All language subtitles for George.Carlin.You.Are.All.Diseased.1999.720p.WEBRip.x264.AAC-[YTS.MX]

That's nice, thank you.

Thanks very much.

I appreciate it.

Thank you very much.
Thank you all, thank you.

I appreciate that.

Thank you, thank you...
So, let me ask you something.

Let me ask you, how is 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,
six 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.

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
to get on board 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 one:
"Did you pack your bags
yourself?"

No, Carrot Top packed my bags.

He... 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 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 gonna 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-- 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-- and Americans are--

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!

It's true! It's true!

Well--

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?

Nine thousand... 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-- so, listen!

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!

Now-- Yeah, goddammit.

Hey. All right.

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 neighborhood,
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-- 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!

I 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 behavior,

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,
and I-- 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 the wa-- 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!

Yeah! Yeah! Sure!

Yeah! Hey. All right. Oh...

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.

That's the o--

And you know how often
that happens?

Tops, tops, two,
three times a week, tops!

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 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!

Thank you!

Hey, thank you.

I appreciate it, thank you.

All right, 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? Thank you. God!

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 is.

That's all it ever was...
Yeah! 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!

Now-- Thank you. Thank you.

Hey... here's another question
I've been pondering...

what is all this shit
about angels?
Have you heard this?

Yeah... three out of four 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-- the pussification,
the continued--

the continued pussification
of the American male

in the form...

Yeah? All right.

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
and 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 on stage and starts
blowing into a harmonica?

It's a fucking sacrilege!

In the first place--
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-- 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... Ah, thank you.

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."

Ah! 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.

Thank you. Thank you!

Thank you! Yeah...
Oh! Thank you. Thank you.

And while we're at it,
when did the word "urban"

become synonymous
with the word "black"?

Did I fall asleep
for eight or nine 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...
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...
- Whoo!

...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. 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?

Ugh... 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 "bad motherfucka"

because he's got a picture...
Aah-aah!

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-- if you smashed him
in the face eight or nine 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?

He'd drop 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
six 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, maybe not,
I don't know, listen... yeah.

That's right.

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-- 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.

Thank you.

Thank you! Now...
I appreciate it.

Something else
I'm getting tired of...
there's all this stupid bullshit

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 know what I'm talking about!
And... I also know...

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!

And don't give me--
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
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 pajamas,
child restraints in car seats,
and helmets!

Bicycle, skateboard,
uh, 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--

All right, 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!

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 three or four kids
and a couple of teachers,

the next day, the next day,
the school is overrun
with counselors

and psychiatrists
and grief counselors

and trauma therapists trying
to help the children cope?

Shit! When I was in school,
someone came to our school
and killed three or four of us,

we went right on
with our arithmetic!

"Thirty five classmates minus four 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 worshiper."

Here-- 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!

All right.

One more-- Thank you. Thank you.

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 enroll 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 Ritalin and drag you
all over town in search

of meaningless structure:
little league, club scouts,
swimming, soccer, karate, piano,

bagpipes, watercolors,
witchcraft, glass blowing,
and dildo practice.

They even... 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, and--
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!

Thank you very much.

Thank you very much.

What am I talking about? Okay.

All right, 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 favorite 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!

Yeah...

But as they say
in the U.S. Navy,
"There is no wrong hole."

And then, right after that,
they're gonna play

my favorite "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.

Yeah, 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--
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 favorites,
"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,
hold me, I'm humming."

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, 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...

he's even gonna do
a Stevie Wonder song,

"I Just Called To Say
I Tested ‘Positive'."

Yeah. 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 a 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."

Yeah.

I love that song.
I always liked it.

Yeah. 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.

Little something for ya.

Yes.

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 kinda cutesy little
one-word names that end in ‘s'.

Scamps, Tramps, Chaps,
Rumors, Cahoots, Cheers,
Chances, Mingles, Risks,

Gambits, Notions, hey,
if I had a singles bar,
you know what I'd call it?

Nipples and Dicks! Huh?

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 cutesy-ass
little places? TGI Fridays!

That whole "T-G-I-F" thing
was cute for about an hour...
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... Fuck... Sleep n' Fuck!

Sleep n' Fuck! Sleep n' Fuck!
Sleep... Fuck...

Sleep... Fuck..."

Sure.

"Sleep n' 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. Pibb
and Go Home and Fuck
a Whole Lot More."

A whole lot more.

'Cause that's all they ever
have left in those soda machines
on Sunday night,

Mr. Pibb and Diet Shasta
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?

- Whoo!
- 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.

But...

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 six weeks for delivery,
some items not available,

some assembly required,
some restrictions may apply.

So, come on in... come on in...

...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!

A little bit deeper! Pbbt!
A little bit deeper! Pbbt!
Pbbt! Pbbt! 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 have 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-- 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 they elected
and re-elected Bill Clinton!

That's right.

Because... 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.

It's 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--
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...

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.

But that's business.

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-- 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 ten things
he does not want you to do!

And if you do any
of these ten 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...

he loves you and he needs money!

He always needs money!

He's all-powerful, all-perfect,
all-knowing, and all-wise,
somehow...

...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!

Thank you!

Thank you. But... Thank you,
thank you, thank you.

Thank you very much.

But I want you to know--
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
do not 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-- so...

...if... 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 would 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, overnight,
I became a sun worshiper.

Well, not overnight,
you can't see the sun at night,

the first thing
the next morning,
I became a sun worshiper.

Several reasons...
first of all, I can see the sun,
okay?

Yeah. 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,

kinda 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 mystery,
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--
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 favors, 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-- 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?

- Yeah!
- 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. 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.

Doesn't fuck around.

In fact...

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 neighbor
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
I used to offer to God

and all the prayers
I now offer to Joe Pesci,

are being answered at about
the same 50 percent 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.

Uh, 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--
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... 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 bless you!

Thank you very much! I appreciate it!

Bye-bye! Have fun! Good!

Thank you very much!
Have a good time!
Have a good time! Thank you!

Good-bye!