Thank you... So let me ask you something. Let me ask you how’s everybody doing tonight huh? Good well fuck you! Just trying to make you feel at home. Now listen... I’ve been out here all this time and I haven’t been complaining about anything yet so I think it’s time to go into the complaint department. This is just a series of things that are pissing me off. Okay? A series of things that are pissing me off cause I don’t have pet peeves, I have major psychotic fucking hatreds. Okay? And it makes the world a lot easier to sort out. First thing on my list tonight... airport security. Tired of this shit. There’s too much of it; there’s too much security at the airport. I’m tired of some guy with a double digit IQ and a triple digit income rooting around inside of my bag for no reason and never finding anything! Haven’t found anything yet! Haven’t found one bomb in one bag! And don’t tell me “well, the terrorists know their bags are gonna be searched so now they’re leaving their bombs at home.” There are no bombs. The whole thing is fucking pointless! And it’s completely without logic! There’s no logic at all! They’ll take away a gun, but let you keep a knife! Well what the fuck is that? In fact, there’s a whole list of lethal objects they will allow you to take on board. Theoretically, you could take... a knife, an ice pick, a hatchet, a straight razor, a pair of scissors, a chainsaw, 6 knitting needles, and a broken whiskey bottle, and the only thing they’re gonna say to you is “that bag has to fit all the way under the seat in front of you.” And if you didn’t take the weapon on board, relax; after you’ve been flying for about an hour, they’re gonna bring you a knife and fork. They actually give you a fucking knife! It’s only a table knife but you could kill a pilot with a table knife. It might take you a couple of minutes you know... especially if he’s hefty huh? Yeah but you could get the job done, if you really wanted to kill the prick. Shit, there’s a lot of things you could use to kill a guy with; you could probably beat a guy to death with the Sunday New York Times couldn’t you? Or suppose you just have really big hands. Couldn’t you strangle a flight attendant? Shit, you could probably strangle two of them; one with each hand... you know, if you are lucky enough to catch them in that little kitchen area... before they give out the fucking peanuts you know? But you could get the job done... if you really cared enough. So why is it they allow a man with big powerful hands get onboard an airplane? I’ll tell you why. They know he’s not a security risk because he’s already answered the three big questions. Question number 1: “Did you pack your bags yourself?” ... ... No. Carrot Top packed my bags. He and Martha Stewart and Florence Henderson came over to the house last night, fixed me a lovely Lobster Newburg, gave me a full body massage with sacred oils from India, performed a four-way around the world, and then they packed my bags. Next question! “Have your bags been in your possession the whole time?” No. Usually, the night before I travel, just as the moon is rising, I place my suitcases out on the street corner and leave them there unattended for several hours... just for good luck. Next question! “Has any unknown person asked you to take anything on board?” Hmm... well what exactly is an “unknown person”? Surely, everyone is known to someone. In fact, just this morning, Karim and Yusef Ali Bangaba seemed to know each other quite well. They kept joking about which one of my suitcases was the heaviest. And that’s another thing they don’t like at the airport... jokes. You know? Yeah, you can’t joke about a bomb. But why is it just jokes? What about a riddle? How about a limerick? How about a bomb anecdote? You know... no punch line, just a really cute story. Or suppose you intended to remark, not as a joke, but as an ironic musing, are they prepared to make that distinction? Why I think not. And besides, who’s to say what’s funny? Airport security is a stupid idea, it’s a waste of money, and it’s only there for one reason, to make white people feel safe. That’s all. The illusion, the feeling and illusion of safety cause the authorities know they can’t make an airplane completely safe; too many people have access. You notice the drug smugglers don’t seem to have a lot of trouble getting their little packages on board, do they? No and God bless them too! Oh and by the way, an airplane flight shouldn’t be completely safe. You need a little danger in your life. Take a fucking chance once in a while will you? What are you gonna do? Play with your prick for another 30 years? What, are you gonna read People’s Magazine and eat at Wendy’s till the end of time? Take a fucking chance! Besides, even if they made all of the airplanes completely safe, the terrorists would simply start bombing other places that are crowded; porn shops, crack houses, titty bars, and gangbangs. You know? Entertainment venues. The odds of you being killed by a terrorist are practically zero! So I say relax and enjoy the show. You have to be a realist; you have to be realistic about terrorism. Certain groups of people... certain groups – Muslim fundamentalists, Christian fundamentalists, Jewish fundamentalists, and just plain guys from Montana – are gonna continue to make life in this country very interesting for a long, long time. That’s the reality; angry men in combat fatigues talking to God on a two-way radio and muttering incoherent slogans about freedom are eventually going to provide us with a great deal of entertainment, especially after your stupid fucking economy collapses all around you and the terrorists come out of the woodwork and you’ll have anthrax in your water supply, and saran gas in your air conditioner, there’ll be chemical and biological suitcase bombs in every city and I say “enjoy it, relax, enjoy the show, take a fucking chance, put a little fun in your life.” To me, terrorism is exciting, it’s exciting. I think the very idea that you could set off a bomb in a marketplace and kill several hundred people is exciting and stimulating and I see it as a form of entertainment! Entertainment... that’s all it is. Yeah... but I also know that most Americans are soft and frightened and unimaginative and they don’t realize there’s such a thing as dangerous fun. And they certainly don’t recognize a good show when they see one! I have always been willing to put myself at great personal risk for the sake of entertainment and I’ve always been willing to put you at great personal risk for the same reason. As far as I’m concerned, all of this airport security, all the searches, the screenings, the cameras, the questions, it’s just one more way of reducing your liberty, and reminding you that they can fuck with you anytime they want... as long as you put up with it... as long as you put up with it; which means of course anytime they want, cause that’s what Americans do now, they’re always willing to trade away a little of their freedom in exchange for the feeling, the illusion of security. What we have now is a completely neurotic population obsessed with security and safety and crime and drugs and cleanliness and hygiene and germs... there’s another thing... germs. Where did this sudden fear of germs come from in this country? Have you noticed this? The media, constantly running stories about all the latest infections – salmonella, e-coli, hanta virus, bird flu – and Americans, they panic easily so now everybody’s running around, scrubbing this and spraying that and overcooking their food and repeatedly washing their hands, trying to avoid all contact with germs. It’s ridiculous and it goes to ridiculous lengths. In prisons, before they give you a lethal injection, they swab your arm with alcohol! It’s true! Yeah! Well, they don’t want you to get an infection! And you could see their point; wouldn’t want some guy to go to hell and be sick! It would take a lot of the sportsmanship out of the whole execution. Fear of germs... why these fucking pussies! You can’t even get a decent hamburger anymore! They cook the shit out of everything now cause everybody’s afraid of food poisoning! Hey, where’s your sense of adventure? Take a fucking chance will you? You know how many people die in this country from food poisoning every year? 9000... that’s all; it’s a minor risk! Take a fucking chance... bunch of goddamn pussies! Besides, what do you think you have an immune system for? It’s for killing germs! But it needs practice... it needs germs to practice on. So listen! If you kill all the germs around you, and live a completely sterile life, then when germs do come along, you’re not gonna be prepared. And never mind ordinary germs, what are you gonna do when some super virus comes along that turns your vital organs into liquid shit? I’ll tell you what you’re gonna do... you’re gonna get sick, you’re gonna die, and you’re gonna deserve it cause you’re fucking weak and you got a fucking weak immune system! Let me tell you a true story about immunization okay? When I was a little boy in New York City in the 1940s, we swam in the Hudson River and it was filled with raw sewage okay? We swam in raw sewage! You know... to cool off! And at that time, the big fear was polio; thousands of kids died from polio every year but you know something? In my neighbourhood, no one ever got polio! No one! Ever! You know why? Cause we swam in raw sewage! It strengthened our immune systems! The polio never had a prayer; we were tempered in raw shit! So personally, I never take any special precautions against germs. I don’t shy away from people that sneeze and cough, I don’t wipe off the telephone, I don’t cover the toilet seat, and if I drop food on the floor, I pick it up and eat it! Yes I do. Even if I’m at a sidewalk café! In Calcutta! The poor section! On New Year’s morning during a soccer riot! And you know something? In spite of all that so-called risky behaviour, I never get infections, I don’t get them, I don’t get colds, I don’t get flu, I don’t get headaches, I don’t get upset stomach, you know why? Cause I got a good strong immune system and it gets a lot of practice. My immune system is equipped with the biological equivalent of fully automatic military assault rifles with night vision and laser scopes, and we have recently acquired phosphorous grenades, cluster bombs, and anti-personnel fragmentation mines. So when my white blood cells are on patrol recon ordering my blood stream seeking out strangers and other undesirables, if they see any, ANY suspicious looking germs of any kind, they don’t fuck around! They whip out their weapons; they wax the motherfucker and deposit the unlucky fellow directly into my colon! Into my colon! There’s no nonsense, there’s no Miranda warning, there’s none of that “three strikes and you’re out” shit, first defense, BAM... into the colon you go! And speaking of my colon, I want you to know I don’t automatically wash my hands every time I go to the bathroom okay? Can you deal with that? Sometimes I do, sometimes I don’t. You know when I wash my hands? When I shit on them! That’s the only time. And you know how often that happens? Tops, TOPS, 2-3 times a week tops! Maybe a little more frequently over the holidays, you know what I mean? And I’ll tell you something else my well-scrubbed friends... you don’t need to always need to shower every day, did you know that? It’s overkill, unless you work out or work outdoors, or for some reason come in intimate contact with huge amounts of filth and garbage every day, you don’t always need to shower. All you really need to do is to wash the four key areas; armpits, asshole, crotch, and teeth. Got that? Armpits, asshole, crotch, and teeth. In fact, you can save yourself a whole lot of time if you simply use the same brush on all four areas! Now listen... I got a few more items of things that are pissing me off, and this one comes in the form of a question. Haven’t we had about enough of this cigar-smoking shit in this country? Huh? Huh? When is this gonna end? When is this shit gonna go away? When are these fat, arrogant, overpaid, overfed, overprivileged, overindulged, white-collared, business-criminal, asshole cocksuckers gonna put out their cigars and move along to their next abomination... white pussy businessmen sucking on a big brown dick? That’s all it is. That’s all it ever was... a big brown dick! Sigmund Freud said “sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.” Oh yeah? Well sometimes it’s a big brown dick... with a fat, arrogant, white-collared, business-criminal asshole sucking on the wet end of it! But hey, hey, the news is not all bad for me, not all bad; you wanna know the good part? Cancer of the mouth. Good! Fuck ‘em! Makes me happy; it’s an attractive disease... goes nice with a cell phone! So light up suspender man, and suck that smoke deep down into your empty suit and blow it out your ass you fucking cocksucker! Here’s another question I’ve been pondering... what is all this shit about angels? Have you heard this? Yeah... 3 out of 4 people now believe in angels. What are you fucking stupid? Has everybody lost their fucking mind in this country? Angels... shit! You know what I think it is? I think it’s a massive, collective, psychotic, chemical flashback of all the drugs, ALL the drugs smoked, swallowed, snorted, shot, and absorbed rectally by all Americans from 1960 to 1990; 30 years of adulterated street drugs will get you some fucking angels my friend! Angels... shit! What about goblins huh? Doesn’t anybody believe in goblins? Never hear about them except on Halloween and it’s always negative shit too you know? And zombies... where the fuck are all the zombies? That’s the trouble with zombies; they’re unreliable. I say if you’re gonna buy the angel shit you might as well go for the zombie package as well. Here’s another horrifying example, an aspect of American culture, the-the pussification, the continued... the continued pussification of the American male in the form of Harley Davidson theme restaurants. What the fuck is going on here? Harley Davidson used to mean something. It stood for biker attitude; grimy outlaws in their sweaty mamas full of beer and crank, rolling around on Harleys, looking for a good time – destroying property, raping teenagers, and killing policemen... all very necessary activities by the way. But now? Theme restaurants and this soft shit obviously didn’t come from hardcore bikers; it came from these weekend motorcyclists, these fraudulent two-day-a-week motherfuckers who have their bikes trucked into Sturgis, South Dakota for the big rally and then ride around like they just came in off the road. Dentists and bureaucrats and pussy-boy software designers getting up on a Harley cause they think it makes them cool. Well hey skeezics, you ain’t cool, you’re fucking chilli and chilli ain’t never been cool. And here... as long as we’re talking about theme restaurants, I got a proposition for you. I think if white people are gonna burn down black churches, then black people ought to burn down the House of Blues! Huh? What a fucking disgrace that place is! The House of Blues... they ought to call it the House of Lame White Motherfuckers; inauthentic, low frequency, single-digit, lame, white motherfuckers... especially these male movie stars who think they’re blues artists. You ever see these guys? Don’t you just wanna puke in your soup when one of these fat, balding, overweight, overaged, out of shape, middle aged, male movie stars with sunglasses jumps onstage and starts blowing into a harmonica? It’s a fucking sacrilege! In the first place, white people got no business playing the blues ever at all under any circumstances ever, ever, ever! What the fuck do white people have to be blue about? Banana Republic ran out of khakis? Huh? The espresso machine is jammed? Hootie and the Blowfish are breaking up? Shit, white people ought to understand their job is to give people the blues, not to get them... and certainly not to sing or play them. Tell you a little secret about the blues; it’s not enough to know which notes to play, you gotta know why they need to be played, and another thing... I don’t think white people should be trying to dance like blacks. Stop that! Stick to your faggoty polkas and waltzes and that repulsive country line-dancing shit that you do and be yourself, be proud, be white, be lame, and get the fuck off the dance floor! Now listen, long as we’re discussing minorities, I’d like to mention something about language. There are a couple of terms being used a lot these days by guilty white liberals. First one is “happens to be”... “He happens to be black. I have a friend who happens to be black.” Like it’s a fucking accident you know? Happens to be black? “Yes, he happens to be black.” Ah, yeah, yeah, yeah, he had two black parents? “Oh yes, yes he did. Yes, that’s right.” Right, and they fucked? “Oh indeed they did... indeed they did.” So where does the surprise part come in? I should think it would be more unusual if he just happened to be Scandinavian! And the other term is “openly.” “Openly gay.” They say “he’s openly gay.” But that’s the only minority they use that for. You know, you wouldn’t say someone was “openly black.” ... well maybe James Brown... or Louis Farrakhan; Louis Farrakhan is openly black. Colin Powell is not openly black, Colin Powell is openly white; he just happens to be black. And while we’re at it, when did the word “urban” become synonymous with the word “black”? Did I fall asleep for 8 or 9 years? Urban styles, urban trends, urban music, I was not consulted on this at all, didn’t get an email, didn’t get a fax, didn’t get a fucking postcard, fine, let them go and I don’t think white women should be calling each other “girlfriend” okay? Stop pretending to be black! And no matter what color you are, “you go, girl” should probably go! Right along with “you da man” “Hey, you da man!” Oh yeah? Well you da fucking honky! Now, something a little more positive for you, don’t want you to think the whole show is just negativity. This is about a festival. This is my idea for one of those big outdoor summer festivals. This is called “slug-fest.” This is for men only. Here’s what you do... you get about 100,000 of these fucking men; you know the ones I mean, these macho motherfuckers, yeah, these strutting, preening, posturing, hairy, sweaty, alpha-male jackoffs... the muscle assholes. You take about 100,000 of these disgusting pricks and you throw them in a big dirt arena, big 25-acre dirt arena and you just let them beat the shit out of each other for 24 hours nonstop, no food, no water, just whiskey and PCP! And you just let them punch and pound and kick the shit out of each other until only one guy is left standing, then you take that guy and you put him on a pedestal and you shoot him in the fucking head! Yeah. Then you put the whole thing on TV. Budweiser would jump at that shit in half a minute... and guys would volunteer, guys would line up, all you gotta do is promise them a small appliance of some kind. Men will do anything, just give them something that plugs in the wall and makes a whirring noise. Here’s another male cliché... these guys that cut the sleeves off of their t-shirts so the rest of us can have an even more compelling experience of smelling their armpits. I say “Hey Bruno, shut it down would you please? You smell like an anchovy’s cunt okay? Ughh... not good... ugh... ugh... whoa... not good Bruno, and definitely not for sharing.” This is the same kind of guy that has that barbed wire tattoo that goes all the way around the bicep. You’ve seen that haven’t you? That’s just what I need; some guy who hasn’t been laid since the bicentennial wants me to think he’s a “baaad motherfucka” because he’s got a picture... aha ha... a painting of some barbed wire on his- I say “hey junior, come around when you have the real thing on there, I’ll squeeze that shit on good and tight for ya okay?” No kidding, no kidding, this is the same kind of guy, that if you smashed him in the face 8 or 9 times with a big chunk of concrete, and then beat him over the head with a steel rod for an hour and a half, you know what? <click> He dropped like a fucking rock. Like a rock. Here’s another guy thing that sucks... these t-shirts that say “Lead, follow, or get out of the way!” You ever see that? This is more of that stupid Marine Corps bullshit; obsolete, male impulses from 100,000 years ago. “Lead, follow, or get out of the way!” You know what I do when I see that shirt? I obstruct! I stand right in the guy’s path, force him to walk around me, gets a little past me, I spin him around, kick him in the nuts, rip off the shirt, wipe it on my ass, and shove it down his fucking throat! That’s what I do when I see that shirt. Yeah. Hey listen, that’s all these marines are looking for... a good time. And speaking of tough guys, I’m getting a little tired of hearing that after 6 policemen get arrested for shoving a floor lamp up some black guy’s ass and ripping his intestines out, the police department announces they’re gonna have sensitivity training. I say “hey, if you need special training to be told not to jam a large cumbersome object up someone else’s asshole, maybe you’re too fucked up to be on the police force in the first place huh?” Maybe, maybe not, I don’t know, listen... you know what they ought to do? They ought to have two new requirements for being on the police; intelligence and decency! You never can tell, it might just work; it certainly hasn’t been tried yet. No one should ever have any object placed inside their asshole that is larger than a fist and less loving than a dildo okay? Now, this next thing is about our president. This is about our president. Bill Jeff, Bill Jeff, Bill Jeff, Clinton... I don’t call him “Clinton”, I call him “Clit-tin”... “Clit-tin... C-L-I-T... T-I-N apostrophe!” His big deal was JFK, isn’t that right? Loved JFK, wanted to emulate JFK in every way. Well, JFK’s administration was called “Camelot”... well, it really should’ve been called “Come-a-lot” cause that’s what he did, he came a lot! So Clinton’s looking for a legacy, that’s what he should call- well maybe, “Come-a-little” would be better for him cause he came a little, you know... little on the dress, little on the desk, not a whole lot, really. Hey, he was no match, no match for Kennedy in the pussy department. Kennedy aimed high; Marilyn Monroe. Clinton showed his dick to a government clerk. There’s a drop-off here. There’s a drop-off.
Something else I’m getting tired of... there’s all this stupid bullshit that we have to listen to all the time about children. It’s all you hear in this country... children, “help the children!” “what about the children?” “save the children!” You know what I say? Fuck the children! Fuck ‘em! They’re getting entirely too much attention! And I know what you’re thinking, you say “Jesus, he’s not gonna attack children is he?” Yes he is! He’s going to attack children! And remember, this is Mr. Conductor talking; I know what I’m talking about! I also know all you single dads and soccer moms who think you’re such fucking heroes aren’t gonna like this, but somebody’s gotta tell you for your own good, your children are overrated and overvalued. You’ve turned them into little cult objects, you have a child fetish, and it’s not healthy! Don’t give me that weak shit “well, I love my children!” Fuck you! Everybody loves their children, doesn’t make you special. John Wayne Gacy loved his children... kept them all right out on the yard near the garage. That’s not what I’m talking about. What I’m talking about is this constant mindless yammering in the media, this neurotic fixation that somehow, everything, EVERYTHING has to be revolved around children. It’s completely out of balance.
Listen, there are a couple of things about kids that you have to remember. First of all, they’re not all cute! Okay? In fact, if you look at them close, some of them are rather unpleasant-looking. And a lot of them don’t smell too good either; the little ones in particular seem to have a kind of urine and sour milk combination or something. Stay with me on this, the sooner you face it, the better off you’re gonna be. Second premise, not all children are smart and clever. Got that? Kids are like any other group of people; a few winners, a whole lot of losers! There are a lot of loser kids out there who simply aren’t going anywhere and you can’t save them all, you can’t save them all, you gotta let them go, you gotta cut them loose, you gotta stop overprotecting them cause you’re making them too soft. Today’s kids are way too soft. For one thing, there’s too much emphasis on safety; child-proof medicine bottles and fireproof pyjamas, child restraints in car seats, and HELMETS! Bicycle, skateboard, baseball helmets! Kids have to wear helmets now for everything but jerking off! Grown-ups have taken all the fun out of being a kid just to save a few thousand lives. It’s pathetic! It’s pathetic! What’s happening is- what’s happening, you know what it is? These baby-boomers, these soft, fruity baby-boomers are raising an entire generation of soft, fruity kids who aren’t even allowed to have hazardous toys for Christ’s sakes! Hazardous toys, shit, whatever happened to natural selection? Survival of the fittest? The kid who swallows too many marbles doesn’t grow up to have kids of his own! Simple as that! Simple! Nature! Nature knows best. We’re saving entirely too many lives in this country of all ages. Nature should be allowed to do its job of killing off the weak and sickly and ignorant people without interference from airbags and batting helmets! Just think of it as passive eugenics okay?
Now here’s another example of overprotection. Did you ever notice on the TV news every time some guy with an AK-47 strolls onto a school yard and kills 3 or 4 kids and a couple of teachers, the next day, the next day, the school is overrun with counsellors and psychiatrists and grief counsellors and trauma therapists trying to help the children cope? Shit! When I was in school, someone came to our school and killed 3 or 4 of us; we went right on with our arithmetic! “35 classmates minus 4 equals 31.” We were tough... we were tough. I say if kids can handle the violence at home, they ought to be able to handle the violence in school. I’m not worried about guns in school. You know what I’m waiting for? Guns in church. That’s gonna be a lot of fun and it’ll happen, you watch, some nut will go fucking ape-shit in a church and they’ll refer to him as a “disgruntled worshipper.”
Here’s another bunch of ignorant shit... school uniforms. Bad theory; the idea that if kids wear uniforms to school, it helps keep order. Don’t these schools do enough damage making all these kids think alike? Now they’re gonna get them to look alike too? And it’s not a new idea; I first saw it in old newsreels from the 1930s, but it was hard to understand cause the narration was in German!
One more item about children and that is the superstitious nonsense that blames tobacco companies for kids who smoke. Listen, kids don’t smoke because a camel in sunglasses tells them to, they smoke for the same reasons adults do because it relieves anxiety and depression. And you’d be anxious and depressed too if you had to put up with these pathetic, insecure, striving, anal, yuppy parents who enrol you in college before you’re old enough to know which side of the playpen smells the worst! And then they fill you full of riddle and then drag you all over town in search of meaningless structure; little league, club scouts, swimming, soccer, karate, piano, bagpipes, water colors, witchcraft, glass blowing, and dildo practice. They even have play dates for Christ’s sakes; playing is now done by appointment! Whatever happened to “you show me your wee-wee and I’ll show you mine?” Hey, no wonder kids smoke; it helps... not as much as weed but hey, you can’t have everything. You know it’s true; parents are burning these kids out on structure. I think every day; all children should have three hours of daydreaming. Just daydreaming – you could use a little of it yourself by the way – just sit at the window, stare at the clouds, it’s good for you. If you wanna know how you can help your children, leave them the fuck alone!
Now, a little change of pace, a little change of intensity. I want you to know what’s on television tonight on the other channels, always like people to know what it is they’re missing by listening to my shit. First of all, on the Playboy channel, on the Playboy channel, yeah, tonight, they have one of those new reality shows where the people at home send in their own tapes; it’s called “Home Videos of Bad Fucking”. And speaking of that delightful activity, I guess you know last week, Ricky Lake had a special program, “Women Who Fake Orgasms”, so tonight, not to be outdone, Jerry Springer has a night time special, “Men Who Fake Bowel Movements”. Yeah, I think they’re running out of topics on those shows too. Sally Jesse’s next show is “Rapists Who Force Their Victims to Play ‘Yatzee’ Beforehand”. Getting a little strange on daytime TV. Then, later on tonight on the Nostalgia channel, they’re gonna play back to back two of my favourite episodes of “Little House on the Prairie”, first of all, the 1975 Christmas show “A Douchebag for Clara”. Wasn’t that good? Aw... and it was sad toward the end when she cried cause she stuck it in the wrong hole! But as they say in the U.S. Navy, “there is no wrong hole”. And then, right after that, they’re gonna play my favourite “Little House on the Prairie” of all time, “Missy Takes a Big Dump in the Woods”. And that was interesting, I thought, cause she had on the high heels and the long dress, and it was fun to watch how she had to maneuver through the poison sumac, and they didn’t have toilet paper in those days, she had to use a series of pinecones, and she was pulling them in the wrong direction! Yes, I understand toward the end of the show, they had to bleep out a lot of screaming and foul language. And then hey, hey, later on tonight on the Pay-Per-View, on Pay-Per-View, Willie Nelson, Willie Nelson’s concert is on and TV guide-listed all the songs he’s gonna sing; he’s gonna start out with one of my favourites, “Too Drunk to Jerk Off”. Isn’t that a good one? God I love that song! Then he’s gonna do a series of love songs, “Kiss Me, I’m Coming”. Aw that’s a good one. “Kiss me, I’m coming. Oh now, I’m humming, mmmmmm” Well I can’t help it, I am a romantic and I do enjoy the sentimental tunes. Here’s a sad song “I Should’ve Fucked Oh ‘Whatshername’”. Remember that? “I should’ve never played the game, I should’ve fucked oh ‘whatshername’”. Here’s one my mother used to sing around the house, “Your Love Ran Down My Leg and Now, You’re Gone”. Yeah, that one always got to me. I’m glad you feel the same way. Here’s a fine love song, “You Blew My Mind, Now Blow Me”. He’s even gonna do a Stevie Wonder song, “I Just Called To Say I Tested ‘Positive’”. Well, you don’t wanna leave anybody out, you know what I mean? And hey, and hey, what would a Willie Nelson show be without a couple of cowboy songs? He’s gonna do that one George Jones and Weyland Jennings wrote, “Drinking Beer, Taking a Shit, and Passing Out”, then he’s gonna do kind of a traditional western song, one that Gene Autry used to sing when I was a little boy, “It’s Midnight in Montana and I Can’t Get My Dick Outta This Cow”. You know why I like that song so much? Cause it’s a real cowboy song. And by the way, speaking of cattle-fucking, do you know why it is when a rancher fucks a sheep, he does so at the edge of a cliff? It’s so the sheep will push back; just a little tip for you outdoorsmen when you’re out camping.
Now this next thing is about names, that’s all, names. Names are an interest of mine, not a hobby, hobbies cost money, interests are free. This is just about names. Did you ever notice how they name Singles Bars? Singles Bars all have the same cutsy little one-word names that end in ‘s’. Scamps, Tramps, Chaps, Rumours, Cahoots, Cheers, Chances, Mingles, Risks, Gambits, Notions, hey, if I had a Singles Bar, you know what I’d call it? Nipples and Dicks! A little truth in advertising! The Sperm Club! Snatch o’ Rama! The Crotch-e-teria! Frankie’s Fuckery! Café Vagina! Open All Night! Well I’m an old fashioned guy. I’m old fashioned because I believe the name on the outside of a place ought to let you know what’s going on on the inside. Here would be a good name for a gay restaurant, “The Mouthful”, huh? Come on, that’s clever shit, that’s a double pun goddammit, you didn’t think of it! Besides, you don’t have to eat there if you don’t want to. No, no, just go in, have a cocktail... or a high-ball. Here’s another name I don’t care for, TGI Fridays, you know these cutsy-ass little places? TGI Fridays! Hghhh. That whole “TGIF” thing was cute for about an hour... and that was 65 years ago when someone first said it on the radio, not cute anymore, time to start bombing these locations! TGI Fridays, if I had a place like that, you know what I’d call it? HSIOW... Holy Shit, It’s Only Wednesday. I think people would drink a lot more liquor if they thought it was Wednesday all the time. Well I’m just looking for a little honesty in these names. A little honesty, that’s not asking a lot. I’m thinking of opening up a motel and calling it “The Sleep n’ Fuck”. Wouldn’t that be a good honest name for a motel? Who needs this shady “Pines” bullshit? “The Sleep n’ Fuck” motel; get me one of them big neon signs, “Sleep... Fuck... Sleep n’ Fuck!” You put it right at the Jersey entrance to the Holland tunnel you know? Actually “Fuck n’ Sleep” would be a little more accurate wouldn’t it? Best name for a motel would be “The Fuck n’ Smoke n’ Sleep n’ Roll Over and Get Out of Bed and Wash Your Crotch and Grab a Bite, Two Cans of Mr. Pip and Go Home and Fuck a Whole Lot More” cause that’s all they have left in those soda machines on Sunday night, Mr. Pip and Diet Chaster Orange... and that yellow can of Canada Dry Tonic Water that nobody wants! And speaking of naming things, am I the only person in this country who’s laughing when these commercials come on television for “Snapper Lawn Mowers”? Isn’t there anyone else in this fading Republic who knows what a snapper is? A snapper is a pussy okay? That’s what it means, “snapper” means “pussy”. It’s derived from an older, more specific term, “Snappin’ Pussy”... which describes a particular type of pussy, one with good quick muscular control, kind of an elasticity in the vaginal wall that can grab a hold of you and give you a decent hump, you know what I’m talking about. A snappin’ pussy! But now, now “snapper” means any kind of pussy and they’ve named a lawn mower company after it! Now I have seen a few snappers in my day, never seen one that’ll cut grass! No, no, maybe do a little edging, a little edging along the driveway after a party, that’s all you can hope for. But you know, “weed whacker”, you can understand!
Now a lot of these company names and product names are influenced by marketing and advertising people and this next thing is about advertising. By the way, if you should have any cognitive dissonance about the fact that I do commercials for 10-10-220 and still attack advertising up here, well, you’re just gonna have to figure that shit out on your own okay? Now this is called “Advertising Lullaby”, keeping in mind of course that the whole purpose of advertising is to lull you to sleep.
Quality, value, styles, service, selection, convenience, economy savings, performance, experience, hospitality, low rates, friendly service, name brands, easy terms, affordable prices, money-back guarantee, free installation. Free admission, free appraisal, free alterations, free delivery, free estimates, free home trial, and free parking. No cash? No problem. No kidding, no fuss, no muss, no risk, no obligation, no red tape, no down payment, no entry fee, no hidden charges, no purchase necessary, no one will call on you, no payments of interest till September. Limited time only though so act now, order today, send no money, offer good while supplies last, two to a customer, each item sold separately, batteries not included, mileage may vary, all sales are final, allow 6 weeks for delivery, some items not available, some assembly required, some restrictions may apply Come on in for a free demonstration and a free consultation with our friendly professional staff. Our experienced and knowledgeable sales representatives will help you make a selection that’s just right for you and just right for your budget and say, don’t forget to pick up your free gift, a classic, deluxe, custom, designer, luxury, prestige, high quality, premium select, gourmet pocket pencil sharpener... yours for the asking, no purchase necessary, it’s our way of saying “thank you”. And if you act now, we’ll include an extra added, free, complementary, bonus gift, a classic, deluxe, custom, designer, luxury, prestige, high quality, premium select, gourmet combination key ring, magnifying glass, and garden hose, in a genuine, imitation, leather-style, carrying case with authentic vinyl trim... yours for the asking, no purchase necessary, it’s our way of saying “thank you”.
Actually, it’s our way of saying “bend over just a little bit farther so we can stick this big advertising dick up your ass a little bit deeper! Pbbt! You miserable, no-good, fucking consumer asshole!” Cause you do know folks, living in this country, you’re bound to know that every time you’re exposed to advertising, you realize once again, that America’s leading industry, America’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 is that most people seem to been indoctrinated to believe that bullshit only comes from certain places, certain sources; advertising, politics, salesmen... 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 people are full of shit. This entire country, this entire country is completely full of shit and always has been from the Declaration of Independence to the Constitution of the Star Spangled Banner, it’s still nothing more than one big, steaming pile of red, white and blue, all-American bullshit because think of how we started... think of that. This country was founded by a group of slave owners who told us “all men are created equal”. Oh yeah... all men, except for Indians and Niggers and women right? Always like to use that authentic American language. This was a small group of unelected white male, land-holding, slave owners who also suggested their class be the only one allowed to vote. Now that is what’s known as being stunningly and embarrassingly full of shit. And I think Americans really show their ignorance when they say they want their politicians to be honest. What are these fucking cretins talking about? If honesty were suddenly introduced into American life, the whole system would collapse! No one would know what to do! Honesty would fuck this country up! And I think deep down, Americans know that. That’s why the elected and re-elected Bill Clinton! Because the American people like their bullshit right out front where they can get a good strong whiff of it! Clinton might be full of shit but at least he lets you know it. Dolle tried to hide it didn’t he? Dolle kept saying “I’m a plain and honest man!” Bullshit! People don’t believe that! What did Clinton say? He said “Hi folks! I’m completely full of shit and how do you like that?” and the people said “You know something? At least he’s honest.” At least he’s honest about being completely full of shit.
This is just like the business world, same as business; everybody knows by now, all businessmen are completely full of shit; just the worst kind of low-life, criminal, cocksuckers, you could ever want to run into... a fucking piece of shit businessman. And the proof of it is they don’t even trust each other! They don’t trust one another! When a businessman sits down and negotiates a deal, the first thing he does is to automatically assume that the other guy is a complete lying prick who’s trying to fuck him out of his money! So he’s gotta do everything he can to fuck the other guy a little bit faster and a little bit harder... and he’s gotta do it with a big smile on his face. You know that big, bullshit, businessman smile? And if you’re a customer, whoa... that’s when you get the really big smile! Customers always get the really big smile as the businessman carefully positions himself directly behind the customer and unzips his pants and proceeds to service the account! “I’m servicing this account... this customer needs service.” Now you know what they mean when they say “we specialize in customer service”. Whoever coined the phrase “let the buyer beware” was probably bleeding from the asshole. That’s business.
But in the bullshit department, in the bullshit department, a businessman can’t hold a candle to a clergyman... cause I gotta tell you the truth folks, I gotta tell you the truth. When it comes to bullshit, big time, major league bullshit, you have to stand in awe, in awe of the all-time champion of false promises and exaggerated claims... religion. No contest! No contest! Religion easily has the greatest bullshit story ever told. Think about it... religion has actually convinced people that there’s an invisible man living in the sky who watches everything you do, every minute of every day, and the invisible man has a special list of 10 things he does not want you to do! And if you do any of these 10 things, he has a special place full of fire and smoke and burning and torture and anguish where he will send you to live and suffer and burn and choke and scream and cry forever and ever till the end of time... but he loves you. He loves you and he NEEDS MONEY! He always needs money! He’s all-powerful, all-perfect, all-knowing, and all-wise, somehow, <snap> just can’t handle money! Religion takes in billions of dollars, they pay no taxes, and they always need a little more. Now, you talk about a good bullshit story... holy shit!
But I want you to know something, this is sincere, I want you to know when it comes to believing in God, I really tried, I really, really tried. I tried to believe that there is a God who created each of us in his own image and likeness, loves us very much, and keeps a close eye on things, I really tried to believe that but I gotta tell you, the longer you live, the more you look around, the more you realize something is fucked up. Something is wrong here... war, disease, death, destruction, hunger, filth, poverty, torture, crime, corruption, and the Ice Capades. Something is definitely wrong. This is not good work. If this is the best God can do, I am not impressed. Results like these don’t belong on the résumé of a supreme being. This is the kind of shit you’d expect from an office temp with a bad attitude. And just between you and me, between you and me, in any decently run universe, this guy would have been out on his all-powerful ass a long time ago. And by the way, I say “this guy” because I firmly believe, looking at these results, that if there is a God, it has to be a man; no woman could or would ever fuck things up like this!
So if, if there is a God, if there is, I think most reasonable people might agree that he’s at least incompetent and maybe, just maybe doesn’t give a shit. Doesn’t give a shit... which I admire in a person and which will explain a lot of these bad results. So rather than be just another mindless religious robot mindlessly and aimlessly and blindly believing that all of this is in the hands of some spooky, incompetent father figure who doesn’t give a shit, I decided to look around for something else to worship, something I can really count on, and immediately, I thought of the sun. Happened like that <snap>, overnight, I became a sun worshipper... well, not overnight, you can’t see the sun at night, the first thing the next morning, I became a sun worshipper. Several reasons... first of all, I can see the sun okay? Unlike some other Gods I could mention, I can actually see the sun. I’m big on that, if I can see something, I don’t know, kind of helps the credibility along you know? So every day, I can see the sun as it gives me everything I need... heat, light, food, flowers in the park, reflections on the lake... and occasional skin cancer but hey, at least there are no crucifixions and we’re not setting people on fire simply because they don’t agree with us. Sun worship is fairly simple. There’s no mysteries, no miracles, no pageantry, no one asks for money, there are no songs to learn, and we don’t have a special building where we all gather once a week to compare clothing. And the best thing about the sun, it never tells me I’m unworthy, doesn’t tell me I’m a bad person who needs to be saved, hasn’t said an unkind word, treats me fine.
So I worship the sun but... I don’t pray to the sun. You know why? I wouldn’t presume on our friendship; it’s not polite. I often thought people treat God rather rudely, don’t you? Asking- trillions and trillions of prayers every day, asking and pleading and begging for favours, do this, give me that, I need a new car, want a better job, and most of this praying takes place on Sunday... his day off. It’s not nice, and it’s no way to treat a friend. But people do pray and they pray for a lot of different things... you know, your sister needs an operation on her crotch, your brother was arrested for defecating in a mall, but most of all, you’d really like to fuck that hot little redhead down at the convenience store... you know, the one with the eye patch and the clubbed foot? Huh? Can you pray for that? I think you’d have to. And I say fine, pray for anything you want, pray for anything but what about the divine plan? Remember that? The divine plan... long time ago, God made a divine plan, gave it a lot of thought, decided it was a good plan, put it into practice, and for billions and billions of years, the divine plan has been doing just fine, now you come along and pray for something. Well suppose the thing you want isn’t in God’s divine plan. What do you want him to do? Change his plan? Just for you? Doesn’t that seem a little arrogant? It’s a divine plan! What’s the use of being God if every run-down schmuck with a $2 prayer book can come along and fuck up your plan? And here’s something else, another problem you might have... suppose your prayers aren’t answered, what do you say? “Well it’s God’s will, thy will be done.” Fine, but if it’s God’s will and he’s gonna do what he wants to anyway, why the fuck bother praying in the first place? Seems like a big waste of time to me! Couldn’t you just skip the praying part and go right to his will? It’s all very confusing.
So to get around a lot of this, I decided to worship the sun but, as I said, I don’t pray to the sun. You know who I pray to? Joe Pesci. Joe Pesci. Two reasons... first of all, I think he’s a good actor okay? To me, that counts. Second... he looks like a guy who can get things done. Joe Pesci doesn’t fuck around. In fact, Joe Pesci came through on a couple of things that God was having trouble with. For years, I asked God to do something about my noisy neighbour with the barking dog... Joe Pesci straightened that cocksucker out with one visit! It’s amazing what you can accomplish with a simple baseball bat! So I’ve been praying to Joe for about a year now, and I noticed something. I noticed that all the prayers that I used to offer to God and all the prayers I now offer to Joe Pesci, are being answered at about the same 50% rate. Half the time, I get what I want, half the time, I don’t, same as God, 50-50, same as the four-leaf clover and the horseshoe, the wishing well, and the rabbit’s foot, same as the mojo man, same as the voodoo lady who tells you your fortune by squeezing the goat’s testicles, it’s all the same, 50-50, so just pick your superstition, sit back, make a wish, and enjoy yourself. And for those of you who look to the Bible for moral lessons and literary qualities, I might suggest a couple of other stories for you. You might wanna look at “The Three Little Pigs”, that’s a good one, has a nice happy ending, I’m sure you’ll like that. Then there’s “Little Red Riding Hood”, although it does have that X-rated part where the Big, Bad Wolf actually eats the grandmother, which I didn’t care for by the way. And finally, I’ve often always drawn a great deal of moral comfort from “Humpty Dumpty”. The part I like the best, “all the king’s horses and all the king’s men, couldn’t put Humpty Dumpty back together again”. That’s because there is no Humpty Dumpty and there is no God, none, not one, no God, never was. In fact, I’m gonna put it this way... if there is a God, if there is a God, may he strike this audience dead! See? Nothing happened! Nothing happened! Everybody’s okay! All right? Tell you what... I’ll raise the stakes. I’ll raise the stakes a little bit. If there is a God, may he strike me dead! See? Nothing happened- oh, wait... got a little cramp in my leg... and my balls hurt... plus, I’m blind... I’m bli- oh, now I’m okay again... must’ve been Joe Pesci huh? God bless Joe Pesci! Thank you all very much! Joe blesses you! Thank you all very much! I appreciate it! Bye Bye!