Napalm & Silly Putty

by George Carlin

  Then they tell me to adjust my oxygen mask before helping my child with his. Well, that’s one thing I didn’t need to be told. In fact, I’m probably going to be too busy screaming to help my child at all. This will be a good time for him to learn self-reliance. If he can surf the fucking Internet, he can goddamn, jolly well learn to adjust an oxygen mask. It’s a fairly simple thing: just a little elastic band in the back. Not nearly as complicated as, say, a seat belt.

  The safety lecture continues: “In the unlikely event of a water landing…” 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 flotation 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 announcements suddenly cease. We’re about to take off. Time for me to drift off to sleep, so the captain can later awaken me repeatedly with the many valuable sight-seeing announcements he will be making along the way. I’m always amazed at the broad knowledge these men have of the United States. And some of them apparently have really good eyesight:

  “For you folks seated on the left side of the plane, that’s old Ben Hubbard’s place down there. And whaddeya know, there’s Ben comin’ out onto his porch right now. What’s he doin? By God, he’s pickin’ his nose. Wow! Look at that one! That is one prize booger. And look, he’s throwin’ it into a bush. Ain’t that just like old Ben? Over on the right…”

  Zzzzzzzz.

  AIRLINE ANNOUNCEMENTS: PART TWO

  Suddenly I’m awake. The flight is almost over, and somehow, along the way, the captain has become politicized. His latest offering:

  “Ladies and gentlemen, we have just begun our gradual descent into the Los Angeles area, similar in many ways to the gradual descent of this once great nation from a proud paragon of God-fearing virtue to a third-rate power awash in violence, sexual excess, and personal greed…”

  I drift off again and awaken just as the end-of-flight announcements are being made: “The captain has turned on the Fasten Seat Belt sign.” Here we go again. Who gives a shit who turned on the sign? What does that have to do with anything? It’s on, isn’t it? And by the way, isn’t it about time we found out who made this man a captain? Did I sleep through some sort of armed-forces swearing-in ceremony? Captain, my ass, the man is a fucking pilot, and he should be happy with that. If those sight-seeing announcements are any mark of his intelligence, the man’s lucky to be working at all.

  Having endured enough nonsense from this so-called captain, I finally raise my voice: “Tell the captain, Air Marshal Carlin says he should go fuck himself!”

  The next sentence I hear is filled with language that pisses 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! “For any personal belongings…” Well, what other kinds of belongings do they think I have? Public? Do they honestly think I brought along a fountain I stole from the park? “…you might have brought on board.” Well, I might have brought my Shoshone arrowhead collection. I didn’t. So I’m not going to look for it.

  Then they say we’ll be “landing shortly.” Doesn’t that sound like we’re going to miss the runway? “Final approach ”is not too promising either. “Final ”is not a good word to be using on an airplane. Sometimes the pilot will speak up and say, “We’ll be on the ground in fifteen minutes.” Well, that seems a little vague. “On the ground ” could mean any number of things. Most of them not very good.

  By this time we’re taxiing in, and the flight attendant is saying, “Welcome to Los Angeles International Airport…” Well, how can someone who is just arriving herself possibly welcome me to a place she hasn’t gotten to yet? Doesn’t this violate some law of physics? We’ve been on the ground barely four seconds, and she’s comin’ on like the mayor’s wife. “…where the local time…” Well, of course it’s the local time. What did they think I was expecting? The time in Norway?

  “Enjoy your stay in Los Angeles or wherever your final destination might be.” Someone should really tell these airline people that all destinations are final. That’s what destination means. Destiny. It’s final. Think of it this way: if you haven’t gotten where you’re going, you probably 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.” A complete stop. Not a partial stop. No. Because during a partial stop, I partially get up, partially get my bags, and partially leave the plane.

  “Please continue to observe the No Smoking sign until well inside the terminal.” Folks, I’ve tried this. Let me tell you it is physically impossible to observe the No Smoking sign, even from just outside the airplane, much less from well inside the terminal. In fact, you can’t even see the airplanes from well inside the terminal.

  Which brings us to “terminal.” Another unfortunate word to be using in association with air travel. And they use it all over the airport, don’t they? Somehow, I can’t get hungry at a place called the Terminal Restaurant. Then again, if you’ve ever eaten there, you know the name is quite appropriate.

  A BEDROCK-SOLID ALIBI

  Most vitamin pills don’t have names or trademarks on them; they’re just plain-looking unmarked pills. And if you’re traveling with a lot of vitamins, and in order to save space you’ve put them all in one big jar, you have no way of proving what they are. If, for instance, the police should search your suitcase, all they’re going to know is that you have a big jar of unmarked pills. And should they be in the mood to break your balls, they can hold you for twenty-four hours while they “send these little things down to the lab and see what we’ve got here.” And you wind up in jail overnight for no reason at all.

  That’s why I always travel with Flintstone vitamins. Not only do Flintstone vitamins contain all the vital nutrients kids need each day, they also keep grown-ups out of jail.

  “Honest, Officer, they’re Flintstone vitamins. Look, there’s Wilma and Barney.”

  “By God, Ben, he’s right. Look at this. It’s Dino! It’s a little purple Dino!”

  Suddenly, you’re a free man. And a healthy one, too!

  RICE KRISPIES

  I had an interesting morning; I got into an argument with my Rice Krispies. I distinctly heard, “Snap, crackle, fuck you!” I’m not sure which one of them said it; I was reaching for the artificial sweetener at the time and not looking directly into the bowl. But I heard it and I said, “Well, you can all just sit right there in the milk as far as I’m concerned until I find out which one of you said it.” Mass punishment. The idea is to turn them against one another.

  Silly me. Big punishment! That’s what Rice Krispies do. Sit in the milk. That’s their job. You’ve seen them. Delicate, beige blisters of air, floating proudly in the milk. And you can’t sink them. They refuse to sink. The navy ought to use Rice Krispies in life preservers. That’s where they’re really needed.

  And do you know how Rice Krispies manage to float for such a long time? By clinging to one another; they buddy up. They gather in little groups of eight, ten, or sometimes twelve, but if you’ve noticed, it’s always an even number. That’s because the electromagnetic polarity of the Krispies attracts them to one another. It binds them into pairs, like subatomic particles. They form little colonies, and you can’t sink them, not even with a spoon. They just come bobbing up over the sides of the spoon, laughing at you and reveling in their buoyancy. Hard to sink.

  That’s what the fruit is for. Not for added taste; not for nutrition; it’s for sinking the Rice Krispies. Believe me, a good-sized peach, hurled at the bowl full force from a stepladder, can take down eighty or ninety of t
he little buggers in one glorious splash.

  And I have absolutely no mercy. If I’m really pissed, I’ll climb up to the upstairs balcony and drop a watermelon on them. That’ll teach them to sass me at breakfast.

  THE MORNING NEWS

  London police fired warning shots over the heads of rioters today. Unfortunately, they killed six members of the royal family watching from a balcony.

  A Wisconsin woman claims that last month she was taken aboard a space ship where aliens cleaned her teeth, fitted her with a diaphragm, and gave her a Valium prescription good for three refills. She also claims that while aboard the ship she was introduced to Richard Simmons.

  A spokesman for the Vatican announced today that in Rome a statue of St. Peter has come to life and is passing along fishing tips and veal recipes.

  The California Humane Society has filed a criminal complaint against a man they say is keeping tropical fish in a moving blender. The man admits it is true but says he has never turned the blender above Mix. The Humane Society claims he’s had it up to Whip and Puree several times.

  John Barrow, a Vermont man, is suing his minister for religious malpractice. He claims the minister wrongfully included him in a prayer being said to shrink the size of another man’s brain tumor. Although the cancer patient has completely recovered, Barrow says his own head is now the size of a walnut.

  A Florida man who wrestles alligators for a living was eaten alive today when the alligator apparently did not understand the universal signal for “time-out.”

  Amtrak officials have announced that as of the first of July, all passenger service will be discontinued except for a single train that will operate only in an eastbound direction.

  Chief Justice William Rehnquist had an embarrassing moment in court last week. During an oral argument, the chief justice farted quite loudly. Recovering quickly, and displaying his vaunted wit, Rehnquist said, “One more outburst like that, and I’ll clear the court.”

  The Loch Ness monster surfaced today, and in a clear Scottish accent asked if she had any messages.

  A Kentucky man has been arrested for making an unauthorized deposit in a sperm bank.

  The U.S. Army has announced that although it is true they performed mind-destroying drug tests on hundreds of soldiers in the 1960s, none of the victims has been promoted beyond the rank of lieutenant colonel.

  An Ohio man whose library book was fourteen years overdue has taken his own life rather than pay the huge fine. Asked how such a thing could happen, his wife said, “I don’t know. We looked and looked, and simply couldn’t find it.”

  And finally, here’s one for The Guinness Book of World Records. A Baltimore man recently broke a longtime mental record when a forty-four-year-long thought he was having came to an end. When asked what he had been thinking of he said he couldn’t remember, but that it would probably come back to him. He added that quite possibly it had something to do with his hat.

  FIVE UNEASY MOMENTS

  Moment #1

  Have you ever been in one of those serious social situations when you suddenly realize you have to pull the underwear out of the crack in your ass?

  “Do you, Enrique, take this woman, Blanca, to be your lawful, wedded wife?”

  “Huh? Hold on, Rev.” [Tugging violently at his pants] “Aah! Got it! Jesus, that was in deep. Yes. Yes, I do. Excuse me, Rev, sometimes my shorts get sucked up way inside my asshole.” Ain’t love grand?

  Moment #2

  Have you ever been at a really loud party where the music is deafening, and in order to be heard you have to scream at the top of your lungs? Even if you’re talking to the person right next to you? But then often, the music stops suddenly and everyone quiets down at the same time. And only your voice can be heard, ringing across the room:

  “CHARLIE, I’M GONNA GET MY TESTICLES LAMINATED!!”

  And everyone turns to look at Charlie’s interesting friend.

  Moment #3

  Have you ever been talking to a bunch of guys, and you laugh through your nose and blow a snot on your shirt? And then you have to just keep talking and hope they’ll think it’s part of the design? It works all right if you’re wearing a Hawaiian shirt. But otherwise, they’re gonna notice.

  “Hey, Ed, check it out! Dave’s got a big snot on his shirt! Howie, look! Phil, c’mere! Dave just blew a big snot all over himself.”

  Guys are such fun.

  Moment #4

  Did you ever meet a guy, and as you’re shaking his hand you realize he doesn’t have a complete hand? It feels like something is missing? And you’re standing there holding a handful of deformed, knoblike flesh?

  It’s unnerving, isn’t it? But you can’t react; you can’t even look down at his hand. You have to make believe it feels great.

  You can’t go, “Eeeaauuu! How creepy! Where’s your other fingers?”

  You can’t say that. It’s not even an option. You have to hang in, smile big, and say, “Hey, swell hand! Gimme three! Okay! A high-three! Yo! Okay!”

  Moment #5

  Have you ever been talking to yourself when someone suddenly 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 “Fuck Her”?

  The American Bu$ine$$man’s Ten Steps to Product Development

  Can I cut corners in the design?

  Can it be shoddily built?

  Can I use cheap materials?

  Will it create hazards for my workers?

  Will it harm the environment?

  Can I evade the safety laws?

  Will children die from it?

  Can I overprice it?

  Can it be falsely advertised?

  Will it force smaller competitors out of business?

  Excellent. Let’s get busy.

  THE BOVINE FECES TRILOGY

  E Pluribus Bullshit

  Every time you’re exposed to advertising in America you’re reminded that this country’s most profitable business is still the manufacture, packaging, distribution, and marketing of bullshit. High-quality, grade-A, prime-cut, pure American bullshit.

  And the sad part is that most people seem to believe bullshit only comes from certain predictable sources: advertising, politics, salesmen, and lawyers. Not true. Bullshit is everywhere. Bullshit is rampant. Parents are full of shit, teachers are full of shit, clergymen are full of shit, and law enforcement is full of shit. This entire country is completely full of shit—and always has been. From the Declaration of Independence to the Constitution to the “Star Spangled Banner, ” it’s nothing more than one big, steaming pile of red-white-and-blue, all-American bullshit.

  Think of how it all started: America was founded by slave owners who informed us, “All men are created equal.” All “men, ” except Indians, niggers, and women. Remember, the founders were a small group of unelected, white, male, land-holding slave owners who also, by the way, suggested their class be the only one allowed to vote. To my mind, that is what’s known as being stunningly—and embarrassingly—full of shit. And everybody bought it. All Americans bought it.

  And those same Americans continue to show their ignorance with all this nonsense about wanting their politicians to be honest. What are these cretins thinking? Do they realize what they’re wishing for? If honesty were suddenly introduced into American life, everything would collapse. It would destroy this country, because our system is based on an intricate and delicately balanced system of lies.

  And I think that somehow, deep down, Americans understand this. That’s why they elected—and reelected—Bill Clinton. Because given a choice, Americans prefer their bullshit right out front, where they can get a good, strong whiff of it. Clinton may have been full of shit, but at least he let you know it. And people like that.