When Will Jesus Bring the Pork Chops?

by George Carlin

• The United States most closely resembles a huge, poorly-thought-out sick joke.

  • Health tip from the American Medical Association: Never pour corrosive chemicals on your testicles.

  • A female teacher seduced a fourteen-year old boy and he turned her in to the police. What was this kid thinking? Was he fuckin’ crazy? Or gay? I would have kept that kind of thing real quiet. At least until I graduated.

  • Cigarette companies market heavily to young people. They need young customers because their product kills the older ones. It is the only product that, if used as intended, kills the consumer.

  • More people write poetry than read it.

  • I wish the ecology people would save one species that would make a dramatic comeback and then wipe us all out.

  TRUE FACT: There is actually an erotic wrestler.

  • When I’m in someone’s house and I see something I want that’s small and easy to conceal, I steal it. It’s my belief that property belongs to the person who wants it most.

  • Whatever became of alpha-carotene?

  • I wonder what kind of masturbation fantasies Stephen King has.

  • I also wonder if anyone has ever masturbated while fantasizing about having sex with a live chicken. Usually, I wonder about these things while I’m masturbating.

  • Isaiah said, “They shall beat their swords into ploughshares and their spears into pruning hooks...” Let me ask you something. When was the last time you heard of someone who made a fortune selling ploughshares and pruning hooks?

  • You’re probably thinking to yourselves right now, “I wonder what he thinks I’m thinking right now.” Or, you may be thinking, “I wonder when he’s going to say, ‘You’re probably thinking to yourselves right now, I wonder what he thinks I’m thinking right now.’ ” Or you could be thinking, “I wonder when he’s going to wonder when I...” Well, maybe not.

  • Hey, guys, did you ever get your balls caught in the toaster when it was turned all the way up to dark brown, and your wife was trying to rub butter on your balls, and your pit bull was in the kitchen and he really loves butter? It’s an awful feeling.

  • When I’m writing, I always like to have the TV playing in the background. I usually try to find a program that’s interesting enough to leave on, but stupid enough to ignore.

  • I think sometimes the word overseas is pluralized unnecessarily. The way I look at it, New York to London is “oversea.” After all, there’s only one sea in between them.

  • This statement is untrue.

  • Regarding astrology: An obstetrician or a maternity nurse who weighs between one hundred and two hundred pounds actually exerts a greater gravitational force on a baby at the time of its birth than do any of the distant planets that are said to influence a person’s personality and destiny. Why aren’t these bulky, proximate objects factored into the astrological charts that are so carefully laid out?

  • There are caregivers and there are caretakers, and yet the two words are not opposites. Why is this?

  • Whenever I hear that someone lives in a gated community I think of places like Auschwitz.

  TRUE FACT: There is actually such a thing as the Paralyzed Veterans of America. And I wonder, Who answers the phone?

  • Until you’re a certain age, you don’t have anything to “put behind you.” That’s what life seems to be: a process of doing things that eventually you just want to put behind you.

  • There are now murderous turf-wars going on in which people are being brutally killed over the right to sell a substance called ecstasy.

  • You know something you don’t see anymore? The sacking of a city. Rome and Constantinople were good examples. Next time we win a war, we ought to sack the capital of the country we defeat. “U.S. TROOPS SACK BAGHDAD.” Wouldn’t that be good? I guess we do our sacking in subtler ways. Through the business community.

  • I think they ought to have really fast escalators that you have to jump on and off, and if you get hurt, too bad.

  • When I notice a dead fly on the windowsill—one that wasn’t there the day before—I always wonder how he died. I wonder if he had a stroke, or maybe a little fly heart attack. Then I think maybe he’s just pretending to be dead so I won’t swat him. So I swat him.

  • Here’s a tip from the power and light company on saving energy: If you have elderly people living with you, cut back on their heat and light. Old people often exaggerate how cold they feel.

  NO CHILD LEFT BEHIND

  I was thinking the other day that one kid who’s really gonna have emotional problems when she grows up is that Jon Benet Ramsey. You know, because of all the media attention, her parents being under suspicion, the speculations about sexual abuse. Jesus, that kind of thing would fuck any kid up. And then I remembered, hey, she was the one who got killed. And I thought, it’s a good thing she’s dead; at least she won’t have to suffer.

  TELL PIERRE I SAID HELLO

  HANK: I’m going up to San Francisco this weekend.

  FRANK: Oh. Well, tell Pierre I said hello.

  HANK: Actually, I knew you would say that, so I took the liberty of calling him and telling him you said hello. He said in that case to tell you he also says hello. So, “Hello” from Pierre. And he said to add, “How’s it goin’?”

  FRANK: Oh, that’s great. Well tell him everything’s going just fine. And don’t forget to say, “How are you?”

  HANK: Well, he and I knew you would ask that, and so Pierre has authorized me to say that he’s glad you’re fine, but that he hasn’t been feeling too well lately.

  FRANK: Oh. Well, tell him I’m sorry to hear that and I hope it isn’t serious.

  HANK: He says he knew you would be sorry to hear that, but he thinks it will blow over.

  FRANK: Well, tell him if it doesn’t I have a great doctor in San Francisco. Ginny and I met him in Hawaii when we were there last year.

  HANK: Pierre says he knew you had a great doctor, but he wasn’t aware he was located in San Francisco. He also says he didn’t know you and Ginny had gone to Hawaii. He thought it was Cancún. And he also says, “How’s Ginny?”

  FRANK: Tell him Ginny is dead.

  HANK: Well, I’m sure he didn’t know, but I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that he’s real sorry to hear about that, and I’m willing to bet anything he offers his condolences. And, most likely, he’ll also say that if there’s anything he can do—anything—please don’t hesitate to ask.

  FRANK: Excuse me, Hank. I’d love to keep talking, but I have to go buy underwear.

  HANK: Oh. Well, Pierre says there’s a sale at The Gap.

  FRANK: Get fucked, Hank.

  GUYS WILL BE GUYS

  I don’t know why people got all excited about that guy Jeffrey Dahmer. Because he broke a few laws? So what? There’s nothing wrong with killing twelve people, having sex with their corpses, masturbating on them, eating their flesh and then saving the heads in the refrigerator. What’s wrong with that? Nothing. So far, nobody has been able to explain to me what it was Jeffrey Dahmer did that was so wrong.

  First of all, let’s remember, wrong is a relative term. Who’s to say what’s wrong? Who are we to judge? Put yourself in the other man’s shoes. Who among you, under certain circumstances, might not kill twelve people, have sex with their corpses, masturbate on them, eat their flesh and then save the heads in the refrigerator? Not one of you, I suspect. So cut the guy a little slack. Always remember, there, but for the grace of God . . .

  YOU’RE NOT FUNNY

  Here are some things you should not say if you encounter a comedian. First: If you’re with another person at the time, don’t say to your friend, “You better watch out, he’ll put you in one of his skits.” We don’t like that. It’s not funny. And, by the way, we don’t do skits. Second: If you meet him while you’re at your job, do not say, “You oughtta work here, you’d get a lot of material.” It’s not true. Just because you work with a bunch of simpletons, doesn’t mean it translate
s into comedy. Third: If you work at a store and we’re shopping there, and some small mix-up occurs that needs to be sorted out, don’t say to a co-worker, “He’s gonna put this in one of his routines.” He’s not. One more thing we don’t like: When you tell us something that you think is funny and then you say, “You can use that if you want.” We don’t want to use it. Believe me.

  POW! SMACK! BAM!

  True: I stopped behind a small, beat-up camper at a red light, and noticed three bumper stickers: DARE TO RESIST DRUGS AND VIOLENCE, THERE’S NO EXCUSE FOR DOMESTIC ABUSE, and STOP SENIOR ABUSE. And I thought, I’m really glad I don’t live with those folks. I’d bet anything they were on their way to the hospital emergency room or perhaps intensive psychiatric counseling. If I’d caught up and looked inside the vehicle, I’m sure it would have resembled a Johnson & Johnson showroom.

  COUNT TO A BILLION

  ANNOUNCER: And now, ladies and gentlemen, direct from Dover, Delaware, Big Earl Stemplemeyer’s Television Network presents Count to a Billion.

  (Applause, lively organ music)

  Yes, it’s Count to a Billion, the show where ordinary people of limited intelligence can win big money by simply counting to a billion. As we like to say, “If you can count at all, and have a reasonable amount of time on your hands, chances are you can count to a billion.” So now, here’s your host, a man you can count on, that burly guy who’s one in a billion, Basil Danderfleck.

  (Applause, lively organ music)

  BASIL: Thank you, Wynonie Flench. And now, folks, let’s meet our two players, Tillie Lipfinder and Zippy Brillnipper, alias Skeezix Pendleton.

  (Applause, lively organ music)

  BASIL: How about it, folks? Are you two ready to count to a billion?

  TILLIE: Yes sir.

  ZIPPY: You bet your ass!

  (Applause, lively organ music)

  BASIL: All right, let’s get started. As you know, we have only one rule: No skipping any numbers. Ready, set, go!

  (Loud bell, lively organ music, applause, yelps, cheers)

  TILLIE: (Incredibly rapid pace) 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33...

  ZIPPY: (Extremely slowly) 1 . . . 2 . . . 3 . . . 4 . . .

  BASIL: Tillie appears to have jumped off to an early lead, but as we know, slow and steady wins the race, so don’t count Zippy out yet. By the way, tonight’s winner will receive two free meals at Shorty and Bud’s Restaurant for the Unclean, featuring their world-famous Chicken in a Shoe. As Shorty and Bud say, “Wouldn’t You Like to Eat a Nice Hot Meal Out of Someone Else’s Used Footwear?” Well, let’s check back in with our two contestants.

  TILLIE: (Incredibly rapid pace) 10,366,793, 10,366,794, 10,366,795, 10,366,796 . . .

  ZIPPY: (Extremely slowly) 25,853,264 . . . 25,853,265 . . . 25,853,266 . . . 25,853,267 . . . 25,853,268 . . . 25,853,269 . . .

  BASIL: Wow! Amazing! In no time at all, Zippy has caught up and pulled ahead. But he’d better not get overconfident, he still has 974 million to go.

  We’ll check back in a moment, but first, a reminder that tonight’s runner-up will receive a handsome set of matching luggage from America’s luggage leader, Packwell and Goforth, now featuring the newest innovation in luggage . . . portable suitcases! That’s right, folks, these novel suitcases have actual handles built right into them, so now you can take your luggage with you anywhere you go. Take it on a plane, take it on a boat, you can even put it in your car. No more leaving your bags at home because they’re “hard to carry.” Take them with you and travel in style! Packwell and Goforth: ahead of their time since 1357.

  Let’s check in again with Zippy and Tillie.

  TILLIE: 536,895,241, 536,895,242, 536,895,243, 536,895,244 . . .

  ZIPPY: 67,667,776 . . . 67,667,777 . . . 67,667,778 . . . 67,667,779 . . .

  Well, Tillie has come back and taken a big lead, because, unfortunately, Zippy’s severe lisp has slowed him down considerably here in this section which includes tho many thicktheth and theventh. I’m sorry . . . so many sixes and sevens. This does not look good for Zippy. But we’re about out of time for now . . .

  (Groans, hisses, boos, lively organ music)

  . . . but join us again next week, as we watch the conclusion of this thrilling match on tape and meet two new contestants, as once again we play America’s favorite counting game . . . Count to a Billion!

  (Cheers, boos, applause, hisses, shouts, threats, curses, audience advancing menacingly toward stage, lively organ music)

  ANNOUNCER: (over music and crowd noise)

  Tonight’s guests will stay at the fabulous Fireproof Motel, located between Long John Silver’s and the Rub It and Yank It massage parlor, just outside Dover, Delaware. Dover: “The City That Just Missed the Mark.” Don’t forget, the Fireproof Motel features superb drinks and finger food in the intimate cocktail lounge, Rita’s Box. Drop in and ask Rita for some finger food.

  Stay tuned now for a full-length movie on America’s favorite new date show, Dinner, Movie and a Hump. Tonight, your hosts, Dagwood Parkhaven and Candace Nooch, cook up a delicious whale chowder and breast of hyena on a bed of diced badger as they present an award-winning film about an amnesia victim, Who the Fuck Am I?, starring Esther Sylvester, Kermit McDermott, Chi Chi Ameche and Skeeter Van Meter. And introducing Keith Bunghole as the queer.

  After the movie and the food, Dagwood and Candace will tear off a lengthy piece of ass on the kitchen table, taking turns being on top, and demonstrating several interesting, new sexual positions, including the Baghdad Twirl and the Bosnian Dick-knot.

  Good night everyone, and God bless America!

  (Lively organ music, lustful throaty moans and maniacal screaming)

  EUPHEMISMS: Death and Dying

  Some of our best work with euphemisms involves the subject that makes us the most uncomfortable: death.

  Our most common euphemism for death is to say the person passed away. Or passed on. If you believe in an afterlife, you may prefer crossed over; or crossed over to the other side. Whenever I hear that someone has crossed over to the other side, I always picture Fifth Avenue.

  Then there’s the official term for dying, the doctor term. In this case the person simply expires. Like a magazine subscription. One month he just doesn’t show up. Unfortunately, he can’t renew. Or so they say. Better check with the Hindus on that.

  Now, continuing. In this current age of specialization—and increasing detachment—if the person in question dies in a hospital, it’s called a terminal episode. Although the insurance company sees it as negative patient-care outcome. That one’s actually kinda nice, isn’t it? And if the negative patient-care outcome was caused by medical malpractice, then it’s referred to it as a therapeutic misadventure. Colorful term. No wonder so many doctors are leaving their practices; it’s hard to get therapeutic-misadventure insurance.

  But by far the most creative terms we’ve come up with to comfort ourselves about death are the ones that describe the rituals survivors put themselves through. We owe a lot of this softened language to the funeral business. Or, as they prefer to be known, the death-care industry. They have completely transformed the language used to describe what happens following a death.

  In years past it went like this: “The old man died, so the undertaker picked up the body, brought it to the funeral home and put it in a casket. People sent flowers and held a wake. After the funeral, they put the coffin in a hearse and drove it to the cemetery, where the dead man was buried in a grave.”

  But in these days of heightened sensitivity, the same series of events produces what sounds like a completely different experience: “The senior citizen passed away, so the funeral director claimed the remains of the decedent, took them to the memorial chapel and placed them in a burial container. Grieving survivors sent floral tributes to be displayed in the slumber room, where the grief coordinator conducted the viewing. Following the memorial service, the fun
eral coach transported the departed to the garden of remembrance where his human remains were interred in their final resting place.”

  Huh? What’s that? Did someone die or something?

  I’VE GOT A TRAIN TO CATCH

  This item demonstrates how stupid the average American is. Every ninety minutes someone in this country is hit by a train. A train, okay? Trains are on tracks; they can’t come and get you. They can’t surprise you when you step off a curb. You have to go to them. Got that?

  There are five thousand highway/rail-crossing accidents annually. To counter this problem, the Department of Transportation issued the following rules for people to follow at railroad crossings:

  • Don’t drive around lowered gates. “Okay, got it.”

  • Don’t cross in front of a train. “Never thought of that.”