Brain Droppings

And all of this conspicuous, deliberate waste takes place in the midst of global malnutrition and starvation. No wonder fucked-up teenage girls don’t want to eat. . Here’s another wonderful irony: with all our supposed superiority in food production, we provide our people with far higher rates of stroke, heart attack, colon cancer, and other diet diseases than most “inferior” Third-World food economies do. But don’t you worry, those folks are catching ^ up; social pathologies are our biggest export. And so, in a curious way, cancer turns out to be catching, after all.

Please note my restraint in ignoring “shopping disorders.”

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GEORGE

C A R U I N

b r a i n d r o

S…PJ n

9 s

conf tssions of A nAOMmE-

l lieved when I see a nf tssions of A nAOMmE

I’m always relieved when I see a magazine article I don’t have to read, like “How to Turn Prison Rape into a Spiritual Quest.” Or “Quesadillas for Quadraplegics.” I’m practically giddy when I see an article about a disease I know I’ll never get. I laugh heartily as I race past page after page of “Five Hundred Early Warning Signs of Cancer of the Labia.” It’s such a time-saver.

And I notice as I get older, the magazine articles that catch my eye have begun to change. For instance, in my early twenties, “Ten Career Choices that Lead to Suicide” was a must read. And “Achieving a Six-Hour Orgasm Without a Date” was duly clipped and laminated. But these days I find my interest caught by such titles as “Test Yourself for Alzheimer’s,” “Ten Tips on Surviving a Nursing Home Fire,” and “How to Rid Yourself of Old-Person Smell.” I guess the article I really need is “How to Extend Your Magazine Subscriptions Posthumously.”

There was a young man from St. Maarten Who saved all his odors from faartin. If it passed through his crack It went straight in a sack And mistakes were all kept in a caarton. A Jewess who lived in St. Croix Fell in love with a handsome young goix. Her parents forbade She should marry the lad So instead she eloped with the boix.

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A flatulent actor named Barton Had a lifestyle exceedingly spartan. Till a playwright one day Wrote a well-received play With a part in which Barton could fart in.

CEORCE CARLIN

It goes without saying I’m not the only person who has noticed this, but I never got to spell it out my way before.

Comedy’s nature has two sides. Everybody wants a good time and a couple of laughs, and of course, the comic wants to be known as a real fu

“Jeez, I was dyin’. It was like death out there. Like a morgue. I really bombed.”

Comics don’t want to die, and they don’t want to bomb. They want to go over with a bang. And be a real smash. And if everything works out, if they’re successful and they make you laugh, they can say, “I killed ‘em. I slaughtered those people, I knocked them dead.”

And what phrases do we use when we talk about the comic? “He’s a riot.” “A real scream.” “A rib-splitting knee-slapper.” “My sides hurt.” “My cheeks ache.” “He broke me up, cracked me up, slayed me, fractured me, and had me in stitches.” “I busted a gut.” “I get a real kick out of that guy.” .;.’??.,… : ., ? > “Laugh? I thought I’d die.” 258