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.
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. 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.
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.
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.
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?
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.
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.
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.
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.