Carlin & Me

I am about to share something with you, scary as that may fucking seem.

I am a protege, in the lamest sense, of the late, spectacular George Carlin. I’ve seen all his specials, own every CD, his books, everything I could get my hands on. Even RECORDS. Yes, vinyl records. I’m THAT big a fan. When I say I’m a protege, I mean I sat down, listened to how he deconstructed things and formed arguments and then I learned to do it myself. So I never met the man. But it was my goal to see him in concert one day. I got tickets finally last year, and was SO happy, almost to the point of giddy fangirl happy. I know, fucking disgusting on my part, right? I couldn’t believe it, years of waiting and watching and listening and loving, learning from the man who I considered a father figure more than my actual father figures, it was FINALLY going to happen! Maybe I could tell him how much he had inspired me to learn to write and think the way I do, maybe I could tell him to go read some of my stuff to prove that! Maybe I would become internet friends with him! The ideas that bounced around in my head were endless, I was so ecstatic about it! My hero, my mentor, my idol was going to be only a few hundred feet in front of me, saying the things that needed to be said and the things I truly believed in! What a rush of joy! I couldn’t WAIT to get to the concert.

He died a week before I could attend.

I was heartbroken, I was dead. I couldn’t eat for days, I couldn’t think, all I could do was grieve. The night he died, I was up until about 6 in the morning from hours before when I learned it had happened. What was I doing for so long? Watching. Listening. Learning. I had just watched and listened and read everything he had ever produced all in a single night. I didn’t care about anything else, and I certainly felt no need to do any god damn work of any kind. I know, you’re going to think I’m so dramatic, that “oh my god, he was a celebrity and you didn’t even KNOW him!” Well no, I DID. On a very impersonal level, but I got what he was trying to do, trying to say. Just last night I was re-watching Carlin material-as I had for some reason just really started having a craving to hear him again-and I realized something. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to see him, maybe…in some weird way…I wasn’t supposed to see him because I was supposed to carry on what he did, complete a legacy.

My entire blog here was inspired by him. Most of my WRITING has been inspired by him. He taught me to learn how to look out for bullshit, and how to deconstruct shit that made NO sense. How to use words in ways they had never been used before. He was more than a comedy writer, he was a teacher, he was a teacher and to ME, a father. I promise Carlin, I shall continue your teachings, and shall continue the legacy. I know he would hate this sort of thing, but I had to say it.

I love you George.

m@rk

Jogging

Jogging is a stupid fucking idea, and I can prove it with my usual flawless logic.

Heart attacks happen because of lack of blood flow to the heart or because of strain put on the heart. When you jog, you invariably put strain on your heart because you are pumping it extremely fast, and this works even worse with people who never jog and then decide one day they want to in order to better their health. That’s even WORSE because now they haven’t gotten any bloodflow to their heart for years or so and all of a sudden their usual lifeless heart is beating and thumping like crazy, making it go insane.

I got two words for the people who jog, ok? I got two words for people who jog because they think it’ll improve their health and increase their life length. Two words for you joggers; JIM FIXX. Remember Jim Fixx? Here’s the wikipedia page for Jim Fixx.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jim_Fix

Yeah, Jim Fixx. Get this, im Fixx wrote a book on jogging, he jogged every single day, was a health guru and died of a massive heart attack when? WHEN HE WAS FUCKING JOGGING! Jogging does NOT help your life increase, ok? It’s a stupid idea, you’re putting strain on your heart, IF YOU JOG YOU ARE A FUCKING MORON. Even eating healthy is a bad idea, this vegan pussy shit. These people who eat nothing but vegetables. First of all, Brocolli’s a god damn side dish, ok? Secondly, you need fucking protein, EAT A FUCKING COW. A salad is not going to sustain your energy level for the entire day, you need something else, you need some FUCKING MEAT. Even if it’s chicken.

And while we’re on the topic of animals, fish is not brain food! Whoever came up with this stupid assumption needs to be locked in a portable toilet and set on fire! I can PROVE fish is not brain food, because fish are fucking stupid. Think of it, salmon swim upstream, up waterfalls RIGHT TOWARDS FUCKING BEARS. You call that SMART?

I want to see you run towards a semi-truck thinking you’re going to survive.

E-mail me if that works out for ya.

m@rk

Breaking ‘Em In

Have you ever had friends who get new shoes and they say they don’t fit very well at first, they have to break them in?

Does this apply to EVERYTHING you get that’s brand new, or just shoes? Cars are one examples. Do you have to just get a flat tire to break them in or do you have to get into a 15 car collision? Which one? I think this is the idea-and a great argument actually-for the people who beat their children. They’re just-literally-breaking them in. It has to happen for their children to work correctly, and honestly, I see NO PROBLEM with this argument. If your child is being a little brat and you beat them, what’re they going to do? Sure, they may hate you, but it’ll get them to do shit. I’m not condoning child violence, I’m merely saying that the argument works.

But where does all this breaking in shit stop? I mean does this apply to virgins? I really think this argument for having to break things in really works with EVERYTHING. Virgins have lots of sex with lots of guys because they are behind on their normal teenage quota, so they break in their vaginas. This is the kind of shit I think about when the rest of you are at work. Hey, somebody’s gotta do it, may as well be ME. The idea behind breaking something in is so that the more you use it, the more comfortable it becomes, which is why it fits so nicely with shoes, and cooch, weirdly enough. I have to admit though, this argument is a terrible one for some reasons.

Like people who murder other people. “Well I was just trying to break my new knife in!” No, doesn’t work that way, homicidal joe, not gettin’ away with it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go start beating my wife.

Hey, I gotta break her in.

m@rk

Saint Bernard

I would love to think that there are SO many practical uses for St. Bernards that nobody EVER thinks about!

For instance, when there’s a party in a place with a lot of snow (IE: Alaska, Greenland, Canada, those sorts of places) do they even have a keg, or do they just rent out a St. Bernard to sit in the corner of the room for an entire evening, and having his barrel be constantly refilled? This is the kind of shit I think about when I’m sitting home alone and there’s nothing on TV. There are plenty of practical uses for a St. Bernard that no one ever thinks about. Another one would be having a St. Bernard in your house just so you never lose anything of major importance. Credit cards, car keys, shit like that. Only problem with this one is that if he gets out of the backyard and runs away, someone could steal all your money AND your car, AND YOUR DOG!

A Saint Bernard could also be a refiller for a gas tank. Just keep him in the back of your car everywhere you go, and when you suddenly run out of gas one day on a road in the middle of buttfuck nowhere staring down a PMSing grizzly bear with an AK47, you’ll have a full tank of gas right in your back seat! Now, let me explain something here, the history of the reason for this dog and their barrel, for those of you who don’t know. The idea a St. Bernard is quite easy to grasp. Their barrels were filled with first aid kits so that if someone in the snow or the desert or in combat or something was to fall, this dog could find them and they could get better. There’s a few problems with this idea though, and I can prove it with my usual flawless logic.

First of all, where in the FUCK are you going to be in combat where there’s going to be a FUCKING SAINT BERNARD?! I am going to say a sentence that I guarantee you nobody ever said in Vietnam: “DAN! I’M DOWN! MY LEG IS SHOT OPEN, MY INTESTINES ARE HANGING OUT, I’M MISSING TWO OF MY THREE TESTICLES AND I’M GOING BALD! GET THE ST. BERNARD! I NEED A BANDAID!”
The other problem with this is what if the guy the dog finds in the middle of the fuckin’ artic wasteland has lost both his arms in a desperate fight with a hungry snow leopard? How the FUCK is this person supposed to apply their own bandages?! See, nobody thinks like I do, except one man, and that’s the going to be friday’s topic.

As for one last practical use of a St. Bernard; Cocaine. Why has nobody tried to smuggle cocaine in a St. Bernard’s barrel? Am i the only fucking person who’s ever THOUGHT of this? See the problem with these drug dealers is they can supply it, but they can’t find a way to GET it there! If it’s by plane they stick it in a doll, by boat they can pretend it’s sugar. To get cocaine inside of prisons, they tell you to SMUGGLE IT UP YOUR ASS. Fuck YOU, I’m using the dog! My ass does not let ANYTHING inside it, that’s the reason you shit OUTWARDS! You aren’t supposed to stick stuff UP your ass, it’s why we called going to the bathroom taking a DUMP! Because we’re TAKING SOMETHING OUT AND LEAVING IT! Same reason behind the term “dumping” when you break up with someone, you LEAVE them BEHIND!

So yes, there are many practical uses for a St. Bernard. Here’s an idea for humanity, one that most probably haven’t heard of when it comes to stuff like this:

GET FUCKIN’ ORIGINAL.

m@rk

6 Degrees Of Shitzu

Dogs are like a breathing strand of DNA.

We are ALL connected by our dogs. It’s almost insane how much we’re all connected by our puppies. We built dog parks so that we can all co-mingle. Our dogs meanwhile, sniff eachother, know one another, therefore we all know one another on a sub-personal level. When someone comes to visit you, and you have a dog, what happens? They walk through that door and your dog puts it’s nose right in their crotch, immediately making them say, “Oooooh, he smells MY dog!” Then that person goes home, goes out to someone else’s house a few days, weeks whatever later and the same things happen, now connecting three dogs and three people all by one sense of smell and a vagina.

It’s also incredible because we breed dogs, meaning that every dog is some half of SOMETHING. It’s almost impossible to find a purebred anymore. That means that one day you’re going to have a half dalmatian/half pitbull/half monkey wrench (because at some point some sick FUCK is going to splice genes)/half shitzu. It’d be a tiny shaggy dog with spots and the face and anger of a pitbull. Who can unscrew bolts. But because we breed these animals, every breed is eventually going to wind up being bred with it’s half sister or something on accident and then we’ll have puppy incest.

But what happens when someone moves? Sometimes they have to give their dog away. So they give it away to someone, bringing those people together with one animal, who-granted the woman is single-meets a nice guy. They start dating, they go out. They decide to get married and one day their dog escapes from the yard and an orphan finds it and brings it home. The couple feel bad and adopt the kid. That’s 3 people one dog has brought together to form a family! Now granted the likelihood of these things actually HAPPENING are slim, they DO happen every so often. Then what happens? The kid grows up, the dog dies and the kid demands a new dog. So now this NEW dog is brought in and the kid moves out, taking his dog with him. He takes his dog out for walks and one day meets a woman who loves his dog and starts going out with him. This dog has now brought two people together.

You see where I’m going with this?
Exactly.

Kevin Bacon doesn’t have copyright on that phrase. That’s the whole point here!

m@rk