Текст книги "Brain Droppings"

Автор книги: Джордж Карлин

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And I don’t care for all that middlebrow philosophical bullshit you get from athletes and coaches when someone on the team has a serious illness or dies in an accident. They give you that stuff, “When something like this happens, you realize what’s really important. It’s only a game.” Bullshit! If it’s only a game, get the fuck out of the business. You know what’s important? The score. Who won. I can get plenty of sad tales somewhere else in this victim-packed society. Fuck all that dewy-eyed sentimental bullshit about people who are sick. And that includes any athlete whose father died a week before the game who says, “This one’s for Pop.” American bathos. Keep it to yourself. Play ball!

And I shouldn’t even have to mention severly injured athletes who are playing on “nothing but heart.” Fuck you! Suck it up and get out there, motherfucker.

And they’re always tellin’ ya that one of these athletes has a tumor. Don’t they know that no one gives a fuck? You know when you care about a tumor? When you have it! Or someone

close to you. Who cares about an athlete? No one cares if a rock star gets a tumor. What’s so special about an athlete? By the way, you ever notice you don’t hear as much about rock stars getting these tumors as you do about athletes? Maybe the drug life is a little better for us than all that stupid sweaty shit the athletes put themselves through. Just speculating.

And I don’t wanna know about sports teams that sew the i initials of dead people on their jerseys for one whole season as if it really means something. Leave that mawkish bullshit in the locker room. I don’t wanna know who’s in mourning. Play ball, you fuckin’ grotesque overdeveloped nitwits!

And you can skip tellin’ me about the Chevrolet player of the game. A thousand-dollar contribution to a scholarship fund in the athlete’s name. Shit. A thousand dollars won’t even keep a kid in decent drugs for one semester. Fuck Chevrolet.

And when are they gonna discover that no one cares if an athlete is active in local charities? People don’t want to know about some coke-headed, steroid monstrosity who’s working to help the National Douche Bag Foundation. Or how much he cares about inner-city kids. Can the cocksuck-er play ball? Fine. Then suit him up and get him the fuck out there on the field and let him injure someone.

One last thing on this topic. No one, repeat, no one is inter ested in athletes who can sing or play musical instruments. We already have people to perform these tasks. They’re called singers and musicians, and, at last count, it would seem we have quite enough of them. The fact that someone with an IQ triple his age has mastered a few simple chords is unimportant and of monumental disinterest. Play ball! ,,

GEORGE CARLIN PASSTHEROLES

I’m surprised that all this shit about role models has persisted a* long as it has. Why should a kid need a role model? You know what you tell a kid? “Get the fuck out there, get a job, and make a contri-. button.” Never mind that role model shit. If this country is dependent on things like role models, we’re much worse off than I thought.

People say athletes should be role models. I never looked up to ai^ athlete, did you? I liked them. I didn’t copy them. Did you ever listen to one of those guys talk? Would you want your kid to turn out like that? Willing to completely subordinate his ego and individuality for the sake of a group whose sole purpose is to compete with oth&r groups? Can’t have a mustache? Gotta wear a suit jacket? Shit! kid needs a role model and you ain’t it, you’re both fucked.

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I like sports because I enjoy knowing that many of the&e macho athletes have to vomit before a big game. Any guy who would take a job where you gotta puke first is my kinda guy. 6

I read that Monica Seles got stabbed. And although I have nothing against Monica Seles, I’m glad somebody in sports gjot stabbed. I like the idea of it; it’s good entertainment. If we”re lucky, it’ll spread all through sports. And show business, to>o! Wouldn’t you like to see a guy jump up on stage and stab soitne famous singer? Especially a real shitty pop singer? Mayrbe they’ll even start stabbing comedians. Fuck it, I’m ready! I never perform without my can of mace. I have a switchblade knife, too. I’ll cut your eye out and go right on telling jokess. 56

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In football, I root for the Oakland Raiders because they hire castoffs, outlaws, malcontents, and fuckups, they have lots of penalties, fights, and paybacks, and because Al Davis told the rest of the pig NFL owners to go get fucked. Also, they don’t have a lot of Christians kneeling down to pray after touchdowns. Christians are ruining sports. Someday, the Raiders will be strong again, and they will dip the ball in shit and shove it down the throats of the wholesome, white, heartland teams that pray together and don’t deliver late hits.

You know the best thing I did for myself during the past five years? I told sports to go take a flying fuck. I was fed up with the way I related to professional sports, so I reordered the relationship on my own terms. I became a little more selective.

I couldn’t believe how much time I had wasted watching any old piece of shit ballgame that happened to show up on TV. I must have thought there was some inborn male obligation to tune in and root every time a bunch of sweaty assholes got together to mix it up in a stadium somewhere.

I also realized I was wasting perfectly good emotional energy by sticking with my teams when they were doing poorly. My rooting life was scarcely better than those Cubs fans who think it’s a sign of character to feel shitty all the time. It’s absurd.

I decided it’s not necessary to suffer and feel crappy just because my teams suck. What I do now is cut ‘em loose for awhile. I simply let them go about losing, as I go about living my life. Then, when they’ve improved, and are doing well once again, I get back on board and enjoy their success.

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GEORGE C A R L I N . pressure, and widespread gambling scandals. An earthquake Uj–. in a ballpark isn’t such a bad thing to me, either. I don’t give a shit about the outcome of the game, I’m just looking for an interesting story. I pray that some year the baseball postseason will include ^ only teams with outdoor stadiums in cold-weather cities. And then I hope there are repeated freak storm systems that keep K coming through the Midwest and the East, and all during the playoffs there are constant rainouts and postponements. And I pray for the whole thing to continue for months, so the games are pushed further and further back, and eventually the World Series is played in January. And then I hope it’s cold and windy and icy and snowy, and a lot of players get

Then there are other times when I’m not as positive. And I think to myself, Fuck sports! Fuck sweat, fuck jock itch, and fuck all people who are out of breath. Fuck the players, 0 the sports media, the owners, and above all, the sports fans. Double-fuck the sports fans. Actually, though, to tell you the truth, if I had to endure those owners on the same day-today basis as I do the sports fans, I’m sure the owners would . quickly work their way to the bottom of my list. Lower than a snake’s ballbag. Remember, owners are always rotten people no matter what they own, and no matter where they turn up in life.

In their hatred for the players, the fans often forget that the real insects are the owners; the greedy swine owners who

b..T..a.i.n d. r o p p i n g s are always pleading poverty. In 1980, Nelson Doubleday 5 paid $21.6 million for the Mets franchise. Today it’s worth over $200 million. Where’s the risk? And if it’s so hard to make money in baseball, why are all these maggot entrepreneur-hustlers around the country so eager to pay $95 mil– ^ lion for a last-place expansion team? I’m not too thrilled with the sports media people, either. k The talent is marginal, they bring nothing to the mix, and their palpable envy of the players is actually embarrassing. Many of these media stiffs were failed high school and college athletes and simply not good enough to make the cut. (Obviously, I’m excluding former pro ballplayers.) How dare such also-rans criticize athletes and their play? You wanna know the prob– 0 lem? Athletes get tons of money and pussy, and all the best drugs. The sports media don’t. Need any more on that?

Some baseball teams hire “ball girls” to retrieve foul balls that don’t go into the stands. But I’ve noticed many of these women are quite feminine and don’t throw very well. These 0 teams are making a mistake. I think they should hire lesbians to do that job. Not femmes, but full-on, bad-ass, 90-mile-an hour bull dykes. The kind you see in hardware stores. I’ll tell you one thing, you’d get a lot more good plays and strong 1 return throws out there. And if some fan leaned out of the » stands to pick up a foul ball, the “ball dyke” could drag him onto the field and beat the shit out of him for about forty-five minutes. And if any baseball players tried to stop her, she could just deck them, too.

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E 0 R G E C A R L I N

Athletes like that physical shit. When they’re pleased with tl| each other they bump chests, butt heads, and bang forearms. Why don’t they just punch each other in the fuckin’ 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 a slam dunk in basketball. The guy who scores oughta grab a k, chair and beat the living shit out of the guy who fed him the ball. For about forty-five minutes. If this type of celebration were more common, the postgame show from the winners’ locker room would be a lot livelier. And I think there should be at least one sport where the A object is to kill someone. A team sport. Deathball. 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 fuckin’ natural! And for me, what could be more fun than watching one of these 0 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 v teams are out of the running, I start actively rooting for the Cubs, Red Sox, Bills, Broncos, 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 an infinitely more interesting 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 62

b r a i n d r o p p i n a World Series, the news coverage will be the most boring bunch of shit you can imagine.

And, although I wouldn’t wish it on anyone, you’ll have to admit it would sure be a lot of fun to see a couple of those chartered planes the athletes fly around in go down in flames. I know it might seem ghoulish to the overly squeamish, but I’d love to read about all the hassles they were having restocking the teams, and it would be fun to see the new lineups. Of course, all the stupid shit on TV about the funerals would be real boring.

P.S. Any professional sports team that has a “fight song” is automatically a bush-league, small-town team. Period. I

aat my uncle was good at. UloS.The piece movement. ucclSlKM– A person who blows clairvoyants.

. Clothing worn by light-skinned blacks who wish to be thought of as white.

When you lose a debate.

The sound a prostitute makes so you’ll think you’re a real good fuck.

CARL ; E 0 R C E UrilQ uOfriC”. Driving to your connection’s house. uEXdnUE’– Similar to drug traffic, but with a different destination. DOUChf. A female duke. ? An eight-sided vagina. llinE”. A sexual lubricant popular with sluts.

A keet that takes care of you until the real keet arrives. lUSSljrOOt’ A rare female birth defect requiring the use of open-toed shoes. uEErnilu’The official disease of Milwaukee. COttOn bOllS’ The final stage of beer nuts.

cupational disability common among dairy farmers. f’.A seventeenth-century prosthetic device. short sadomasochist. DIStBt A small gun that can be hidden in your hat. IV-Attilathehon.

brain droppings bond and bond, and 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 must 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 those same mustaches on athletes and military men, but those two groups are not allowed to express themselves freely. Military drones and many sheep-like 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? And, hey, why do you think they call those police cars “cruisers”?

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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) bond very strongly. Hunting, fishing, and golfing friendships also produce this unnatural bonding. These guys

have a suggestion that I think would help fight serious crime. Signs, are lots of signs for minor infractions: No Smoking, Stay Off the rass> Keep Out, and they seem to work fairly well. I think we should

GEORGE CARLIN also have signs for major crimes: Murder Strictly Prohibited, No Raping People, Thank You for Not Kidnapping Anyone. It’s certainly worth a try. I’m convinced Watergate would never have happened if there had just been a sign in the Oval Office that said, Malfeasance of Office Is Strictly Against the Law, or Thank You for Not Undermining the Constitution.

When you drive through an entrance or exit lane that has one of those signs, Do Not Back Up—Severe Tire Damage, and you’re going in the correct direction, don’t you sort of worry about it anyway? That maybe they got it wrong? Or somebody turned the sign around? Or some guy on drugs installed the spikes? Or maybe you’re on drugs, and you think, Am I doing this right? Am I backing up? No, I seem to be going forward. Let’s see. Which way are the spikes pointing? Oh, I can’t see the spikes anymore. I guess I better back up a little.

Here’s a sign I don’t like: Authorized Personnel Only. Now, if there’s one thing I know about myself, it’s that I am definitely not authorized. I wouldn’t even know where to go to get authorized. Can you do it by mail? Wouldn’t baptism sort of authorize you? It doesn’t matter; I go through the door anyway. If I get stopped, I say, “Well, I may not be authorized for this, but I am authorized for other things. And your sign doesn’t mention which things.”

I’ve got a terrific sign in front of my house that keeps intruders out: Retarded Pit Bull High on Angel Dust. No one’s come over the wall yet. Except a couple of retarded guys who were high on angel dust. DO. TAKE. HAVE. 61VE

People used to take drugs, now they do drugs. Some people don’t do drugs, they do lunch. Instead of taking drugs, they take meetings. They used to have meetings. Now, instead of having meetings, they

brain droppings

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.” But if the sex is overly aggressive, we say the person was “taken.” I guess if one’s not giving, the other’s gonna take.

We take a lot of 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 ‘em a heart attack, and give ‘em a big pain in the ass. So I say, “Give up, get fucked, take a hike, and have fun.” YOU’RE A HATURAl

This is for health food fiends, the natural-fabrics gang, and all those green-head environmental hustlers who stomp around in the “natural”: Your key word is meaningless. Everything is natural. Everything in the universe is a part of nature. Polyester, pesticides, oil slicks, and whoopee cushions. Nature is not just trees and flowers. It’s eveiything. Human beings are part of nature. And if a human being invents something, that’s part of nature, too. Like the whoopee cushion. -> r

C A R L I N GEORGE

Also: The experience called “natural childbirth” is not natural at all. It is freaky and bizarre. It is distinctly unnatural for a person to invite and welcome pain. Whose influence am I sensing here? Men’s? It’s nothing more than childbirth machisma. The woman wants it said of her that she can “take it like a man.”

brain droppings

Or imagine the very first guy who threw up. What did he think? What did he say to his friends? “Hey, Vinny, c’mere! Remember that yak we ate? Look!” unrccESSAKr WORDS

Sometimes on television they tell you a product is “good for headaches.” I don’t want something that’s good for headaches. I want something that’s bad for headaches. And good for me. THROW TOUR BACK OUT

Several months ago, a friend told me that when he was cleaning his garage he threw his back out. I told him it was probably overenthusi-asm. Sometimes when you’re cleaning, you get carried away and throw out something you intended to keep. The next time I ran into him he seemed to have learned his lesson. He had recently cleaned out his attic, but this time he didn’t throw his back out. He gave it to Goodwill. riRST THinOS FIRST Many things we take for granted must have sounded unusual the first time they were proposed. For instance, imagine trying to explain to someone, for the first time, that you thought giving him an enema would be a real good idea. You’d have to proceed very subtly. “Hey, Joey! I got a new idea. Turn around.” “New id-? Hey, what’s that thing in your hand?” “Nothing. Oh! I dropped my keys. Would you mind pickin’ ‘emup?”

There is a tendency these days to prison setting peace process intensity level belief system seating area sting operation evacuation process rehabilitation process facial area daily basis blue in color risk factor crisis situation leadership role learning process rain event confidence level healing process standoff situation shooting incident planning process complicate speech by adding unnecessary words. The following phrases all contain at least one word too many. emergency situation shower activity surgical procedure boarding process flotation device hospital environment fear factor free of charge knowledge base forest setting : beverage items

The best known example of this problem is: “At that point in time.” I’ve even heard people say, “At that particular point in time.” Boy, that’s pinning it down, isn’t it?

This typing process is beginning to tire out my finger area. Not to mention what it’s doing to my mind situation. I think it’s time to consider the break factor here, before I have a fatigue incident.