George Denis Patrick Carlin (May 12, 1937 – June 22, 2008) was an American stand-up comedian, actor, author, and social critic.
I also survived circumcision, a barbaric practice designed to remind you as early as possible that your genitals are not your own.
Kilometers are shorter than miles. Save gas, take your next trip in kilometers.
I hope no one asks me to show them the ropes; I have no idea where they are. Maybe I could pull some strings and find out.
I think I am, therefore, I am. . . I think.
I was surprised when I started getting old. I always thought it was one of those things that would happen to someone else.
When I was in seventh grade, I was caught stealing money from the visiting team's locker room during a basketball game. So I was sent to The Brothers. That's what they called this parochial school up in Goshen, New York. I was supposed to get closer supervision there and more "masculine influence," whatever that means. But I was thrown out for telling a couple of really lame kids on the playground that I had heroin.
Cancer research is a growth industry.
When Thomas Edison worked late into the night on the electric light, he had to do it by gas lamp or candle. I'm sure it made the work seem that much more urgent.
Comedy, I figured, was the thing that came to me the most easily. Playing the trumpet and piano took practice. I thought that was a waste of time. I'd go out on the street corner and be funny. In a minute.
There may or may not be atheists in foxholes, but I'm certain there are none in the Ku Klux Klan.
I was never a pipe or bong man. That's California stuff. I was an Eastern roller.
The base of evil in the world is religion of any kind
To me the cynics are the ones in the boardrooms with the reports from the focus groups.
When you look at the average American you realize there's nothing nature enjoys more than a good joke.
Ah, to be a bird. To fly the skies, sing my song, and best of all occasionally peck someone's eyes out.
Sun worship is fairly simple. There's no mystery, no miracles, no pageantry, no one asks for money, there are no songs to learn, and we don't have a special building where we all gather once a week to pare compare clothing.
A pear is a failed apple.
There's a part of me that is angry. Not in the sense of, "Gee, George is an angry guy!" I mean, anyone who's been with me five minutes, five years, whatever, they would tell you they've rarely seen me in a moment of anger. Yes, I can become highly irritated in a line that's moving slowly, or with a clerk who's incompetent. But I don't yell. I don't get rude. I am clear about what I expect. In a store, my mother always told me, "Ask for the manager immediately. It changes the tone of the conversation. "
I don't have to tell you it goes without saying there are some things better left unsaid. I think that speaks for itself. The less said about it the better.
What year did Jesus think it was?