Brain Droppings (20 page)

What makes me happy in the midst of all this is that ultimately animals get even. The major killers of humanity throughout recent history—smallpox, influenza, tuberculosis, malaria, bubonic plague, measles, cholera, and AIDS—are all infectious diseases that arose from diseases of animals. I pray that mad cow disease will come to this country and completely wipe out the hamburger criminals. Eating meat is one thing, but this whole beef-rancher-manure-cattle-hamburger side show is a different skillet of shit altogether.

Each year, Americans eat 38 billion hamburgers. It takes 2,500 gallons of water to produce one pound of red meat. Cattle consume one half of all the fresh water consumed on earth. The sixty million people who will starve this year could be adequately fed if Americans reduced their meat intake by just 10 percent. But if I were one of those sixty

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million people, I wouldn’t be reachin’ for the salt and pepper too quickly. It ain’t gonna happen.

Ranchers raise pathetic, worthless cattle and sheep, animals who cannot live off the land without human supervision, and the same ranchers kill wolves, magnificent, individualistic animals fully capable of caring for themselves without assistance. Individualism gives way to sheep behavior. Sound familiar?

I root for a wolf to someday grab a rancher’s kid. Yes I do. And you know something? The wolf would probably take the kid home and raise him, in the manner of Romulus and Remus; and probably do a better job than the rancher. Remember, wolves mate for life, and they care for their sick and infirm; they don’t run them off, or kill them, or abandon them. Give me a wolf over some fuckin’ jerkoff rancher any day of the week.

One last item to demonstrate the depth of human perversity: Some zoos now sell surplus animals to private hunting ranches where rich white men hunt them down and kill them for amusement.
No wonder they call it the descent of man.

When your dogs lick a visitor and they say, “Oh, he’s very affectionate,” ask them, “Did you notice what he was doing prior to coming over and licking your face?” “No. Well, yes! I think he was cleaning himself. He’s a very clean dog.” “Well, his balls and asshole are very clean. In fact, he has a perfectly clean five-inch circle around his balls and asshole. His tongue, lips, and nose, however, are filthy with old dog shit and fermented ball sweat. Why do you think we taught him to shake hands?”

I don’t like moths, because I can’t predict their flight patterns. They don’t seem to know where they’re going. I don’t like that.

And they’re always hanging around light bulbs. Somehow they’re even able to get inside the sealed light fixture between the bulb and the outer glass. How do they do that? One day you can clean out a hundred old, dead moths and then put the clean globe back on, and a month later there’ll be another twenty or thirty full-grown dead moths inside the globe. How do they get in there?

And what is that attraction to light all about, anyway? You know what I think they’re doing? Trying to read the writing on the light bulb. It’s hard to read, isn’t it? The writing on a light bulb is placed right where you can’t read it when the light is on, because the light is too bright. And then, when the light is off, you can’t read it, because there’s not enough light. No wonder moths are so fucked up.

2*0,

GEORGE CARLIN

brain droppings

1HEGE0RGE
iot Books OutttoAsf
OITer #3: OEHE RAL INTEREST TITIE5
ft Twelve Things Nobody Cares About
ft The Picture Book of Permanent Stains
ft Firecracker in a Cat’s Asshole: A Novel i
ft The Complete List of Everyone Who Enjoys Coffee
ft The Official British Empire Registry of Blokes
ft Ten Places No One Can Find
ft Tits on the Moon (science fiction)
ft Why Norway and Hawaii Are Not Near Each Other
ft The History of Envy
ft The Pus Almanac
ft One Hundred People Who Are Only Fooling Themselves
ft Diary of a Real Evil Prick
ft Carousel Maintenance
ft Why It Doesn’t Snow Anymore
ft The Dingleberry Papers

ft A Treasury of Poorly Understood Ideas
ft Why Jews Point
ft The Golden Age of Tongue Kissing
ft Famous Bullshit Stories of the Aztecs
ft The Meaning of Corn
ft Feel This: A Braille Sex Manual
ft A Complete List of Everything That Is Still Pending
ft Really Loud Singalongs for the Hard of Hearing
OETAIIFE

One morning I get up, get out of bed, get showered, get some breakfast, and get to thinkin’, “I’m not gettin’ any.” I get the urge to get some nookie, and get an idea. So I get dressed, get in my car, and get on the freeway.

When I get downtown, I get a few beers, get a buzz, and get lucky. I get a glimpse of a fine-looking woman. I get her a drink, get her talking, and we get acquainted. So I get up my courage and get her to agree to go get a room.
We get outta there, get some booze, get in a taxi, and get a hotel.

We get in the room, and get comfortable, and I’m gettin’ excited ’cause I’m gonna get in her pants. So we get undressed, get in bed, and get started. And I’m gettin’ hot ’cause she’s gettin’ horny. She

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wants to get down, and I wanna get my rocks off. I wanna get it up, get in, get it on, get off, and get out.

And it starts gettin’ real good. But then I get thinking, “Suppose I get the clap? If I get the clap, I’ll have to get shots. Might get worse. Could get AIDS. Shoulda got rubbers.”
Now I get paranoid. Get a bit crazy. Get a bit scared.
Gotta get a grip.

Then it gets worse. Suppose she gets pregnant? Will she get an abortion? She might wanna get married. I can’t get involved. If I gotta get married, I gotta get her a ring. How do I get it? I’d have to get credit. Or get hold of some money!

That means gettin’ a job. Or gettin’ a gun. And a getaway car. But suppose I get caught? Get busted by cops. Get thrown in the jail! Gotta get help. Get a good lawyer. Get out on bail.

No. I gotta get serious. Get it together. Get with the program. Get me a break, get me a job. Get a promotion, get a nice raise, get a new house, and get some respect. But if I get all of that, I can’t get real cocky. Might get someone mad who’d get on my case, get me in trouble, and then I’d get fired.

Then I’d get mad, maybe get violent, get kicked outta work. Then get discouraged, start to get desperate, get hold of some drugs, get loaded, get hooked, and get sick. Get behind in my rent, get evicted, get thrown on the street.

Maybe get mugged, get beaten, get injured, get hospitalized, get operated on, get a blood clot, get a heart attack, get the last rites, get a stroke, get a flat line, get a trip to the graveyard, and get buried in a field.

So get this. You gotta get smart, and you gotta get real. Get serious. Get home, get undressed, get in bed, get some sleep. Or you might just get fucked. Get me?

. In spite of all the wonderfully entertaining sex crimes we
enjoy in this country, Americans are still a prudish lot. So now we’ve decided to use the word gender when referring to a person’s sex. Gender has been borrowed from linguistics, and will soon include other meanings: “I think he’s pervert-ed, Stan. He told me he had gender with a woodchuck.” “He’s as ugly as shit, Gloria, but the gender is strangely dark and
b quite intense.” “Pull up your pants, Russell. I told you, anal gender is high-risk fun!” And, of course, that once-exciting 1960s tripod of sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll has been completely euphemized. Now it’s, “gender, controlled substances, and alternative rock.”
6 If a movie is “R-rated,” it means that if you’re under sev-
enteen, you have to see it with an adult: “What’s he doing, Dad?” “He’s fucking her, son.”
SEX QUIZ FOR MEN:
** I. Have you ever been walking on the street toward
three great-looking women who all have fabulous tits, and you don’t know which set of tits to stare at? And you only have a few seconds to decide? Thank God you can at least
K study their asses while they’re walking away.

U. Did you ever see a really attractive mannequin in a department store, and you think maybe you’d like to fuck her? But you know you can’t, so you try to sneak a quick look at

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her crotch? And you don’t worry about anyone seeing you, 6 because they would never believe what you’re thinking? Remember, ladies, the thought most often coursing through a man’s mind is, “Boy, I’d sure like to fuck that.”
3. Have you ever been talking to a married couple you
* just met, and the woman has really great tits? And you’re
dying to get a really long look at them, but you can’t even
5 take a quick glance, because her husband is staring right at
you? Then, when he finally looks away for an instant, do
you immediately look straight at her tits, regardless of
whether or not it makes her uncomfortable?

A

News note: On TV recently, a guy was complaining that « he was sexually “abused” by a female teacher when he was a boy. He said she touched him and made him touch her in their private parts. Yeah? So? Where’s the abuse? Maybe I’m twisted or something, but as a child, I would’ve been willing to kill for this kind of special attention. I’d have had my hand in the air all day long, “Teacher! I need some more of that special help!” It would have really lent a stimulating new perspective to the idea of staying after school.

I’m glad I don’t have any weird sexual fetishes. It’s hard enough just getting laid, can you imagine cruising the bars searching for a submissive, albino rubber freak who wants you to throw canteloupes at his ass and shit on his chest?

I will, however, admit to being fascinated by a strange new perversion I’ve heard of. It’s called S Et W. Apparently just as you’re about to come, your partner vomits root beer on you.

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Actually, truth be known, my sexual fantasies are fairly prosaic: a woman takes off her dress, I fuck her, I drive home. Simple, neat, very little down side.
nARRY AH QRTHAn

Men, take my advice, marry an orphan. It’s great. First of all, there are never any in-law problems. Second, there are no annoying Thanksgiving and Christmas visits sitting around pretending to enjoy the company of a couple of fifth-generation nitwits. In fact, when it comes to visiting her folks, the worst thing that might happen to you would be an occasional trip to the cemetery to leave some cheap flowers. And you might even get out of that by claiming a morbid fear of headstones.

But most important, as the relationship is just beginning, you won’t have to worry about making a good impression on the girl’s parents, nor will you have to get her father’s approval. Believe me when I tell you, when you say, “I hope your father will approve of me,” there is no greater thrill than having your beloved turn to you brightly and say, “My father’s dead.”
HAPPY HEW YEAR

How late in the new year can you say “Happy New Year” and not be considered weird? Actually, the whole thing starts on December 26. If on that day you think you’re not going to see someone again until after New Year’s, you wish them, “Happy New Year.” And it’s generally all right to say “Happy New Year” right on up through New Year’s day. But after that, it begins to change a little. On January third or fourth, for instance, it still may be acceptable, but only if you haven’t

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;een the person since the First. And then even as late as the sixth or >eventh of January, you can still get away with it if you haven’t seen :he person for a really long time, say since Christmas. But once it starts *ettin’ into early April, if you’re still running around telling people, ‘Happy New Year,” you are simply begging to be fitted for one of those garments where the sleeves tie in the back. You are gonna wind up saying “Happy New Year” through that little food slot in the door. And no one, including you, will care what day it is. Or year, for that matter.
RHTtltS YOU JUST DOm HEAR
E aster/kiester
humor/tumor
Tonto/Toronto
surgery/perjury
manhandle/panhandle
nudist/Buddhist
postcard/Coast Guard
creditor/predator
pickup/hiccup
mobster/lobster
doormat/floormat
Eugene’s/blue jeans
decaffeinated/decapitated

IOVE HE. IOVE n Y sone

There are entirely too many love songs. I know. Society probably demands a certain number of them, but, goddamn, is this the only thing people can sing about? As far as I’m concerned, the love song category is filled. Let’s move on. There must be some other topics. Everything’s a broken heart. “Broken heart. Broken heart.” What about a broken rib cage? Hah? How would you like that? Or a ruptured spleen? You never hear a song about that. Wouldn’t you like to see some nice tall woman with long hair and big tits up there beltin’ out a song about a ruptured spleen? Or how about a nice song about a fire in a hotel? Or a guy who gets his legs caught in a threshing machine? How about someone who goes up into a hayloft and finds sixty dead Shriners? It seems to me we’re passing up a lot of subjects that would make really good songs.

WHO’STEAHWHOIl

What exactly is a “student teacher”? As I understand it, a student teacher is a person of student age who is far enough along in his education to be doing some teaching. But a “student teacher” could also be someone who simply teaches students, a student teacher. Which is what all teachers are.

Or a student teacher might be a student studying to become a teacher. Not yet a teacher, still a “student teacher.” Such a student, studying to be a teacher, could also be called a “teaching student,” which is, after all, what our original “student teacher” was: a teaching student.

2*8

GEORGE CARL IN

Sometimes teachers, later in their careers, go back to school for further education, and once again they become students, while still remaining teachers. Well, if a younger student who is doing some teaching is a “student teacher,” then wouldn’t an older teacher who goes back to school logically be a “teacher student”? Or I guess you could call her a “student teacher,” couldn’t you? So far, that’s three different kinds of student teachers.