Brain Droppings

In their hatred for the players, the fans often forget that the real insects are the owners; the greedy swine owners who

b..T..a.i.n d. r o p p i n g s are always pleading poverty. In 1980, Nelson Doubleday 5 paid $21.6 million for the Mets franchise. Today it’s worth over $200 million. Where’s the risk? And if it’s so hard to make money in baseball, why are all these maggot entrepreneur-hustlers around the country so eager to pay $95 mil- ^ lion for a last-place expansion team? I’m not too thrilled with the sports media people, either. k The talent is marginal, they bring nothing to the mix, and their palpable envy of the players is actually embarrassing. Many of these media stiffs were failed high school and college athletes and simply not good enough to make the cut. (Obviously, I’m excluding former pro ballplayers.) How dare such also-rans criticize athletes and their play? You wa

Some baseball teams hire “ball girls” to retrieve foul balls that don’t go into the stands. But I’ve noticed many of these women are quite feminine and don’t throw very well. These 0 teams are making a mistake. I think they should hire lesbians to do that job. Not femmes, but full-on, bad-ass, 90-mile-an hour bull dykes. The kind you see in hardware stores. I’ll tell you one thing, you’d get a lot more good plays and strong 1 return throws out there. And if some fan leaned out of the » stands to pick up a foul ball, the “ball dyke” could drag him onto the field and beat the shit out of him for about forty-five minutes. And if any baseball players tried to stop her, she could just deck them, too.

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E 0 R G E C A R L I N

Athletes like that physical shit. When they’re pleased with tl| each other they bump chests, butt heads, and bang forearms. Why don’t they just punch each other in the fuckin’ teeth? Wouldn’t that be great? Teammates, I mean. After a touchdown pass, why doesn’t the guy who caught the ball just go ^ over and kick the quarterback right in the nuts? Same with a slam dunk in basketball. The guy who scores oughta grab a k, chair and beat the living shit out of the guy who fed him the ball. For about forty-five minutes. If this type of celebration were more common, the postgame show from the wi

Here’s another thing: I love losing streaks. I wish some year a baseball team would lose 162 games. I especially like decades-long, postseason losing streaks. In fact, as soon as my v teams are out of the ru

b r a i n d r o p p i n a World Series, the news coverage will be the most boring bunch of shit you can imagine.

And, although I wouldn’t wish it on anyone, you’ll have to admit it would sure be a lot of fun to see a couple of those chartered planes the athletes fly around in go down in flames. I know it might seem ghoulish to the overly squeamish, but I’d love to read about all the hassles they were having restocking the teams, and it would be fun to see the new lineups. Of course, all the stupid shit on TV about the funerals would be real boring.

P.S. Any professional sports team that has a “fight song” is automatically a bush-league, small-town team. Period. I

aat my uncle was good at. UloS.The piece movement. ucclSlKM- A person who blows clairvoyants.

. Clothing worn by light-ski

When you lose a debate.

The sound a prostitute makes so you’ll think you’re a real good fuck.

CARL ; E 0 R C E UrilQ uOfriC”. Driving to your co

A keet that takes care of you until the real keet arrives. lUSSljrOOt’ A rare female birth defect requiring the use of open-toed shoes. uEErnilu’The official disease of Milwaukee. COttOn bOllS’ The final stage of beer nuts.

cupational disability common among dairy farmers. f’.A seventeenth-century prosthetic device. short sadomasochist. DIStBt A small gun that can be hidden in your hat. IV-Attilathehon.

brain droppings bond and bond, and get closer and closer, until finally they’re just drunk enough to say, “You know, I really love these guys.” And that frightens them. So they must quickly add, “But I’m not a queer!”

See the dilemma? Now they have to go out of their way to prove to the world, to their buddies, and to themselves that they don’t harbor homoerotic feelings. And it’s only a short step from “I”m not a queer” to “In fact, I hate queers!” And another short step to “Let’s go kill some queers!” And what they really seek to kill is not the queer outside, it’s the queer inside they fear.

Gay bashers are repressed homosexuals attempting to deny the queer inside, but certain signals get past the screen. That’s why you see so many policemen with those precious little well-groomed mustaches. You’d see more of those same mustaches on athletes and military men, but those two groups are not allowed to express themselves freely. Military drones and many sheep-like athletes have dress codes and are forbidden to wear facial hair. The idea is to limit and reduce their individuality. These are men who have chosen to allow “the organization” to run their lives. That’s why athletes, police, and military men have that rigid unbending body language; they’re severely repressed. Guess what they’re repressing? And, hey, why do you think they call those police cars “cruisers”?

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The reason for most violence against gays is that heterosexual men are forced to prove that they, themselves, are not gay. It goes like this: Men in strong male subcultures like the police, the military, and sports (and a few other cesspools) bond very strongly. Hunting, fishing, and golfing friendships also produce this u

have a suggestion that I think would help fight serious crime. Signs, are lots of signs for minor infractions: No Smoking, Stay Off the rass> Keep Out, and they seem to work fairly well. I think we should

GEORGE CARLIN also have signs for major crimes: Murder Strictly Prohibited, No Raping People, Thank You for Not Kidnapping Anyone. It’s certainly worth a try. I’m convinced Watergate would never have happened if there had just been a sign in the Oval Office that said, Malfeasance of Office Is Strictly Against the Law, or Thank You for Not Undermining the Constitution.

When you drive through an entrance or exit lane that has one of those signs, Do Not Back Up—Severe Tire Damage, and you’re going in the correct direction, don’t you sort of worry about it anyway? That maybe they got it wrong? Or somebody turned the sign around? Or some guy on drugs installed the spikes? Or maybe you’re on drugs, and you think, Am I doing this right? Am I backing up? No, I seem to be going forward. Let’s see. Which way are the spikes pointing? Oh, I can’t see the spikes anymore. I guess I better back up a little.