfigured hunters who survive such accidents.

Then you have tennis. Tennis is very trendy and very fruity, but it’s not a sport. It’s just a way to meet other trendy fruits. Technically, tennis is an advanced form of Ping-Pong. In fact, tennis is Ping-Pong played while standing on the table. Great concept, not a sport.

In fact, all racket games are nothing more than derivatives of PingPong. Even volleyball is, technically, racketless, team Ping-Pong played with an inflated ball and a raised net while standing on the table.

And finally we come to golf. For my full take on golf, I refer you elsewhere in the book, but let it just be said golf is a game that might possibly be fun, if it could be played alone. But it’s the vacuous, striving, superficial, male-bonding joiners one has to associate with that makes it such a repulsive pastime. And it is decidedly not a sport. Period.

? HYPERLINK “file:///E:\Documents%20and%20Settings\Dom\Desktop\1791_NapalmSillyPutty%5B1%5D\Napalm_body-contents.html” l “TOC-42” ??GOLF COURSES FOR THE HOMELESS ?

War Is Heaven

When the United States is not invading some sovereign nation—or setting it on fire from the air, which is more fun for our simple-minded pilots—we’re usually busy “declaring war” on something here at home.

Anything we don’t like about ourselves, we declare war on it. We don’t do anything about it, we just declare war. “Declaring war” is our only public metaphor for problem solving. We have a war on crime, a war on poverty, a war on hate, a war on litter, a war on cancer, a war on violence, and Ronald Reagan’s ultimate joke, the war on drugs. More accurately, the war on the Constitution.

Be It Ever So Humble . . .

But there’s no war on homelessness. You notice that? It’s because there’s no money in it. If someone could end homelessness and in the process let the corporate swine steal a couple of billion dollars, you’d see the streets of America clear up pretty goddamn quickly. But if you think it’s going to be solved through human decency, relax. It’s not gonna happen.

You know what I think they ought to do about homelessness? Change its name. It’s not homelessness, it’s houselessness. It’s houses these people need. Home is an abstract idea; it’s a setting, a state of mind. These people need houses. Physical, tangible structures. They need low-cost housing.

Get It Outta Here!

But there’s no place to put it. People don’t want low-cost housing built anywhere near them. We have a thing in this country called NIMBY: “Not in my backyard!” People don’t want social assistance of any kind located anywhere near them. Just try to open a halfway house, a rehab center, a shelter for the homeless, or a home for retarded people who want to work their way into the community. Forget it. People won’t allow it. “Not in my backyard!”

People don’t want anything near them, especially if there’s a chance it might help somebody. It’s part of that great, generous American spirit we hear so much about. You can ask the Indians about that. If you manage to find one. We’ve made Indians just a little hard to find. Should you need more current data, select any black family at random. Ask them how generous America has been to them.

Lock the Bastards Up . . . Somewhere Else

People don’t want anything near them. Even if it’s something they think society needs, like prisons. Everybody says, “Build more prisons! But don’t build them here.”

Well, why not? What’s wrong with having a prison in your neighborhood? It seems to me it would make for a fairly crime-free area. You think a lot of crackheads and thieves and hookers are gonna be hangin’ around in front of a fuckin’ prison? Bullshit! They ain’t goin’ anywhere near it.

What could be safer than a prison? All of the criminals are locked inside. And if a couple of them do manage to escape, what do you think they’re gonna do? Hang around? Check real estate prices? Bullshit! They’re fuckin’ gone! That’s the whole idea of breakin’ out of prison: to get as far away as you possibly can.

“Not in my backyard.” People don’t want anything near them. Except military bases. They like that, don’t they? Give ’em an army or a navy base; that makes ’em happy. Why? Jobs. Self-interest. Even if the base is loaded with nuclear weapons, they don’t give a shit. They’ll say, “Well, I don’t mind a few mutations in the family if I can get a decent job.” Working people have been fucked over so long, those are the kind of decisions they make now.

Putts for Putzes

But getting back to low-cost housing, I think I might have solved this problem. I know just the place to build housing for the homeless: golf courses. It’s perfect. Plenty of good land in nice neighborhoods; land that is currently being squandered on a mindless activity engaged in by white, well-to-do business criminals who use the game to get together so they can make deals to carve this country up a little finer among themselves.

I’m sick of these golfing cocksuckers in their green and yellow pants, precious little hats, and pussified golf carts. It’s time for real people to reclaim the golf courses from the wealthy and turn them over to the homeless. Golf is an arrogant, elitist game that takes up entirely too much space in this country.

Size Matters

The arrogant nature of golf is evident in the design and scale of the game. Think of how big a golf course is. It’s huge; you can’t see one end of it from the other. But the ball is only an inch and a half in diameter. So will someone please explain to me what these pinheaded pricks need with all that land?

America has over 17,000 golf courses. They average over 150 acres apiece. That’s three million-plus acres. Four thousand, eight hundred and twenty square miles. We could build two Rhode Islands and a Delaware’s worth of housing for the homeless on the land currently wasted on this meaningless, mindless, arrogant, racist game.

That’s another thing: race. The only blacks you’ll find in country clubs are carrying trays. And don’t give me that Tiger Woods bullshit. Fuck Tiger Woods. He ain’t black. He acts, talks, and lives like a white boy. Skin alone doesn’t make you black.

Wake Me Up on the 19th Hole

And let’s not forget how boring golf is. Have you ever watched it on television? It’s like watching flies fuck. A completely mindless game. I should think it takes a fairly low intellect to draw pleasure from the following activity: hitting a ball with a crooked stick . . . and then walking after it! And then . . . hitting it again! I say, “Pick it up, asshole, you’re lucky you found the fuckin’ thing in the first place. Put it in your pocket and go the fuck home!” But, no. Dorko, in the plaid knickers, is gonna hit the ball again. And then he’s gonna walk some more.

I say let these rich cocksuckers play miniature golf. Let ’em fuck with a windmill for an hour and a half. I wanna see if there’s any real skill among these people. And yeah, yeah, I know there are plenty of golfers who don’t consider themselves rich; people who play on badly maintained public courses. Fuck ’em! Fuck them and shame on them! Shame! For engaging in an arrogant, elitist, racist activity.

? HYPERLINK “file:///E:\Documents%20and%20Settings\Dom\Desktop\1791_NapalmSillyPutty%5B1%5D\Napalm_body-contents.html” l “TOC-43” ??THE GOOD BREAD ?

When you make a sandwich at home, do you reach down past the first few slices to get the really good bread? It’s a survival thing: “Let my family eat the rotten bread. I’ll take care of Numero Uno.”

And sometimes the issue isn’t freshness but the size of the slice you’re after. Everyone knows the wider ones are somewhere near the middle. So down you go past about six inferior slices to reach the ones you want. And, as you pull them up, you have to be careful they don’t tear. Then, just before you get them out, the top six slices shift position and fall perpendicular to the rest of the loaf.

“Shit!”

I leave them that way. Let the family think a burglar made a sandwich.

? HYPERLINK “file:///E:\Documents%20and%20Settings\Dom\Desktop\1791_NapalmSillyPutty%5B1%5D\Napalm_body-contents.html” l “TOC-44” ??SHORT TAKES ?

Did you notice that several years ago everything got different?

I never read memoirs; the last thing I need is someone else’s memories. I have all I can do to deal with my own.

It takes two scales to find out how much a scale weighs.

In this era of “maxi,” “mega” and “meta,” you know what we don’t have anymore? “Super-duper.” I miss that.

Fuck whole-grain cereal. When I want fiber, I eat some wicker furniture.

Suggestions I ignore: “George, you go out and draw their fire, I’ll sneak up on them from behind.”

You men, next time a prostitute solicits your business, ask for the clergymen’s rate.

I think doctors, who must always remain emotionally detached, should be accompanied on their hospital rounds by peasant women from the Middle East. The ones who cry and wail and throw themselves on coffins at those terrorist funerals you see on television. Just for balance.

The only thing high-definition television will do is provide sharper pictures of the garbage.

Have you noticed that some companies now call their menial employees “associates”? They’re trying to make them feel better in spite of subsistence salaries. “Associates” is a very slippery job title. Don’t be fooled by it.

God bless the homicidal maniacs. They make life worthwhile.

There are patriotic vegetarians in the American Legion who will only eat animals that were killed in combat.

Peg Leg Bates Jr.’s sole ambition was to follow in his father’s footstep.

When I was a kid I can remember saying, “Cross my heart and hope to die.” I’d like to confess now that I never really meant the second part.

Very few Germans know that in honor of her husband, Mrs. Hitler combed her pussy hair to one side.

You don’t hear a lot from imps anymore.

FECES TAKE PLACE

I think TV remotes should have a button that allows you to kill the person on the screen.

The phrase “digging up dirt” seems wrong. If you use a shovel correctly, the very first time you stick it in the ground the thing you come up with is dirt. The dirt is right there on top. It doesn’t have to be “dug up.”

When you’re at someone else’s house, and they leave you alone in a room, do you look in the drawers? I do. I’m not trying to steal anything; I just like to know where everything is.

I don’t understand this notion of ethnic pride. “Proud to be Irish,” “Puerto Rican pride,” “Black pride.” It seems to me that pride should be reserved for accomplishments; things you attain or achieve, not things that happen to you by chance. Being Irish isn’t a skill; it’s genetic. You wouldn’t say, “I’m proud to have brown hair,” or “I’m proud to be short and stocky.” So why the fuck should you say you’re proud to be Irish? I’m Irish, but I’m not particularly proud of it. Just glad! Goddamn glad to be Irish!

Don’t you think it’s funny that all these tough-guy boxers are fighting over a purse?

I wonder: On rainy nights, does the sandman send the mudman?

I think they ought to have an annual ceremony at the White House called the Bad Example Award. They should give it to the one person in America who has made the most complete disaster of his own personal life. Someone who through drugs or alcohol or simply a bad attitude has been fired, arrested, killed a marriage, completely alienated friends and family, and perhaps even attempted suicide several times. But it must have happened because of personal behavior and conscious choices, not bad luck. It seems to me people like that never receive any recognition.

Christian deodorant: “Thou Shalt Not Smell”

Lou Gehrig was a pretty tough guy, but I wonder how he handled it when they told him he had Lou Gehrig’s disease.

Most people don’t know what they’re doing, and a lot of them are really good at it.

Sea World should have a special aquarium that features fish sticks. In fact, I wouldn’t mind seeing Mrs. Paul herself swimming around in there: “Hi, kids!”

Do you think Sammy Davis ate Junior Mints?

Have you noticed when you wear a hat for a long time it feels like it’s not there anymore? And then when you take it off it feels like it’s still there? What is that?

I can never decide if “what’s-his-name” should be capitalized.

Do you know why they call it a blow job? So it’ll sound like there’s a work ethic involved. Makes a person feel like they did something useful for the economy.

As soon as someone is identified as an unsung hero, he no longer is.

It isn’t generally known, but you can save money on phone calls by simply not letting the other person talk. Studies have shown that on many phone calls as much as 50 percent of the talking is done by the other person. If you can manage to dominate the conversation, you can save money.

? HYPERLINK “file:///E:\Documents%20and%20Settings\Dom\Desktop\1791_NapalmSillyPutty%5B1%5D\Napalm_body-contents.html” l “TOC-45” ??DYING TO STAY ALIVE ?

You’re all going to die. I hate to remind you, but it is on your schedule. It probably won’t happen when you’d like; generally, it’s an inconvenience. For instance, you might have your stamp collection spread out on the dining room table.

[Ominous music]

“Now?”

“Now.”

“May I at least put away my commemoratives?”

“No.”

Inconvenient.

Nobody wants to die. Nobody. Well, maybe Evel Knievel, but most other people don’t like the idea. It doesn’t seem like an enjoyable thing. People figure if being sick is no fun, dying must really be a bother. After all, part of the pleasure of being alive is the knowledge that you’re not dead yet.

And when you get right down to it, people don’t mind being dead, it’s getting dead that bothers them. No one wants to get dead. But we’re all gonna do it. Death is one of the few things that are truly democratic—everybody gets it once. But only once. That’s what makes us nervous. No rehearsals.

? HYPERLINK “file:///E:\Documents%20and%20Settings\Dom\Desktop\1791_NapalmSillyPutty%5B1%5D\Napalm_body-contents.html” l “TOC-46” ??TICKET TO NOWHERE ?

And actually, I think people should look forward to death. After all, it’s our next big adventure. At last we’re going to find out where we go. Isn’t that what we’ve all been wondering? Where we go?

“Where do we go?”

“I don’t know.”

“We must go somewhere.”

“True.”

“Phil says he knows.”

“I know he does. But take my word, Phil doesn’t know.”

Where do we go? Maybe it’s nowhere; that would be interesting. On the one hand, you’d be nowhere, but on the other hand, you wouldn’t know it. So at least you’d have something to think about. Or not.

Personally, I think we go wherever we think we’re going to go. What you think is what you get. Have you ever heard one of those guys who says, “Don’t even bother prayin’ for me, I’m goin’ straight to hell; I’m goin’ to hell to be with all my friends”? Well, he is. He’s going to hell, and he’ll probably be with all his friends. What you think is what you get. If you keep saying you’re going to heaven, chances are you’ll get there. But don’t look for any of your friends.

In my own case, I expect I’ll be going to a public toilet in Honduras. And by the way, should you be interested, I can tell you on good authority that when Monty Hall dies he will be spending a lot of time behind door number three.

? HYPERLINK “file:///E:\Documents%20and%20Settings\Dom\Desktop\1791_NapalmSillyPutty%5B1%5D\Napalm_body-contents.html” l “TOC-47” ??DEATH: THE SHOW ?

Die Big

My feeling is that as long as you’re going to die, you should go out with a bang. Make a statement. Don’t just “pass away.” Die!

“Arnie passed away.”

“He did?”

“Yes. Quietly, in a chair.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Well, that’s the idea; no one knows.”

“True. On the other hand, they say Jim died.”

“Oh, yes, Jim died! He died, and now he’s dead! He had a thirty-minute seizure in a hotel, danced across the lobby, and wound up in a fountain, twitching uncontrollably. Bellhops were actually applauding.”

“God bless him, he went out big.”

I say go out big, folks; it’s your last chance to make a statement. Before you go, give ’em a show; entertain those you leave behind.

Two-Minute Warning

Now, you might be wondering why I would even suggest that someone can affect the manner and style of his death. Well, it’s because of a mysterious and little-known stage of dying, the two-minute warning. Most people are not aware of it, but it does exist. Just as in football, two minutes before you die you receive an audible warning: “Two minutes! Get your shit together!” And the reason most people don’t know about it is because the only ones who hear it are dead two minutes later. They never get a chance to tell us.

But such a warning does exist, and I suggest that when it comes, you use your two minutes to entertain and go out big. If nothing else, deliver a two-minute speech. Pick a subject you feel passionate about, and just start talking. Begin low-key, but, with mounting passion, build to a rousing climax. Finally, in the last few seconds, scream at those around you, “If these words are not the truth, may God strike me dead!” He will. Then simply slump forward and fall to the floor. Believe me, from that moment on, people will pay more attention to you.