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1686241304-1	https://scrapsfromtheloft.com/stand-up-comedy-scripts/	George Carlin: It’s Bad For Ya (2008) Full transcript	https://scrapsfromtheloft.com/comedy/george-carlin-its-bad-for-ya/	Full transcript of It’s Bad for Ya, final HBO stand-up comedy special by stand-up comedian George Carlin. It was televised live on March 1, 2008 on HBO. Filmed in the Wells Fargo Center for the Arts in Santa Rosa, California Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. I’d like to begin… I’d like to… Thank you. Thank you. I’d like to begin by saying fuck Lance Armstrong. Fuck him and his balls and his bicycles and his steroids and his yellow shirts and the dumb, empty expression on his face. I’m tired of that asshole. And while you’re at it fuck Tiger Woods, too. There’s another jack-off I can do without. I’m tired of being told who to admire in this country. Aren’t you sick of being told who your heroes ought to be? You know? Being told who you ought to be looking up to. I’ll choose my own heroes, thank you very much. And fuck Dr. Phil, too. Dr. Phil said I should express my emotions, so that’s what I’m doing. Now, since the last time I rolled through these parts, and I do roll through with some frequency. I’m a little bit like herpes. I keep coming back. But since the last time, I might have seen some of you folks I have had my 70th birthday. So, I now… Thank you very much. Thank you. Thank you. Yeah, I’m now 70 years old, and I like 70. Not as much as I liked 69. Well, 69 was always my favorite number. Now, I figure I’m 69 with one finger up my ass. But now that I’m an old fuck, and that’s what I consider myself to be, an old fuck. Old fuck is a very special term. It’s not like old man. Old man is different. Old man isn’t really a time in your life or a period of years. It’s an attitude. Old man is a point of view. It’s a way of looking at things. Some guys are old men when they’re in their 20’s. You’ve met guys like that. They’re just wired like old men. Not me. Not an old man and not an old fart because an old fart is kind of (sound). What I am is an old fuck. It’s kind of like a fat fuck, you know what I mean? Fat fuck, tall fuck, skinny fuck, short fuck, old fuck. Who’s the old fuck? That’s Georgie. Georgie’s the old fuck. In this respect, fuck is actually a synonym for the word fellow. But now that I’m an old fuck, I’m beginning to notice there’s some advantages to putting on a few extra years. The first one is you never have to carry anything heavy ever again. Everybody wants to help an old fuck. If you’ve got a big suitcase or something like that, you know, you just kind of go like this a little bit. You say, “Yeah, could you help me with this?” Say, “Yeah. Hey, how far you going?” “Indianapolis.” He wants to help? Fuck him. Put him to work. Take advantage of people. Another nice thing about getting old is you can leave any social event early just by saying you’re tired. Works great with family members. Just turn to the person next to you and say, “Geez, I’m getting tired, you know.” Oh, are you tired? Come on. Grandpa’s tired. Grandpa’s going to bed. Someone else says, “But it’s 7:30 in the morning.” There’s always one asshole in the family. But the best thing about getting old is you’re not responsible for remembering things anymore, even important things. “But it was your daughter’s funeral.” I forgot. You can even make believe you have Alzheimer’s disease. Ah, it’s a lot of fun. You look around the dining room table and you say, “Who are you people, and where is my horse?” Then you stare at your eldest son and say, “Agnes, I haven’t seen you since first communion.” Fucks them up. Fucks them up. They don’t know how to handle it. It takes them a week to get over that shit. And they start listening to you a lot more carefully from then on. So don’t be afraid to get old. It’s a great time of life. You get to take advantage of people, and you’re not responsible for anything. You can even shit in your pants. They expect it. I haven’t tried that yet, but I don’t rule it out. I’m keeping my options open. Everything is on the table. Perhaps that’s not the figure of speech I wanted right there. So you know what I’ve been doing? Going through my address book and crossing out the dead people. You do that? That’s a lot of fun, isn’t it? It gives you a good feeling. Kind of gives you a feeling of power, a superiority to have outlasted another old friend. But you can’t do it too soon, you know? You can’t do it too soon. You can’t come running home from the funeral and get the book out, you know, and be looking through it. You can’t do that. A little time has to pass. You have to let a little time go by. I have a rule of thumb, six weeks. If you’re a friend of mine and you’re in my book and you die, I leave you alone for an extra six weeks. Six extra weeks in the book. On the house. It’s on me. But after that, hey, facts are facts. Fuck you. You’re dead. (Fart sound). Out you fucking go. You got to have standards, you know. Now, these days, a lot of people don’t keep analog address books anymore. They don’t want to be writing that stuff out longhand. They’re in the computer age. And they have an application in the computer called Outlook or Contacts or Address Book or something like that. So they keep all the information in the computer, and they sync it up with their phone every day or every other day. So now, instead of scratching out a name you get to delete the fuck. And deleting someone is an even more powerful feeling than simply scratching out a name. You know how to delete someone. You select a name, highlight the person and then poof, straight into the trash. Now, if it’s a really close friend of yours, you might not want to empty the trash for about six weeks. Or…or if it’s a little too harsh for you, a little too harsh to delete an old friend, you can always create a new folder, a special folder for dead people. You keep it on your desktop. It’s kind of a digital purgatory. And the nice thing is every now and then, you can open it up, and you can look inside. And you can see the people in purgatory. And you can move them all around, you know. Move them around. Put them in little groups. Two people who didn’t get along in life, put them in the corner; let them work it out. Let them work it out in purgatory. Or start a fight. Have a big fight in purgatory. That’s a lot of fun. Nobody’s going to get hurt. They’re all fucking dead anyway. Then, you put them in a big formation and have a parade, the purgatory parade of dead people. Ah, there’s a lot of fun you can have with a computer, so enjoy your digital selves. Now, speaking of dead people, there are things we say when someone dies, most of us say, a lot of us do, things we say that no one ever questions. They just kind of go unexamined. I’ll give you a couple of examples. After someone dies, the following conversation is bound to take place probably more than once. Two guys meet on the street. “Hey, did you hear? Phil Davis died.” “Phil Davis? I just saw him yesterday.” Yeah? Didn’t help. He died anyway. Apparently, the simple act of your seeing him did not slow his cancer down. In fact, it may have made it more aggressive. You know, you could be responsible for Phil’s death. How do you live with yourself? Here’s another thing they say after a death. This is usually said to the surviving spouse. “Listen, if there’s anything I can do, anything at all, please don’t hesitate to ask.” What are you going to do, a resurrection? This ain’t the fucking New Testament, you know. You know what you tell a guy like that who wants to help? Well fine, why don’t you come over this weekend? You can paint the garage. Bring your plunger. The upstairs toilet overflowed and there’s shit all over the floor up there. Do you drive a tractor? Good. That’ll come in handy. The north 40 needs a lot of attention. Bring your chainsaw and your pickaxe. We’re going to put your ass to work. He wants to help? Fuck him. Call his bluff. Call his bluff. “Don’t hesitate to ask.” The nerve of these pricks. Here’s another thing we say to the surviving spouse. “I’m keeping him in my thoughts.” Where? Where exactly in your thoughts does he fit? In between my ass hurt in this chair and let’s fuck the waitress? What are your priorities? We use a lot of euphemisms when we talk about death, you know. People say things like, “You know, I lost my father.” Ah, he’ll turn up. You’ve got to stay optimistic with people like that. Give them reason to hope. Have you checked the dumpster out back? He used to like to take a nap in there. Keep it upbeat. Now, there’s something else that is said after a death, but this one involves belief, which is where I begin to have big problems. This one happens after the funeral, after the burial, back at the house. Back at the house where the family and friends and the loved ones of the deceased are having some food and drink, and they’re enjoying some warm reminiscences of the person who passed away, sooner or later, someone is bound to say the following, especially after a few drinks. “You know, I think he’s up there now smiling down at us, and I think he’s pleased.” Now, first of all, there is no “up there” no, no for people to be smiling down from. It’s poetic. It’s quaint. And I guess for superstitious people, it provides a little comfort, but it doesn’t exist. But if it did, if it did, and if someone did somehow survive death in a non-physical form, I personally think he’d be far too busy with other celestial activities than to be standing around paradise smiling down on live people. What kind of fucking eternity is that? And why is it no one ever says, “I think he’s down there now, smiling up at us.” Apparently, it never occurs to people that their loved ones might be in hell. Your parents could be in hell right now. Your parents…your father for sure. Oh, shit. Hell is full of dads. Full of dads. Even the ones that took you to the ballgame, just for beating the shit out of you once too often and fucking the neighbor lady and fucking the neighbor dog, and who knows, maybe even fucking the UPS man. We’ll never know what mischief dad was up to. Parents in hell. It kind of gives you a nice feeling, doesn’t it? It does me. Grandparents in hell. Picture that. Picture your grandmother in hell baking pies without an oven. And if someone were in hell, I doubt very seriously he’d be smiling. I think he’s down there now screaming up at us, and I think he’s in severe pain. People just refuse to be realistic. They don’t like to be realistic. People would rather stroke themselves, you know. Oh, they like to stroke themselves, don’t they? Stroke themselves. They stroke each other. They get stroked. They stroke the boss. The boss strokes them. Everybody strokes everybody. It’s nothing but a big stroke job in this country. The government strokes you every day of your life. Religion never stops stroking you. Big business gives you a good stroke. And it’s one big, transcontinental, cross-country, red, white and blue stroke job. Do you know? Yeah. Yeah. Do you know what the national emblem for this country ought to be? Forget that bald eagle. The national emblem of this country ought to be Uncle Sam standing naked at attention saluting. And seated on a chair next to him the Statue of Liberty jerking him off. That would be a good symbol for the United Strokes of America. It’s all bullshit folks. It’s all bullshit, and it’s bad for you. Now, speaking of dead people in heaven, there are some people who not only believe that their dead parents in heaven can see them. OK, OK. They honestly believe that their dead parents in heaven can help them. You’ve heard these people, I’m sure. They honestly somehow believe that their dead parents in heaven can intercede with God on their behalf to gain favors for the living. I come from a Catholic home. I heard this shit. They sit there in the chair with the fucking rosary, and they look at you like this, you know. And they said “Oh, my dad. My dad was looking out for me. He was looking out. I don’t know how he got me out of that jam, but he got me out. Oh, my mom…my mom was in surgery with me. She was in… I could feel her presence in there.” Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. Fine. Like the people who die have nothing better to do than run the heavenly branch of the Make-A-Wish Foundation. Now, if people want to believe this kind of stuff, it’s fine with me. Let them believe it. I don’t…I don’t…I don’t want to disabuse anyone of their beliefs. But I have a question about this, a question that involves logic. Let’s suppose it’s true. Let’s allow the proposition that somehow dead parents in heaven can help their living children. Fine. So we’ve got a family living on earth, a father and mother and four kids. A family of six. A good family. A nice family. Doing all the right things, having a good time, making all the right moves. And the parents go away on a weekend trip and get killed in an accident, and the children, of course, survive. So now, according to this theory, these two people go to heaven and they start helping their four living children, helping them with everything they need. Helping them with their science projects, with their SAT scores, helping them get a good school, get a nice job, get a promotion and a raise and someone to marry, and they all grow up. These four kids now grow up and have children of their own. And let’s say that all four of these now-grown children also die at the same time, just for the sake of argument. Let’s say there’s an explosion at Thanksgiving dinner, and these four die, but their children survive because they were seated at the children’s table. So… So now, according to the theory, these four go to heaven and they start helping their living children. But what happens to the original two? What happens to the grandparents? Do they just go off-duty now? What do they do? Is there a retirement program up there? Is there some activities for these people? Shuffleboard, pinball, online poker. There must be something they can do. Or do they have to remain on duty indefinitely? Do they have to keep on helping their living descendants forever and ever and ever? Is that what heaven is all about, helping the living? When do you get to just lie back on a cloud and take a fucking harp lesson, you know what I mean? Because… Because people have been dying… People have been dying for a long, long time. There’s been a lot of dead mother-fuckers. Did you know that? Yes, you knew there’s a lot of dead mother-fuckers. We’ve had 100 billion people live on this earth. That’s what the experts say. A hundred billion people have lived here. So let’s say half of them died and went to heaven. That’s 50 billion people up there. That’s a pretty crowded place. It must get pretty busy and pretty hectic up there. And God must get pretty pissed off with all these favors. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Spelling test Tuesday. Get the fuck out of here, would you, please? Just get the fuck out of here.” Well, even God can go on sensory overload. That’s why he wanted one day off a week. Christians gave him Sunday. Jews gave him Saturday. Muslims gave him Friday. God has a three-day weekend, which is probably just what he needs. Now, just a couple of other questions about this whole theory. Suppose you die without having any children. Who do you help, strangers? It would be nice. Suppose you’re an adopted child. Who helps you, your biological mother? She doesn’t even know where the fuck you live. Suppose you kill your parents. Would they help you? I’ll guarantee you Mr. and Mrs. Menendez are not helping those two boys. No. No. Yeah, it’s all bullshit folks, and it’s bad for you. It’s all bullshit. That’s what you have to remember as you go through life in this country. It’s all bullshit, and it’s bad for you. Now, speaking of parents and speaking of bullshit, two ideas which aren’t always mutually exclusive, by the way. I’d like to mention a special kind of bullshit that has taken hold in this country in the last 30 to 40 years. It’s a form of bullshit that really only can be called child worship. It’s child worship. It’s this excessive devotion to children. I’m talking about today’s professional parents, these obsessive diaper sniffers, who are over-scheduling and over-managing their children and robbing them of their childhoods. Even the simple act of playing, even the simple act of playing has been taken away from children and put on mommy’s schedule in the form of play dates. Something that should be spontaneous and free is now being rigidly planned. When does a kid ever get to sit in the yard with a stick anymore? You know, just sit there with a fucking stick. Do today’s kids even know what a stick is? You know. You sit in the yard with a fucking stick and you dig a fucking hole. You know. Yeah. And you look at the hole, and you look at the stick, and you have a little fun. But kids don’t have sticks anymore. I don’t think there are any sticks left. I think they’ve all been recalled because of lead paint. Who would have thought that one day the manufacturing of sticks would be outsourced to China? But you know something, a kid shouldn’t be wasting his time with a stick anyway. If he’s 4 years old, he should be home studying for his kindergarten entrance exams. Do you know about that shit? Oh, they have them now. Yeah. Yeah. There are places that have kindergarten entrance exams. The poor little fuck. The poor little fuck, he can barely locate his dick, you know, and already he’s being pressured to succeed. Pressured to succeed for the sake of the parents. Isn’t this really just a sophisticated form of child abuse? And speaking of that, speaking of child abuse. Speaking of child abuse, next stop grade school. Grade school where he won’t be allowed to play tag because it encourages victimization. And he won’t be allowed to play dodge ball because it’s exclusionary, and it promotes aggression. Standing around is still OK. Standing around is still permitted, but it won’t be for long because sooner or later some kid is going to be standing around, and his foot will fall asleep, and his parents will sue the school, and it’ll be goodbye fucking standing around. Now… You know? Now fortunately, all is not lost. All is not lost because at least we know that when he does get to play, whatever games he is allowed to play, the child will never lose. We know he’ll never lose because in today’s America no child ever loses. There are no losers anymore. Everyone’s a winner, no matter what the game or sport or competition, everybody wins. Everybody wins. Everybody gets a trophy. No one is a loser. No child these days ever gets to hear those all-important character building words, “You lost, Bobby. You lost. You’re a loser, Bobby.” They miss out on that. You know what they tell a kid who lost these days? “You were the last winner.” A lot of these kids never get to hear the truth about themselves until they’re in their 20’s when the boss calls them in and says, “Bobby, clean the shit out of your desk and get the fuck out of here. You’re a loser. Get the fuck out of here.” Of course, Bobby’s parents can’t understand why he can’t hold a job. In school, he was always on the honor roll. Well, what they don’t understand, of course, is that in today’s schools, everyone is on the honor roll. Everyone is on the honor roll because in order to be on the honor roll, all you really need to do is to maintain a body temperature somewhere roughly in the 90’s. But we shouldn’t be worrying about how he’s doing in school because you know, come summertime, he’ll be off to camp. Yes, he’ll be off to camp, but not to swim and hike and play softball. No, no, no, no. Today’s child will be sent away to lose weight. He’ll be sent to fat camp or violin camp or ceramics camp or computer camp or leadership camp, whatever the fuck that is. Leadership camp. Isn’t that where Hitler went? You know, uh… Specialized, structured summer camps. Got to keep the little fucker busy, don’t they? Got to keep the little fucker busy. Wouldn’t want him to sneak in a little unstructured time in the woods. That wouldn’t be any good. God knows he might start jacking off. Now, all of this stupid bullshit that children have been so crippled by has grown out of something called the self-esteem movement. The self-esteem movement began in 1970, and I’m happy to say it has been a complete failure because studies have repeatedly shown that having high self-esteem does not improve grades, does not improve career achievement, it does not even lower the use of alcohol, and it most certainly does not reduce the incidence of violence of any sort because as it turns out, extremely aggressive, violent people think very highly of themselves. Imagine that, sociopath’s have high self-esteem. Who woulda thunk, huh? I love when this kind of thing happens. I love when these politically correct ideas crash and burn and wind up in the shithouse. Here’s another one that bit the dust. This practice of playing Mozart during pregnancy so the fetus can hear it. It was supposed to increase intelligence. It didn’t work. It didn’t work. All it did was sell a lot of CDs and piss off a whole lot of fetuses. The self-esteem movement revolved around a single notion, the idea, the single idea, that every child is special. Boy, they said it over and over and over, as if to convince themselves. Every child is special. And I kept saying fuck you. Every child is clearly not special. Did you ever look at one of them? Did you ever take a good close look at one of these fucking kids? They’re goofy. They’re fucking goofy looking. They’re too small, they’re way too fucking small. They’re malproportioned. Their heads don’t fit their bodies; their arms are too weird and everything. They can’t walk across the room in a straight line. And when they talk, they talk like they got a mouthful of shit. They’re incomplete, incomplete, unfinished work. I never give credit for incomplete work. Now, PT Barnum might think they’re special, but not me, I have standards. But let’s say it’s true. Let’s grant this. I’m in a generous mood. Let’s grant this proposition. Let’s say it’s true as somehow all…every child is special. What about every adult? Isn’t every adult special, too? And if not, if not then at what age do you go from being special to being not-so-special? And if every adult is special then that means we’re all special, and the whole idea loses all its fucking meaning. Here’s another platitude they jam down our throat: Children are our future. Children are not our future, and I can prove it with my usual flawless logic. Children can’t be our future because by the time the future arrives they won’t be children anymore, so blow me. Yes. As you may have noticed, I always like to present a carefully reasoned argument. Raising a child is not difficult. They try to make it into this mysterious, difficult task. Nothing to it. Easiest thing in the world to raise a kid if you follow the steps. First step, you take the kid and you put him out on the street corner, and you leave him there. You come back a week later. If the kid is still there, you’ve got yourself a stupid fucking kid. Then you just proceed from that point. It’s all bullshit, folks. It’s all bullshit, and it’s bad for you. Now, you wouldn’t know it from some of the things I’ve said over the years, but I like people. I do. I like people, but I like them in short bursts. I don’t like people for extended periods of time. I’m all right with them for a little while, but once you get up, passed around, minute, minute and a half, I’ve got to get the fuck out of there. And my reason for this, my reason is for one that you may share possibly. I have a very low tolerance level for stupid bullshit. That’s all. Stupid bullshit. You know? And everyone wants to tell you their stupid bullshit, and a lot of them don’t know when to stop talking. You ever run into that guy? Doesn’t know when to stop talking, just continues running at the mouth like verbal diarrhea. Don’t know when the conversation is over. Stupid, trivial shit you don’t care anything about, things you’re not even remotely interested in. “Did I tell you about my mom and dad? Well, my mom and dad went on vacation down to Mammoth Cave, Kentucky. This is about six years ago, I think. It seemed like it was six, about six years ago. Six or seven, possibly seven, could be. Yeah. Somewhere in there, six, seven, more than six, less than seven. Let’s call it six and a half. So my mom and dad went on vacation to Mammoth Cave, Kentucky, and my dad found a big rock. What he thought was a big rock turns out it was a dinosaur turd, a petrified dinosaur turd, 27 pounder. You know, now that I think of it, it might have been eight years ago. That would have been close to Y2K, wouldn’t it? Remember Y2K? Whatever happened? Everybody’s all worried about that. Nothing ever happened. Ha, ha, ha, big fuss. Nothing ever happened. You know? God. That was strange, you know.” “So let’s say, we’ll say, it’s eight…eight years. It was either eight or five. So my dad gave my mom this big turd. He says, ‘Here, Mom. This is a big dinosaur turd. Put it in your purse to take that home.’ My mom said, ‘Dad, I don’t think this is a dinosaur turd. This thing is still warm. Whoever dropped this thing is still walking around in here, and we’d better get the fuck out of this cave.’ Nine years ago. Nine. I know it was nine because my wife was pregnant with our first boy, Mach Moody Benel Sayid Ben Salam, and he’s ten now. Or is he? He’s 11. Maybe, he’s 11. He’s either 11 or 5.” And while all of this is going on, you’re searching through your mind for something graceful and diplomatic you can say to bring the conversation to a close, and all I can ever come up with is shut the fuck up. Shut the fuck up. Shut the fuck up. Shut the fuck up. But you can’t say that. Good manners don’t permit it. You have to find another way, and I go to body language. I try to use my body language to show that the conversation is over. I find myself leaning at a 45-degree angle trying to indicate the direction that I’d like to go if this person would just shut the fuck up. And then, I might even give him a verbal cue. “Surgery. Surgery. I’m late for surgery. I’m having my ears sewn shut.” You know. Yeah. Same people on the phone. Same people on the phone, don’t know when to hang up, don’t know when the conversation is over. Dumb, trivial shit. Dumb questions. “So what are you guys going to do five summers from now? We haven’t made any plans. Marge wants to go to the beach. The kids kind of like it at the lake, and I want to go to the mountains. Grandma wants to visit her sister in Frog Balls, Arkansas. How about you? Have you made any plans? It’s never too early to make plans. We’re going to Norway in 2025. Did you know that up until the 1950’s, Norway’s economy was based largely on fishing, but now, thanks to improved drilling techniques and the expansion of the global economy…” Once again, once again, searching through your mind for something gentle you can say. “Blow it out your ass,” comes to mind. Or shut your fucking pie-hole. Or if your friend prefers cake, shut your fucking cake-hole. But you can’t say these things, and you can’t use body language on the phone. Well, you could always amuse yourself, you know. Or if it’s your mother, you show your mother respect; you put her on speakerphone. But that doesn’t move the conversation along. You have to find another trick. And I go to tone of voice. Did you ever use your tone of voice to try to talk them into a soft landing? You try to coax the person toward the end. “Right. Good. OK. Good. All right then. Good. Great. OK. Good. OK, OK. All right. Oh, fuck, there he goes again. That cocksucker. “You remember my neighbor with the burns on 90 percent of her body? Well, she burned the other 10 percent now. She was lighting a fart, and her bush caught fire.” “Listen, listen, Reverend.” “Reverend, Reverend, I hate to be rude, but I just took a three and a half hour shit, and I’m bleeding from the asshole. Well, I don’t have any mercurochrome. Yes. Yeah, I’ll put a Snoopy band-aid on it. Thank you. Yeah, thank you. You do that for me. Yes, say a prayer for my asshole. Thank you very much.” You have to resort to these tactics because many people do not understand what a phone call should be or what a phone call is. Ideally, a phone call is the brief exchange of a few vital pieces of information. This is a phone call. “Hey, Steve, what time’s the circle jerk start tonight? Ten o’clock, OK. Listen, I’m going to be a little bit late. You’ll have to start without me. Oh, don’t worry. I’ll catch up. I’m eating a whole bunch of oysters and watching a horny movie. It’s called Tarzan Fucks a Zebra. Russell Crowe. Well, it’s kind of a fantasy. Right now, Renee Zellweger is blowing a unicorn.” That’s a phone call. It should not be a two and a half hour harangue of your third cousin describing her mailman’s liposuction. God, people are fucking boring. People are just fucking boring. You know what would be great for a guy like me? Just to be in a coma. Huh? Wouldn’t that be great? Nothing to do all day. You just crap out and breathe through a fucking tube. They feed you through a tube. There’s nothing to do. Whoa, you talk about being a couch potato, that’s it man. No phone calls coming in. Nobody dropping by unexpectedly. And if they do drop by, you’re completely unaware of it because you’re in a fucking coma, and you’re practically clinically dead. And you don’t have to listen to their stupid shit. Their stupid shit like about their new ride-around lawnmower with the two-tone horn and the GPS in case they get lost on the lawn. And their boss and their job and their car and their kids. Jesus fucking Christ, their kids. Folks, folks, nothing worse. Nothing worse than to be stuck somewhere with some married asshole and have to listen to him tell you about his fucking kids. Let me tell you something, folks. Nobody cares about your children, OK? No. We don’t care. We don’t care. Nobody cares about your children. I speak for everyone. I’ve been appointed by the rest of the group to inform you we don’t care about your children. That’s why they’re your children, so you can care about them, and we don’t have to bother. But they tell you anyway. “Todd is in the seventh grade now. He’s in the cheese club. Giselle is 5 and already she’s had nine periods. Johan is 11, and he pretty much sits around the house hallucinating all the time.” Then they want to show you the pictures. Here’s another ordeal. The pictures. These little gargoyles that they have loosed from their loins. A lot of these professional mommies, boy, they think there’s nothing better than having a baby. Oh, they think it’s the biggest thing in the world like it’s a big event, having a baby. I call it pumping out a unit. That’s all they’re doing. That’s all they’re doing. Pumping out a fucking unit. Ba-boom. Ba-boom. Like some of them like assembly lines like a factory. Ba-ba-boom. Every fucking year, ba-ba-boom. “Hey, Jeff, want a kid?” Ba-ba-boom. “How about twins?” Ba-ba-boom, ba-ba-boom. Polluting the earth. Polluting the earth with these creatures who have no future. They have no future. Have you pictured what this planet is going to be like in 40 to 50 years? It’s going to be a big smoking ball of shit, a big, smoking, flaming, stinking ball of gaseous shit. That’s what’s going to happen. That’s what’s going to happen. It’s irresponsible to have more than one child. Have one. Have one child, replacement value for yourself, that’s all. Don’t even replace your husband. Don’t replace your husband. No. He’s done enough fucking damage as it is. But they want to show you the pictures. Sometimes, they warn you, you know. That’s good. They say, “Hey, you want to see some pictures of my kid?” No, just describe them to me. But they show you, and there are two ways you can handle it, I have found two ways to handle the pictures. The first is the easy way. You just kind of take it all in stride, you matter-of-factly go along with the game. “Oh, uh-huh, boy. Hmm. Girl. Yeah. Older boy. Older girl. Good. Four. Listen, I have to go wash my crotch. I’ll see you later.” Then you get the fuck out of there. Or you can do what I do, you can do what I do, be a little honest about what you see. Take a chance. Tell the truth. “Look at the fucking head on that kid.” “Geez, where did he get a fucking head like that? That thing is huge. Have you put him on YouTube yet? Boy, you get a lot of hits with a head like that. Or put him on eBay. You might make a little money, you know. I’m sure some European circus would snap his ass up in a fucking minute, boy. Goddamn that thing is unusual. Listen, maybe he’ll grow into it. You never know with kids, huh. Hey, let me ask you a practical question. Where do you find hats for a kid like that?” Tell the truth. Don’t be bullshitting people. Don’t be bullshitting. There’s enough bullshit as it is, folks. There’s plenty of bullshit. Then they want to show you the pictures of the little girl whose second teeth are coming in, and they think it’s cute. It’s not. It’s fucking horrifying. Did you ever look at the teeth coming in on some of these kids? Did you ever take a good, close look actually in the mouth? Take a look and see different…damn, sometimes they got two, three rows of fucking teeth coming in there. All odd angles. There’s one under the tongue. That’s unusual, look at that, a sublingual tooth. What do you know? Once again, tell the truth. “You better start saving your money right now, pal. It’s going to cost you a fucking fortune to fix that. You’re going to need an international team of orthodontists around the clock just to make a dent. You might want to call FEMA. That looks like a real fucking problem to me. Look at that. You have the number to the National Guard? Give them a ring. That’s good. Listen, why don’t you just have them all pulled and let her start over again, you know? Or take a picture of her with her mouth closed. That would save you a lot of heartache in the long run. Listen, you’re not Catholic by any chance, are you? Well, the reason I ask is you might want to take her to Lewards and pray for a miracle over there.” Tell the truth. Don’t be bullshitting people. Like I say, there’s enough bullshit as it is. There’s enough bullshit as it is. In fact, there’s just enough, did you know that? There’s just enough bullshit to hold things together in this country. Bullshit is the glue that binds us as a nation. Where would we be without our safe, familiar, American bullshit. Land of the free. Home of the brave. The American dream. All men are equal. Justice is blind. The press is free. Your vote counts. Business is honest. The good guys win. The police are on your side. God is watching you. Your standard of living will never decline. And everything is going to be just fine. The official national bullshit story. I call it the American okeydoke. Every one, every one of those items is provably untrue at one level or another, but we believe them because they’re pounded into our heads from the time we’re children. That’s what they do with that kind of thing; pound it into the heads of kids because they know that children are much too young to be able to muster an intellectual defense against a sophisticated idea like that. And they know that up to a certain age, children believe everything their parents tell them, and as a result, they never learn to question things. Nobody questions things in this country anymore. Nobody questions anything. Everybody is too fat and happy. Everybody has got a cell phone that’ll make pancakes and rub their balls now. Way too fucking prosperous for our own good, way too fucking prosperous. Americans have been bought off in silence by toys and gizmos, and no one learns to question things. Do you remember…OK. Now, OK. You remember Barbara Bush? I call her the silver douche bag. You remember her? OK. Barbara Bush. She is the mother of Governor George Bush. I call him Governor Bush because that’s the only elected office he ever held legally in our country, OK? George Bush, Governor Bush. Yeah. I don’t care where they hang his portrait. I don’t care how big his library is. He’ll always be Governor Bush. I don’t even capitalize his name when I type it anymore. So she’s the mother of Governor George Bush. She’s also the wife of his father, George H. W. Bush who did become president in the normal, legal, traditional manner. And when he did, she came along for the ride as first lady, and that’s been the tradition up ’til now. A man has been elected and the woman has come along for the ride as the first lady. And usually, as in American life in general, the woman is condescended to, patronized, given something to do to keep her busy. A lot of times, they give her a charity or a cause, something she can champion. Betty Ford was told to drink. Remember that? Yeah, that was…that was Betty Ford’s assignment. “Betty, you get drunk and get totally falling down, fucked-up, shit-faced drunk, OK? You just get fucked up drunk, and we’ll hose you down, baby. We’ll hose you down. We’ll put you in a facility, you’ll get sober, and then we’ll put your name on the facility. Liza Minnelli can get sober, and everything is going to be OK. Right?” That was her assignment. Barbara Bush’s assignment was getting children to read. Remember that? Getting children to read. They figured she had had so much success with George that she would be a natural to get children to read, which misses the point completely. Not important to get children to read. Children who want to read are going to read. Kids who want to learn to read are going to learn to read. Much more important to teach children to question what they read. Children should be taught to question everything. To question everything they read, everything they hear. Children should be taught to question authority. Parents never teach their children to question authority because parents are authority figures themselves, and they don’t want to undermine their own bullshit inside the household. So, they stroke the kid and the kid strokes them, and they all stroke each other, and they all grow up all fucked up, and they come to shows like this. Kids have to be warned that there’s bullshit coming down the road. That’s the biggest thing you can do for a kid. Tell them what life in this country is about. It’s about a whole lot of bullshit that needs to be detected and avoided. That’s the best thing you can do. No one told me. No one told me a thing like that. I was never warned about any of this. I had to find all of it out for myself. And there are still, as with you probably, a lot of things that you’re expected to believe and accept in America that I personally have a problem with, and I question a lot of these things. I’ll give you an example. I saw a slogan on a guy’s car that said “Proud to be an American.” And I thought, well, what the fuck does that mean? Proud to be an American. You see, I’ve never understood national pride. I’ve never understood ethnic pride. Because I’m Irish, and all four of my grandparents were born in Ireland, so I’m fully Irish. And when I was a kid, I would go to the St. Patrick’s Day parade, and I noticed that they sold a button that said “Proud to be Irish.” And I could never understand that because I knew that on Columbus Day, they sold a different button that said “Proud to be Italian.” Then came black pride and Puerto Rican pride. And I could never understand ethnic or national pride because, to me, pride should be reserved for something you achieve or attain on your own, not something that happens by accident of birth. Being Irish, being Irish isn’t a skill. It’s a fucking genetic accident. You wouldn’t say, “I’m proud to be 5’11”. I’m proud to have a predisposition for colon cancer. So, why the fuck would you be proud to be Irish or proud to be Italian or American or anything? Hey, if you’re happy with it, that’s fine. Do that. Put that on your car. “Happy to be an American.” Be happy. Don’t be proud. Too much pride as it is. Pride goeth before a fall. Never forget Proverbs, OK? Now, here’s another slogan. Here’s another slogan you run into all the time. “God bless America.” Once again, respectfully, I say to myself, “What the fuck does that mean?” God bless America. Is that a request? Is that a demand? Is that a suggestion? Politicians say it at the end of every speech as if it were some sort of verbal tick that they can’t get rid of. “God bless you and God bless America. God bless you and God bless America.” I guess they figure if they leave it out, someone is going to think they’re bad Americans. Let me tell you a little secret about God, folks. God doesn’t give a flying fuck about America, OK. He doesn’t care. He never cared about this country. He never has. He never will. He doesn’t care about this country any more than he cares about Mongolia, Transylvania, Pittsburgh, the Suez Canal or the North Pole. He simply doesn’t care, OK. He doesn’t care. Listen, good. There are 200 countries in the world now. Do these people honestly think that God is sitting around picking out his favorites? Why would he do that? Why would God have a favorite country? And why would it be America out of all the countries? Because we have the most money? Because he likes our National Anthem? Maybe, it’s because he heard we have 18 delicious flavors of classic Rice-A-Roni. It’s delusional thinking. It’s delusional thinking, and Americans are not alone with this sort of delusions. Military cemeteries around the world are packed with brainwashed, dead soldiers who were convinced God was on their side. America prays for God to destroy our enemies. Our enemies pray for God to destroy us. Somebody is going to be disappointed. Somebody is wasting their fucking time. Could it be everyone? Now, now, if people want to say God bless America, that’s their business. I don’t care. But here’s what I don’t understand. If they say God bless America, presumably they believe in God, and if they do, they must have heard God loved everyone. That’s what he said. He loved everyone, and he loved them equally. So why would these people ask God to do something that went against his own teachings? You know what these God bless America people ought to do? They ought to check with that Jesus fellow they’re so crazy about. They’re always talking about what would Jesus do, what would Jesus do. They don’t want to know so they can do it. They just want to know so they could tell other people to do it. Well, I’ll tell you what Jesus would have done. I’ll tell you what Jesus would have done. He would have got up on the top of the Empire State Building and said, “God bless everyone around the world, forever and ever, until the end of time.” That’s what Jesus would have done, and that’s what these people should do, or else they should admit that God bless America is really just some sort of an empty slogan with no real meaning except for something vague like good luck. Good luck, America. You’re on your own. Which is a little bit closer to the truth. Here’s a…here’s a civic custom that I don’t understand. Maybe, you can help me. Taking off your hat when a flag passes by or when some jack-off at the ballpark starts singing the National Anthem. They tell you to take off your hat. What the fuck does a hat have to do with being patriotic? What possible relationship exists between the uncovered head and a feeling that ought to live in your heart? Suppose you have a red, white and blue hat. Suppose you have a hat made out of a flag. Why would you take it off to honor the flag? Wouldn’t you leave it on and point it toward the flag? And what’s so bad about hats that you have to take them off? Why not take off your pants or your shoes? They tell you that at the airport. They say take off your shoes. They tell you it’s national security, so taking off your shoes could be patriotic, too. I started to question all of this stupid hat shit when I was a kid. When I was a kid I was a Catholic, at least until I reached the age of reason, OK. So, I was a Catholic… I was Catholic for about two, two and a half years, something like that. And during that time, one of the things they told us was that if a boy or a man went into a church, he had to remove his hat in order to honor the presence of God. But they had already told me that God was everywhere. So I used to wonder, well, if God is everywhere, why would you even own a hat? Why not show your respect, don’t even buy a fucking hat. And just to confuse things further, they told the women exactly the opposite. Catholic women and girls had to cover their heads when they went into church. Same as in certain temples. Jewish men have to cover their heads in those temples. In those same temples, Jewish women not allowed to cover their heads. So, try to figure this shit out. Catholic men and Jewish women, no hats. Catholic women and Jewish men, hats. Somebody’s got the whole thing totally fucking backward, don’t you think? And what is this religious fascination with headgear? Every religion has got a different fucking hat. Did you ever notice that? The Hindus have a turban. The Sikhs have a tall, white turban. Jews have yarmulke. The Muslims have a kufi. The Bishop has a pointy hat on one day and a round hat on another day. Cardinal has a red hat, Pope has a white. Everybody’s got a fucking hat. One group takes them off; the other group puts them on. Personally, I would never want to be a member of any group where you either have to wear a hat or you can’t wear a hat. I think… I think all religions should have one rule and one rule only: hats optional. That’s all you need to run a really good religion. Here’s another one of these civic customs. Swearing on the Bible. Do you understand that shit? They tell you to raise your right hand and place your left hand on the Bible. Does this stuff really matter which hand? Does God really give a fuck about details like this? Suppose you put your right hand on the Bible and you raise your left hand, would that count? Or would God say, “Sorry. Wrong hand. Try again.” And why does one hand have to be raised? What is the magic in this gesture? This seems like some sort of a primitive, voodoo, mojo shtick. Why not put your left hand on the Bible and let your right hand hang down by your side? It’s more natural. Or put it in your pocket. Remember what your mother used to say? Don’t put your hands in your pockets. Does she know something that we don’t know? Is this hand shit really important? Well, let’s get back to the Bible, America’s favorite national theatrical prop. Suppose the Bible they hand you to swear on is upside down or backward or both, and you swear to tell the truth on an upside down, backward Bible. Would that count? Suppose the Bible they hand you is an old Bible and half the pages are missing. Suppose all they have is a Chinese Bible in an American court, or a Braille Bible, and you’re not blind. Suppose they hand you an upside down, backward, Chinese, Braille Bible with half the pages missing? At what point does all of this stuff just break down and become just a lot of stupid shit that somebody made up? They fucking made it up, folks. It’s make-believe. It’s make-believe. Now, all right. OK. Let’s leave the Bible aside. We’ll get back to the science fiction reading later. The more important question is what is the big deal about swearing to God in the first place? Why does swearing to God mean you’re going to tell the truth? It wouldn’t affect me. If they said to me, “You swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?” I’d say yeah. I’ll tell you about as much truth as the people who wrote that fucking Bible. How do you like that, huh? Huh? Swearing on the Bible doesn’t mean anything. It’s kid…swearing to God is kid stuff. Remember when you were a kid? If you told another kid something he didn’t quite believe he’d say, “You swear to God?” I would always say, “Yeah, I swear to God, even if I was lying. Why not? What’s going to happen if I lie? Nothing. Nothing happens if you lie unless you get caught, and that’s a whole different story. Sometimes, that kid would think he was being slick with me and he’d say, “You swear on your mother’s grave?” I’d say, “Yeah, why not?” First of all, my mother was alive. She didn’t have a grave. Second of all, even if she was dead, what’s she going to do, rise from the grave and come and haunt me? Come and haunt me, all because I told a lie to an 8-year-old? Get fucking real, will you? Sometimes, I would say, “I swear on my mother’s tits.” Kids are impressed with things like that. I mean, I don’t care about my mother’s tits either. I didn’t care if they fell off. Fuck her. Not my problem. They’re your tits, ma. You keep an eye on them. Swearing to God doesn’t mean anything. Swearing on the Bible doesn’t mean anything. You know why? Because Bible or no Bible, God or no God, if it suits their purposes, people are going to lie in court. The police do it all the time, all the time. Yes, they do. It’s part of their job to protect, to serve and to commit perjury whenever it supports the state’s case. Swearing on the Bible is just one more way of controlling people and keeping them in line, and it’s one more thing that holds us back as a species. Here’s one more item for you, the last in our civics book: rights. Boy, everyone in this country is always running around, yammering about their fucking rights. I have a right. You have no right. We have a right. They don’t a have right. Folks, I hate to spoil your fun but there’s no such thing as rights, OK. They’re imaginary. We made them up, like the Boogie Man, the Three Little Pigs, Pinocchio, Mother Goose, shit like that. Rights are an idea. They’re just imaginary. They’re a cute idea. Cute but that’s all. Cute and fictional. But if you think you do have rights let me ask you this, where do they come from? People say, “Well, they come from God. They’re God-given rights.” Oh, fuck, here we go again. Here we go again. The God excuse. The last refuge of a man with no answers and no argument, “They came from God.” Anything we can’t describe must have come from God. Personally, folks, I believe that if your rights came from God, he would have given you the right to some food every day, and he would have given you the right to a roof over your head. God would have been looking out for you. God would have been looking out for you, you know that? He wouldn’t have been worrying about making sure you have a gun so you can get drunk on Sunday night and kill your girlfriend’s parents. But let’s say it’s true. Let’s say God gave us these rights. Why would he give us a certain number of rights? The Bill of Rights in this country has ten stipulations, OK? Ten rights. And apparently, God was doing sloppy work that week because we’ve had to amend the Bill of Rights an additional 17 times, so God forgot a couple of things like slavery. Just fucking slipped his mind. But let’s say God gave us the original ten. He gave the British 13. The British Bill of Rights has 13 stipulations. The Germans have 29. The Belgians have 25. The Swedish have only 6. And some people in the world have no rights at all. What kind of a fucking, goddamn, God-given deal is that? No rights at all? Why would God give different people in different countries different numbers of different rights? Boredom? Amusement? Bad arithmetic? Do we find out at long last after all this time that God is weak in math skills? Doesn’t sound like divine planning to me. Sounds more like human planning. Sounds more like one group trying to control another group. In other words, business as usual in America. Now, if you think you do have rights, one last assignment for you. Next time you’re at the computer, get on the internet. Go to Wikipedia. When you get to Wikipedia, in the search field for Wikipedia, I want you to type in Japanese Americans 1942, and you’ll find out all about your precious fucking rights, OK? All right. You know about it. You know about it. Yeah. In 1942, there were 110,000 Japanese-American citizens in good standing, law-abiding people, who were thrown into internment camps simply because their parents were born in the wrong country. That’s all they did wrong. They had no right to a lawyer, no right to a fair trial, no right to a jury of their peers, no right to due process of any kind. The only right they had? Right this way, into the internment camps. Just when these American citizens needed their rights the most, their government took them away, and rights aren’t rights if someone can take them away. They’re privileges. That’s all we’ve ever had in this country is a bill of temporary privileges. And if you read the news even badly, you know that every year, the list gets shorter and shorter and shorter. You see how silly that is? Yeah. Sooner or later, the people in this country are going to realize the government does not give a fuck about them. The government doesn’t care about you or your children or your rights or your welfare or your safety. It simply doesn’t give a fuck about you. It’s interested in its own power. That’s the only thing keeping it and expanding it wherever possible. Personally, when it comes to rights, I think one of two things is true. I think either we have unlimited rights or we have no rights at all. Personally, I lean toward unlimited rights. I feel, for instance, I have the right to do anything I please. But if I do something you don’t like, I think you have the right to kill me. So where are you going to find a fairer fucking deal than that? So the next time some asshole says to you, “I have a right to my opinion, “you say, “Oh yeah? Well I have a right to my opinion, and my opinion is you have no right to your opinion.” Then shoot the fuck and walk away. Thank you.
1686241308-2	https://scrapsfromtheloft.com/stand-up-comedy-scripts/	GEORGE CARLIN: COMPLAINTS AND GRIEVANCES (2001) – FULL TRANSCRIPT	https://scrapsfromtheloft.com/comedy/george-carlin-complaints-grievances/	Complaints and Grievances is a HBO stand-up special by comedian George Carlin. Its working title was I Kinda Like It When a Lot of People Die, but it was renamed following the September 11, 2001 attacks. It was recorded on November 17, 2001, at the Beacon Theater, New York City, New York. “The Opening” Thank you. I really appreciate it. Thank you. Thank you. Hey… hey… hey… You know… You know… you know something people don’t talk about in public any more, pussy farts. Anyway, once again for me it is HBO time. We’re back at the Beacon Theater – by the way – for the third time in a row. And I’d do as some of you know this is the 12th show. I’ve been doing them since 1977. It usually takes me about two. Two and a half years, and that means for the last couple of years I’ve been out floating around, bouncing around the cities and the towns in this country, and the theaters and concert halls. Working on my stuff. Probably been in your hometown a couple of times since the last time I saw you. Hey, you know me, if they got a zip code, I’ll fucking be there. Busy as a dyke in a hardware store. Did you ever notice up on a barn they got a weather vane up on a barn? And by the way I don’t do transitional material. You probably picked that up right away. I just kind of go right into the next thing and at this moment. We’re on barns. But you ever notice up there they got that weather vane. And usually it’s a rooster or a cock. It’s the same animal. Really you know. It’s just a different name. You know why they got a cock on the weather vane? Because if they had a cunt the wind would blow right through it. Well a lot of people don’t know that. That’s why I travel around so much. I’m here to entertain and inform. Reminds me of something my grandfather used to say to me. You know. He’d look at me and he’d say I’m going upstairs and fuck your grandma. He’s just a really honest man you know. He wasn’t going to bullshit a four-year-old. Now. Folks. Before we get too far along here tonight there’s something we got to talk about. Everybody knows what it is. It’s in the air. It’s in the city and naturally I’m talking about the events of September 11 and everything that’s happened since that time. And the reason we have to talk about it is otherwise. It’s like the elephant in the living room that nobody mentions. I mean yeah there it is. Sitting on the fucking couch and nobody says a word. It’s like if you’re at a formal garden party and you go over to the punchbowl and you notice floating around there’s a big turd and nobody says a word about it you know. Nobody says lovely party Jeffrey but there’s a turd in the punchbowl. So we got to talk about it. If nothing else just to get it out of our way so we can have a little fun here tonight because otherwise the terrorists win. Don’t you love that stuff? Yeah. That’s our latest mindless cliché. Go out and buy some jewelry and a new car otherwise the terrorists win. Those business assholes really know how to take advantage don’t they? So here’s what I’m thinking folks by now everybody’s supposed to know that when it comes to survival. Staying alive that you know you have to be you can’t be too picky and choosy about the company you’re going to keep. Sometimes you have to cooperate with some kind of unsavory people people you don’t like people you don’t trust people you don’t respect the kind of people you might not even invite into your own home. So for that reason. Tonight I’m announcing my intention to cooperate with the United States government. I’m even thinking of lending my support to Governor Bush. Good old Governor Bush. I’m hoping he does a good job. If he does may we might think of electing him President in 2004, okay? Now. The reason for my decision is a fairly simple one I mentioned it already survival okay. And in order to learn that Mother Nature yeah. Always took my cue from nature. I realized some time ago that I’m not separate from nature just because I have a primate brain an upper brain. Because underneath the primate brain there’s a mammalian brain. And beneath the mammalian brain there’s a reptilian brain. And it’s those two lower brains that made the upper brain possible in the first place. Here’s the way it works. The primate brain says give peace a chance. The mammalian brain says give peace a chance but first let’s kill this motherfucker. And the reptilian brains says let’s just kill the motherfucker. Go to the peace rally and get laid. Because the first obligation the first obligation of any organism is to survive. The second is to reproduce. Survival is more important than fucking. Pacifism is a nice idea. But it can get you killed. We’re not there yet folks evolution is slow. Smallpox is fast. Now the government has asked all of us to come up with suggestions and ideas that we might have to help them to fight terrorism. That will give you an idea of how much shit they have on the shelf. And like any good citizen I’m ready with my suggestions. Now. First of all. Overseas in Afghanistan I think you have to use the most powerful weapon you have in this case. Chemical warfare of a type never used before. And I’m talking about the flatulent airborne reaction team. F-A-R-T. Fart. Here’s what you do you take thousands of overweight male NFL football fans. Thousands of them. We’re going to start with a nucleus of Giants fans and Jets fans. Got to start with that nucleus. Now it might be necessary to include some Bills fans and Eagles fans too. This is war. You can’t be choosy. And I’m also thinking about getting some of those big fat cocksuckers who root for the teams in the NFC Central. Chicago Bears fans Green Bay Packer fans guys who eat a lot of bratwurst. And all these guys have to be over pounds. What you do is for days you put them on a diet of nothing but cheese cabbage and beer. That’s all they get for days. For many of these men this will not be a new diet. You fill them up with cheese and cabbage and beer and you drop them into Afghanistan where they commence chemical warfare of the highest order. You send three-man fart squads into every cave and tunnel in Afghanistan just send them in there. And then ya smoke them out. These good citizens will release horrendous deadly farts the kind of fart that could kill cancer. The kind of fart that comes in handy if you have something that needs welding. The kind of fart that if you let one go at home minutes later your plants are all yellow. The kind of fart that after two or three days you begin to realize there are no more birds in your neighborhood. A fart that would eat the stitching out of Levis. Can I get away with one more fart joke here? The kind of fart whereby the Centers for Disease Control declares your pants a level biohazard. That takes care of overseas. That’s overseas. On the domestic side. In this country and before I tell you my plan for the domestic side. I want to. Because it does come from a kind of New York frame of mind I want to mention my New York credentials. And they are as follows. I was born on this island. Manhattan island. Therefore I was born in New York City New York County and New York State. City county and state and besides that. And on top of that I was born at New York Hospital on East rd Street. But here’s the capper something you don’t know. You know where I was conceived? Rockaway beach. Rockaway that’s right in a hotel on Beach 116th Street called Curley’s Hotel, so if you hear or see anything later on about New York, you’ll know my credentials are in good order. Here’s what you do domestically. You take Don Imus’ advice. And you tell this Tommy Thompson and Tom Ridge good try nice going we’ll see you later and in charge of the whole domestic thing you put Rudolph Giuliani, an Italian from Brooklyn okay? Okay. Now. Let’s have a little fun here tonight. Let’s do the show that I was planning on right up till September 10. And it starts by me explaining to you me explaining to you that a lot of you know this already I don’t talk about myself very much in these shows you know it’s really not my style. But I had an incident in traffic recently that I think I ought to tell you about. And there are a couple of things about me you ought to know first. “Traffic Accidents: Keep Movin’!” I drive kind of recklessly I take a lot of chances. I never repair my vehicles. And I don’t believe in traffic laws. So I tend to have quite a high number of traffic accidents. And last week I either ran over a sheep or I ran over a small man wearing a sheepskin coat. And I don’t know. Because I didn’t stop. I do not stop when I have a traffic accident. Do you? No you can’t. Hey who has time? Not me I hit somebody I run somebody over I keep moving especially if I’ve injured someone. I do not get involved in that. I’m not a doctor. I’ve had no medical training. I’m just another guy out driving around looking for a little fun and I can’t be stopping for everything. Well let’s just look at it logically let’s be logical about it. If you do stop at the scene of the accident. All you do is add to the confusion. These people you ran over have enough troubles of their own without you stopping and making things worse. Leave these people alone. They’ve just been in a major traffic accident. The last thing they need is for you to stop and get out of your car and go over to the fire because by now it is a fire. And start bothering them with a lot of stupid questions. Are you hurt? Well. Of course. They’re hurt look at all the blood. You just ran over them in a ton and a half of steel. Of course they’re hurt leave these people alone. Haven’t you done enough? For once in your life do the decent thing don’t get involved. Well in the first place it’s none of your business, none of your business. The whole thing took place outside of your car. Legally speaking these people you ran over were not on your property at the time you ran them over. They were standing in the street that is city property you are not responsible. If they don’t like it let them sue the city. And besides. It happened back there. It’s over now. Stop living in the past. Do yourself a favor count your blessings. Be glad it wasn’t you and I’ll give you a practical reason not to stop. You need a practical reason? If you do stop sooner or later the police are going to show up. Is that what you want? Huh? Waste even more of your time standing around filling out forms answering a lot of foolish questions lying to the authorities? And by the way who are you to be taking up the valuable time of the police department. These men and women are professionals they’re supposed to be out fighting crimes. Stop interfering with police. And besides. Didn’t anyone else see this accident? Huh? Are you the only one who can provide information? Surely the people you ran over caught a glimpse of it at the last moment. So let them tell the police what happened. They were a lot closer to it than you were. There’s no sense having two conflicting stories floating around about the same dumb ass traffic accident. Things are bad enough people are dead families have been destroyed. Time to get moving. Now. On the other hand. If I should be out driving around looking for a little fun and I see an accident. One that I’m not involved in. I stop immediately. Well. I want to get a good look at what’s going on. I enjoy that sort of thing. Someone else is injured I want to take a look. I am Curious George. But people don’t like that. Police don’t like it. They say you’re rubber necking. They say you’re blocking traffic. Never mind that shit. I want to take a look. I’m never too busy that I can’t stop to enjoy someone else’s suffering. And I’ll tell you something else I’m a big fan of traffic accidents. You know my favorite accident? Two buses and a chicken truck get hit by a circus train in front of a flea market. Well. I want to see something interesting. I’m looking of a neck sticking out of a gas tank. If I’m going to take the time to stop I expect a couple of fucking laughs. And if my car should happen to be in such a position where I can’t quite see what’s going on can’t get a good enough look I’m not the least bit shy about asking the police to bring the bodies over a little closer to the car. Pardon me. Officer. Would you fellows mind dragging that twisted looking chap over here a little closer to the car please? My wife has never seen anyone shaped quite like that. Look at that sugar lips that’s his rib cage sticking out of the glove compartment. Thank you Officer that will be all now. You can throw him back on the pile. We’ll be moving along and off I go onto the highway looking for a little fun. Perhaps a tanker truck filled with human waste will explode in front of the Pokemon factory. I appreciate that yeah. Reminds me of something my third grade teacher said to us. She said you show me a tropical fruit and I’ll show you a cocksucker from Guatemala. No. That wasn’t her. That was a guy I met in the Army. I always confuse those people. “You and Me (Things That Come Off of Your Body)” Now. Folks. This next piece of material’s going to give us a chance to bond. That’s what America’s been doing the last . years bonding. When they’re not networking or reaching out or making space for one another. You’ll find them bonding and we’re going to do that because this piece of material is about us. It’s about you and me you and me little things little things we all know common knowledge. In this case. Little things we all know about our bodies. Because everybody’s body is different but everybody’s body’s really quite the same. So there are a lot of little things about our bodies that we all know but we never talk about. That’s what interests me. These are practically universal experiences nobody mentions them. Some of them are disgusting. Some of them are appallingly revolting and degrading even to the most degenerate mind. So let’s get started with a couple of them. You ever get lip crud? You ever get that crud on your lip it’s kind of a sticky film kind of a gooey coating you know if it dries a little bit. It’s kind of a cruddy gummy flaky crusty shit kind of thing. Starts in the corner of your mouth, works its way on down your lip and if it’s really bad the corners of your mouth look like parenthesis. Did you ever have that? Lip crud. When you want to get rid of it it’s a real simple operation isn’t it? It’s low tech shit thumbnail. That’s all you need. Simple tool ain’t it? You just scrape that shit off. That’s all. You just scrape it on down scrape it on down. Hey never mind those people at the bus stop if they knew anything they wouldn’t be riding the bus. Fuck them. Fuck them in the mouth. Scrape it on down. Yeah you just kind of scrape that shit on down and you take it and you roll it up into a little ball. And then you save that son of a bitch. I save my lip crud. I save everything that comes off of my body don’t you? At least for a little while. Don’t you look at things when they first come off of you Huh? Aren’t you curious? Don’t you spend five or ten or minutes studying something trying to figure out what the fuck it is and what it’s doing on you in the first place? Sure you do. You don’t pull some disgusting looking growth off of your neck and throw it directly into the toilet. You want to know what the fuck it is. Besides you never know when you’re going to need parts. Isn’t that true? Did you ever see these guys on TV? They’re in the hospital. One guy’s waiting for a kidney another guy’s waiting for a lung. Fuck you I’ve got shit at home. I’ve got a freezer full of viable organs. I have two of everything ready to go. What do you need a spleen an esophagus? How about a nice used ball bag huh? Come on good condition. One owner. He only scratched that on Sundays. Come on and take a chance. It’s true. You want to know what something is. You don’t spend minutes peeling a malignant tumor off of your forehead just to toss it out the window sight unseen into the neighbor’s swimming pool. No. You take a good long fucking look at it don’t you? Holy shit look at this thing. God damn holy jumping fucking Jesus look at this. Honey look at this. Honey come here look at this. Honey yo. Hey yo honey yo. Hey fuck the Rice-a-Roni get in here. Look at this thing. Look this was a part of my head a minute ago. Not anymore I pried the bastard off with paint thinner and a Phillips head screwdriver. But look at it. Look at the colors in it. It’s green blue yellow orange brown tan Khaki beige bronze olive. Neutral. Black. Off black champagne gold Navajo white turquoise and band-aid color. Plus it’s exactly the same shape as Bosnia if you leave out the little section where the Croatians live. I’m not throwing this bastard away it might become a collectible. Dial up those dickheads on Ebay we’ll make some fucking money on this thing. Well I’ll tell you it’s just natural curiosity it’s just everyone has it. You’re curious. You’re curious about yourself. You’re curious about your body so you’re curious about little parts that come off of you. Toenail clippings are a good example. Toenail clippings and I’m even going to set the scene for you. You’re sitting on the bed at home one night and something really shitty comes on TV like a regularly scheduled prime time network program. You say well I’m not going to watch Raymond Blows the Milkman I’m going to clip my fucking toenails. So you start to clip your toenails and every time you clip one of them the clipping part flies far away. Did you ever notice that? Thoom. Thoom. Thooom. These things fly all over the bed. And when you’re finished clipping you have to gather them all back into a little pile don’t you? Yeah you can’t leave them on the bed. They make little holes in your legs. You don’t need that shit. You have to gather them all back into a little pile. Did you ever notice this? The bigger the pile gets the more pride you have in the pile. Look at this shit honey the biggest pile of toenail clippings we’ve had in this house since the day the Big Bopper died. Call the Museum of Natural History tell them we have a good idea for a diorama. And then you look for the largest toenail clipping of all the biggest one you can find and you bend it for a while don’t you? Yes yes yes you do. You bend it. You squeeze it you play with it. You have to you have to. Why? Because you can. Because it’s still lively and viable there’s moisture in it. It just came off of your body. It’s almost alive. Did you ever try to save your toenail clippings overnight huh? Did you ever put them in the ashtray try to save them till the morning? It’s no good they’re too dry. You can’t bend them in the morning. Fuck them. Throw them away. Who needs unbendable toenails. Not me. Bullshit fuck you up yours get laid. Eat shit drop dead jack me off suck this. I don’t need parts that badly I’m not that sick. I’m not that sick. Folks. Yes sir. That’s right. You got it. You got it. Little things. Little things that come off of you and your curiosity about them. Especially if it’s something you can’t see while it’s still on you. Know what I mean? You ever been picking your ass? You know just idly standing out in the driveway picking your ass and you come across an object. Honey come here. Want a couple of hits off of this while it’s still fresh? Let me ask you something. Did we eat at Kenny Rogers’ Restaurant again? Well. I don’t remember ordering anything that smelled like this. I believe this is a shit burger. It smells like a burger tastes like shit. Actually it smells like Ethel Merman. Call that Andrew Lloyd Webber fellow tell him we have a good idea for one of those fine shows he’s always putting on Broadway. Then give me the scrapbook this son of a bitch is going right next to that toe jam we found at the Gator Bowl. All because you couldn’t see it while it was still on you. Here’s something else you can’t see while it’s still on you little scab on the top of your head. Did you ever have that? Sure you have. A little scab. Top of your head. Not a big red blood scab that you get when someone at work. Hits you in the head with a fucking Stilson wrench. Just a little dry spot a little scaly spot. You find it one day by accident when you’re scratching your head. You come across it as if by good luck. Oh. Hot shit. A fucking scab. I love fucking scabs. This is going to be a lot of fun. I can’t wait to pick off my scab and look at it. Oh boy oh boy. Oh boy oh boy. Oh boy oh boy oh boy oh boy. I can’t wait to pick off my scab and put it down on a contrasting material such as a black velvet tablecloth in order to see it in greater relief. Oh boy oh boy I can’t wait to pick off my scab. This is going to be wait. Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait. It’s not going to come off yet. It’s immature. It’s still not ripe it’s not ready for plucking. I’ll save this for Thursday. Thursday will be a good day. I only have a half-day of work on Thursday. I’ll come home early. I’ll masturbate in the kitchen. And then I’ll watch the Montel Williams show. And then I’ll pick off my scab. Oh boy oh boy I can’t wait to pick off my scab. This is going to be a lot of fun. So you wait and you wait and you wait and you wait and you wait. And you try not to knock it off by accident with the little plastic comb you bought in the vending machine at the Easy Living Motel with the two skanky looking chicks who gave you the clap that night. And now Thursday arrives and it’s harvest time. Harvest time on your head. You come home early you masturbate but you do it in your sister’s bedroom just to give it a little extra thrill. You know what I mean? And then you watch the Montel Williams show. Pretty good topic women who take it up the ass for cents. Well. Not the best show he’s ever done. But you know something? Not bad. Either. Now it’s time to go get this little bastard but you want to go carefully. You want to pick this scab off evenly and carefully around the perimeter of the scab so that it lifts off all in one piece. You don’t want it to break into pieces. Who needs a fragmented scab Not me. Bullshit fuck you up yours get laid eat shit drop dead jack me off suck this I don’t need parts that badly I’m not that sick. What you really want what you really must have what you really need is a complete whole scab you can put down study look at makes notes on it. Perhaps write a series of penetrating articles for Scab Aficionado Magazine. Who knows you might rise to the top of the scab world in a big hurry it’s a small community and they need people at the top. I sense I’ve gone too far. So I quit while I’m ahead and I’ll change the subject. This is something I probably told you before I never fucked a . Never fucked a . But one night I fucked five. Twos. And I think that ought to count. Here’s something you never hear a man say Stop sucking my dick or I’ll call the police. “People Who Oughta Be Killed: Self-Help Books” Now something else a lot of you are aware of. Those of you with illegal cable hook-ups will be aware of the fact that one of the things I like to do on my show is complain you know. It’s kind of a motif for me complaining. And of course. This weird culture we live in leaves you no shortage of things to complain about. So this next piece of material like some good ideas is fairly simple. It’s just a list of people who ought to be killed starting with these people who read self help books. Why do so many people need help? Life is not that complicated. You get up go to work you eat three meals you take one good shit and you go back to bed. What’s the fucking mystery? And the part I really don’t understand. If you’re looking for self-help why would you read a book written by somebody else? That’s not self-help that’s help. There’s no such thing as self help. If you did it yourself you didn’t need help. You did it yourself. Try to pay attention to the language we’ve all agreed on. And a similar. A similar mystery to me motivation books. “Motivation Seminars” Motivation seminars. Why would anyone need to be motivated by someone else? I say if you lack motivation. A seminar isn’t going to help you. What you really need is to be smashed in the head or times with a golf club. That’ll fucking motivate you. Or else it’ll at least get you up and moving around the room you know locate your socks shit like that. Get the day rolling. Motivation is bullshit. If you ask me this country could use a little less motivation. The people who are motivated are the ones who were causing all the trouble. Stock swindlers. Serial killers. Child molesters, Christian conservatives. These people are highly motivated, highly motivated. And anyway I think motivation is overrated. You show me some lazy prick who’s lying around all day watching game shows and stroking his penis and I’ll show you someone who’s not causing any fucking trouble. “Parents of Honor Students” Here’s another pack of low-grade morons who ought to be locked into portable toilets and set on fire. These people with bumper stickers that say we are the proud parents of an honor student at Franklin School. Or the Midvale Academy or whatever other innocent sounding name has been assigned to the indoctrination center where their child has been sent to be stripped of his individuality and turned into an obedient soul, dead conformist member of the American consumer culture. Proud parents what kind of empty people need to validate themselves through the achievements of their children? How would you like to have to live with a couple of these misfits? How’s that science project coming along Justin? Fuck you dad. You simple-minded prick. Mind your own business and pass the Cheerios. Here’s a bumper sticker I’d like to see. We are the proud parents of a child whose self esteem is sufficient that he doesn’t need us promoting his minor scholastic achievements on the back of our car. Or we are the proud parents of a child who has resisted his teacher’s attempts to break his spirit and bend him to the will of his corporate masters. Just be a nice little for a change. Here’s something realistic. We have a daughter in public school who hasn’t been knocked up yet. We have a son in public school who hasn’t shot any of his classmates yet. But he does sell drugs to your honor student. Plus, he knocked up your daughter. Then there are the people who aren’t too proud of their children. We are the embarrassed parents of a cross-eyed little nitwit who at the age of not only continues to wet the bed but also shits on the school bus. Something like that on the back of the car might give the child a little more incentive you know, get him to try a little harder next semester. “Baby Slings” Here are some more parents who ought to be beaten with heavy clubs and left bleeding in the moonlight. These are the ones who carry their babies around in these backpacks or front packs or slings or whatever these devices are called. That are apparently designed to leave the parents’ hands free to sort through high end merchandise and reach for their platinum credit cards. Because it’s always these upscale, yuppie looking Greenpeace environmentally conscious assholes who have them on. I say hey Mr. And Mrs. Natural Fibers. I say hey Mr. And Mrs. Natural Fibers. It’s not camping equipment it’s a baby. Touch the little prick now and then. He’ll thank you for it someday. These are the same people who sort their garbage jog with their dogs and listen to Steely Dan. You just like to take them out deep in the forest and disembowel them with a wooden cooking spoon. “My Daddy” Here are some more people who ought to be smashed across the face repeatedly with a piece of heavy mining equipment These grown men, grown men who refer to their fathers as my daddy. You know yeah. You hear a lot of this stupid shit in the South these rebel assholes. My daddy my daddy my daddy. Well you know what my daddy used to say. My daddy used to say blah. Blah. Blah. Blah. Oh. He did. Did he? Well. Wasn’t that fucking enlightening. My daddy used to say fuck your daddy. Fuck your daddy in his wrinkled. Rusted rural country asshole. Grow up Billy Joe Carl Bob Danny Frank, you’re not six any more. More like 9. “Telephone Mimes” Here’s another unfortunate pack of mutants who ought to be penciled in for a sudden visit from the angel of death these guys these guys who can’t tell you about a phone call they had without giving you this shit the fucking pinky and the thumb. Like they attended Mime college, studied under Marcel Marceau. So I call her up you know and I’m talking to her. And she fucking hangs up on me so I hang up on her. And she calls me back. I fucking hang up again. I say hey Bruno thanks for the visual aid. But we all understand the concept of the telephone. You hold it in your hand you talk into it. Excuse me. Bruno. Incoming call. Oh hey it’s for you. “Hands-Free Telephone Headsets” Here’s another bunch of puss-headed telephone cretins. These self-important techno dicks who walk around with these hands free telephone headsets and ear pieces. Mr. Self Important doesn’t want to be too far from the phone in case Henry Kissinger calls. He’s got the Dalai Lama on line 2. I say hey Spaceman as long as your hands are free. Reach over here and fondle my balls would you please? “Answering Machines” And answering machines starting with these people who think it’s cute to let their children record the outgoing message you know? And you can’t understand a word of it. Because the kid’s a fucking imbecile. Hi my name is Stacey I’m 5 years old, my mommy and daddy aren’t home but I’m galalgablallamabla. Beep. Here’s my message Stacey. I’m coming over to your house with a big knife. And I’m going to kill mommy and daddy. Then I’m going to peel off their skin and make a funny hat. After that I’m going to take out my huge ding dong and stick it right in your dooooooo. “Family Newsletters” These are the same parents who at Christmas time send you pictures of their children. Pictures you didn’t ask for and you don’t want. But it is fun throwing the pictures away isn’t it? I don’t even look at the fucking Christmas card. Who’s this? Luanne is this year. Fuck Luanne. I give a shit how old she is. Does she have any tits yet? Send me a picture of Luanne’s tits. Then I know I’m going to have a happy New Year too. Then just to compound your holiday pleasure, they enclose a family newsletter. Just what you’re hoping for, news about people you can barely fucking remember. We’re so proud of Brad he’s been accepted into dental school. Yeah in the Philippines after four tries. Fuck Brad and everybody who looks like Brad. Judging from his picture I think he’s jerking off too much. Keep him away from Luanne. “Music on Answering Machines” Here’s another bunch of genetic defectives who have been turned loose on answering machines. These guys who cannot resist the urge to put music on their outgoing message. You know some guy spends $8 in Radio Shack and suddenly he’s a fucking record producer. And because he’s busy in the basement jacking off his dog I have to listen to substandard music. And it’s always rotten music you know. It’s either new age that pointless meandering zombie noise played by pseudo spiritual lunatics who think wind chimes are a musical instrument. Or else it’s soft rock. Soft rock. That lame ass weak non threatening suburban white boy junk played by bands like Men Without Testicles. Oh. And folks. On these answering machines do me a favor. Would you please. When you record your outgoing message don’t bother telling me you can’t come to the phone. I understand that. Apparently that’s why we have these machines. And don’t tell me leave my name and number somehow. I figured that out. And if you work in an office. Never mind that stuff. I’m away from my desk. If you had to take a shit say so. Just say hi this is Mary Louise I had the Mexican Jalapeno bean chile dip and I washed it down with a gallon of gin. I’ll be in and out all day. “People Who Wear Visors” There are some more people who ought to be strapped into chairs and beaten with hammers. People who wear visors. Let me ask you something. What the fuck is the point in wearing half a hat? Either get a hat or don’t. No one’s interested in the top of your head. Go back to the store and tell them to give you the rest of the hat. They cheated you. Better still. Get yourself one of them little Jewish hats and sew it to your visor. Then you got yourself a full-fledged fucking hat my friend. “Singers with One Name” Here are some more musical vermin whose mothers we wish had medical plans that included abortion. These singers, these singers who think they’re so special they only need one name: Bono, Sting, Jewel, Tiffany, Prince. What a crock of shit. Get a fucking last name would you please. I got a nice two-word name for you: pretentious cocksucker. How do you like that? Bono, Sting. It’s not bad enough the music sucks. But with no last name. You can’t find out where they live to throw a fucking bomb through their window. It’s frustrating. “Rich Guys in Hot Air Balloons” Here are some more people who deserve an inoperable tumor at the base of their spines. These guys who fly around the world in a fucking balloon. You know. What is this 1850? Get a fucking airline ticket will you please? When is the media going to realize no one’s interested in some rich trouser stain who’s so bored he’s got to fly around in a balloon all day. I hope the next guy gets hit by lightning. And flies around in little fart circles. And lands in a sewage treatment pond and sinks with the rest of the turds. Mr. Lighter than Air. “People Who Misuse Credit Cards” Here is another pack of jackoffs who ought to be strangled in front of their children. People who pay for inexpensive items with a credit card. You know. Folks. Take my word for this Raisinettes is not a major purchase. Get some fucking cash together. No one should be paying a bank percent interest on Tic Tacs. And you’re holding up the fucking line too some dorky looking prick with a fanny pack waiting to be approved for a bag of Cheese Doodles. I need this like I need an infected scrotum. Get some fucking money. Next guy ahead of me online pays for Newsweek with a credit card is getting stabbed in the eyes. “Guys Named Todd” And I’m getting really sick of guys named Todd. You know it’s just a goofy fucking name okay. Hi what’s your name? Todd. I’m Todd. And this is Blake. And Blair and Blane and Brent. Where are all these goofy fucking boys’ names coming from? Taylor, Tyler, Jordan, Flynn. These are not real names. Do you want to hear a real name? Eddie. Eddie is a real name. Whatever happened to Eddie? He was here a minute ago. Joey and Jackie and Johnnie and Phil. Bobbie and Tommy and Danny and Bill, what happened? Todd. And Cody and Dylan and Cameron and Tucker. Hi. Tucker. I’m Todd. Hi. Todd. I’m Tucker. Fuck Tucker. Tucker sucks. And fuck Tucker’s friend Kyle. There’s another soft name for a boy Kyle. Soft names make soft people. I’ll bet you anything that ten times out of ten Nicky, Vinnie and Tony will beat the shit out of Todd, Kyle and Tucker. Thank you very much. “Gun Enthusiasts” Here are some more people with missing chromosomes who ought to be thrown screaming from a helicopter. Gun enthusiasts, you know? I’m a gun enthusiast. Oh yeah well I’m a blowjob enthusiast. Want to see me shoot? Cock this. And I’ll discharge a load for you. And I’m not against guns. I’m not one of those mindless Hollywood cocksuckers. I’m not against guns, I’m not against bullets, I’m not even against people shooting each other. Shit shooting somebody is part of the American dream. I don’t care who it is. Parents, teachers, kids… fuck them. Let them get shot. Doesn’t bother me. But speaking of mindless Hollywood cocksuckers, before Charlton Heston became President of these dickless lunatics in the NRA, they had a different guy. He’s still one of their major spokesmen. His name is Wayne La Pierre. What kind of a name for a gun nut is Wayne La Pierre? Doesn’t it sound a little fruity to you? Hi, I’m Wayne, I’m a gun person. Bang-bang. You know what this prick’s name ought to be? Biff Webster. Spud Crowley, a man’s name. Chuck Steak. “White Guys Who Shave Their Heads” Here are some more men who ought to be strapped to a gurney and castrated with fishing knives. White guys who shave their heads completely bald. They’re so ashamed they lost 11 hairs they’re going to try to turn into some kind of masculine statement. I say hey you goofy looking baldy headed fuck, looks good on black guys, on you it’s ugly, repulsive and disgusting. You want to be bald. Do what I did. Wait a while. Meantime, there’s no excuse for running around looking like a freshly circumcised dick. “NASA-Holes” And just to wind up this little group of complaints finally this is a group of social criminals. These people in the space program. Nassholes. I call them. In case you haven’t heard. The latest disaster for the rest of the universe is that the United States is going to go to Mars. Okay, aw yeah. We’re going to go to Mars. And then of course. We’re going to colonize deep space with our microwave hot dogs and plastic vomit fake dog shit and cinnamon dental floss and lemon scented toilet paper and sneakers with lights in the heels and all these other impressive things we’ve done down here. Let me ask you this, let me ask you this. What are we going to tell the intergalactic council of ministers the first time one of our teenage mothers throws her newborn baby into a dumpster huh? How we going to explain that to the space people? How we going to let them know that our Ambassador was only late for the meeting because his breakfast was cold and he had to spend half an hour punching his wife around in the kitchen. What are they going to think when they find out – it’s just a local custom – that over 80 million women in the third world have had their clitorises forcibly removed in order to reduce their sexual pleasure so they won’t cheat on their husbands. Can’t you just sense how eager the rest of the universe is for us to show up? Can’t you see them out there? “Why We Don’t Need 10 Commandments” Folks here’s something else I got a problem with, the Ten Commandments. Here’s my problem. Why are there ten? You don’t need ten. I think the list of commandments was deliberately and artificially inflated to get it up to ten. It’s a padded list. Here’s what they did. About 5000 years ago a bunch of religious and political hustlers got together to try to figure out how to control people, how to keep them in line. They knew people were basically stupid and would believe anything they were told so they announced that God had given them some commandments. Up on a mountain, when no one was around. God had given them the Ten Commandments. But let me ask you this. When they were sitting around making this shit up, why did they pick ten? Why ten? Why not 9 or 11? I’ll tell you why because sounds official. 10 sounds important. They knew if it was people wouldn’t take it seriously. Say, what, are you kidding me, the 11 commandments? Get the fuck out of here. But 10. 10 sounds important. 10 is the basis for the decimal system. It’s a decade. It’s a psychologically satisfying number, the top 10, the 10 most wanted, the best 10 dressed. So having Commandments was really a marketing decision. And to me it’s clearly a bullshit list. It’s a political document artificially inflated to sell better. I’m going to show you how you could reduce the number of commandments and come up with a list that’s a little more workable and logical. I’m going to start with the first three. And I’ll use the Roman Catholic version because those are the ones I was taught as a little boy. I am the Lord thy God thou shalt not have strange gods before me. Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain. Thou shalt keep Holy the Sabbath. Right off the bat, the first three. Pure bullshit. Sabbath day Lord’s name. Strange gods. Spooky language. Spooky language, designed to scare and control primitive people. In no way does superstitious nonsense like this apply to the lives of intelligent civilized humans in the 21st Century. You throw out the first three commandments. You’re down to 7. Next, honor thy father and mother. Obedience. Respect for authority. Just another name for controlling people. The truth is, obedience and respect should not be automatic. They should be earned. They should be based on the parents’ performance parent’s performance. Some parents deserve respect, most of them don’t period. You’re down to six. Now, in the interest of logic – something religion is very uncomfortable with – we’re going to jump around the list a little bit. Thou shalt not steal. Thou shalt not bear false witness. Stealing and lying. Well actually these two both prohibit the same kind of behavior. Dishonesty stealing and lying. So you don’t need two of them. Instead you combine them and you call it thou shalt not be dishonest. And suddenly you’re down to five. And as long as we’re combining I have two others that belong together thou shalt not commit adultery thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s wife. Once again these two prohibit the same kind of behavior. In this case, marital infidelity. The difference is. Coveting takes place in the mind and I don’t think you should outlaw fantasizing about someone else’s wife. Otherwise what’s a guy going to think about when he’s waxing his carrot? But marital fidelity is a good idea so we’re going to keep the idea and call this one: thou shalt not be unfaithful. And suddenly we’re down to four. But when you think about it. Honesty and fidelity are really part of the same overall value. So in truth. You could combine the two honesty commandments with the two fidelity commandments and give them simpler language, positive language instead of negative and call the whole thing thou shalt always be honest and faithful. And we’re down to three. They’re going away fast. Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s goods. This one is just plain fucking stupid. Coveting your neighbor’s goods is what keeps the economy going. Your neighbor gets a vibrator that plays Oh Come All Ye Faithful. You want to get one too. Coveting creates jobs leave it alone. You throw out coveting you’re down to two now the big honesty and fidelity commandment and the one we haven’t talked about yet thou shalt not kill. Murder. The fifth commandment. But when you think about it. When you think about it, religion has never really had a big problem with murder. Not really. More people have been killed in the name of God than for any other reason. All you have to do is look at Northern Ireland, the Middle East, Kashmir, the Inquisition, the Crusades and the World Trade Center to see how seriously the religious folks take thou shalt not kill. The more devout they are the more they see murder as being negotiable. It’s negotiable. It depends. It depends. It depends on who’s doing the killing and who’s getting killed. So with all of this in mind. I leave you with my revised list of the two commandments. Thou shalt always be honest and faithful to the provider of thy nookie and thou shalt try real hard not to kill anyone, unless of course they pray to a different invisible man from the one you pray to. Two is all you need Moses could have carried them down the hill in his fucking pocket. And if they had a list like that, I wouldn’t mind those folks in Alabama putting it up on the courthouse wall. As long as they included one additional commandment. Thou shalt keep thy religion to thyself. Thank you thank you. Thank you everybody.
1686241312-3	https://scrapsfromtheloft.com/stand-up-comedy-scripts/	Reggie Watts: Spatial (2016) – Full Transcript	https://scrapsfromtheloft.com/comedy/reggie-watts-spatial-transcript/	Hello, I’m Thomas. I’m so glad to meet you Mum’ ? I’m Freddie. I met a girl I like today. She’s beautiful. I just wanted to kiss you. – I want to kiss you now. You’re amazing. Any of you girls fancy it ? You’re repulsive. Go on, fuck off home ! I’m never going to a brothel with you again. # Oh God now when’s the time # For me, oh # When will you see me through? # Oh God my mind is eating # My heart out # Oh God my heart is beating # My mind up # Please, come back. Come back. Come back. Come back. Come back. Come back. Hi, I made tea. – Huh? Oh! Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to surprise you. It’s OK, Anthea. Um… What are you doing? Oh, you know… Just, er, just looking. Right. Whizzer. Eff’s a bit out of it. She’s beautiful. Not like me. Oh? Seems like somebody likes you! My boyfriend gave it to me. I only knew him three days. Thomas. Now he’s gone. But it was fun while it lasted, hmm? So much fun… Yeah, it’s called love. That’s a big word ! – I dunno, Four letters is … Oh. But I’m sure it is love : All you want to do is kiss them and, you know, other stuff. Brilliant stuff. Yeah. Yeah, brilliant stuff. Maybe this Thomas will hop on a train and come back to see you. You can’t get a train from the Congo. – Congo ? Yeah, it’s a Democratic Republic, located on the Equator, bordering Gabon and Cameroon. Yeah, I remember now. I really miss him. You think love conquers all, Anthea? I hope so, sweetie. Why don’t you wake up the sleeping beauty and tell her we have something called “breakfast” in our country? After that we had to get out mega-speedily, so we climbed over some spiky fence, and then found ourselves in this field. Then what did we do, Eff? – Can’t remember. We either went to the park to find the boys and then got chips, or the other way round. Which was it, Eff? Chips. – Oh, yeah. Super cool. Brown sauce soaks up all the Red Bulls. And then we went crazy, cos’ Cook pulled down JJ’s pants and showed us his willy. Morning, Mum. Yeah, thanks. Super duper great night at the youth centre. I made soup, we prayed and recycled socks. Soup. For the homeless, they love soup. Um, cream of mushroom… Okey-doke. Effy says, “Howdy doody.” See you later, alligator. Did you just … That was a pack of lies. Oh, you can’t tell my mum the truth. She’d only do agony flip and go ra-ra. Is she speaking English? She means the truth hurts, Dad. It’s for her own good. Otherwise, truth… Boom. You all right, love ? – Yeah, I just, erm, I just gotta, er… Stop it. – You stop it. Is someone going to start speaking a language round here I fucking understand ? Steve, mate ! Am I driving today ? No. You’re doing the International Webcam and Hard Drive Expo in Poole. You don’t want to miss that. I can’t do it. – Jesus ! You should have told me, I fucking love those hard drive events. Jim, who are you talking … – I need you. OK, I’ll get the car keys. Get you to Poole in no time. For fuck’s sake, I love you! When are you fucking going to understand that? Steve, Mate, I’m… I’m married. I’m straight. Don’t do dick, no way no how, but, you know… I mean, c’est la vie. – I can’t stand it, Anthea! Each to their… own. – I told you ! – It’s too late ! Wallop! Bitch ! Bitch ! Bitch ! Bitch ! You don’t understand ! Jim, please ! Listen ! – All those weekends ! Those bendy fucking yoga weekends in Dartmouth ! Jim, please ! Oh, you were bending all right, weren’t you ? In all the right fucking places ! – Oh please, Jim… Just let me… I just want to explain to you. You’ve done enough explaining, haven’t you? Jim, I’m sorry. – I love you. Please, don’t leave me down. What a mess. They fuck you up ! They don’t mean to, Eff. But they do. Effy! Not now, Mum. Effy! Bugger it, Eff. You can’t half leg it. And I’ve got cross-country badge! Do you think your mum and funny beard have been, you know… making monkey ? Yes, Pandora. They’ve been making monkey. Wow ! Surfed and turfed ? Yup. Eff. Eff, don’t cry. Does this mean you’re not coming to my pyjama party ? I’m not crying. Right. But my party ? Sure. Why not ? Let’s get totally, totally fucked. Um, yeah, that’s the thing. My mum’s gonna be there, and we’re gonna put on pyjamas and play Twister. It’s brilliant fun, more fun than getting fucked. Probably. And then you’re all going to tell me how to do it with Tommo because basically, I haven’t got a clue. Pandora, why are we friends ? Do you ever wonder ? Well, that’s super easy. You’re my pal because you’re the coolest ever, and I’m yours because I’ll totally do anything you say and none of your boyfriends ever want to surf me cos’ I’m useless. That’s it ? – Yeah. Come on, Let’s get hot chocolates. – Cool. Effy ! Hey ! Oh, shit ! I’ve been ringing you loads! You know Danny, he plays for the Bristol Rovers Reserves, yeah ? Yes, nice one, tasty. This is my new best friend, Effy. Cool tits, yeah ? Sorry ? Nice jugglies, babe. Perky. – Danny ! He doesn’t mean it, Do you, babes ? – Fuckin’ right I do ! Yeah ! – And I’m Pandora. OK. Hey kid, you should come up the ground, watch the lads train, yeah ? Cos’ after, we get some Lambrinis in, we go lucky in the showers ? He’s joking, right ? – Um, yeah. Right. Anyway. Can’t wait for this party tonight ! I’ve got a shitload of weed and pills. Weeds ? Um, no… – Cool. Yeah man. Way safe. Orgy ! You’re not coming. It’s girls only. Right ? Yeah. We’re gonna tell secrets and get intimate, no boys. Intimate ?! Yes. Nice one ! Take photos, babe ! So I’ve got Flying Saucepans and Love Fountains. Woo! We’re gonna fry ! – But, we’re doing Twister. Cool. You can snort that, right ? Not exactly. – Love Fountains are mint ! Mum’s making brownies. You OK ? She’s upset because her mum’s been making monkey and her dad’s gone ape. Huh ? Bananas ! Cos Beardy Steve’s been making her do the Funky Gibbon and… I’ve boobed, haven’t I ? – Yes ! Me loves the Funky Gibbon ! Danny ! – Yeah ? You’re gonna fuck off ? We need girl time. Yeah ? – Practice your ball skills, babe. I’ll do that keepy-uppy thing later, remember ? Oh, yeah ! Cool ! Mum’s done the signal. So everybody knows where my party is. How many people did you invite ? Um. Four. You, Eff, Emily and Naomi. Naomi ? Why did you invite her ? Em’s says I have to or she won’t come. Ah. Sweet ! – Come on. We can do brownies and then lick our bowls out. Do you think she knows she sounds filthy half the time? Sometimes I wonder. Mum ! Blastification ! Drat ! Drat ! Fiddlesticks ! Panda, we have spoken about shouting like a goat in the house. Sorry. Look, Mum. Friends ! Still shouting, Panda. Calm time, please. I’m calm. I’m calm. I’m calm. So, this is Effy. Effy ! We meet at last. – Yes. Pandora has told me so much about you. Yeah, you know, Eff, your missionary work. Yes, I try and do as much of that as I can. That’s good. There’s so many bad things in the world. Boys, and drugs, guns, alcohol. Boys. Evil things. I’m glad Pandora’s found a channel she can pour her energy into. Well, yes, all the seamen like her. Seamen ? – Oh, yes. Loads of seamen. Some of them are homeless as well. We’d all love to see Pandora get her own missionary position. Right… Lovely. And this is ? – Katie. Katie. I haven’t heard about you. She’s a new friend, Mum. Stupid. Well, that’s wonderful. We’re not used to having so many friends, are we, Panda? No. And I’ve got more. Heaps more. Two more. Four friends. Goodness. We’re going to have a wild old time, aren’t we? I hope you all like playing Monster in the Dark. Looking forward to it. I expect you all want to wash your hands and take your shoes off. Come on. I’ll show you Mum’s special box. # London’s burning London’s burning # London’s burning, London’s burning # Fetch the engines, Fetch the engines # Fire, fire ! Fire, fire ! # London’s burning, London’s burning… # Making brownies, making brownies Really yummy, really yummy # Making brownies, making brownies In the kitchen, in the kitchen… Fucking hell. Yes ? Nothing, young lady. I have nothing to say to you at all. What the fuck is that ? – Hi. Jesus. I’ve never been to a pyjama party before, so I brought vodka. Was that right ? – Dunno. I don’t wear pyjamas. Right. I dunno why she invited me anyway. I hardly know her. I asked her to invite you. I thought we sorted this out. – No, I didn’t mean like… Well, it doesn’t hurt to get to know each other, does it ? We’re in the same class. We’ll be hanging out for the next two years… You going to tell people you’re gay anytime soon ? What ? I’m not. I’m not gay. Telling you, Em. You haven’t thought this through, have you? No. So can I just say again? Me, not muff muncher. Me, cock cruncher. You getting any cock? I have done. Except he had erectile dysfunction. 17 times. I was getting tennis elbow, you know. Yes? Can I help you with something? No. This is a quiet cul-de-sac and you are disgraceful young women. Yeah? So go fuck yourself, tosser. Hi! Hey… What? Hey! Mum ! More friends ! Naomi and Emily ! – Calm, please, Panda. Oh, yeah. I’m calm. I’m calm. We’ve been so looking forward to this, haven’t we, Panda ? Yeah. What ? Oh, y34h. Sh03s ! Are you all chums ? Oh, yeah. Ems and Naomi are real good friends. How lovely ! Really good, and now they like me as well. Hang on. Aren’t you Katie ? That’s the amazing thing ! Katie ! They’re twins. C’est incroyable, baby! Sorry? It’s French. Thomas taught me ! He’s such a blinkin’ dream and… Bugger. – Thomas ? Who’s Thomas? Oh, you know… Pandora. I do hope you haven’t been defying me on the subject of boys. He’s my boyfriend, actually. He does, um, excellent French. Right. Well, Pandora knows my opinion on boyfriends. They just want to get into my box. – Yes, and I do hope all of you will respect That in this house we do not allow unruly males at parties. I’m sure your parents would say the same thing. Um…yeah. – Yeah. Boys. Eeugh. Disgusting. There you go, Katie and Emily. Completely identical. Are you interested in all the same things? Um… I’m not sure. You like Twister, though ? – Sorry ? Twister! It’s brill! It’s gonna be twistomatic, baby! Pandora gets over-stimulated. We do exercises nightly. Oh, I’ve left pyjamas out for you all. They’re pink…and clean. Very, very clean. # I got some troubles but they won’t last # I’m gonna lay right down here in the grass # And pretty soon all my troubles will pass # Cos I’m in shoo-shoo-shoo… Ooh. Are they nicely gooey? I’m certainly hoping so. Heavenly. You know, I’m wondering if you aren’t a little bit naughty, Effy. I am. Well, I bet you’re naughty enough to try these brownies with me before anybody else. I’ll try anything. OK, then. Let’s dive in. I love brownies. I love them. # ..Shoo-shoo-shoo Sugar Town. Twister. Are you shitting me? Don’t worry. I spiked the chocolate brownies with MDMA. You what? Yeah. Appreciate it, OK. There’s fucking 40 quid’s worth in there. You think it’s funny ? – It is kind of. Yeah, enter into the spirit, Ems. So, Katie, you gonna be nice to me now we’re Twister pals? I promise not to grab your minge and everything. OK, ha ha. Hands off the muff and we’re sorted. Gotcha ! No buffing the beaver. – No groping the growler. Don’t tickle on my tinkle ! OK, I won’t fluff up your flange. – You done ? Yep. We’re double done with the DNA dump. Hey, guys! What do you think? Mum made them specially, and look! Jesus. So you can have Sexy Poo… ..or Brainy Poo. Except for me, cos I have Panda Poo ! Mum and me sewed ’em on. It was a wacker job, I’m telling you. I’m not wearing that. – Why not ? It’s a pyjama party. What the fuck ? Give it here. – Oh, whizzer poo ! Because look what goes with them. Isn’t Mum wick ?! # My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard # And they’re like, it’s better than yours # My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard # And they’re like, it’s better than yours, damn right… Are they getting undressed ? Cook, they’re not. Why would they get undressed ? Can I just remind you that Pandora’s party is specified as a girls only event ? Yup. And you know what that means ? Of course I do. OK, so I’m not 100% sure what it means. So let me enlighten you, Double J. Pyjama party means only one thing – girls getting friendly. Friendly? Oh, yeah. Real friendly. Hang on. Even I know that only happens in overblown and possibly illegal teen dramas. Mum says there’s a lot less sex going on than I might imagine. You never experienced wish fulfilment, J? Never. They’re all in there, girls getting to know each other, experimenting, getting lubed up and gagging for forbidden fruit and we’re gonna give it to them. If Freddie was here… Do you see Freddie? Did we invite Freddie? No. – And why didn’t we invite him ? Because he’s a fun-sponge ? – You got it. You see ? It’s a sign. Yes ? – Um… Hello. I’ll call the police. # I’ve seen her once or twice before She knows my face # But it’s hard to see with all the people standing in the way… Cook? Cook?! # In the mornin’ you go gunnin’ # For the man who stole your water # But the hangman isn’t hangin’ # And they put you On the street, yeah… # Come on! This is a fantasy and I have to tell you, a poorly constructed one. Just because I have a natural facility on a climbing wall… Come on, we need to see them doing it. For the last time, they are not going to be doing it. They will not be naked, and they will not be engaged in mutual masturbation… Check. – What ? I’m requesting a check. Is that too much to ask of a friend ? What the fuck ? Oh, my god, oh, my god ! – What… What ? What ? They’re n.. na… Please, say naked. – Nearly naked. That’s good enough for me. Ah…! Cook…! Cook…! What the fuck ? Come on, Eff, pyjamas. – Whatever… Cook, I can’t hang on. I’m going to slip! What was that ? Nothing. Tummy. Too much cake… Hey, Mum. Look. We’re pretty in pink! Oh! That’s wonderful, girls. I must compliment myself, though. My brownies are usually delicious, but I’ve really excelled myself. This is my third already. Yum… I’m gonna have three. Thanks, Mum. Yeah, sure… Wow. Listen to that. # BON JOVI : Livin’ On A Prayer Can you hear the music ? Oh, yeah ! Mum ? Oh, that’s beautiful. Oh, it sounds… What’s she doing ? – Wonderful ! oh, wow ! Yeah, I’m getting it ! I’m telling you. That is fucking good shit ! What have you done? Eat a cake, Panda. It’s gonna be a long night. # Tommy used to work on the docks # Union’s been on strike He’s down on his luck # It’s tough # So tough # Gina works the diner all day # Working for her man # She brings home her pay For love # Ooh, for love # She says, “We’ve gotta hold on To what we’ve got # “It doesn’t make a difference If we make it or not # “We’ve got each other And that’s a lot for love # We’ll give it a shot!” # I’m telling you, man. We gotta fucking get in there ! No. – No ? Freddie says, every time you ask me to do something, just say no. He said that ? – Yes. It’s a song … Which gives useful lifestyle advice, but More than that, it’s a state of mind. Maybe me and Freds we’re gonna have words. But somehow, love you or leave you Gay J, I’m going to this party ! You coming ? No. Just say no. Suit yourself, Gay J. Oh, balls! Freds, you gotta get down here! We’ve gone to Nine. ‘Nine?’ Affirmative. It’s a Niner. Code Red. He’s going in. – ‘Stop him, JJ. Stop him !’ Result. Eurgh! Oh, God… Dump her in here! Dump her in here! Shit! Fuck! That was so… So fun. Is she breathing? Yep. – Safe. Oh, man! Panda, come on ! Let me in. – Go away ! It was a joke. It wasn’t even me ! You always bog everything up ! It’s always you ! You do everything you like just cos’ you’re depressed, cos’ your mum’s getting wacked up the pants ! Well, bogging bog off ! This is my party and I’m upset because my boyfriend got deported and you’re supposed to be eating jelly and playing Twister at my party and telling me how to pop my cherry with my boyfriend ! Christ’s sake ! I will show you how to do a blowjob. I don’t want a blowjob. I want my boyfriend back ! Panda, I was just…. Panda ! Um… she’s upset. Do I ever get to be upset ? Do I ever get to be anyone but me ?! Eff… – Fuck off ! Effy, just… Panda… Oh, for Christ’s sake ! Get Cook out. Don’t get arrested. They will not be naked. I’m going in. Where you going ? Wine. I want wine. Hurry up with it ! Get beer, lezzer ! All right, all right ! Keep your vagina on. So… What do you want, Ems ? Pinot Grigio, or… cider oblivion ? Anything… Just give me a fucking… Just… Just give me a… # ..Cos I’m being taken over by a feeling… # It’s only the drugs, right ? # ..It’s all about fast cars And cussing each other # But it doesn’t matter Cos I’m packing plastic # And that’s what makes my life So fucking fantastic # I don’t know what’s right And what’s real any more # And I don’t know How I’m meant to feel… # You liked that. You’re gay. Yes. Oh, my giddy, giddy, giddy… aunt ! # GIRLS ALOUD: “Jump (For My Love)” Fuck. # ..Then jump for my love # Jump in # And feel my touch # Jump, if you wanna taste my kisses in the night, then # Jump for my love # I know my heart can make you happy # Jump in! You know these arms can fill you up # Jump, if you wanna taste My kisses in the night then # Jump for my love… # Shit. Hey, Katie ! Katie ! Where are you, girl ?! Which fucking house, girl ?! What’s going on, kidder ?! The lads ! Wahey ! Oh, shit. Yes! Pyjama party, check it out, lads. Nice one ! No, No. You’re not meant to be here, remember ? Come on. Have a heart. We lost 7-0 again, innit ? You know the lads… Tommo… Marco… How you doing, man ?! Jonno… Sambo… Keeno… Danno… Paedo ! Nice ! # BEASTIE BOYS: “Three MCs And One DJ” Sorry. Hello ? The fucking door’s locked itself, hasn’t it ? Hey. Hey. You should’ve pulled. I will now, won’t I ? Is this the cupboard for mindless sex ? You don’t give a fuck about anything, do you ? Nope. Go away. Go away. Please. I want my boyfriend. Yeah. Wait. Hang on. Don’t push. I wanna… Wait! There’s something here. No. Aargh! What the fuck? What’s going on? Are we…? Are we next door? We’re next door. ‘Hello. I’m Martin. This is Angela.’ ‘Hi.’ ‘And this is how we have sex.’ ‘Oh. That’s lovely, Angela.’ ‘Thank you, Martin.’ ‘Could you rub a little harder ?’ ‘- Certainly.’ You ! Yes, you. I’ve called the police, you know ? I’ll be giving Angela a report when she gets back. Right. It’s nearly nine o’clock… disgusting. Absolutely shocking, what you kids get up to. Shocking ! JJ ? Throw me through the ceiling ! Throw me through the fucking ceiling ! JJ ! JJ ! JJ ! G… G… Got locked on, Freds. It’s gone to a 12. Easy. It’s all right. It’s all right. Come on. We’re gonna leave, come on. Yeah? All right? I didn’t want to leave without him, you know ? It’s an international incident. I thought he was gonna… gonna… I didn’t want to leave without him. Fuck him, JJ. Freddie. You came. Cool. JJ gets locked on. You have to look after him. I thought Cook… Cook’s his friend. I think Cook’s your friend, isn’t he ? Not necessarily. Hey, you’ll never guess what Pandora’s Mum… We’re going home, Eff. Where’s Pandora ? Come on. I didn’t mean to fuck everything up. My parents are splitting up. I’m sorry. I got trashed. I’m sorry about that. It’s shit. # CAT POWER: Fool # Apartment in New York London and Paris # Where will we rest? We’re all living on top of it # It’s all that we have The USA is our daily bread # And no-one is willing to share it # Bane and dismannered We coax all the time # Knowing that nothing Is left when we die. # Come along, fool # A direct hit of the senses you’re disconnected # It’s not that it’s bad # It’s not that it’s death # It’s just that it’s On the tip of your tongue # And you’re so silent… # All right, Panda ? Hi. We’re the last ones standing. No one’s got any stamina these days. Right. Whizzer ! I wanted to play Twister… and then the girls were gonna tell me how to do sex. Bummer. How do you do it, anyway ? Huh ? You know, you’ve done loads of sex. No, Twister. Oh ! Well, you spin the dial, and then you put your hands and feet where it tells you. Hey, Panda ? Yes, Cookie ? Do you want me to show you ? What ? You know. # KANYE WEST : ‘Love Lockdown’ # I’m not lovin’ you Way I wanted to # What I had to do Had to run from you # I’m in love with you But the vibe is wrong # And that haunted me All the way home # So you never know Never, never know # Never know enough Til it’s over, love # Til we lose control System overload # Screamin’, “No, no no, n-no,” # I’m not lovin’ you Way I wanted to # See I wanna move But can’t escape from you # So I keep it low Keep a secret code # So everybody else Don’t have to know # So keep your love locked down # Your love locked down Keepin’ your love locked down # Your love locked down I keep your love locked down # Your love locked down I keep your love locked down # You lose # I stayed silent for two years # For two years # I never dared to come alive # Let go of my fears… # Wow. You really are beautiful. So are you, Mum. I wanted to be. One more time. # ..Just like I guessed # Why See ya later. Any good ? I don’t know what you mean. I mean he’s a sensational fuck, yeah ? There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, Eff. Just cos I’m useless, don’t mean I’m nothing. We’re friends because you don’t surf-and-turf my men. You said that ! He’s not yours, Eff. He’ll never belong to anyone. Shut up ! – That’s why you don’t really want him. Shut up ! – He’s not the one you want, Eff ! Shut up! You see, I know that because I’m your friend. But you don’t make enough effort, Eff. I’m just there to laugh at. You don’t know me. My life. My family. My Mum. Why don’t you know anything about my Mum? I know everything about yours. You’re right. I don’t know anything about your Mum. I’m sorry. OK ? Yeah. Oh, Jesus. What ? Careful what you wish for, Pandora. Why ? Panda ! Panda ! Look, I’m here! It’s me. > Are you not glad to see me? > Mother said I could come back. What’s wrong? > Don’t be a twat, Thomas. Give your girlfriend a hug. Yes… Oh, Panda. I missed you… I missed you too much. It’s OK. Everything is OK. Everything is A1. # LOW: Breaker # Our bodies break # And the blood just spills and spills # But here we sit debating math # It’s just a shame… # I’m sorry. # My hand just kills and kills # There’s gotta be an end to that… #
1686241315-4	https://scrapsfromtheloft.com/stand-up-comedy-scripts/	Jim Jefferies on Gun Control [Full Transcript]	https://scrapsfromtheloft.com/comedy/jim-jefferies-gun-control-full-transcript/	Australian comedian Jim Jefferies breaks down the absurdity of America’s obsession with guns in his Netflix special BARE (2014) by Jim Jefferies I’m gonna talk about something now that sort of splits the crowd a little bit. Uh… Gun control. Now… No, wait. Before you… Don’t get excited because the other people have guns. The anti-gun people are like, “Yeah! Do it, Jim!” No, let’s just… [Shushes] Now, before I start saying this, I wanna say this, right? I believe in your right as Americans to have guns. I’m not trying to stop you from having guns. All I’m saying is this is my personal belief on the opinion. My opinion on the… Oh, it doesn’t matter. I don’t like guns, right? I’m gonna say some things that are just facts, right? In Australia, we had guns, right? Right up until 1996. In 1996, Australia had the biggest massacre on Earth. It still hasn’t been beaten. And… Now, after that, they banned the guns. Now, in the 10 years before Port Arthur, there was 10 massacres. Since the gun ban in 1996, there hasn’t been a single massacre since. I don’t know how or why this happened, uh… Maybe it was a coincidence, right? Now, please understand that I understand that Australia and America are two vastly different cultures with different people, right? I get it. In Australia, we had the biggest massacre on Earth, and the Australian government went, “That’s it! No more guns!” And we all went, “Yeah, all right, then. That seems fair enough, really.” Now, in America, you had the Sandy Hook massacre where little, tiny children died, and your government went, “Maybe… we’ll get rid of the big guns?” And 50% of you went, “Fuck you! Don’t take my guns!” [Whooping] So, here’s where it gets confusing, right? Now, as I said, I am all for your Second Amendment rights. I think you should be able to have guns. It’s in your constitution. What I am not for is bullshit arguments and lies. There is one argument and one argument alone for having a gun, and this is the argument… “Fuck off. I like guns.” It’s not the best argument, but it’s all you’ve got. And there’s nothing wrong with it. There’s nothing wrong with saying, “I like something. Don’t take it away from me.” But don’t give me this other bullshit. The main one is, [In American accent] “I need it for protection. I need to protect me. I need to protect my family.” Really? Is that why they’re called “assault rifles”? Is it? I’ve never heard of these fucking “protection rifles” you speak of. Protection? What the fuck are you talking about? You have a gun in your house, you’re 80% more likely to use that gun on yourself, than to shoot someone else. And people think, “Well, that’d never happen to me.” You don’t know that, because you know what? ♪ From time to time We all get sad ♪ ♪ One day you’re happy Then you’re sad ♪ ♪ And then, uh-oh ♪ Protection. I had a break-in in Manchester, England, where I was tied up, I had my head cut. They threatened to rape my girlfriend. They came through the window with a machete and a hammer, and Americans always go, [In American accent] “Well, imagine if you had a gun.” And I’m like, “All right. I was naked at the time. I wasn’t wearing my holster. I wasn’t staring at the window waiting for cunts with machetes to come through.” What world do you live in where you’re constantly fucking ready? You have guns ’cause you like guns! That’s why you go to gun conventions! That’s why you read gun magazines! None of you give a shit about home security. None of you go to home security conventions. None of you read Padlock Monthly. None of you have a Facebook picture of you behind a secure door going, “Fucking yeah!” Like you’re going to be ready if someone comes into your house. You have it at all fucking times. By the way, most people who are breaking into your house just want your fucking TV! You think that people are coming to murder your family? How many fucking enemies do you have? Jeez, you think a lot of yourself if you think everyone’s coming to murder you. See, if you have it readily available, it becomes unsafe. You have it in your bedside table, one of your kids picks it up, thinks it’s a toy, shoots another one of your kids. Happens every fucking day, but people go, “That’d never happen in my house ’cause I’m a responsible gun owner. I keep my guns locked in a safe.” Then they’re no fucking protection! Someone comes into the house, you’re like, “Wait there, fuck-face! Oh! You’ve come to the wrong house here, buddy boy. I tell you what. I’m gonna fuck you up! Okay. Is it 32 to the left or 32 to the right? Your mother’s birthday? Why the fuck would I know your fucking mother’s birthday? Maybe if you didn’t leave the window open [In whining voice] ‘because it’s too hot in here,’ we wouldn’t be getting fucking murdered, right?” NRA: Last Week Tonight with John Oliver \| Transcript I find the NRA to be hard work. The fact that they always think the answer is more guns. After Sandy Hook happened, the NRA said, and I quote, “None of this would have happened if the teachers had guns.” I… I think they’re forgetting what school was like. Does anyone remember that casual teacher that used to… Whenever she came into school, that relief teacher came, you and your friends would see her and go, [Chuckling] “Oh, we’re gonna make her cry.” And then she’d stand in front of the class with a bit of chalk and her hands would be shaking, and you’d go, “You’re never getting married, are you, Miss? Never gonna happen for you.” Then she’d get back to her 1967 Volkswagen Beetle, and she’d be crying over the steering wheel, just, “Why don’t they like me?” Let’s give that cunt a gun and see how things work out! [Audience cheering] And then they go, “Oh, well, answer to that, we’ll just add more guns.” They go, “We’ll put an armed security guard at every school across America.” Yeah, that’ll work out. The average security guard in America earns $16 an hour. Not a lot of wiggle room to be a fucking hero! Someone comes onto the school and… [Mimicking machine gun] And you’ve got Kevin. Now, I’m sure Kevin’s shit-hot at Call of Duty, but it might not fucking cut it, ladies and gentlemen. Now, I understand that when I’m doing this joke in this room, 50% of you agree with me, 50% of you don’t agree with me, and I do respect the people who don’t agree with me. Don’t think I don’t. Out of the 50% that don’t agree with me, 20% of those people are smart enough to realize this is a comedy show and it’s not to be taken seriously, and they’re laughing along ’cause it’s just funny jokes, right? And then the next 20%, have sort of phased out a little bit. They’re looking around, going, “Wonder how they got that chandelier up there?” And then… there’s the last 10%. And they’re fucking furious. Right now, in this room and the people watching at home… 10% of you are fucking seething. Just… And for a couple of reasons. First reason, I’m making good points. [Audience cheering] Second reason. Second reason. Second reason, and this is the big one, I’m foreign… and that’s pissing the fuck out of you right now, and your brain is on a loop and you can’t fucking turn it off, and it’s just going around in a circle, and you’re just going, “If you don’t like it, go home! If you don’t like it, go home!” And my answer to that is, “No.” I came here legally. I pay my taxes. I’ll say whatever the fuck I want. Your First Amendment means that I can say the Second Amendment sucks dicks. And… unless you’re an American Indian, you’re a fucking immigrant as well, so fuck off. People get so precious about it. I understand that to Americans, your constitution is very important. I respect it, but please understand that every country has one as well. It’s no more special than any other constitution. We have one in Australia. I don’t know what it says. I’ve never seen it. If there’s a problem, we’ll check it, but everything’s going fine. And don’t get me wrong. I get that the constitution is important to you. I have had… Fucking, I get it, right? I’ve had people come up to me in my face and scream at me in car parks as I’m leaving the theater, going, [In American accent] “You cannot change the Second Amendment!” And I’m like, “Yes, you can. It’s called an ‘amendment.'” If you can’t change something that’s called an “amendment”, see, many of you need a thesaurus more than you need a constitution. And if you don’t know what a thesaurus is, get a dictionary and work your way forward. Don’t think your constitution is set in stone. You’ve changed things before. You used to have prohibition in there, right? And then people were like, “Hey, who likes getting fucked up? Yeah, I like getting fucked up, too. Let’s get that one out. Let’s get that one out.” You used to have this other thing in America called, uh… slavery! And then Lincoln came along and went, “That’s it. No more slaves!” And 50% of you went, “Fuck you! Don’t take my slaves!” And the same bullshit arguments came out that you have with guns. “Why should I have my slaves taken off me? I’m a responsible slave owner. I’m trained in how to use my slaves safely. Just because that guy mistreated his slaves doesn’t mean that my rights should be taken away from me. I… I use my slaves to protect my family! I keep my slaves locked in a safe!” That’s the thing. “Why should I have my guns taken off me? I’ve done nothing wrong.” Look, I agree with you. If you’re a responsible gun owner and you don’t fuck around with them, then you should be allowed your guns. You really should. But that’s not how society works. We have to play to the 1% that are such fuckwits they ruin it for the rest of us. We have to walk as slow as our slowest person to keep society fucking moving, right? I take drugs like a fucking champion, right? [Audience cheering] We should all be allowed to take fucking drugs, but we can’t, can we? Because Sarah took drugs and she stabbed her fucking kids. Oh! “Oh, thanks, Sarah. You fucked it up for everyone.” Right? Everyone should be allowed to drive their car as fast as they can do it, right? But we can’t because Jonathan got drunk and ran over a family. “Thanks, Jonathan! Now I have to drive at 30, you fucking idiot!” See, that’s the thing. “Why should I have my guns taken off me, I’m responsible, just because that guy’s crazy?” Who’s to say you’re not crazy? That’s the thing about crazy people. They don’t know they’re crazy. That’s what makes them crazy. The only thing you know for sure on this Earth is, “I think, therefore I am.” You know that you exist. Anything past that is open to interpretation, right? You know you exist and that’s it. Right now, I think I’m in Boston talking to 1,200 people. That’s what I think I’m doing, but there is a good to fair chance that I’m in a mental home, standing in front of a white wall, going, [Slurring speech] “I hate guns. I hate guns. I hate guns.” [Audience applauding] See, one of the better arguments is, “Well, if you take the guns away, then only the criminals will have guns.” Not true. When they banned the guns in Australia, it worked. When they banned them in Britain, it worked, okay? The Bushmaster gun that the kid was gonna use in Sandy Hook costs, like, $1,000 American and you can buy it in Walmart. It’ll be delivered to your house. That’s it, man. 1,000 bucks, right? That same gun in Australia on the black market costs $34,000. Now if you have $34,000, you don’t need to be a criminal. You’ve got $34,000. You’re a great little saver. Keep going. So that covers the criminals, but that doesn’t cover the people who wanna murder your family, that are coming after you and your family. It kind of does. The people who do the massacres, it covers them ’cause they go… The kid at Colorado who thought he was The Joker, let’s say that he had some social issues. The kid at Sandy Hook was Asperger’s as fuck. Right? I don’t know if you know a lot about the black market, but you can’t just rock up at the docks going, [Slurring speech] “Guns! Who wants to sell me a gun?” Now, I’m gonna wrap this up. We won’t talk about it anymore. Now… See, the one thing that I do really agree with with the right to bear arms, I really agree with… That the real reason it was written was so that you could form a militia to fight against a tyrannical government. In case the government became a bunch of cunts, you could all get your guns and fight back, and that’s why it was written. [Audience cheering] Yeah! And that made a hell of a lot of sense when it was just muskets. But you do know the government has drones, right? You get that? You’re bringing guns to a drone fight! If we went back to muskets, I’m all for it! Keep the Second Amendment. If we all have muskets… Muskets are awesome! Every cunt should be carrying a musket with him at all times. You know what’s good about the musket? It gives you a lot of time to calm down. Someone calls your wife fat, and you’re like, “Fuck you, buddy! Ah, you’re not a bad guy. You’re all right.”
1686241319-5	https://scrapsfromtheloft.com/stand-up-comedy-scripts/	George Carlin: Jamming in New York (1992) – Transcript	https://scrapsfromtheloft.com/comedy/george-carlin-jamming-new-york-1992-full-transcript/	Jammin’ in New York is George Carlin’s 14th album and eighth HBO special, recorded on April 24 and 25, 1992, at the Paramount Theater, on the grounds of Madison Square Garden in New York City. “Rockets and Penises in the Persian Gulf” Thank you and hello New York! Okay, it’s been a little while, it’s been a little while since I’ve been here and a couple of things have happened in that time. I’d like to talk a little bit about the war in the Persian Gulf… biiiiiig doings in the Persian Gulf. You know my favourite part of that war? It’s the first war we ever had that was on every channel plus cable… and the war got good ratings too, didn’t it? Got good ratings! Well, we like war!!! We like war! We’re a war-like people! We like war because we’re good at it! You know why we’re good at it? Cause we get a lot of practice. This country’s only 200 years old and already, we’ve had 10 major wars. We average a major war every 20 years in this country so we’re good at it! And it’s a good thing we are; we’re not very good at anything else anymore! Huh? Can’t build a decent car, can’t make a TV set or a VCR worth a fuck, got no steel industry left, can’t educate our young people, can’t get health care to our old people, but we can bomb the shit out of your country all right! Huh? Especially if your country is full of brown people; oh we like that don’t we? That’s our hobby! That’s our new job in the world: bombing brown people. Iraq, Panama, Grenada, Libya, you got some brown people in your country, tell them to watch the fuck out or we’ll goddamn bomb them! Well when’s the last white people you can remember that we bombed? Can you remember the last white— can you remember ANY white people we’ve ever bombed? The Germans, those are the only ones and that’s only because they were trying to cut in on our action. They wanted to dominate the world! BULLSHIT! THAT’S OUR FUCKING JOB!!! Now, we only bomb brown people – not because they’re trying to cut in on our action – just because they’re brown. Now you probably noticed I don’t feel about that war the way we were told we were supposed to feel about that war, the way we were ordered and instructed by the United States government to feel about that war. You see, I tell ya, my mind doesn’t work that way. I got this real moron thing I do; it’s called “thinking”, and I’m not a very good American because I like to form my own opinions. I don’t just roll over when I’m told to. Sad to say, most Americans just roll over on command, not me. I have certain rules I live by; my first rule: I don’t believe anything the government tells me… nothing, zero, no, and I don’t take very seriously, the media or the press in this country, who in the case of the Persian Gulf war were nothing more than unpaid employees of the Department of Defence, and who most of the time, most of the time functioned as kind of an unofficial public relations agency for the United States government. So I don’t listen to them, I don’t really believe in my country and I gotta tell you folks, I don’t get all choked up about yellow ribbons and American flags. I consider them to be symbols and I leave symbols to the symbol-minded. Me? I look at war a little bit differently. To me, war is a lot of prick-waving okay? Simple thing, that’s all it is, war is a whole lot of men standing out in a field waving their pricks at one another. Men are insecure about the size of their dicks and so they have to kill one another over the idea. That’s what all that asshole, jock bullshit is all about. That’s what all that adolescent, macho-male posturing, and strutting in bars and locker rooms is all about, it’s called “dick fear!” Men are terrified that their pricks are inadequate and so they have to compete with one another to feel better about themselves and since war is the ultimate competition, basically, men are killing each other in order to improve their self-esteem. You don’t have to be a historian or a political scientist to see the Bigger Dick foreign policy theory at work. It sounds like this: “What?! They have bigger dicks?! BOMB THEM!!!” And of course, the bombs and the rockets and the bullets are all shaped like dicks. It’s a subconscious need to project the penis into other people’s affairs. It’s called: “FUCKING WITH PEOPLE!!!” So as far as I’m concerned, that whole thing in the Persian Gulf is nothing more than a biiiiiig prick-waving dick fight. In this particular case, Saddam Hussein had questioned the size of George Bush’s dick and George Bush has been called a wimp for so long – “wimp” rhymes with “limp” – George has been called a wimp for so long, that he has to act out his manhood fantasies by sending other people’s children to die. Even the name… “Bush”… even the name, “Bush”, is related to the genitals without being the genitals. A bush is a sort of passive, secondary, sex characteristic. Now if this man’s name had been George Boner, well, he might’ve felt a little bit better about himself and we wouldn’t have had any trouble over there in the first place. This whole country has a manhood problem, biiiiiig manhood problem in the USA. You can tell from the language we use; language always gives you away. What did we do wrong in Vietnam? We pulled out! Huh? Not a very manly thing to do is it? When you’re fucking people, you gotta stay in there and fuck them good! Fuck ‘em all the way! Fuck ‘em ‘til the end! Fuck ‘em to death! Fuck ‘em to death! Fuck ‘em to death! Stay in there and keep fucking them until they’re all dead! We left a few women and children alive in Vietnam and we haven’t felt good about ourselves since. That’s why in the Persian Gulf, George Bush had to say “this will not be another Vietnam!” He actually used these words, he said: “This time, we’re going all the way!” Imagine, an American president using the sexual slang of a 13 year-old to describe his foreign policy. If you wanna know what happened in the Persian Gulf, just remember the names of the two men who were running that war: Dick Cheney and Colin Powell… somebody got fucked in the ass! “Little Things We Share” Now to balance the scale, I’d like to talk about some things that bring us together, things that point out our similarities instead of our differences cause that’s all you ever hear about in this country is our differences. That’s all the media and the politicians are ever talking about: the things that separate us, things that make us different from one another. That’s the way the ruling class operates in any society: they try to divide the rest of the people; they keep the lower and the middle classes fighting with each other so that they, the rich, can run off with all the fucking money. Fairly simple thing… happens to work. You know, anything different, that’s what they’re gonna talk about: race, religion, ethnic and national background, jobs, income, education, social status, sexuality, anything they can do to keep us fighting with each other so that they can keep going to the bank. You know how I describe the economic and social classes in this country? The upper class keeps all of the money, pays none of the taxes. The middle class pays all of the taxes, does all of the work. The poor are there just to scare the shit out of the middle class… keep on showing up at those jobs. So stirring up the shit is something I like to do from time to time but I also like to know that I can come back to these little things we have in common, little universal moments that we share separately, the things that make us the same. They’re so small; we hardly ever talk about them. Do you ever look at your watch… and then you don’t know what time it is? And you have to look again, and you still don’t know the time. So you look a third time and somebody says “what time is it?” you say “I don’t know.” Do you ever notice how sometimes all day Wednesday, you keep thinking it’s Thursday? And it happens over and over all day long, and then the next day, you’re all right again. Do you ever find yourself standing in one of the rooms in your house and you can’t remember why you went in there? And two words float across your mind: “Alzheimer’s Disease?!” You ever been talking to yourself and somebody 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 “What Does She Think I Am… Some Kind of Putz?!” Little experiences we’ve all had… you ever been sitting in a railroad train in the station and there’s another train sitting right next to ya, and one of them starts to move, and you can’t tell which one it is? How about when you’re out on a small boat on a windy day? You ever been out rocking back and forth for three or four hours trying to keep your balance, rough seas, little boat, then you get back into the shore and you’re standing on the dock and you could swear there was something inside of you that was still out there rocking? Did you ever try to pick up a suitcase you thought was full but it wasn’t? And you go pwwt… and for just a split second you feel really strong. How about when you’re looking through a chain link fence? Did you ever notice if you’re just the right distance from a chain link fence, sometimes it seems to go pwwt [makes a closing in and out motion]? What is that? How do they do that? Did you ever try to tell somebody they have a little bit of dirt on their face? You can never get them to rub the right spot can you? “Say… you got a little bit of dirt right here.” They always go “where? Here?” and you just wanna slap the bastard! Do you ever notice how awful your face looks in a mirror in a restroom that has florescent lights? Every cut, scrape, scratch, scar, scab, bruise, boil, bump, pimple, zit, warp, welt, and abscess you’ve had since BIRTH all seem to come back at the same time, and all you can think of is “I GOTTA GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE!!!” Did you ever notice sometimes when you’re walking with your arm around your date, one of you has the change the way you’re walking? Men and women don’t walk the same; one of them has to change. Either the man has to walk like this [walks on his toes] or the woman has to walk like this [struts] “Joey, how are ya?” How about when you’re going up a flight of stairs and you think there’s one more step? And you go ughh. And then you have to kinda keep doing that you know, so people will think it’s something you do all the time. “I do this all the time; it’s the third stage of syphilis.” Same thing happens when you’re going down the stairs. You could swear there was one more step— pfft! “Holy shit! My hips are in my chest!” When you drink grapefruit juice in the morning, do you go like this? [squints face] I do too! Why do we drink it?! It’s like ice cream throat. You know when you’ve been eating ice cream too fast and you get that frozen spot in the back of your throat but you can’t do anything about it because you can’t reach it to rub it? You just have to kinda wait for it to go away? And it does… then what do you do? EAT MORE ICE CREAM!!! WHAT ARE WE FUCKING STUPID?! Did you ever fall asleep on a late afternoon, you wake up after dark, and you don’t know what goddamn day it is? Like when you have your head on a pillow… did you ever notice when you have your head on a pillow, if you close the bottom eye, the pillow is down there, then if you switch eyes, the pillow moves up there? “Whoa, holy shit Dave! Look at this! The mystery of the moving pillow… I think it’s related to the chain link fence mystery myself.” Did you ever have to sneeze while you’re taking a piss? It’s frightening isn’t it? It’s frightening cause actually, you can’t do it! It’s physically impossible to sneeze while pissing. Your brain won’t let it happen; your brain says “STOP PISSING!!! YOU’RE GOING TO SNEEZE NOW!!!” cause your brain knows you might blow your asshole out! “Airline Announcements” Something else we have in common… flying on the airlines and listening to the airlines’ announcements and trying to pretend to ourselves that the language they’re using is really English. Doesn’t seem like it to me… Whole thing starts when you get to the gate… first announcement: “We would like to begin the boarding process…” Extra word, “process”, not necessary, “boarding” is enough; “we’d like to begin the boarding…” simple, tells the story. People add extra words when they want things to sound more important than they really are. “Boarding process” sounds important… it isn’t. It’s just a bunch of people getting on an airplane! People like to sound important; weathermen on television talk about “shower activity…” sounds more important than “showers”. I even heard one guy on CNN talk about “a rain event.” Swear to God, he said “Louisiana is expecting a rain event.” I thought “holy shit, I hope I can get tickets to that!” … “Emergency situation…” News people like to say “police have responded to an emergency situation.” No they haven’t, they’ve responded to an emergency. We know it’s a situation… everything is a situation! Anyway, as part of this boarding process, they say “we would like to pre-board…”…Well what exactly is that anyway? What does it mean to pre-board? You get on before you get on? That’s another complaint of mine: too much use of this prefix “pre.” It’s all over the language now: pre-this, pre-that, “place the turkey in a pre-heated oven…” It’s ridiculous! There are only two states an oven can possibly exist in: HEATED OR UNHEATED! “Pre-heated” is a meaningless fucking term! It’s like “pre-recorded…” “this program was pre-recorded…” well OF COURSE it was pre-recorded! When else are you gonna record it? Afterwards?! That’s the whole purpose of recording: to do it beforehand… otherwise it doesn’t really work does it?! “Pre-existing”, “pre-planning”, “pre-screening”, you know what I tell these people? PRE-SUCK MY GENITAL SITUATION!!! And they seem to understand what I’m talking about… Anyway, as part of this pre-boarding, they say: “we would like to pre-board those passengers travelling with small children.” Well what about those passengers travelling with large children? Suppose you have a two year-old with a pituitary disorder! You know, a six-foot infant with an oversized head, the kind of kids you see in the National Inquirer all the time. Actually, with a kid like that, I think you’re better off checking him right in with your luggage at the curb don’t you? Well they like it under there, it’s dark, they’re used to that! About this time, someone is telling you to get on the plane… “get on the plane, get on the plane…” I say “Fuck you! I’m getting IN the plane! Let Evil Keneevil get ON the plane! I’ll be in here with you folks in uniform. There seems to be less WIND in here!” They might tell you you’re on a “non-stop flight…”…Well I don’t think I care for that. No, I insist that my flight stop! Preferably at an airport! It’s those sudden unscheduled corn field and housing development stops that seem to interrupt the flow of my day! Here’s one they just made up: “near-miss.” When two planes almost collide, they call it a “near-miss.” IT’S A NEAR-HIT!!! A collision is a near-miss! Pfft! “Look, they nearly missed.” “Yes, but not quite!” They might tell you your flight has been delayed because of a “change of equipment…” BROKEN PLANE!!! Tell me to “put my seatback forward…” Well I don’t bend that way! If I could put my seatback forward, I’d be in porno movies!!! Then they mention “carry-on luggage…” first time I heard “carry-on”, I thought they were going to bring a dead deer on board. I thought “what the hell do they need with that? Don’t they have the little TV dinners anymore?” Then I thought “carry-on, carry on, there’s going to be a party! People are going to be carrying on on the plane.” Well I don’t care for that; I like a serious attitude on the plane, especially on the “flight deck” which is the latest euphemism for “COCKPIT!!!” Can’t imagine why they wouldn’t want to use a lovely word like “COCKPIT” can you? Especially with all those stewardesses going in and out of it all the time! There’s a word that’s changed: “stewardess…” First it was “hostess”, then it’s “stewardess”, now it’s “flight attendant.” You know what I call them? “The Lady on the Plane.” Sometimes, it’s a man on the plane now, that’s good, equality; I’m all in favour of that. Sometimes, they actually refer to these people as “uniformed crew members.” Uniformed… as opposed to that guy sitting next to you in a “grateful dead” t-shirt and a “fuck you” hat… who’s working on his ninth little bottle of Kahlua I might add. As soon as they close the door to the aircraft, that’s when they begin the safety lecture. I love the safety lecture. This is my favourite part of the airplane ride. I listen very carefully to the safety lecture, especially that part where they teach us how to use “the seat belts.” Imagine this: here we are; a plane full of grown human beings – many of us partially educated – and they’re actually taking time out to describe the intricate workings of a belt buckle! “Place the small metal flap into the buckle.” Well I asked for clarification at that point! “Over here please… over here… yes… thank you very much. Did I hear you correctly? Did you say ‘place the small metal flap into the buckle’ or ‘place the buckle over and around the small metal flap?’ I’m a simple man; I do not possess an engineering degree nor am I mechanically inclined. Sorry to have taken up so much of your time, please continue with the wonderful safety lecture. Seat belt: high-tech shit!” The safety lecture continues… the next thing they do, they tell you to locate your nearest emergency exit… I do this immediately! I locate my nearest emergency exit and then I plan my route. You have to plan your route; it’s not always a straight line is it? Sometimes, there’s a REALLY BIG FAT FUCK SITTING RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU!!! Well you know you’ll never get over him! I look around for women and children, midgets and dwarves, cripples, war widows, paralyzed veterans, people with broken legs, anybody who looks like they can’t move too well. The emotionally disturbed come in very handy at a time like this. You might have to go out of your way to find these people but you’ll get out of the plane a lot goddamn quicker, believe me! I say “let’s see… I go around the fat fuck, step on the widow’s head, push those children out of the way, knock down the paralyzed midget, and get out of the plane where I can help others.” I can be of no help to anyone if I’m lying unconscious in the aisle with some big cocksucker standing on my head! I must get out of the plane, go to a nearby farmhouse, have a Dr. Pepper, and call the police! The safety lecture continues… “In the unlikely event…” This is a very suspect phrase, especially coming as it does from an industry that is willing to lie about arrival and departure times… “In the unlikely event of a sudden change in cabin pressure…” ROOF FLIES OFF!!! “…an oxygen mask will drop down in front of you. Place the mask over your face and breathe normally.” Well, I have no problem with that. I always breathe normally when I’m in a 600mph uncontrolled vertical dive. I also shit normally… RIGHT IN MY PANTS!!! They tell you to adjust your oxygen mask before helping your child with his. I did not need to be told that. In fact, I’m probably going to be too busy screaming to help him at all! This will be a good time for him to learn “self-reliance!” If he can program his fucking VCR, he can goddamn, jolly well learn to adjust an oxygen mask! Fairly simple thing; just a little rubber band at the back, that’s all it is… not nearly as complicated as say, for instance a… seat belt. The safety lecture continues… “In the unlikely event of a water landing…” … … well what exactly is… a water landing? Am I mistaken or does this sound somewhat similar to CRASHING INTO THE OCEAN?!!! “…your seat cushion can be used as a floatation device.” Well imagine that: my seat cushion… just what I need… to float around the North Atlantic for several days, clinging to a pillow full of beer farts! The flight continues… a little later on, toward the end, we hear: “the captain has turned on the ‘fasten seat belt’ sign.” Well who gives a shit who turned it on?! What does that have to do with anything?! It’s on isn’t it?! … …And who made this man a captain might I ask? Did I sleep through some sort of an armed forces swearing-in ceremony or something? Captain? He’s a fucking pilot! Let him be happy with that! If those sightseeing announcements are any mark of his intellect, he’s lucky to be working at all! Tell the captain “Air Marshall Carlin says ‘GO FUCK YOURSELF!!!’” The next sentence I hear is full of things that piss me off: “Before leaving the aircraft, please check around your immediate seating area for any personal belongings you might have brought on board.” Well, let’s start with “immediate seating area…”… SEAT!!! It’s a goddamn seat! “Check around your seat!”… “…for any personal belongings…” Well what other kinds of belongings are there besides personal? Public belongings? Do these people honestly think I might be travelling with a fountain I stole from the park?! “…you might have brought on board.” Well… I might have brought my arrowhead collection… I didn’t, SO I’M NOT GOING TO LOOK FOR IT!!! I’M GOING TO LOOK FOR THINGS I BROUGHT ON BOARD!!! It would seem to enhance the likelihood of my finding something wouldn’t you say? Tell me to return my seatback and tray table to their original upright positions? Fine, who’s going to return this guy in the “grateful dead” t-shirt and the “fuck you” hat to his original upright position? About this time, they tell you “you’ll be landing shortly…” that sound to you like we’re gonna miss the runway? “Final approach” is not very promising either is it? “Final” is not a good word to be using on an airplane. Sometimes, the pilot will get on and he’ll say “we’ll be on the ground in 15 minutes.” WELL THAT’S A LITTLE VAGUE ISN’T IT?!!! Now we’re taxiing in, she says “welcome to O’Hare International Airport…” Well how can someone who is just arriving herself possibly welcome me to a place she isn’t even at yet?! Doesn’t this… doesn’t this violate some fundamental law of physics?! We’re only on the ground four seconds; she’s coming on like the fucking mayor’s wife! “…where the local time…” well of course it’s the local time. What did you think we were expecting? The time in Pengo, Pengo? “…enjoy your stay in Chicago or wherever your final destination might be.”… All destinations are final. That’s what it means “destiny”, “final.” If you haven’t gotten where you’re going, you aren’t there yet. “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.” Not a partial stop… cause during a partial stop, I partially get up. “Continue to observe the ‘no smoking’ sign until well inside the terminal.” It’s physically impossible to observe the “no smoking” sign even if you’re standing just outside the door of the airplane! Much less well inside the terminal; you can’t even see the FUCKING PLANES from well inside the terminal! Which brings me to “terminal”, another unfortunate word to be used in association with air travel… and they use it all over the airport don’t they? Somehow, I just can’t get hungry at a place called “The Terminal Snack Bar”. But if you’ve ever eaten there, you know it is an appropriate name. “Golf Courses for the Homeless” Speaking of places to eat and what they’re called or named, Beverly Hills has a brand new restaurant specifically for bulimia victims. It’s called “The Scarf ‘n Barf.” Well, they weren’t gonna call it “The Fork ‘n Bucket.” Thank God, good taste prevailed. How about a restaurant for anorexics? What would you call it? “The Empty Plate”, “The Lonesome Chef”, “Start Without Me Guys”… See, somehow I can’t feel sorry an anorexic you know? Rich cunt don’t wanna eat? Fuck her. Don’t eat! I ain’t give a shit! Like I’m supposed to be concerned about this—“I DON’T WANNA EAT!!!” Go fuck yourself. Why don’t you lie down in front of a railroad train right after you don’t eat? What kind of a goddamn disease is that anyway? “I DON’T WANNA EAT!!!” How do we come up with this shit in this country? Where do we get our values from? Bulimia! There’s another all-American disease. This has gotta be the only country in the world that could ever have come up with bulimia… gotta be the only country where some people are digging in the dumpster for a peach pit, other people eat a nice meal and puke it up intentionally! Where do we get our values from? I do not understand our values. By the way, speaking of American values, aren’t we about due to start bombing some small country that only has a marginally effective air force? Seems to me like we’re weeks overdue to drop high explosives helpless civilians; people who have no argument with us whatsoever. I think we ought to be out there doing what we do best gang: making large holes in other people’s countries. I hate to be repetitious but we are a war-like lot. We can’t stand it not to be fucking with somebody! We couldn’t wait for that Cold War to be over could we? Couldn’t wait for the Cold War to be over so we can go and play with our toys in the sand, go and play with our toys in the sand, and when we’re not invading some sovereign nation or setting it on fire from the air, which is more fun for our Nintendo pilots, then we’re usually declaring war on something here at home. Did you ever notice that about us? We love to declare war on things here in America. Anything we don’t like about ourselves, we declare war on it, we don’t do anything about it, we just declare war on it. It’s the only metaphor, the only metaphor we have in our public discourse for solving problems: declaring war. We have to declare a war on everything; we have a war on crime, the war on poverty, the war on litter, the war on cancer, the war on drugs, but did you ever notice we got no war on homelessness? Huh? No war on homelessness… you know why? There’s no money in that problem, no money to be made off of the homeless. If you can find a solution to homelessness where the corporate swine and the politicians could steal a couple of million dollars each, you’ll see the streets of America begin to clear up pretty goddamn quick, I’ll guarantee you that! I got an idea! You know what they ought to do? Give the homeless their own magazine. Give them their own magazine. It would them feel better for one thing. That’s a sure sign of making it in this country; every group in this country that arrives at a certain level has its own magazine. We have Working Mother Magazine, Black Entrepreneur Magazine, Hispanic Business Magazine, in fact, any activity; any activity engaged in by more than four people in this country has got a fucking magazine devoted to it. Skydiving, snowmobiling, backpacking, mountain climbing, bungee jumping, skeet shooting, duck hunting, jerking off, playing pool, shooting someone in the asshole with a dart gun… they probably got a fucking magazine for that! WALKING for Christ sakes… WAAALLLKKKIIINNNGGG!!!!!! There’s actually a fucking magazine called “WALKING!” “Look Dan! The new ‘Walking’ is out! Here’s a good article: ‘Putting one foot in front of the other!’” Give ‘em their own magazine. You know what you’d call a magazine for the homeless? “Better Crates and Cartons.” Yeah, then when they get finished reading it, they can use it to line their clothing. That’s a good, sound business solution isn’t it? That’s the kind of answer you get from a conservative American businessman in this country: “Yeah, let them read it. When they get finished reading, they can use it to plug up the holes in the piano crates they all seem to like to live in.” A good, sound, practical, conservative American biiizniiiz solution. I got an idea about homelessness. You know what they ought to do? Change the name of it. Change the name! It’s not homelessness, it’s houselessness! It’s houses these people need! A home is an abstract idea, a home is a setting, it’s a state of mind. These people need houses; physical, tangible structures. They need low-cost housing but where’re you gonna put it? Well that’s fine but where’re you gonna put it? Where’re you gonna put it? Nobody wants you to build low-cost housing near their house. People don’t want it near ‘em! We’ve got something in this country – you’ve heard of it – it’s called NIMBY, N-I-M-B-Y, “Not In My BackYard!” People don’t want anything, any kind of social help, located anywhere near ‘em! You try to open up a Halfway House, try to open up a drug rehab or an alcohol rehab centre, try to do a homeless shelter somewhere, try to open up a little home for some retarded people who wanna work their way into the community, people say “NOT IN MY BACKYARD!” People don’t want anything near ‘em especially if it might help somebody else; part of that great American spirited generosity we hear about—pbbt!!! Great generous American spirit! You can ask an Indian about that; ask an Indian – if you can find one… you gotta locate an Indian first; we’ve made ‘em just a little difficult to find – or if you need current data, select a black family at random, ask them how generous America has been to them. People don’t want anything near ‘em, even if it’s something they believe in, something they think society needs, like prisons! Everybody wants more prisons right? Everybody wants more prisons. People say “BUILD MORE PRISONS… …but not here.” Well why not? What’s wrong? What’s the problem? What’s wrong with having a prison in your neighbourhood? It would seem to me like it would make it a pretty crime-free area, don’t you think? You think a lot of crackheads and pimps and hookers and thieves are gonna be hanging around in front of a fucking prison?! Bullshit! They ain’t coming anywhere NEAR it!!! What’s wrong with these people? All the criminals are locked up behind the walls and if a couple of them do break out, what do you think they’re gonna do? Hang around? Check real estate trends? Bullshit! Pwwt! They’re fucking gone! That’s the whole idea of breaking out of prison is to get the fuck as far away as you possibly can! …not in my backyard… People don’t want anything near ‘em… except military bases. They don’t mind that do they? They like that. Give ‘em an army base, give ‘em a navy base, makes ‘em happy, why? Jobs! Jobs! Self-interest! Even if the base is loaded with nuclear weapons, THEY DON’T GIVE A FUCK!!! They say “well, I’ll take a little radiation if I can get a job!” Working people have been fucked over so long in this country, those are the kind of decisions they’re left to make. I’ve got just the place for low-cost housing, I have solved this problem, I know where we can build housing for the homeless: GOLF COURSES!!! Perfect! Golf courses! Just what we need! Just what we need: plenty of good land in nice neighbourhoods, land that is currently being wasted on a meaningless, mindless activity, engaged in primarily by white, well-to-do, male businessmen who use the game to get together to make deals to carve this country up a little finer among themselves. I am getting tired… really… getting… tired of these golfing cocksuckers in their green pants, and their yellow pants, and their orange pants, and their precious little hats, and their cute little golf carts! It is time to reclaim the golf courses from the wealthy and turn them over to the homeless. Golf is an arrogant, elitist game and it takes up entirely too much room in this country. It is an arrogant game on its very design alone. Just the design of the game SPEAKS of arrogance! Think of how big a golf course is… THE BALL IS THAT FUCKING BIG!!! WHAT DO THESE PIN-HEADED PRICKS NEED WITH ALL THAT LAND?!!! There are over 17,000 golf courses in America, they average over 150 acres apiece, that’s 3 million plus acres, 4,820 square miles… you could build two Rhode Island’s and a Delaware for the homeless on the land currently being wasted on this meaningless, mindless, arrogant, elitist, racist – there’s another thing; the only blacks you’ll find in country clubs are carrying trays – and a boring game… boring game for boring people. You ever watch golf on television? It’s like watching flies fuck! And-and a mindless game, mindless, think of the intellect it must take to draw pleasure from this 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 FUCKING THING!!! PUT IT IN YOUR POCKET AND GO THE FUCK HOME!!! YOU’RE A WINNER!!! YOU’RE A WINNER!!! YOU FOUND IT!!! No… never happens… no… no chance of that happening; Dorko in the plaid knickers is going to hit it again and walk some more. Let these rich cocksuckers play miniature golf. Let ‘em fuck with a windmill for an hour and a half or so… see if there’s really any skill among these people. Now I know there are some people who play golf who don’t consider themselves rich… FUCK ‘EM!!! And shame on them for engaging in an arrogant, elitist pastime. Hey! Here’s another place we can put some low-cost housing: CEMETARIES!!! There’s another idea whose time has passed! Saving all the dead people up for one part of town?! What the hell kind of a medieval, superstitious, religious, bullshit idea is that?! Plough these motherfuckers up, plough into the streams and rivers of America; we need that phosphorous for farming! If we’re going to recycle, LET’S GET SERIOUS!!! “The Planet Is Fine” Thank you… I appreciate it… I appreciate that [has a sip of water]… good to have a little sip of this, the water, I assume, is still safe to drink in New York huh? [Audience reacts negatively] Actually, I gotta be fair with you; I’m only setting you up a little bit. It’s just… it’s not a trick question but it’s just a set-up cause I don’t really care about the water, to tell you the truth, I just love to hear the answer to that question. I ask that question everywhere I go. Everywhere I go, I say: “How’s the water?”… Haven’t got a positive answer yet… not one. Last year, I was in 40 states, 100 cities. Not one audience was able to say to me: “Yes, enjoy some of our fine local water! It is pure and it is good!” Of course, I know a lot of people don’t talk that way anymore but nobody trusts the local water supply. Nobody! And that amuses me, I like that, I admit I’m a bit perverted but it amuses me that no one can really trust the water anymore and the thing I like about it the most is: it means the system is beginning to collapse and everything is slowly breaking down. I enjoy chaos and disorder – not just because they help me professionally – they’re also my hobby. You see, I’m an entropy fan. When I first heard of entropy in high school science, I was attracted to it immediately. When they told me that in nature, all systems are breaking down, I thought: “What a good thing! What a good thing! Perhaps I can make some small contribution in this area myself.” And of course, it’s not just in nature, in this country, the whole social structure… just beginning to collapse, you watch; just beginning now to come apart at the edges and the seams and the thing I like about that is that it means it makes the news on television more interesting, makes the television news more exciting, makes it more fun. I watch television news for one thing and one thing only: entertainment! That’s all I want from the news: entertainment! You know my favourite thing on television? Bad news! Bad news and disasters and accidents and catastrophes. I wanna see some explosions and fires! I wanna see shit blowing up and bodies flying around! I’m not interested in the budget; I don’t care about tax negotiations; I don’t wanna know what country the fucking Pope is in! But you show me a hospital that’s on fire and people on crutches are jumping off the roof and I’M A HAPPY GUY!!! I’M A HAPPY GUY!!! I’M A HAPPY GUY!!! I wanna see a paint factory blowing up! I wanna see an oil refinery explode! I wanna see a tornado hit a church on Sunday! I wanna see people— I wanna know there’s some guy running through the K-Mart with an automatic weapon firing at the clerks! I wanna see thousands of people in the street killing policemen! I wanna hear about a nuclear meltdown! I wanna know the stock market dropped 2000 points in one day! I wanna see people under pressure! Sirens, flames, smoke, bodies, graves being filled, parents weeping… exciting shit! My kind of TV! I just want some entertainment! It’s just the kind of guy I am! It’s the kind of guy I am! You know what I love the most? When big chunks of concrete and fiery wood are falling out the sky and people are running around trying to get out of the way! Exciting shit! That’s why I watch auto-racing. That’s the only reason I watch auto-racing: I’m waiting for some ACCIDENTS man!!! I wanna see some cars on fire! I don’t care about a bunch of redneck jackoffs driving 500 miles in a circle! 500 miles in a circle? Children can do that for Christ sakes! Doesn’t impress me! I wanna see some schmuck with his hair on fire running around punching his own head trying to put it out! I wanna see the pits explode! I wanna see a car doing a 200mph cartwheel! Hey, where else besides auto-racing am I gonna see a 23 car collision and not be in the son of a bitch?! And if a car flies out of control, lands in the stands and kills 50 spectators, FINE, FUCK ‘EM!!! Serves ‘em right; they paid to get in, let ‘em take their chances with everybody else! Just means more fun for me! More fun for me! Hey, at least I admit it. At least I admit it. Most people won’t admit to those feelings. Most people see something like that on television, they’ll say: “Oh isn’t that awful? Isn’t that too bad?” Pbbt! Lying asshole! Lying assholes! You love it and you KNOW it! EXPLOSIONS ARE FUN!!! And hey, the closer the explosion is to your house, the more fun it is! Did you ever notice that? Sometimes, you have the TV on and you’re working around the house, some guy comes on television and says: “6,000 people were killed in an explosion today…” You say: “Where?! Where?!” He says: “…in Pakistan.” You say: “Aww fuck Pakistan! Too far away to be any fun!” But if he says it happened in your hometown, you’ll say: “WHOA!!! HOT SHIT!!! COME ON DAVE; LET’S GO LOOK AT THE BODIES!!! LET’S GO LOOK AT THE BODIES!!!” I love bad news! I love bad news! Hey, the more bad news there is, the faster this system collapses. Fine by me! Fine by me! Don’t bother my ass! Don’t bother my ass none! I’m glad the water sucks. I’m glad it sucks. You know what I do about it? I drink it! Unless… unless it really smells, if it really smells a lot like sulphur, then I might buy a soda. But it’s gotta be a soda loaded with chemical additives! I like a lot of chemical additives in the things I eat and drink! See, I’m not one of these people who’s worried about everything. You got people like this around you? Countries full of them now: people walking around all day long, every minute of the day, worried… about everything! Worried about the air; worried about the water; worried about the soil; worried about insecticides, pesticides, food additives, carcinogens; worried about radon gas; worried about asbestos; worried about saving endangered species. Let me tell you about endangered species all right? Saving endangered species is just one more arrogant attempt by humans to control nature. It’s arrogant meddling; it’s what got us in trouble in the first place. Doesn’t anybody understand that? Interfering with nature. Over 90% – over, WAY over – 90% of all the species that have ever lived on this planet, ever lived, are gone! Pwwt! They’re extinct! We didn’t kill them all, they just disappeared. That’s what nature does. They disappear these days at the rate of 25 a day and I mean regardless of our behaviour. Irrespective of how we act on this planet, 25 species that were here today will be gone tomorrow. Let them go gracefully. Leave nature alone. Haven’t we done enough? We’re so self-important, so self-important. Everybody’s gonna save something now: “Save the trees! Save the bees! Save the whales! Save those snails!” and the greatest arrogance of all: “Save the planet!” What?! Are these fucking people kidding me?! Save the planet?! We don’t even know how to take care of ourselves yet! We haven’t learned how to care for one another and we’re gonna save the fucking planet?! I’m getting tired of that shit! I’m getting tired of that shit! I’m tired of fucking Earth Day! I’m tired of these self-righteous environmentalists; these white, bourgeois liberals who think the only thing wrong with this country is there aren’t enough bicycle paths! People trying to make the world safe for their Volvo’s! Besides, environmentalists don’t give a shit about the planet. They don’t care about the planet; not in the abstract they don’t. You know what they’re interested in? A clean place to live; their own habitat. They’re worried that someday in the future, they might be personally inconvenienced. Narrow, unenlightened self-interest doesn’t impress me. Besides, there is nothing wrong with the planet… nothing wrong with the planet. The planet is fine… the people are fucked! Difference! The planet is fine! Compared to the people, THE PLANET IS DOING GREAT: Been here four and a half billion years! Do you ever think about the arithmetic? The planet has been here four and a half billion years, we’ve been here what? 100,000? Maybe 200,000? And we’ve only been engaged in heavy industry for a little over 200 years. 200 years versus four and a half billion and we have the conceit to think that somehow, we’re a threat? That somehow, we’re going to put in jeopardy this beautiful little blue-green ball that’s just a-floatin’ around the sun? The planet has been through a lot worse than us. Been through all kinds of things worse than us: been through earthquakes, volcanoes, plate tectonics, continental drifts, solar flares, sunspots, magnetic storms, the magnetic reversal of the poles, hundreds of thousands of years of bombardment by comets and asteroids and meteors, worldwide floods, tidal waves, worldwide fires, erosion, cosmic rays, recurring ice ages, and we think some plastic bags and aluminum cans are going to make a difference? The planet isn’t going anywhere… we are! We’re going away! Pack your shit folks! We’re going away and we won’t leave much of a trace either, thank God for that… maybe a little styrofoam… maybe… little styrofoam. The planet will be here, we’ll be long gone; just another failed mutation; just another closed-end biological mistake; an evolutionary cul-de-sac. The planet will shake us off like a bad case of fleas, a surface nuisance. You wanna know how the planet’s doing? Ask those people in Pompeii who are frozen into position from volcanic ash how the planet’s doing. Wanna know if the planet’s all right? Ask those people in Mexico City or Armenia or a hundred other places buried under thousands of tons of earthquake rubble if they feel like a threat to the planet this week. How about those people in Kilauea, Hawaii who build their homes right next to an active volcano and then wonder why they have lava in the living room? The planet will be here for a long, long, LONG time after we’re gone and it will heal itself, it will cleanse itself cause that’s what it does. It’s a self-correcting system. The air and the water will recover, the earth will be renewed, and if it’s true that plastic is not degradable, well, the planet will simply incorporate plastic into a new paradigm: The Earth plus Plastic. The Earth doesn’t share our prejudice towards plastic. Plastic came out of the Earth! The Earth probably sees plastic as just another one of its children. Could be the only reason the Earth allowed us to be spawned from it in the first place: it wanted plastic for itself, didn’t know how to make it, needed us. Could be the answer to our age-old philosophical question: “Why are we here?” PLASTIC!!! ASSHOLES!!! So the plastic is here, our job is done, we can be phased out now, and I think that’s really started already, 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 the planet will defend itself in the manner of a large organism. Like a beehive or an ant colony can muster a defence, I’m sure the planet will think of something. What would you do if you were the planet trying to defend against this pesky, troublesome species? Let’s see… what might… hmm… viruses! Viruses might be good. They seem vulnerable to viruses. And uh… viruses are tricky; always mutating and forming new strains whenever a vaccine is developed. Perhaps this first virus could be one that-that compromises the immune system of these creatures. Perhaps a human immunodeficiency virus making them vulnerable to all sorts of other diseases and infections that might come along and maybe it could be spread sexually, making them a little reluctant to engage in the act of reproduction. Well that’s a poetic note and it’s a start and I can dream can I? See, I don’t worry about the little things… bees, trees, whales, snails. I think we’re part of a greater wisdom that we won’t ever understand, a higher order. Call it what you want. You know what I call it? The big electron… the big electron. [Imitates electronic hum] It doesn’t punish, it doesn’t reward, it doesn’t judge at all. It just is and so are we… for a little while… Thanks for being here with me for a little while tonight. Thank you, thank you very much, thank you! Thank you! Thank you New York City! Take care of yourself! Take care of yourself and somebody else! Thank you! Good night!
1686241323-6	https://scrapsfromtheloft.com/stand-up-comedy-scripts/	LOUIS C.K.: 2017 – Full transcript	https://scrapsfromtheloft.com/comedy/louis-c-k-2017-full-transcript/	"Louis C.K Netflix special filmed in Washington D.C. and premiered April 4, 2017 Go ahead and do the(...TRUNCATED)
1686241327-7	https://scrapsfromtheloft.com/stand-up-comedy-scripts/	Seth Meyers at the 2011 White House Correspondents’ Dinner – Full Transcript	"https://scrapsfromtheloft.com/comedy/seth-meyers-2011-white-house-correspondents-dinner-transcript/(...TRUNCATED)	"In April 2011, Saturday Night Live’s Seth Meyers hosted the star-studded White House Corresponden(...TRUNCATED)
1686241331-8	https://scrapsfromtheloft.com/stand-up-comedy-scripts/	GEORGE CARLIN: BACK IN TOWN (1996) – Full transcript	https://scrapsfromtheloft.com/comedy/george-carlin-back-town-1996-full-transcript/	"Back in Town is George Carlin’s 15th album and ninth HBO special. It was also released on CD on S(...TRUNCATED)
1686241335-9	https://scrapsfromtheloft.com/stand-up-comedy-scripts/	Dave Chappelle: The Age of Spin (2017) – Transcript	https://scrapsfromtheloft.com/comedy/dave-chappelle-age-spin-2017-full-transcript/	"This is Dave. He tells dirty jokes for a living. That stare is where most of his hard work happens.(...TRUNCATED)
1686241339-10	https://scrapsfromtheloft.com/stand-up-comedy-scripts/	Eddie Murphy: Delirious (1983) – Transcript	https://scrapsfromtheloft.com/comedy/eddie-murphy-delirious-full-transcript/	"Filmed on August 17, 1983 at DAR Constitution Hall in Washington D.C. Ladies and gentlemen! Eddie M(...TRUNCATED)

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Dataset Summary

This is a dataset of stand up comedy transcripts. It was scraped from https://scrapsfromtheloft.com/stand-up-comedy-scripts/ and all terms of use apply. The transcripts are offered to the public as a contribution to education and scholarship, and for the private, non-profit use of the academic community.

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Text2Text Generation • Updated Nov 4, 2023 • 55