Thank you.
Thank you, thank you.
Thank you very much.
Thank you.
I'm a modern man.
A man for the millennium.
Digital and smoke free.
A diversified. Multi-cultural.
Post-modern deconstructionist.
Politically, anatomically and ecologically incorrect.
I've been up-linked and downloaded.
I've been inputted and outsourced.
I know the upside of downsizing.
I know the downside of upgrading.
I'm a high-tech low life.
A cutting edge, state of the art.
Bi-coastal multi-tasker.
And I can give you a gigabyte in a nanosecond.
I'm new wave.
But I'm old school.
And my inner child is outward bound.
I'm a hot-wired. Heat seeking,
warm-hearted cool customer.
Voice-activated and biodegradable.
I interface from a database.
My database is in cyberspace.
So I'm interactive.
I'm hyperactive and from time to time.
I'm radioactive.
Behind the eight ball,
ahead of the curve.
Riding the wave, dodging the bullet,
pushing the envelope.
I'm on point, on task,
on message and off drugs.
I got no need for coke and speed.
I got no urge to binge and purge.
I'm in the moment. On the edge,
over the top but under the radar.
A high concept, low profile,
medium range ballistic missionary.
A streetwise smart bomb.
A top gun bottom feeder.
I wear power ties.
I tell power lies.
I take power naps.
I run victory laps.
I'm a totally ongoing big foot,
slam-dunk rainmaker with a proactive outreach.
A raging workaholic.
A working rageaholic.
Out of rehab and in denial.
I got a personal trainer,
a personal shopper,
a personal assistant
and a personal agenda.
You can't shut me up.
You can't dumb me down.
Because I'm tireless and I'm wireless.
I'm a alpha male on beta blockers.
I'm a non-believer and an overachiever.
Laid back but fashion forward.
Up front, down home,
low rent. High maintenance.
Super size, long lasting,
high definition, fast-acting,
oven-ready and built to last.
I'm a hands-on. Footloose.
Knee jerk head case.
Prematurely post-traumatic,
and I have a love child who sends me hate mail.
But I'm feeling.
I'm caring.
I'm healing.
I'm sharing.
A supportive, bonding, nurturing primary caregiver.
My output is down, but my income is up.
I take a short position on the long bond.
And my revenue stream has its own cash flow.
I read junk mail.
I eat junk food.
I buy junk bonds.
I watch trash sports.
I'm gender specific, capital intensive,
user friendly and lactose intolerant.
I like rough sex.
I like tough love.
I use the F word in my email.
And the software in my hard drive
is hardcore, no soft porn.
I bought a microwave at a mini mall.
I bought a minivan at a megastore.
I eat fast food in the slow lane.
I'm toll free. Bite size.
Ready to wear and I come in all sizes.
A fully equipped, factory authorized,
hospital tested, clinically proven,
scientifically formulated
medical miracle.
I've been prewashed, precooked, preheated,
prescreened, preapproved,
prepackaged, post-dated,
freeze dried. Double wrapped, vacuum packed
and I have an unlimited broadband capacity.
I'm a rude dude. But I'm the real deal.
Lean and mean.
Cocked, locked and ready to rock.
Rough, tough and hard to bluff.
I take it slow.
I go with the flow.
I ride with the tide.
I got glide in my stride.
Driving and moving.
Sailing and spinning.
Jiving and grooving.
Wailing and winning.
I don't snooze. So I don't lose.
I keep the pedal to the metal
and the rubber on the road.
I party hearty.
And lunch time is crunch time.
I'm hanging in.
There ain't no doubt.
And I'm hanging tough.
Over and out.
Thank you.
Thank you very much.
Thank you.
Hey, I got 341 days sober
and next year's my 50th anniversary in show business.
Let's do a fucking show, huh?
You know something
people don't talk about in public anymore?
Pussy farts.
So anyway.
Now I said that on my last HBO show
and apparently some people
don't know what a pussy fart is,
because I got some inquiries.
Here's the deal.
A pussy fart is like when you're making love to a woman
who's got a little extra air in her vagina
and every time you thrust forward,
it's kind of a...
And the two of you are just lying there.
Each of you is just wondering if the other one farted.
And the man is usually thinking,
"Maybe she farts when she comes.
Maybe she took a shit.
Man, I gotta stay out of that fucking bar".
Another word you don't hear too often is dingleberries.
You know you never hear it on "Meet The Press".
The dingleberry solution, dingleberry gate.
Nothin'.
I think it's because dingleberries
is one of them words
you don't say too much
past your 10th birthday.
It's not a grownup's word.
It's a kid's word.
Dingleberries.
It always sounded kind of Christmasy to me.
Don't you think it has a holiday ring to it?
Dingleberries.
"John, you might want to hang some dingleberries
over the front door.
Then when Maryann comes over,
she can kiss you under the dingleberries."
"It is to be devoutly wished
that she would kiss me
under the dingleberries."
Cornhole is another word you don't hear enough.
You don't hear that nearly enough, you know?
It's a good word.
It's a solid word.
It's a tough word.
It's a man's kind of word.
It's got a masculine sound.
It's like shotgun
and ash can and tow truck.
Cornhole.
Everything's been sanitized now and cleaned up.
First with these fucking Christians.
You just start with them.
You know.
I'm so, you know.
That's just one, wait a minute now.
Yeah, you know.
Let's not leave out these
PC campus liberal assholes.
I mean they're just as fucking bad
from a different direction.
But everything's different.
Everything's been polished up now.
It's anal intercourse.
Anal rape.
Bullshit.
Cornhole.
Now I'm a big fan
of the prime time crime shows.
I like all of them pretty much.
You know. I like "Law & Order"
and all the spin-offs of that.
I like "CSl"
and all of those spin-offs.
Yeah. Because they're forensic shows.
You know.
And I'm just waiting for one night to be sitting there
watching one of them shows
and then the chief medical examiner
turns to the lead detective and says,
"Steve. Iooks to me like after they killed this guy,
the perpetrators rolled him over
and cornholed him about 30 or 40 fucking times.
Look at that.
That there is a posthumous,
multiple cornhole entry wound".
In prison it's a social activity.
Yeah, it's right up there on the bulletin board.
Checkers. Handball, cornholing.
Now, just to change the subject a little bit,
do you realize,
do you realize
that right this second,
right now,
somewhere around the world
some guy is getting ready to kill himself.
Isn't that great?
Did you ever stop and think about that kind of shit?
I do.
It's fun.
And it's interesting and it's true.
Right this second
some guy is getting ready
to bite the big bazooka.
Because statistics show that every year
a million people commit suicide.
A million.
That's 2800 a day.
That's one every 30 seconds.
There goes another guy.
And I say guy,
I say guy
because men are four times more likely
than women to commit suicide.
Even though women attempt it more.
So men are better at it.
That's something else you gals
will want to be working on.
Well, if you want to be truly equal,
you're going to have to start
taking your own lives in greater numbers.
But...
But I just think it's interesting to know.
Interesting, that's a big word in this show for me.
Interesting to know that at any moment
the odds are good
that some guy
is dragging a chair
across the garage floor,
trying to get it right underneath that ceiling beam,
wouldn't want to be too far off center.
If it's worth doing,
it's worth doing right.
Somewhere else another guy's going over
and getting a gun out of a dresser drawer.
Somebody else is opening up
a brand-new package of razor blades.
Maybe struggling with the cellophane a little bit,
you know.
"Oh. Shit.
It's always something.
Goddamn it. Fuckin shit."
I just think that's an interesting as hell.
That's probably the most interesting thing
you can do with your life,
end it.
I don't think I could do that, though.
Could you?
God.
I couldn't commit suicide if my life depended on it.
But I understand it, you know.
I think I do.
I don't wonder about it.
I don't wonder. Well, why did he do that
and, What was going through his mind.
You know what I wonder.
Where did he find the fucking time?
Who's got time to be committing suicide?
Aren't you busy?
I got shit to do.
Suicide would be way down on my list.
Probably down past lighting my own house on fire.
I might want to try a little self-mutilation first.
You know, take a couple of hunks out of my arm.
See if I like the general idea.
Because you've got to have priorities, man.
You know.
And you've got to have a plan, too,
for something like that.
You've got to plan that shit.
People just don't run out the house
and jump off a bridge.
There are things you have to decide.
Timing is important.
When you're going to do it.
"Well. Let me see now.
Wednesday's out.
Got to take Timmy to the circus.
"Survivor" is on, on Thursday.
Friday I got my colon cleansing.
The folks are coming over on Sunday.
Sunday.
By God, that'd be just the thing.
Maybe mom will find my body.
Serve her right for fucking me up the way she did."
Then you have to pick a method.
How you're going to do it.
"Well. Let me see now.
Afraid of heights, that's no good.
Can't swallow pills.
Don't like the sight of blood.
Fucking oven's electric.
I'd lie down in front of a train.
Except the Amtrak ain't coming through here
in 30 goddamn years.
Maybe I'll just take a gun
and shoot myself in the mouth.
Suppose I miss?
People will be laughing at me.
Suppose I live?
I'll have a big fucking hole in my head.
I'll have to wear some kind of dumb-ass hat.
Well, I guess I'll just hang myself.
That'd be good.
Gotta get a rope.
Oh. Shit. It's always something.
I got a rope in the garage.
It's got a lot of grease and paint on it.
Don't want to get that stuff on my neck.
Wal-Mart's having a special on rope this weekend.
No sense spending a lot of money to kill myself.
Then again, I can always put it on my credit card
I'll never have to pay the fucking thing.
That's it then.
I'm hanging myself
and Wal-Mart's paying for it.
What's next?
The note.
Oh. Jesus.
I got to express myself.
Hell. If I could express myself,
I wouldn't be thinking of doing something like this.
Where's a pen?
I can never find a pen.
Told the kids not to move the pen away from that telephone.
Goddamn kids.
I ought to just kill them. Too.
Make it one of them family package deals.
Here's a pen.
I'll just jam it into my fucking neck
and get it over with.
Let's see now.
Where do you put the date?
Upper left?
I can never remember that.
To whom it may concern.
Sounds kind of impersonal.
Dear Marzel.
Leaves out the kids.
I know.
Hey, guys.
Guess what?
Keep on reading.
How are you?
I hope you are fine.
I am not fine.
As you can no doubt tell
from me hanging here from this ceiling fixture.
You are the ones who drove me to this.
I was doing just fine
until you fuckers came along.
I hope you're happy now that I'm goddamn dead.
Signed, the corpse in this room.
P.S., fuck you people."
Yeah, good enough.
That would be a good note.
I don't think a writer could ever commit suicide.
Do you?
A writer would be too busy
working on the note all goddamn year.
Trying to get it just right.
First draft. Second draft. Third revision.
Whole new ending.
Finally, he'd turn it into a book proposal
and have a reason to live.
That wouldn't work.
I think about stuff like that.
It's interesting to me.
Like I said. Certain things are interesting.
Suicide's interesting.
Life is filled with interesting things.
That's why I could never commit suicide.
I'm having too much fun
keeping an eye on you folks.
Watching what you do.
Human behavior.
That's what I like.
Humans do some really interesting things.
Like besides killing ourselves,
we also kill each other.
Murder.
And we're the only ones who do that, by the way.
We're the only species on earth
that deliberately kills members of our own species
for personal gain
or pleasure, sometimes it's just fun.
We're also the only species
that deliberately kills members of another species
for personal gain or pleasure.
That's what hunters do.
They kill for pleasure.
That's us.
Human beings.
Interesting folks.
Murderers.
Here's an interesting form of murder we've come up with.
Assassination.
You know what's interesting about assassination?
Well, not only does it change those popularity polls
in a big fucking hurry
but it is also interesting to notice
who it is we assassinate.
Did you ever notice who it is?
Stop to think who it is we kill?
It's always people who've told us
to live together in harmony
and try to love one another.
Jesus. Gandhi.
Lincoln, John Kennedy,
Bobby Kennedy, Martin Luther King,
Medgar Evers, Malcolm X. John Lennon.
They all said, try to live together peacefully.
Bam.
Right in the fucking head.
Apparently, we're not ready for that.
Yeah. That's difficult behavior for us.
We're too busy sitting around
trying to think up ways to kill each other.
Here's one we came up with,
it's efficient. Too.
Genocide.
You know, killing large numbers of people
simply because they don't look like you,
they don't talk like you
and they don't have the same kind of hats you do.
You ever notice that at any time you see two groups of people
who really hate each other,
chances are good
they're wearing different kind of hats.
Keep an eye on that.
It might be important.
But any time there's genocide,
there are always mass graves.
Right?
Every time we kill some dictator
and go marching through his country,
we always find mass graves.
Thousands and thousands of dead bodies
of people the dictator killed.
And everybody over here gets horrified.
"Oh, mass graves, mass graves oh."
Well shit. What's the guy suppose to do
with a couple thousand people he just killed?
Dig separate holes?
Fuck that shit.
It's labor intensive.
Get real.
The whole idea of killing a large number of people
at one time and one place is convenience.
Efficiency.
Thrown 'em in the fucking hole.
Look at it this way,
at least the dictator had the decency
to throw a little dirt on them.
Give the guy some credit.
The dictator's a busy man.
He's got a lot on his mind.
Like trying to figure out who's planning to kill him.
So he can pick them up,
put them in prison and torture them.
There's another one of our interesting,
heart-warming behaviors we come up with
somewhere along the way.
Torturing each other.
You want to hear a really cool torture
that the Romans invented?
They also used it as a form of capital punishment.
It's really creative.
They would take the guy in question,
stuff him in a burlap sack,
seal the sack up real tight
and throw it in the river.
But. And here's the creative part,
inside the sack with the guy,
they would put a dog, a monkey and a snake.
Okay?
A dog, a monkey and a snake.
That's fucking creative.
Imagine being inside a burlap sack
under water. In the dark.
Sitting next to a drowning monkey.
Think he'd be moving around a little bit?
The dog would be going ape shit.
We know that.
And the snake?
Well, he'd probably be getting curious
about what all the activity was inside the sack.
He might do anything.
Whatever he did.
It would probably involve venom and his teeth.
You know what you'd be doing?
You'd be praying to God
that the snake bit the monkey
and the dog ate the snake.
Praying.
Yeah. Then...
Then it would be just you and the dog,
man and his best friend
drowning together.
Maybe before you die,
you can teach him a few tricks.
Roll over and play dead
wouldn't be too difficult. Would it?
Just a thought,
just a playful thought.
By the way, I assume you're noticing
that all these activities I'm mentioning,
murder, torture, genocide,
these are all things human beings do.
Not animals.
Those creatures we feel superior to.
This is us.
Here's another one of our
spiritually uplifting activities.
We don't do this one much anymore,
but it use to be really big.
Human sacrifice.
I miss that.
The Aztecs loved human sacrifice
and they were good at it.
Well, they got a lot of practice.
For instance, right around the year 1500,
the Aztecs sacrificed 80,000 people
in one ceremony.
Okay?
80,000 people in one ceremony.
You know what the occasion was?
They were opening a new temple.
Nothing like religion
for a little entertainment. Huh?
Especially that old time religion.
You know how the Aztecs went about their sacrificing?
Here's how they did it.
They would do it right out in public.
Right in front of everybody.
Big town.
Beautiful city square.
20, 30,000 people looking on.
They would take the guy,
lay him on an alter,
cut his chest open,
pull his heart out,
hold it up in the air while it was still beating.
Got that?
Cut his chest open,
pull his heart out and hold it up in the air
while it was still beating.
You know what you call that?
Theater.
That is fucking theater.
And although the procedure
may have been a little too crude
to be considered the first bypass surgery,
it could easily be seen as
an early form of organ donor program.
The Aztecs. Human beings just like us.
Not too long ago, 500 years.
Columbus had already landed.
This is just south of here.
Mexico.
And by the way,
those hearts didn't go to waste.
Did not go to waste.
Because right after the ceremonies.
The royal family, naturally,
would enjoy another one of our amusing activities,
cannibalism.
Imagine that.
Chowing down on another human being.
You got to be all out of beef jerky, man.
You got to be really fucking hungry.
But it happens, doesn't it?
It still happens to this day.
A bunch of people stranded in the wilderness.
Run out of Pop-Tarts,
you got to eat something.
Might as well be Steve.
And how do you decide who to eat first?
How do you decide who's first on the barbecue rack?
Do you pick on the little guy
because he's skinny and he can't fight back?
Or do you all gang up on the body builder
because he's got a lot of steaks and chops on him?
These are things human beings have to consider.
One more of these charming diversions of ours,
necrophilia.
Now there's a hobby for you.
Fucking a corpse.
It takes a special kind of guy.
Don't you think?
But it happens, it happens.
More than you might think.
It happens among humans.
Animals don't do that.
Animals don't fuck their dead.
A rat will do a lot of gross things,
but he will not fuck a dead rat.
It wouldn't even occur to him.
Only a human being would think
to fuck someone who just died.
We got to be the most interesting critters
on the planet.
And then we wonder why a UFO
doesn't just land and say, hello.
You know the best thing about necrophilia?
You don't have to bring flowers.
Yeah, usually they're already there.
Isn't that nice?
It's nice.
It's convenient.
Human beings will do anything.
Anything.
I am convinced.
That's why when all those beheadings started in Iraq,
it didn't bother me.
I took it right in stride.
A lot of people here were horrified.
"Oh, beheadings, beheadings."
What are you fucking surprised?
It's just one more form of extreme human behavior.
Besides. Who cares about some
mercenary civilian contractor from Oklahoma
who gets his head cut off?
Fuck him.
Hey, Jack, you don't want to get your head cut off?
Stay the fuck in Oklahoma.
They ain't cutting off heads in Oklahoma.
As far as I know.
But I do know this.
You strap on a gun
and go strutting around some other man's country,
you better be ready for some action. Jack.
You better be ready for some action.
People are touchy about that sort of thing.
And let me ask you this
while I have you good, clean Americans here.
This is a moral question, not rhetorical.
I'm looking for the answer.
What is the moral difference
between cutting off one guy's head
or two or three or five or ten
and dropping a big bomb on a hospital
and killing a whole bunch of sick kids?
Has anybody in authority
given you an explanation of the difference?
I have not gotten an email on this.
No one will talk to me.
I haven't gotten a postcard,
not a fucking instant message, nothin'.
Now, in case you're wondering
why I have a certain interest and fascination.
Let's call it.
With torture and beheadings
and all of these things I've mentioned
is because each of these items
reminds me in life.
Every time one of them occurs,
it reminds me over and over again
what beasts we human beings really are, you know?
When you get right down to it,
when you get right down to it,
human beings are nothing more
than ordinary jungle beasts.
Savages.
No different from the Cro-Magnon people
who lived 25,000 years ago
in the Plasticine Forest
eating grubs off of rotten logs.
No different.
Our DNA hasn't changed substantially
in 100,000 years.
We're still operating out of the lower brain.
The reptilian brain.
Fight or flight.
Kill or be killed.
Now. We like to think we've evolved and advanced
because we can build a computer,
fly an airplane,
travel underwater.
We can write a sonnet.
Paint a painting,
compose an opera.
But you know something?
We're barely out of the jungle on this planet.
Barely out of the fucking jungle.
What we are is semi-civilized beasts
with baseball caps and automatic weapons.
And this civilization of ours
that we're so proud of,
this civilization with its so-called civilized behavior.
You ever stop and realize
how fragile all this is?
How fragile the whole structure.
How easily it can all just break right down,
just break right down.
It wouldn't take much.
It'll probably happen in less than two years.
It wouldn't take much
to throw us right back into barbaric times.
All you'd have to do
would be eliminate electricity.
That's all.
But completely.
Eliminate electricity.
So, no electricity, no lights.
You're back to candles and lanterns.
Campfires and bonfires.
Batteries couldn't be recharged.
Generators couldn't be refueled
because fuel is pumped electrically.
So is water, by the way.
So no lights, no fuel, no water, no computers.
And computers run everything.
And among the many things computers run
that operate on electricity
are all of the security systems
in all of ourjails
and prisons and nut houses.
So suddenly without electricity,
all across America
the gates and cell doors
of penitentiaries
and mental institutions
would fly open
and out would come all of our old friends.
The ones who've been away,
at camp.
Serial killers.
Mass murderers.
Felony rapists,
armed robbers.
Carjackers,
home invaders.
Thieves.
Burglars, kidnappers,
sadists, pedophiles,
sexual predators, pimps,
pushers, pornographers,
speed freaks, crack heads, sick junkies.
All the ethnic street gangs.
Blacks, Spanish and Asian gangs,
Japanese Yakuza,
Russian Mafia.
Neo-Nazis.
White supremacists,
Sicilian hit man.
Italian mobsters.
Jamaican and Colombian drug gangs.
And those are just the ones we caught.
Lets not forget their counter-parts
still on the outside right now
waiting to hook up with their prison buddies
so they can start a new organization,
The American Federation of Sociopaths.
Just what the country needs.
Another special interest group.
Eight to ten million of them there would be.
Counting all the parolees
and all the probationers
and the ones who've never been caught.
Eight to ten million
bitter, angry, violent,
sexually hyperactive alpha males
with nothing to do.
No hobbies.
No medication.
No scruples.
Just a bunch of bad guys
looking for a good time.
Maybe dropping by your house.
"Hi.
Hope we're not intruding.
Got any beer?
Oh, good.
Well, I got about 1400 really thirsty guys here.
How about women?
Got any women?
Oh, just your wife, huh?
Well. I think we can make that work.
Now boys, there's a lady here.
So I want you to mind your manners
and wait your turn."
Police wouldn't help you.
They'd be gone at the first sign of trouble.
They'd be home protecting their own families.
So would the Army and the National Guard.
You'd be alone.
You'd be on your own.
You'd be S.O.L. And J.W.F.
Shit out of luck and jolly well fucked.
After a couple of years of living like that,
beheadings would be the least of your problems.
People would be lining up to be beheaded.
So let's get back to suicide,
which now seems like a reasonable alternative.
Suicide is an interesting topic to me
because it is an inherently interesting decision.
To decide voluntarily not to exist anymore.
It's profound.
You know what it is?
It's the ultimate makeover.
That's why I think it belongs on television.
In this depraved culture we live in.
With all of these reality shows.
Suicide and television will be a natural.
I'll bet you I can have
an All-Suicide Channel on cable TV.
I'll bet you.
Shit, they got all golf.
What the fuck. Huh?
Goddamn.
You ever watch golf?
It's like watching flies fuck.
If you'd get a bunch of brainless assholes
insisting on waste a Sunday afternoon
on that kind of shit.
You know you can get some people to watch some suicides.
All day long,
24 hours a day
nothing but suicides.
Must die TV.
You'd get a lot of people watching that shit.
You'd get a lot of people
volunteering to be on there. Too.
Just so their friends can see them on TV.
People are fucking goofy.
You'd get a lot of volunteers.
You'd get all them leftover assholes
from "Let's Make a Deal".
They'd be lined up around the block
pushing each other out of the way,
putting on funny capes and caps and hats
and makeup and calling themselves Captain Suicide.
Guys would be competing for most unusual method.
People would be jumping off of silos,
lighting themselves on fire,
putting rat poison on a taco,
drinking Mop & Glo,
sticking moth balls up their ass.
You'd probably have some weird fuck show up
who'd figured out how to kill himself
with dental floss and a stinger missile.
People are fucking goofy.
I'd bet you could find you a married couple,
in this country, shit.
I'll bet you,
you could find a married couple
in one of them trailer parks or something
who'd be perfectly willing
to sit in a loveseat
and blow each other's heads off with shotguns
while a love song is playing.
People are fucking nuts.
This country is full of nitwits and assholes.
Do you ever notice that?
Oh, my goodness, yes.
Oh, my goodness.
Yeah.
Nitwits. Assholes.
Fuck ups, scumbags,
jerk offs and dipshits.
And they all vote.
They all vote, yeah.
In fact. Sometimes you get the impression
They're the only ones who vote.
You can usually tell who's been doing the voting
by looking at the fucking election returns.
Man. It sure ain't me out there
wasting my time
with a meaningless activity like that.
You know those people on the "Jerry Springer Show",
those are the average Americans.
Oh, yeah, believe me.
Below average can't get on the show.
Can't get on.
Below average is sitting home
watching that shit on TV,
getting ready to out and vote,
filling out their sample ballot.
People are fucking dumb.
You can say what you want about this country,
and I love this place.
I love the freedoms we used to have.
I love it.
I love that.
I love it when it didn't take a fucking catastrophe
to get us to care for one another.
I love the fact
that we're on camera all the time
from all angles.
But, you know, you can say what you want about America.
And I say I love this place.
I wouldn't have it any other way,
wouldn't live in any other time in history
in any other place.
But say what you want about America.
Land of the free. Home of the brave.
We've got some dumb-ass motherfuckers
floating around this country.
Dumb-ass motherfuckers, you know.
Now, obviously that doesn't include this audience.
I understand that.
You seem intelligent and perceptive
but the rest of them.
Holy jumping fucking shit balls.
Dumber than a second coat of paint.
Now, this ain't just ranting and raving.
This ain't just blowing off steam.
I got a little evidence to support my claim.
It just seems to me
seems to me.
That only a really low IQ population
could have taken this beautiful continent.
This magnificent American landscape
that we inherited...
Well, actually, we stole it
from the Mexicans and the Indians but.
Hey, it was nice when we stole it.
It looked pretty good.
It was pristine.
Paradise.
Have you seen it lately?
Have you taken a good look at it lately?
It's fucking embarrassing.
Only a nation of unenlightened half-wits
could have taken this beautiful place
and turned it into what it is today,
a shopping mall.
A big, fucking shopping mall.
You know that.
That's all you got.
That's all you got here, folks.
Mile after mile
of mall after mall.
Many, many malls.
Major malls and mini malls.
They put the mini malls
in between the major malls.
And in between the mini malls
they put the mini marts.
And in between the mini marts.
You've got the car lots,
gas stations, muffler shops,
Laundromats, cheap hotels,
fast food joints,
strip clubs and dirty bookstores.
America the beautiful.
One big transcontinental commercial cesspool.
And how do the people feel about all this?
How do the people feel about
living in a coast-to-coast shopping mall?
Well, they think it's just fucking dandy.
They think it is as cool as can be.
Because Americans love the mall.
They love the mall.
That's where they get to satisfy
their two most prominent addictions
at the same time.
Shopping and eating.
Millions of semiconscious Americans
day after day
shuffling through the malls
shopping and eating.
Especially eating.
Americans love to eat.
They are fatally attracted to
the slow death of fast food.
Hot dogs, corn dogs,
triple bacon cheeseburgers,
deep-fried butter
dipped in pork fat and cheese whiz.
Mayonnaise-soaked barbecue mozzarella patty melts.
America will eat anything.
Anything.
If you were selling sautéed raccoons assholes on a stick.
Americans would buy them
and eat them.
Especially if you dipped them in butter
and put a little salsa on them.
This country is big-time pig time.
Forget the bald eagle.
You know what the national emblem of this country ought to be?
A big bowl of macaroni and cheese.
A big bowl because everything in this country is king size.
King size, extra large and superjumbo.
Especially the fucking people.
Have you seen some of the people in this country?
Have you taken a good look at some of these
big, fat motherfuckers walking around?
Big, fat motherfuckers.
Oh, my God.
Huge piles of redundant protoplasm
lumbering through the malls
like a fleet of interstate buses.
The people in this country are immense.
Massive bellies.
Monstrous thighs
and big, fat fucking asses.
And if you stand there for a minute
and you look at one of them,
you'll look at one of them
and you begin to wonder,
How does this woman take a shit?
How does she shit?
And even more frightening,
How does she wipe her ass?
Can she even locate her asshole?
She must require assistance.
Are paramedics trained in this field?
And standing right next to her. Of course.
With a plate full of nachos
and a mouthful of pie
is her clueless fucking husband Joe Six Pack.
With his monstrous swollen beer belly
hanging dangerously out over his belt buckle.
This guy ain't seen his dick
since the Nixon administration.
And if you stand there
and you look at the two of them.
You begin to wonder to yourself,
Do these people fuck?
Is this man actually capable
of fucking this woman?
It doesn't seem structurally possible
that these two people could achieve penetration.
Maybe they're in that "Cirque du Soleil" or something.
I'm telling you the people in this country
every one of them is 50 pounds overweight.
They are gargantuan.
And in the summertime.
God help us,
in the summertime they all want to wear short pants.
Jesus, Lord, protector of all that is good and holy,
deliver me from fat people in short pants.
They all got short pants, big bellies,
fat thighs and dumb kids.
Short pants, big bellies,
fat thighs and dumb kids.
Every one of them
has got two dumb-ass kids with them.
And the whole family is wearing T-shirts.
And every one of them has got the same T-shirt,
"I'm with stupid."
Apparently in this country,
the Stupids are an extended family.
And besides wearing them T-shirts.
Everyone in the family has got on a backpack.
They got a backpack strapped to their back
so they can carry around lots of stupid shit.
And the reason they got to carry
their stupid shit strapped to their backs
is because their hands must remain free at all times
to hold food.
And to get that food up to the mouth
where it gets shoveled in
with all the rest of the disgusting shit
they ate that day.
And...
Another reason for the backpacks
is these people are going to buy
even more stupid shit.
They ain't got enough stupid shit at home.
They just had a stupid shit sale,
they're gonna buy more.
They're going to go out in the parking lot
and stuff this stuff
into the big, fat, ugly, oversized SUV
that's got plenty of room in it.
Plenty of room in it for stupid shit
and lots of room left over
for these big, fat, ugly motherfuckers
to get them home.
Stopping, of course, for jelly roll and fried dough.
These people, these people are efficient,
professional, compulsive consumers.
It's their civic duty.
Consumption.
It's the new national pastime.
Fuck baseball.
It's consumption.
The only true lasting American value that's left.
Buying things.
People spending money they don't have
on things they don't need.
Money they don't have on things they don't need.
So they can max out their credit cards
and spend the rest of their lives
paying 18 percent interest
on something that cost 12.50.
And they didn't like it
when they got it home anyway.
Not too bright, folks.
Not too fucking bright.
But if you talk to one of them about this.
If you isolate one of them,
you sit them down rationally,
and you talk to them about the low IQ's
and the dumb behavior
and the bad decisions.
Right away they start talking about education.
That's the big answer to everything.
Education.
They say "We need more money for education.
We need more books.
More teachers.
More classrooms.
More schools.
We need more testing for the kids".
You say to them,
"Well, you know, we've tried all of that
and the kids still can't pass the tests".
They say, "Don't you worry about that.
We're going to lower the passing grades".
And that's what they do in a lot of these schools now.
They lower the passing grades
so more kids can pass.
More kids pass,
the school looks good,
everybody's happy,
the IQ of the country slips another two or three points
and pretty soon all you'll need to get into college
is a fucking pencil.
Got a pencil?
Get the fuck in there, it's physics.
Then everyone wonders why 17 other countries
graduate more scientists than we do.
Education.
Politicians know that word.
They use it on you.
Politicians have traditionally
hidden behind three things,
the flag, the Bible and children.
"No child left behind.
No child left behind."
Oh, really?
Well, it wasn't long ago
you were talking about giving kids a head start.
Head start. Left behind.
Someone is losing fucking ground here.
But there's a reason.
There's a reason.
There's a reason for this.
There's a reason that education sucks.
And it's the same reason
that it will never ever. Ever be fixed.
It's never going to get any better.
Don't look for it.
Be happy with what you got.
Because the owners of this country don't want that.
I'm talking about the real owners now.
The real owners.
The big, wealthy business interests
that control things
and make all the important decisions.
Forget the politicians.
The politicians are put there
to give you the idea that you have freedom of choice.
You don't.
You have no choice.
You have owners.
They own you.
They own everything.
They own all the important land.
They own and control the corporations.
They've long since bought and paid for the Senate,
the Congress, the state houses, and city halls.
They got the judges in their back pocket.
And they own all the big media companies
so they control just about
all of the news and information you get to hear.
They got you by the balls.
They spend billions of dollars every year lobbying,
lobbying to get what they want.
Well, we know what they want.
They want more for themselves
and less for everybody else.
But I'll tell you what they don't want.
They don't want a population of citizens
capable of critical thinking.
They don't want well-informed.
Well educated people
capable of critical thinking.
They're not interested in that.
That doesn't help them.
That's against their interest.
That's right.
They don't want people who are smart enough
to sit around the kitchen table
and figure out how badly they're getting fucked
by a system that threw them overboard
30 fucking years ago.
They don't want that.
You know what they want?
They want obedient workers.
Obedient workers.
People who are just smart enough
to run the machines
and do the paperwork
and just dumb enough to passively accept
all these increasingly shittierjobs
with the lower pay,
the longer hours,
the reduced benefits.
The end of overtime
and the vanishing pension
that disappears the minute you go to collect it.
And now, they're coming for your Social Security money.
They want your fucking retirement money.
They want it back.
So they can give it to
their criminal friends on Wall Street.
And you know something, they'll get it.
They'll get it all from you sooner or later.
Because they own this fucking place.
It's a big club.
And you ain't in it.
You and I are not in the big club.
By the way, it's the same big club
they use to beat you over the head with all day long
when they tell you what to believe.
All day long beating you over the head. And their media
telling you what to believe, what to think and what to buy.
The table is tilted. Folks.
The game is rigged
and nobody seems to notice.
Nobody seems to care.
Good. Honest. Hard-working people.
White collar. Blue collar.
It doesn't matter what color shirt you have on.
Good, honest, hard-working people continue...
these are people of modest means.
Continue to elect these rich cocksuckers
who don't give a fuck about them.
They don't give a fuck about you.
They don't care about you.
At all.
Yeah.
You know.
And nobody seems to notice.
Nobody seems to care.
That's what the owners count on.
The fact that Americans
will probably remain willfully ignorant
of the big red, white and blue dick
that's being jammed up their assholes every day.
Because the owners of this country know the truth.
It's called the American dream.
Because you have to be asleep to believe it.
But say what you want about American folks.
Yeah.
You can say what you want about Americans.
You can call them smart. Dumb.
Ignorant, innocent, naive,
gullible, easily led.
Whatever you want.
You're gonna have to deal with them.
You're gonna have to deal with them
because you're in the television business now.
You got the All-Suicide Channel on cable TV.
You need these people as viewers.
You need people looking in.
You got to worry about your ratings.
You're going to have to be thinking about sweeps months.
Most folks know what sweeps months are now.
Those are the more important ratings months of the year
when they put on all their biggest attractions
and their hottest stars
trying to pump the ratings up a little bit,
get the local stations
to adjust their advertising rates.
You're going to have to compete
with the mentality of network television.
And I think on an All-Suicide Channel.
During sweeps months,
you're going to have to go with mass suicides.
Big public events
where hundreds of people kill themselves
all at the same time
right on live TV.
Now, I've been wrestling with a way to do this.
I've been trying to figure this out.
I swear to God this is the truth.
I've been trying to figure this part of it out
for six months now.
And I only recently have it
so I'm going to tell you about it.
Now, we're going to have to get lots and lots of people
to kill themselves on demand.
How are we going to do this? That's the question.
How are we going to get large numbers of people
to commit suicide
at a time and place of our choosing?
And I mean large numbers,
because don't forget besides sweeps,
we're going to have to be thinking about
24-hour a day programming.
So to make this work.
We need organization.
You need a system.
You can't just sit around the studio all day long
and wait for people to drop by
and commit suicide.
What we have to do is build up
a large pool of hopeless people.
Suicide volunteers.
People with no hope.
People whom society has given up on.
Fate has given up on
or who have given up on themselves.
Rock bottom. Dead end.
Totally fucked up people
with no hope
and no reason to live.
Now we got our share of them. Folks.
Think of it as a pyramid.
That will give you a visual fix on it.
Think of it as a pyramid.
The pyramid of the hopeless.
We are going to start building this pyramid
at the very base, naturally.
And the bottom layer
is going to be homeless people.
God knows we've got plenty of them.
Nobody gives a fuck about them.
Nobody's got a plan.
Nobody's got any money.
Nobody's got a program.
Nobody gives a fuck about homeless people.
We don't know how many we have even.
We know 500.000 of them are veterans.
Because we're so good to the veterans in this country.
And we know about a 1.400.000 of them are children.
There, so we got a million and a half children.
And then God knows how many more we got.
Totally fucking hopeless.
In the pyramid they go.
Now, the next group we are going to put in here,
these are the people in prison
with these long sentences they've been given.
Many of them deserved.
I'll grant you that.
I'm sure half the people in prison
are in there for things they really did.
That's not a bad average.
One out of two.
But nobody gives a shit about these people.
Nobody's going to hire them if they do get out.
They're never going to get out.
Rehabilitation doesn't work.
And the judges give them
these fucking draconian sentences.
40. 50. 60. 70. 80. 100 year sentences.
Life term.
Double life.
One guy about a month ago
was given three consecutive life terms.
Plus two death penalties.
How the fuck do you serve that?
Even David Copperfield can't do that shit.
In order to do that.
You'd have to be a Hindu.
Then you got the people on death row.
They ain't going anywhere.
In the fucking pyramid they go.
Now, the next layer,
this group is self-selected.
Self-selected and a bit controversial
to some ears, I guess.
These are the people who claim to be depressed, okay?
Apparently in this land of plenty,
this richest nation in the history world
we're so proud of saying that.
Some supermarkets
have a hundred thousand items in them.
We have 19 million Americans
claiming to be depressed.
And some of them take medicine for it.
Sometimes the medicine
makes one of them commit suicide
and that depresses the shit out of the rest of them.
Then you have these people
who only think they're depressed.
They think they're depressed
because they saw the commercial on TV
and the doctor looked like a good guy,
the music sounded kind of peppy and what the fuck,
some of these pills
will probably just pick me right up.
Totally fucking hopeless minds.
In the fucking pyramid.
Up at the very top
we are gonna put the people
who are truly sick.
The terminally ill.
Unfortunately, no hope for a lot of them.
Hundreds of thousands of them.
There's no cure for what they have.
Some of them say there is no cure because nobody's looking for one.
There ain't enough people sick with it
so there ain't no money in the fucking cure.
Then there's people who've got...
there's a cure, but they don't have the money for it.
There are the other ones there's a cure
but they're too far gone.
There's other ones there's a cure
but there is no social means to get to it.
So these people ain't going anywhere.
They should be allowed to commit suicide.
Boom.
In the fucking pyramid they go.
Now. Think of what you got here, folks.
Think of yourself
as the executive vice president of programming
at the All-Suicide Channel.
Think of what you have to work with
in the pyramid of the hopeless.
You have homeless.
Imprisoned,
condemned,
depressed and terminally ill people.
And I'm going to bet you anything.
In this depraved culture of ours.
Bet you anything,
with the reality show mentality we have
on the All-Suicide Channel.
You could get 500
of these hopeless people
to hold hands and jump into the Grand Canyon.
I'll fucking bet you.
I'll fucking bet you you can get that done
in this country, write this down.
I'll bet you.
For money, for money, for money.
You got to give them something.
You know, you got to...
Oh. Shit.
They're Americans, they're for sale.
Give them a little something.
Americans will do anything
but you got to give them a toaster, don't you?
Give them a little prize of some kind.
Everybody wants a gizmo.
Give them a gizmo.
Give them a cell phone.
Give them a laptop.
Give them a cell phone that takes a picture of a laptop.
Give them a laptop that takes a picture of a cell phone.
Give them one of them three-wheeled vehicles.
Give them an all-terrain vehicle.
Give them one of them riding lawnmowers.
Give them a snowblower.
Give them an outdoor barbecuer or a jet-ski.
Give them one of those things they buy for themselves
when they are trying to take their minds off
how badly they're getting fucked by the system.
I know what you do.
Just before these people jump,
you give them a hat with a camera in it.
And you tell them it's jump cam.
Tell them you'll send the video home to the family.
T-Shirt. Who don't want a T-shirt?
Everybody does.
Give them a nice T-shirt.
"I committed suicide
and all I got was this stupid, fucking T-shirt."
All right.
Now...
If you want to really raise
the profile of this promotion,
get some of those evangelical Christians
to volunteer for it
and you call it, "Jump for Jesus".
They would bite.
They would go for it.
Hey, you got to be fair.
Got to be fair about these Christians.
They come in for a lot of abuse these days.
So you do have to be fair.
All a Christian really wants out of life
is to die.
And go see Jesus.
Give them a helping hand.
Do the Christian thing.
Tell them it's a shortcut to heaven.
Mention the word martyr.
It works on the Muslims. It works on the Catholics.
It might work for these folks, you never know.
Hey, hey, I know.
Give them a little encouragement.
"Go on you fanatical fuck,
he's down there.
He's down there.
He's at the bottom of the canyon.
Look for the man with the glowing head."
Oh, you could have a lot of fun with a channel like that.
But you know something, folks,
maybe you don't want to be on cable.
Maybe you don't want to be on cable.
It is a limited audience.
You might want to widen out
and get more people looking in
and you're going to have to go to the broadcast networks.
One of the big broadcast networks.
And I don't know about you,
but when I think about suicide
and broadcast network television.
I'm thinking FOX.
Huh?
I'm telling you FOX.
If the people at FOX ain't sitting around
having meetings on an idea like this.
They ain't doing their goddamn jobs over there.
So you put this thing on FOX,
get Budweiser to sponsor it.
Budweiser and a whole bunch of car companies
so people can be thinking about drinking and driving
at the same time.
Ain't that fun?
Isn't it fun to watch the sporting events
on American television?
"Drink this. Drive that, fuck you."
They don't care.
They don't give a shit about you.
And then every now and then
they qualify the whole message.
"Drink responsibly."
So you put this thing on FOX.
And if you do,
if you do or on any broadcast network,
you're gonna have to bring in that younger audience.
Everybody knows that.
That's what the advertisers are looking for
is these 18 to 24 year olds.
You're going to have to get young people
interested in this.
You know how you get young people interested in suicide?
You don't call it suicide.
You call it "Extreme Living".
They would go for it.
Listen, young people
are attracted to suicide in the first place.
Did you know suicide
is the third leading cause of death
between 15 and 24?
It's third.
Ninth in the general population.
That will give you an idea of how popular
this after school activity has become
among our teenage folks.
Especially these young boys,
these adolescent males.
And a lot of them you know,
a lot of them.
They kill themselves when they're jerking off.
They don't mean to.
It just happens.
You know about that?
Yeah, some you know. I can tell.
Yeah.
A lot people don't know about it.
A lot of people never heard of that, you know.
It's just one of those things Americans can't handle.
"We can't handle that.
We don't talk about that."
It's not on Larry King Live.
It ain't on Barbara Walters.
You ain't going to see it in "People" magazine
but it's out there. Folks.
It's out there and it is extremely common.
You just ask any teenage boy
you know who trusts you.
Ask him what he knows or what he's heard
about cutting off your air supply
just at the moment you're about to have a sexual release.
He'll tell you an interesting story or two.
The kids call it "scarfing",
because some of them use scarfs to do it.
Well. Screw the kid.
Just get on the Internet.
Do it yourself.
Google in the words autoerotic asphyxia.
Autoerotic asphyxia.
It's the practice of cutting off the oxygen to the brain
at the last moment during masturbation
in order to heighten the orgasm.
And when I say common,
a thousand kids a year die this way, okay?
A thousand of them die.
So think how many of them
are trying to pull this off.
If you pardon the little pun that I throw in there
just to lighten the mood.
But here's the way it works.
Apparently, I never tried it.
It sounded risky to me.
Well, jerking off is all I need.
You know what I mean. Folks?
I ain't trying to double my money.
Fuck that shit.
No, I just jerk off,
wipe off my chest,
get up and go to work, you know.
That's it. That's it. That's it.
Nothing fancy.
Nothing fancy at our house.
We're simple folk.
But here is the way it's supposed to work
and this is why
it's such a big attraction in the first place.
Apparently it is true,
medically, physiologically speaking
that if you can cut off your air supply,
the oxygen to your brain
just at the moment you're about to have an orgasm,
the orgasm is about,
I don't know. Let's say 500 times better.
Something like that.
It's incredibly intense.
So what you got to do
is stand up on a chair or a bucket
or some kind of thing,
you put a rope around your neck
and you start jerking off.
And while you're pulling your pud,
while you're pulling your pud,
you have to arrange
to almost strangle yourself
just before you have an orgasm.
And by the way,
while all this activity is going on,
you've got to maintain a hard-on
which ain't easy
because you might just be getting ready to buy the farm.
So you better be fantasizing
about someone you really like
or something you really like.
I don't know what it might be.
Maybe getting fucked in the ass by a game warden.
Who knows. Huh.
Hey, I'm not here to judge.
We're all different.
To each his own.
So let's recap.
Stand on a chair.
Rope around your neck,
peter in your hand.
Now, you have to time it just right
so that just before you cum
you almost die.
And sometimes you miscalculate.
You don't know if you're coming or going.
You don't know.
There's no way to know.
No way to know.
And the parents of these kids
are too embarrassed to tell the police
so they put the kid's dick away
and say "He had poor grades.
His girlfriend left him."
"Oh, well, no wonder lady,
look at his fucking hobbies."
Then they blame it on heavy metal, you know.
I don't know if you remember that
but from that old incident some years back,
Judas Priest.
One of the head banging bands,
somebody played a song
and after that they killed themselves
so they blamed suicide on heavy metal.
If it's murder.
They tend blame rap these days.
But it's never the parents.
Did you ever notice this?
Parents apparently play no part
in the development and outcomes of these kids.
Parents.
You know they can raise a kid apparently
11, 12, 13, 14, 15 years.
If he turns out fucked up,
boy, they had nothing to do with that.
"Must be those kids at the parking lot
he hangs around with."
Parents got to be among
the most full of shit people in the world.
Well, they always have been.
Top to bottom, front to back.
Listen. In fairness.
It comes with the job.
If you want to be a parent,
you got to be full of shit
at least half the time.
Look at it this way,
they have it both ways.
If the kid turns out to be a loser.
They had nothing to do with that.
But boy if he is a winner,
got a scholarship or something like that,
man, they are the first ones out there raising their hands
trying to take a little credit.
It's a nice state of mind
if you can talk yourself in to believing it.
But these are the kind of things I think about
when I'm sitting home alone
during an electrical storm
waiting for the parole officer to give me a call.
And these ideas.
These ideas come floating into my head.
Just floating right in unbidden.
I'm not asking for these things.
I'm a vessel.
I'm a mere vessel.
In comes these thoughts.
And some of them are a little offbeat.
I'm gonna grant you that.
I was thinking about these younger woman
who got buried today.
Did you ever think about them?
Probably not.
But I was thinking about these younger woman
who died three or four days ago
got buried today.
And some of them had a bad heart, you know.
Some of them had a bad kidney.
But a lot of them
had perfectly good pussies.
Good pussies, nice tits,
reasonably tight assholes
going to waste,
in the ground.
It just seems a shame to me
that some fine, young pussy
should be rotting away six feet under.
Because you'd think,
you would think in this era
that if you can donate a heart...
Okay, okay.
To someone who needs one.
There ought to be a way
to recycle some of these pussies.
And get them to people who need them.
Some old guy living up in the mountains.
"Wow.
Holy shit.
Look at this fucking thing.
This is great.
Thank you very much.
Thank you, sir, I appreciate this.
Thank you, thank you.
Thank you, God bless you.
You're doing God's work.
I hope you know that, don't you.
Hey, this is better than "Publisher's Clearinghouse".
Listen here, buddy,
you ain't got a redheaded one of these by any chance do you?
No. I didn't think so.
I never run into one of them myself.
Thank you very much.
Now listen here.
This is the real thing, ain't it?
This ain't one of them store bought pussies
from the adult bookstore.
Huh. What's that?
Oh, okay.
Hold on just a second.
Oh. Jesus Christ on a cracker.
That's the real fucking thing.
I'd recognize that son of a bitch anywhere.
That straightened out my nose hairs.
I better get this sucker home
and get it in the refrigerator as quick as I can."
The save-a-pussy foundation.
Give the gift that keeps on giving.
Fuck the whales.
Save the pussy.
But you wouldn't want to save all of them.
Not all of them.
Some of them is wore out.
Oh, you wouldn't want one of them big, old rubbery things.
That ain't no good.
What you want is,
you want you something nice and tight
but flexible.
Maybe you'd have an age limit.
Or a mileage check.
You know, you figure out the average length
of the average dick,
the average number of thrusts per event,
the average number of events per lifetime,
you've got that lady's mileage.
And you woman, I don't want you to think
I'm going to leave you out of the fun.
We're going to get you a nice set of cock and balls.
Okay?
We'll get you something nice
just after rigor mortis has set in.
Tell the truth. Ladies.
Wouldn't you like a nice set of cock and balls
without all the bullshit that comes with them.
Huh?
Fucking a.
We'll get you something nice,
you keep it on the nightstand.
It's real easy to find in the dark.
And if your mother comes over,
put a hat on it.
Well, somebody's got to think of these things.
Apparently I've been appointed.
I was dancing with a woman.
She told me she had a yeast infection.
I said. "Well. Bake me a fucking loaf of bread.
A couple of corn muffins, a jelly donut.
I don't give a shit.
I'm always in the market for quality-baked goods.
You couldn't squeeze a birthday cake
out of that thing by any chance, could you?
No. No. I didn't think so.
No pressure, honey, no pressure at all.
Why don't you just turn around
and give me a nice pineapple upside-down cake.
And a dozen oatmeal cookies.
Skip the raisins.
Icksnay on the aisinsray."
Well. I think it is certainly apparent by now
that one of the things I enjoy in life is excess.
I like things that are excessive.
I like excessive behavior.
Excessive language.
Excessive violence.
It's fun.
It's interesting.
It's exciting.
I like it when nature is excessive.
That's why I like natural disasters.
All these natural disasters that have been going on.
I fucking love them.
I can't get enough of them.
Oh. When nature's going crazy,
throwing things around,
scaring people and destroying property,
I'm a happy fucking guy.
I look at it this way,
for centuries now
man has done everything he can
to destroy, defile
and interfere with nature.
Clear-cutting forests,
strip-mining mountains,
poisoning the atmosphere,
over fishing the oceans,
polluting the rivers and lakes.
Destroying wetlands and aquifers.
So when nature strikes back
and smacks man in the head
and kicks him in the nuts.
I enjoy that.
I have absolutely no sympathy
for human beings whatsoever.
None.
And no matter what kind of problem humans are facing
whether it's natural or man made.
I always hope it gets worse.
Don't you?
Don't you have a part of you,
a part of you that secretly hopes
everything gets worse?
When you see a big fire on TV,
don't you hope it spreads?
Don't you hope it gets completely out of control
and burns down six counties?
You don't root for a fireman, do you?
I mean I don't want him to get hurt or nothin' but
I don't want him putting out my fire.
That's my fire.
That's nature showing off and having fun.
I like fires.
You know something else I like?
Those spring floods in the Midwest.
Aren't they great?
Like clockwork.
Spring floods in the Midwest.
But I'm starting to notice,
I'm starting to catch on
that every year it's the same story.
Another flood in the same place
with the same people on the same river.
Same fucking people.
And these people do not move.
They will not fucking move.
They repaint,
put down new carpeting and wallpaper
and they move right back into the same fucking house
on the flood plain next to the river
and then they wonder why
grandma's floating downstream
with a parakeet on her head.
Fourth time.
Again.
Fourth fucking time.
There's no learning curve with these people.
It's very hard to feel sorry for them.
Every year same people.
Same rowboats.
Out there paddling around,
rescuing a chicken.
What the fuck kind of a life is that?
"Well. Our kids love it here."
Oh, really.
What do they got, gills?
And while they're showing all that shit on the screen.
The announcer is saying to me,
"It's been raining steadily for three months now.
The ground can't hold any more water.
The river is cresting higher
than it has in two centuries.
The levies have washed away"
and I just hope it keeps raining,
and raining,
and it rains steadily for five years.
And then after that.
For ten years it's cloudy
with occasional showers.
And the river never returns to its natural banks.
It becomes a completely new river.
And the borders of three states have to be changed.
And all the maps and atlases
have to be redrawn and reprinted.
And no one's couch
ever completely dries out.
For years and years,
every time they sit down,
there's always a little squish.
"Dan. Linda. Come on in, you guys.
Have a seat.
Squish, squish."
I like that.
I'm an interesting guy.
I always hope
that no matter how small the original problem is
it's going to grow into bigger and bigger proportions
that get completely out of control.
And I'll give you a concrete example.
Let's say a water main breaks
in downtown Los Angeles
and it floods an electrical substation
knocking out all the traffic lights
and tying up the entire city
and emergency vehicles can't get through.
And at the same time
one of those month long
global warming heat waves comes along
but there's no air conditioning.
There's no water for sanitation.
So cholera, small pox and dysentery break out
and thousands of people start dying in the streets.
But before they die,
parasites eat their brains.
And they go completely fucking crazy,
and they storm the hospital.
But the hospital can't handle all the casualties.
So these people rape all the nurses
and set the hospital on fire.
And the flames drive them even crazier
so they start stabbing
social workers and garbage men.
And a big wind comes along
and the entire city goes up in flames
and the people who are still healthy
they get mad at the sick people
and they start crucifying them.
Nailing them to crosses.
Trying on their underwear.
Shit like that.
Then everybody smokes crack and PCP
and they march on city hall
where they burn the mayor at the stake,
strangle his wife
and take turns sodomizing the statue of Larry Flynt.
And at this point,
at this point it looks like pretty soon
things are going to start to get out of control.
So everybody panics
and tries to leave the city at the same time.
And they trample each other to death in the streets
by the thousands
and wild dogs eat their corpses.
And the wild dogs
chase the rest of the people down the highway.
And one by one
the dogs pick off the old fucks
and the slow people
because they're in the fast lane
where they don't belong.
Get the fuck out of the fast lane
if you're an old fuck,
if you're a slow fuck.
Get over on the right.
And then, the lucky ones,
the lucky people
who manage to make it all the way outside of town
they discover when they get there,
the big sparks from the city
have lit the suburbs on fire
and the suburbs burn uncontrollably.
And thousands of identical homes
have identical fires
with identical smoke
killing all the identical soccer moms
and their identical kids
named Jason and Jennifer.
And now. Now the fire spreads to the farmlands
and the farmlands burn intensely of 425 degrees
creating millions of baked potatoes.
And as the farmlands burn.
As the farmlands burn.
Thousands of barns and farmhouses begin to explode
from all hidden methamphetamine labs.
And the meth chemicals run downhill
into the rivers and streams
where wild animals drink the water
and get completely geeked on speed.
So bears and wolves amped up on crank
start roaming the countryside
looking for people to eat
even though they're not really hungry.
Then the fire spreads to the forest.
And the forest burn furiously.
And hundreds of elves and trolls and fairies
come running out of the woods screaming,
"Bambi is dead. Bambi is dead!"
And he is. He is.
Finally that fucking little cunt.
Bambi is dead.
Dead.
Now, hundreds of regional fires come together
into one huge interstate inferno.
And all 12 of the western United States
are burning out of control
except Utah where the Mormons don't allow fires.
And the fires spreads across the Great Plains
toasting the wheat,
cooking the cattle
and producing hamburgers actually.
Then it leaps to Mississippi
and races through the South
blowing up stills and interrupting lynching's
and killing millions of inbred people.
And then it turns northeast
and it heads for Washington, D.C.
Where George Bush can't decide
if it's an emergency or not.
He can't decide this.
He doesn't know.
Wow.
Oh it's hard work.
You know.
He can't decide
because Dick Cheney is in prison.
So instead he takes a nap.
He takes a nap.
He puts his empty, fucking brainless head down
on the little pillow
his mother gave him at Christmas time
and he takes a fucking nap.
So the fire moves to Philadelphia
but it's a weekend
and Philadelphia's closed on the weekends.
So the fire moves to New York City
and the people of New York
tell the fire to go fuck itself.
"Go fuck yourself."
And it does.
So instead it burns down Long Island and Connecticut
killing all the rich white assholes
and completely destroying
their evil. Faggoty golf courses.
And while all this is going on,
Canada burns to the ground
but nobody notices.
And now the entire North American continent
is on fire producing a huge thermal updraft
and creating an incendiary
cyclonic macro system
that forms a hemispheric mega storm
breaking down the molecular structure of the atmosphere
and actually changing the laws of nature.
Fire and water combine.
Burning clouds of flaming rain fall upward.
Gamma rays and solar winds ignite the ionosphere
creating huge clouds of ionized plasma.
Bolts of lightning 20 million miles long
begin shooting out of the North Pole.
And the sky fills up with green shit.
And then suddenly
the entire fabric of space-time splits in two.
A huge crack in the universe opens
and all the dead people from the past
begin falling through.
Babe Ruth. Groucho Marx.
Davy Crockett, Tiny Tim,
Porky Pig, Hitler,
Janis Joplin, Alan Ludden
my Uncle Dave,
your Uncle Dave.
Everybody's Uncle Dave.
An endless stream of dead Uncle Dave's
falling through the crack.
And all the dead Uncle Dave's
gather around a heavenly kitchen table.
They light up cigarettes
and they begin to talk.
They talk about how they never got a break.
How their parents didn't love them.
And their children were ungrateful.
They talk about how the government
screwed them out of money
and they just missed out on a big job.
They say the Jews own everything,
and the blacks get special treatment.
And all the hatred and bitterness
drips out of these people
and forms a big pool of liquid hate.
And the pool of liquid hate begins to spin.
Round and round it spins,
faster and faster.
And the faster it spins, the bigger it gets.
Faster and faster. Bigger and bigger.
Until the whirling pool of hate
is bigger than the entire universe.
And then suddenly
it explodes into trillions of tiny stars.
And every star has a trillion planets
and every planet has a trillion Uncle Dave's.
And all the Uncle Dave's have good jobs,
perfect eyesight and shoes that fit.
They have great sex lives
and free health care.
They understand the Internet.
Their kids think they're cool
and they all love their neighbors.
And every week without fail,
Uncle Dave wins the lottery.
Forever and ever until the end of time
every single Uncle Dave
has a winning ticket.
And Uncle Dave is finally happy.
Now do you see why I like it
when nature gets even with humans?
Thanks for coming in here tonight.
Thank you.
See you later.