George Carlin - Napalm and Silly Putty

You know my favorite play in baseball? The bean ball. It’s great, isn’t it? It’s dramatic. Especially if the guy is really hurt. Sometimes the ball hits the helmet, and you feel kind of disappointed. Even though it makes a good loud noise.

Do you ever open the dictionary right to the page you want? Doesn’t that feel good?

Here’s my idea for another one of those “reality-based” TV shows: “No Survivors!” One by one, a psychopathic serial killer tracks down and kills all of the “Survivor” survivors. Think of it as a public service.

As far as I’m concerned, humans have not yet come up with a belief that’s worth believing.

People get all upset about torture, but when you get right down to it, it’s really a pretty good way of finding out something a person doesn’t want you to know.

How soon can we begin to execute these yuppie half-wits who name their golden retrievers Jake and put red bandannas around their necks? Apparently, this is viewed as amusing or ironic or some other quality yuppies value highly. It isn’t amusing; it’s precious, half-wit bullshit.

They say only 10 percent of the brain’s function is known. Apparently, the function of the remaining 90 percent is to keep us from discovering its function.

Ethnic-wise, I’ll tell you this: if I hadn’t turned out to be Irish, I would’ve really liked to be a guinea.

You know the good part about all those executions in Texas? Fewer Texans.

I’m tired of hearing about innocent victims. It’s fiction. If you live on this planet you’re guilty, period, fuck you, next case, end of report. Your birth certificate is proof of guilt.

I enjoy watching reruns of Saturday Night Live and counting all the dead people.

I’m getting tired of all this security at the airport. There’s too much of it. I’m tired of some fat chick with a double-digit IQ and a triple-digit income rootin’ around inside my bag for no reason and never finding anything. Haven’t found anything yet. Haven’t found one bomb in one bag. And don’t tell me, “Well, the terrorists know their bags are going to be searched, so now they’re leaving their bombs at home.” There are no bombs! The whole thing is fuckin’ pointless.

And it’s completely without logic. There’s no logic at all. They’ll take away a gun, but let you keep a knife! Well, what the fuck is that? In fact, there’s a whole list of lethal objects they will allow you to take on board. Theoretically, you could take a knife, an ice pick, a hatchet, a straight razor, a pair of scissors, a chain saw, six knitting needles, and a broken whiskey bottle, and the only thing they’d say to you is, “That bag has to fit all the way under the seat in front of you.”

And if you didn’t take a weapon on board, relax. After you’ve been flying for about an hour, they’re gonna bring you a knife and fork! They actually give you a fucking knife! It’s only a table knife—but you could kill a pilot with a table knife. It might take you a couple of minutes. Especially if he’s hefty. But you could get the job done. If you really wanted to kill the prick.

Shit, there are a lot of things you could use to kill a guy with. You could probably beat a guy to death with the Sunday New York Times. Or suppose you just had really big hands, couldn’t you strangle a flight attendant? Shit, you could probably strangle two of them, one with each hand. That is, if you were lucky enough to catch ’em in that little kitchen area. Just before they break out the fuckin’ peanuts. But you could get the job done. If you really cared enough.

So, why is it they allow a man with big, powerful hands to get on board an airplane? I’ll tell you why. They know he’s not a security risk, because he’s already answered the three big questions. Question number one:

“Did you pack your bags yourself?”

“No, Carrot Top packed my bags. He and Martha Stewart and Florence Henderson came over to the house last night, fixed me a lovely lobster Newburg, gave me a full body massage with sacred oils from India, performed a four-way ‘around-the-world,’ and then they packed my bags. Next question.”

“Have your bags been in your possession the whole time?”

“No. Usually the night before I travel—just as the moon is rising—I place my suitcases out on the street corner and leave them there, unattended, for several hours. Just for good luck. Next question.”

“Has any unknown person asked you to take anything on board?”

“Well, what exactly is an ‘unknown person’? Surely everyone is known to someone. In fact, just this morning, Kareem and Youssef Ali ben Gabba seemed to know each other quite well. They kept joking about which one of my suitcases was the heaviest.”

And that’s another thing they don’t like at the airport. Jokes. You can’t joke about a bomb. Well, why is it just jokes? What about a riddle? How about a limerick? How about a bomb anecdote? You know, no punch line, just a really cute story. Or, suppose you intended the remark not as a joke but as an ironic musing? Are they prepared to make that distinction? I think not! And besides, who’s to say what’s funny?

Airport security is a stupid idea, it’s a waste of money, and it’s there for only one reason: to make white people feel safe! That’s all it’s for. To provide a feeling, an illusion, of safety in order to placate the middle class. Because the authorities know they can’t make airplanes safe; too many people have access. You’ll notice the drug smugglers don’t seem to have a lot of trouble getting their little packages on board, do they? No. And God bless them, too.

And by the way, an airplane flight shouldn’t be completely safe. You need a little danger in your life. Take a fuckin’ chance, will ya? What are you gonna do, play with your prick for another thirty years? What, are you gonna read People magazine and eat at Wendy’s till the end of time? Take a fuckin’ chance!

Besides, even if they made all of the airplanes completely safe, the terrorists would simply start bombing other places that are crowded: pornshops, crack houses, titty bars, and gang bangs. You know, entertainment venues. The odds of you being killed by a terrorist are practically zero. So I say, relax and enjoy the show.

You have to be realistic about terrorism. Certain groups of people—Muslim fundamentalists, Christian fundamentalists, Jewish fundamentalists, and just plain guys from Montana—are going to continue to make life in this country very interesting for a long, long time. That’s the reality. Angry men in combat fatigues talkin’ to God on a two-way radio and muttering incoherent slogans about freedom are eventually gonna provide us with a great deal of entertainment.

Especially after your stupid fuckin’ economy collapses all around you, and the terrorists come out of the woodwork. And you’ll have anthrax in the water supply and sarin gas in the air conditioners; there’ll be chemical and biological suitcase-bombs in every city, and I say, “Relax. Enjoy the show! Take a fuckin’ chance. Put a little fun in your life.”

To me, terrorism is exciting. I think the very idea that you can set off a bomb in Macy’s and kill several hundred people is exciting and stimulating, and I see it as a form of entertainment.

But I also know most Americans are soft, frightened, unimaginative people, who have no idea there’s such a thing as dangerous fun. And they certainly don’t recognize good entertainment when they see it. I have always been willing to put myself at great personal risk for the sake of entertainment. And I’ve always been willing to put you at great personal risk for the same reason.