Brain Droppings

I am also perfectly willing to share the room with a fly, as long as he is patrolling that portion of the room that I don’t occupy. But if he starts that smart-ass fly shit, buzzing my head and repeatedly landing on my arm, he is engaging in high-risk behavior. That’s when I roll up the sports section and become Bwana, the great white fly hunter!

Sometimes there’s an older fly in the room, one who flies slowly and can’t travel too far in one hop-or it might be a female, heavy with eggs. In this case, even if the fly is bothering me, I don’t kill it; instead, I adopt it as a short-term pet. I might even give it a name. Probably something based on mythology.

Generally, I like flies, but they’d be far more welcome if they would make a choice—and stick to it—between my bean burrito and that nice, hot, steaming dog turd out in the front yard.

Also, in keeping with my insect death policy based on the intentions of the insect, any bacterium or virus entering my body that does not wish me well will be slain. Normally, my immune system would accomplish this without notifying me, but if the old T-cells aren’t up to the task, I am prepared to ingest huge amounts of antibiotics, even if they are bad for me. 238

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And yet, in spite of all these examples of creature mayhem, I will not strike a dog, I will not chase and taunt a bull around a ring, and I will not squeeze an animal’s testicles just to give the yokels a better show.

I’m also uneasy about the sheer number of scientific experiments performed on animals. First of all, animals are not always good models for medical experimentation: penicillin kills guinea pigs; an owl is not bothered by cyanide; monkeys can survive strychnine, etc., etc. Couldn’t these scientific tests just as easily be performed on humans? Condemned prisoners, old people, the feeble, the terminally ill? I’m sure there are plenty of ignorant, desperate Americans who would be willing to volunteer in exchange for some small electrical appliance.

What makes me happy in the midst of all this is that ultimately animals get even. The major killers of humanity throughout recent history—smallpox, influenza, tuberculosis, malaria, bubonic plague, measles, cholera, and AIDS—are all infectious diseases that arose from diseases of animals. I pray that mad cow disease will come to this country and completely wipe out the hamburger criminals. Eating meat is one thing, but this whole beef-rancher-manure-cattle-hamburger side show is a different skillet of shit altogether.

Each year, Americans eat 38 billion hamburgers. It takes 2,500 gallons of water to produce one pound of red meat. Cattle consume one half of all the fresh water consumed on earth. The sixty million people who will starve this year could be adequately fed if Americans reduced their meat intake by just 10 percent. But if I were one of those sixty

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million people, I wouldn’t be reachin’ for the salt and pepper too quickly. It ain’t go

Ranchers raise pathetic, worthless cattle and sheep, animals who ca

I root for a wolf to someday grab a rancher’s kid. Yes I do. And you know something? The wolf would probably take the kid home and raise him, in the ma

One last item to demonstrate the depth of human perversity: Some zoos now sell surplus animals to private hunting ranches where rich white men hunt them down and kill them for amusement. No wonder they call it the descent of man.

When your dogs lick a visitor and they say, “Oh, he’s very affectionate,” ask them, “Did you notice what he was doing prior to coming over and licking your face?” “No. Well, yes! I think he was cleaning himself. He’s a very clean dog.” “Well, his balls and asshole are very clean. In fact, he has a perfectly clean five-inch circle around his balls and asshole. His tongue, lips, and nose, however, are filthy with old dog shit and fermented ball sweat. Why do you think we taught him to shake hands?”

I don’t like moths, because I can’t predict their flight patterns. They don’t seem to know where they’re going. I don’t like that.

And they’re always hanging around light bulbs. Somehow they’re even able to get inside the sealed light fixture between the bulb and the outer glass. How do they do that? One day you can clean out a hundred old, dead moths and then put the clean globe back on, and a month later there’ll be another twenty or thirty full-grown dead moths inside the globe. How do they get in there?

And what is that attraction to light all about, anyway? You know what I think they’re doing? Trying to read the writing on the light bulb. It’s hard to read, isn’t it? The writing on a light bulb is placed right where you can’t read it when the light is on, because the light is too bright. And then, when the light is off, you can’t read it, because there’s not enough light. No wonder moths are so fucked up.

2*0,

GEORGE CARLIN

brain droppings

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One morning I get up, get out of bed, get showered, get some breakfast, and get to thinkin’, “I’m not gettin’ any.” I get the urge to get some nookie, and get an idea. So I get dressed, get in my car, and get on the freeway.

When I get downtown, I get a few beers, get a buzz, and get lucky. I get a glimpse of a fine-looking woman. I get her a drink, get her talking, and we get acquainted. So I get up my courage and get her to agree to go get a room. We get outta there, get some booze, get in a taxi, and get a hotel.

We get in the room, and get comfortable, and I’m gettin’ excited ’cause I’m go

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CARL

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wants to get down, and I wa

And it starts gettin’ real good. But then I get thinking, “Suppose I get the clap? If I get the clap, I’ll have to get shots. Might get worse. Could get AIDS. Shoulda got rubbers.” Now I get paranoid. Get a bit crazy. Get a bit scared. Gotta get a grip.

Then it gets worse. Suppose she gets pregnant? Will she get an abortion? She might wa

That means gettin’ a job. Or gettin’ a gun. And a getaway car. But suppose I get caught? Get busted by cops. Get thrown in the jail! Gotta get help. Get a good lawyer. Get out on bail.