Napalm & Silly Putty

by George Carlin

  Idiots and Maniacs

  Okay, now we’re gonna be takin’ our little drive in just a minute or two, but first a philosophical question: Have you ever noticed that when you’re drivin’, anyone goin’ slower than you is an idiot? And anyone goin’ faster than you is a maniac?

  “Will you look at this idiot!” [points right ] “Look at him! Just creepin’ along!” [swings head left] “Holy shit!! Look at that maniac go!”

  Why, I tell ya, folks, it’s a wonder we ever get anywhere at all these days, what with all the idiots and maniacs out there. Because no one ever drives at my speed.

  Actually, I don’t let people drive at my speed. If I see some guy in the next lane keepin’ pace with me, I slow down. I let that asshole get a little bit ahead, so I can keep an eye on him. I like to know who I’m drivin’ near. In fact, quite often at a red light I’ll ask for personal references. You can never be too careful.

  Getting Started

  Okay. Now, a few basic points about driving. One of the first things they teach you in Driver’s Ed is where to put your hands on the steering wheel. They tell you put ’em at ten o’clock and two o’clock. Never mind that. I put mine at 9:45 and 2:17. Gives me an extra half hour to get where I’m goin’.

  Some Things Break Easy

  Now, most drivers know that some things that happen in the car can cause great embarrassment. I’ve never done any of these things myself, of course, but I’m sure you’ll recognize a few of them. Here’s a good example: you ever been driving someone else’s car, and for some reason they’re in the car, too? You know what I mean? Let’s say they got pushed off the balcony of a crack house and broke both their ankles, and they can’t drive, so you’re takin’ them out to buy some crack? You’re drivin’ their car? But you’re used to driving your car. And their gear shift handle is mounted on the opposite side from where yours is, and suddenly you go to shift gears and [CRACK!] break their fuckin’ turn signal off! Just break it clean off the steering column!

  “Holy shit, came right off, didn’t it? God damn! You’ll have to get a new one of them! Here, throw this old one out the window! It ain’t no good to ya now. Shit, that broke easy, didn’t it?”

  Some things break easy. Just break right off. Like radio dials. The old kind, the knob kind. Damn, those things were fragile. You’d be drivin’ along just tryin’ to tune in somethin’ on the radio. Tryin’ to find some kinda music you could actually tolerate. And you’d just keep turnin’ and turnin’ and turnin’ that dial, until finally you got way over onto the right-hand side of the dashboard and ran clean outta radio stations, and then …CRACK!!!

  “Holy shit, came right off, didn’t it? God damn! Gotta throw that mother away! Gimme a fresh one outta that little bag, would ya? I got about fifty of those motherfuckers. Damn, they break easy!”

  So you stick a new knob onto the radio and keep turnin’ and turnin’ and turnin’, until finally you wind up past the glove compartment listenin’ to some radio station located over near the right-hand mirror. Damn. Some things break easy.

  It’s Your Car, Have a Little Fun!

  I’m a great believer in using every piece of equipment on the car. Every feature, every option, even if you don’t need it. Fuck it, you paid for the car, use everything!

  Use the sun visor. Even on a cloudy day. Flip it up, flip it down; flip it over to the side like the French people do. Lower the passenger’s visor, even if no one is sitting there. Open the ashtray, push in the lighter; who cares if you don’t smoke? Turn all the knobs, press all the buttons. Have a lot of fun. Change the mirrors all around. Press the trunk release. Pop the hood open. Put your seat in a ridiculous position. Lower all the windows. Stick out your hand. Tell the other drivers to slow down. You have power. Use hand signals. Tell them to slow down. And then tell them to stop.

  “Stop! Stop!”

  Then let one guy go. Only one.

  “Okay, you can go. Go! Go! Go! No, not you! Just him! Okay, now you! Go! Go!”

  You have power. Use it. Fuck it. You’re makin’ the car payments, have a little fun.

  EAT A BOX OF COOKIES

  Did you ever eat a whole box of cookies right in a row? Did you ever do that? I don’t mean take them into your bedroom or something. I mean open them right up in the kitchen as soon as you get home from the store and eat ’em while you’re standing there? Just stare at the toaster while you’re eatin’ a whole goddamn box of cookies? Did you ever do that? Isn’t it great?

  And did you ever notice that printed right on the cookie box it says, “Open here”? Well, what did they think I was gonna do? Move to Hong Kong to open up their fuckin’ cookies? Of course I’m gonna open ’em here. I’m gonna eat ’em here, I’d almost have to open ’em here. Thank God it doesn’t say, “Open somewhere else.” I’d be up all night tryin’ to figure out an appropriate location.

  SHORT TAKES

  Ah, to be a bird. To fly the skies, sing my song, and best of all occasionally peck someone’s eyes out.

  When he got loaded, the human cannonball knew there were not many men of his caliber.

  I don’t like porno movies. They piss me off. First they show a great-looking naked woman who starts playing with herself. And while I’m watching, she sort of becomes my girlfriend. And then, suddenly, in walks a guy with a big dick, and he starts fucking my girlfriend. It pisses me off.

  Most people with low self-esteem have earned it.

  Haven’t we gone far enough with colored ribbons for different causes? Every cause has its own color. Red for AIDS, blue for child abuse, pink for breast cancer, green for the rain forest. I’ve got a brown one. You know what it means? “Eat shit, motherfucker!”

  I enjoy young people because they’re really fucked up and don’t know what they’re doing. I like that. I support all fucked-up people regardless of age.

  In that book Tuesdays with Morrie, Morrie Schwartz had Lou Gehrig’s disease. But what isn’t generally known is that because of a mix-up at the hospital, Lou Gehrig had Hodgkin’s disease, Hodgkin had Parkinson’s disease, and Parkinson had Alzheimer’s disease. Unfortunately, Alzheimer couldn’t remember whose disease he had. He thinks it might have been Wally Pipp.

  Whenever you see more than two men sitting in a parked car after dark you can be sure drugs are involved.

  You know what we haven’t had in quite a while? A really big fire in a crowded nightclub. What’s going on?

  When I die I don’t want to be buried, but I don’t want to be cremated either. I want to be blown up. Put me on a pile of explosives and blow me up. Or throw my body from a helicopter. That would be fun. One stipulation: wherever I land, you have to leave me there. Even if it’s the mayor’s lawn. Just let me lie there. But keep the dogs away.

  Isn’t it nice that once your parents are dead they can’t come back and start fucking with you again?

  The trouble with a sitcom is that every week it’s the same irritating group of assholes.

  People who say they don’t care what people think are usually desperate to have people think they don’t care what people think.

  I never see any black twins. What’s the deal here?

  You know what would be great? To be in a coma. You’re still alive, but you have no responsibilities.

  “He owes me six thousand dollars.”

  “He’s in a coma.”

  “Oh, okay. Never mind.”

  If I had my choice of how to die I would like to be sitting on the crosstown bus and suddenly burst into flames.

  Have you noticed fluorescent lights seem afraid to come on? When you turn on a fluorescent light it flickers and hesitates and is sort of unsure of itself. Then after several seconds it seems to gain confidence and light up at full strength. What’s that all about? Cain’t these lamps receive some sort of counseling?

  You know what would be fun? To fuck a grief-stricken woman.

  THE CHRISTIANS ARE COMING TO GET YOU, AND THEY ARE NOT PLEASANT PEOPLE.

  I recently bought a
book of free verse. For twelve dollars.

  One of my favorite things to do at a party is smoke a bunch of PCP and start taking people’s rectal temperatures without permission.

  If the police never find it, is it still a clue?

  You know an odd feeling? Sitting on the toilet eating a chocolate candy bar.

  Have you ever started a path? No one seems willing to do this. We don’t mind using existing paths, but we rarely start new ones. Do it today. Start a path. Even if it doesn’t lead anywhere.

  You can’t argue with a good blow job.

  True Fact: There is now an “interactive food” called SNOT—Super Nauseating Obnoxious Treat. It squirts out of a plastic dispenser that looks like a man’s nose. God bless America.

  I’ve thought it over, and I’ve decided pus is okay.

  Every sixty seconds, thirty acres of rain forest are destroyed in order to raise beef for fast-food restaurants that sell it to people, giving them strokes and heart attacks, which raise medical costs and insurance rates, providing insurance companies with more money to invest in large corporations that branch out further into the Third World so they can destroy more rain forests.

  When I was a kid, if a guy got killed in a western movie I always wondered who got his horse.

  I have no sympathy for “single dads.” Most of these guys got married because they wanted steady pussy. Well, steady pussy leads to steady babies, and steady babies tend to cut down the pussy. So, once the novelty wears off, the marriage disappears. Single dads. Big fuckin’ deal.

  AIRLINE ANNOUNCEMENTS: PART ONE

  Here’s something we all have in common: flying on big airplanes and listening to the announcements. And trying to pretend the language they’re using is English. Doesn’t always sound like it to me.

  Preflight

  It starts at the gate: “We’d like to begin the boarding process.” Extra word. “Process.” Not necessary. Boarding is sufficient. “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 group of people getting on an airplane.

  To begin their boarding process, the airline announces they will preboard certain passengers. And I wonder, How can that be? How can people board before they board? This I gotta see. But before anything interesting can happen I’m told to get on the plane. “Sir, you can get on the plane now.” And I think for a moment. “On the plane? No, my friends, not me. I’m not getting on the plane; I’m getting in the plane! Let Evel Knievel get on the plane, I’ll be sitting inside in one of those little chairs. It seems less windy in there.”

  Then they mention that it’s a nonstop flight. Well, I must say I don’t care for that sort of thing. Call me old-fashioned, but I insist that my flight stop. Preferably at an airport. Somehow those sudden cornfield stops interfere with the flow of my day. And just about at this point, they tell me the flight has been delayed because of a change of equipment. And deep down I’m thinking, “broken plane!”

  Speaking of potential mishaps, here’s a phrase that apparently the airlines simply made up: near miss. They say that if two planes almost collide it’s a near miss. Bullshit, my friend. It’s a near hit! A collision is a near miss.

  [WHAM! CRUNCH!]

  “Look, they nearly missed!”

  “Yes, but not quite.”

  Back to the flight: As part of all the continuing folderol, I’m asked to put my seat-back forward. Well, unfortunately for the others in the cabin, I don’t bend that way. If I could put my seat-back forward I’d be in porno movies.

  There’s also a mention of carry-on luggage. The first time I heard this term I thought they said “carrion, ” and that they were bringing a dead deer on board. And I wondered, “What the hell would they want with that? Don’t they have those little TV dinners anymore?” And then I thought, Carry on? “Carry on!” Of course! People are going to be carrying on! It’s a party! Well, I don’t much care for that. Personally, I prefer a serious attitude on the plane.

  Especially on the flight deck, which is the latest euphemism for cockpit. I can’t imagine why they’d want to avoid a colorful word like “cockpit, ” can you? Especially with all those lovely stewardesses going in and out of it all the time.

  By the way, there’s a word that’s changed: stewardess. First it was hostess, then stewardess, now it’s “flight attendant.” You know what I call her? “The lady on the plane.” These days, sometimes it’s a man on the plane. That’s good. Equality. I’m all in favor of that.

  The flight attendants are also sometimes referred to as uniformed crew members. Oh, good. Uniformed. As opposed to this guy next to me in the Grateful Dead T-shirt and the FUCK YOU hat, who’s currently working on his ninth little bottle of Kahlúa.

  Safety First. Mine!

  As soon as they close the door to the aircraft they begin the safety lecture. I love the safety lecture. It’s my favorite part of the flight. I listen very carefully. Especially to the part where they teach us how to use the seat belt. Imagine that: a plane full of grown humans—many of them partially educated—and someone is actually taking the time to describe the intricate workings of a belt buckle. “Place the small metal flap into the buckle.” Well, at that point I raise my hand and ask for clarification.

  “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 did you say ‘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 your wonderful safety lecture.” Seat belt. High-tech shit!

  The lecture continues. The next thing they advise me to do is locate my nearest emergency exit. Well, I do so immediately. I locate my nearest emergency exit, and I plan my escape route. You have to plan your escape route. It’s not always a straight line, is it? No. Sometimes there’s a really big, fat fuck sitting right in front of you.

  Well, I know I’ll never be able to climb over him, so I look around for women and children, midgets and dwarfs, cripples, elderly widows, paralyzed veterans, and people with broken legs. Anyone who looks like they don’t move too well. The emotionally disturbed come in very handy at a time like this. It’s true I may have to go out of my way to find some of these people, but I’ll get out of the plane a whole lot quicker, believe you me.

  My strategy is clear: I’ll go around the fat fuck, step on the widow’s head, push those children aside, knock down the paralyzed midget, and escape from the plane. In order, of course, to assist the other passengers who are still trapped inside the burning wreckage. After all, I can be of no help to anyone if I’m lying in the aisle, unconscious, with some big cocksucker standing on my neck. I must get out of the plane, make my way 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, no problem there. I always breathe normally when I’m in an uncontrolled, 600-mile-an-hour vertical dive. I also shit normally. Directly into my pants.