George Carlin Napalm and Silly Putty Lyrics

This is Audible.
Audible presents: 'Napalm And Silly Putty' by George Carlin. Published by High Bridge Audio. The reader is George Carlin.

Hi, listeners. I hope you're feeling well and I hope your family's prospering in the global economy... at least to the extent they deserve.
For the next couple of hours I will be your content provider.
Regarding the t__le of this book - Napalm and Silly Putty - some time ago I was struck by the fact that, among many other wonderous things, man has had the imagination to invent two such distinctly different products: one, a flaming jellied gasoline used to create fire, death, and destruction; the other, a clay-like mass good for throwing, bouncing, smashing, or pressing against a comic strip so you can look at a backwards picture of Popeye.
I think the t__le serves as a fairly good metaphor for man's dual nature, while also providing an apt description of the kind of thoughts that occupy me both in this book and in my daily life. On the one hand, I kinda like it when a lot of people die; and, on the other, I always wonder how many frequent flyer miles they had.
The only difference between lilies and t___s is whatever difference humans have agreed upon, and I don't always agree.

I had an interesting morning: I got into an argument with my Rice Krispies; I distinctly heard, "Snap, Crackle, f___ you." I'm not sure which one of them said it - I was reaching for the artificial sweetener at the time and not looking directly into the bowl - but I heard it. I said, "Well, you can all just sit there in the milk, as far as I'm concerned, until I find out which one of you said that." Mass punishment: the idea is to turn them against one another. Hmm, silly me, big punichment; that's what Rice Krispies do - sit in the milk, that's their job. You've seen them: delicate, beige blisters of air floating proudly in the milk. And you can't sink 'em: they REFUSE to sink. The Navy ought to use them in life preservers, that's where they're really needed. And do you know how Rice Krispies manage to float for such a long time? By clinging to one-another. They buddy-up. They gather in little groups of eight, ten, or sometimes twelve - but, if you've noticed, it's always an even number; that's because of the electro-magnetic polarity of the Krispies attracts them to one-another. It binds them into pairs like sub-atomic particles. They form little colonies and you can't sink them, not even with a spoon - they just come bobbing up over the sides of the spoon, laughing at you and revelling in their buoyancy. Hard to sink.
That's what the fruit is for. Not for added taste, not for nutrition - it's for sinking the Rice Krispies. Believe me, a good-sized peach hurled full-force from a step-ladder can take down eighty or ninety of the little b_____s in one glorious splash. And I have absolutely no mercy: if I'm REALLY p___ed off, I'll climb up to the upstairs balcony and drop a watermelon on them. That'll teach 'em to sass me at breakfast.

Most people understand that cats are completely different from dogs. And, generally, they like them for different reasons. One quality people like in cats is their independance. They appreciate a pet who can take care of himself. "I never have to do a thing: he cleans his room, makes his own clothing, and drives himself to work." Unlike dogs who are needy and dependant, and who like you merely because you know where the food is located. Cats don't get all hung up on fake affection; they don't go nuts and s_____r all over you when you come home the way a dog does. They parcel out a certain limited amount of physical affection from time to time, but it probably has more to do with static electricity than anything else.
Cats have another quality I find admirable: blamelessness. When a cat makes a mistake he doesn't accept responsibility, or show embarrasment. If he does something really stupid, like jumping up onto a table and landing in four separate coffee cups, he passes the whole thing off as routine. Dogs aren't like that: if a dog knocks over a lamp, you can tell who did it by looking at the dog; he acts guilty and ashamed. Not the cat: when a cat breaks something he simply moves along to the next activity. "What's that? The lamp? Not me, f___ that: I'm a cat. Something broken? Ask the dog." A cat can make any mistake appears intentional. You ever seen a cat race across a room and crash into a glass door? Doesn't faze him at all. *Whisshh, bam!* "I meant that. I actually meant that. That's exactly what I was trying to do." Then he limps behind the couch, holding his head: "Uhh, Jesus. f___in' meow. g______ f___in' meow." Your cat is much too proud to let you see him suffer, but if you look behind the couch you'll see him recuperating fro a domestic mishap: "I... tried to jump from the sofa to the window, didn't make it. Tore a ligament. Got milk?"
Cats are very tactile. They love to rub against your leg. If you own a cat and have a leg, you got a happy cat. "Oh boy, oh boy. I'm rubbing against his leg. How I love his leg." If you have two legs, you got yourself a party. "Oh boy, oh boy. Two legs. Now I can do the figure-eight." They love to do the figure-eight. Around one leg, in-between, and then around the other. "Oh boy, oh boy. I'm doing the figure-eight." He'll rub against your legs even if you're not there yet. You might be twenty feet down the hall. As soon as he sees you coming he starts walking sideways: he doesn't wanna miss a shot at your legs. "Oh boy, oh boy. Here he comes. SOON I'll be doing the figure-eight."
Cats are so tactile, you don't even have to do the petting. All you need to do is put your hand somewhere near him and he'll lean into you and do all the work. They love to push back.
Then there's the a__ trick. D'you ever stroke a cat who's lying absolutely flat and, before you've run your hand half-way down his back, his a__ is sticking way up in the air, as if you've pressed an a__ b___on or something. "Isn't he a cute little- holy s___, how did he do that?!" Or sometimes, if he's on the bed with you, he'll climb onto your chest and stick his a__ right in your face: "Hey, here's my a__! Check my a__, daddy! Get a nice, clean look at my a__!" And then, while he's showing you his a__, he starts that kneading thing with his paws, like he's playing the piano. God, I hate that.
-"Get him offa me! Jesus, I hate that! I don't even know what it IS and I hate that. It's as if he got a hold of some bad drugs or somethin'. What is that?"
-"It's an instinctive nursing behaviour, honey. He misses his mommy."
-"Ehh, you always say that. You said that about the mailman."

The story is that, if you're comdemned to death, they have to give you one last meal. What is that all about anyway? I mean a group of people plans to kill you so they want you to eat something you like? Is it a joke? Do they think the food part will take your mind off the dying part? Or do they just prefer to kill you when you're coming off a peak experience and you're full of positive energy? I'm not sure what kind of sick game is going on but - what the hell - you might as well play along, have a little fun. Order a Happy Meal. Tell 'em you wanna go to Hooters and eat on the patio. Inform them you've converted to a religion that embraces cannibalism and you'd like to eat a baby... with a small salad. I just think there's some great potential here for fun and mischief. In fact, I'm thinkin' that if you worked it just right you might even squeeze a little extra time out of 'em; time to file a coupla hundred more frivolous appeals. Because, as I understand it: they have to give ya any meal ya ask for. Not including elephant, of course. Ya can't expect 'em to startin' a brand new elephant just for one meal. But, short of that, they have to give ya pretty much what you want. It's part of the humanity involved: "Let's kill this f___, but let's be civil." Have a little fun. But some time. When they ask you what you want, tell 'em ya can't decide - that's all there is to it: ya can't decide. "Gee, I dunno. I'm not sure whether I want steak or lobster. I mean, I really love them both. Haven't had a lobster in quite a while. But on the other hand I really love chicken. It's my good luck food. And they're both rich in protein. I just can't figure it out." What can they do? Can they kill you under those circumstances? Can they go ahead and kill you if you honestly don't know what you want for dinner? Tell them you're willing to take a lie detector test and truth serum but ya honestly can't decide. Can they kill ya? Huh? Can they drag ya down the last mile shouting, "Serf! Serf, I'm on the horns of a dilemma!" I think they'd have to give ya a little more time. Imagine if ya kept it up for six months. Think of the headlines: Condemned Man Still Alive, Can't Decide, Leans Toward Lobster." Three years go by, five, seven. And then finally one morning you wake up and it's clear as a bell:
-"Alright, I've decided. I dunno why I didn't think of this a long time ago. I'm gonna have the lamb chops."
-"Alright, lamb chops it is. And how did you want them cooked?"
-"Jeez, I hadn't thought of that. Lemme see, how do I want them cooked? Listen guys, can I get back to ya on that?"
"Hungry Man Executed, Dragged Down Last Mile Screaming, "Medium!""

Ahh, to be a bird. To fly the skies, sing your song, and - best of all - occasionally peck someone's eyes out.

When he got loaded, the human cannonball knew there were not many men of his calibre.

I don't like p___o movies; they p___ me off.First they show a great-looking naked woman who starts playing with herself and, while I'm watchin', she sorta becomes my girlfriend. And then suddenly, in walks a guy with a big d___ and he starts f___ing my girlfriend. p___es me off.

Most people with low self-esteem have earned it.

Haven't we gone far enough with this coloured ribbons for different causes? Every cause has its own colour: red for AIDS, blue for child abuse, pink for breast cancer. I got a brown one, know what it means? Eat s___, m_________er.

I enjoy young people 'cause they'r really f___ed-up. And they don't know what they're doing. I support all f___ed-up people, regardless of age.

In that book Tuesdays With Maury, Maury Schwartz had Lou Gerig's Disease. But what isn't generally known is that, because of a mix-up at the hospital, Lou Gerig had Hodgkin's Disease. Hodgkin had Parkinson's Disease, and Parkinson had Alzheimer's Disease. Unfortunately, Alzheimer couldn't remember whose disease he had. He thinks it might've been Wally Pip.

Whenever you see two men in a parked car after dark, you can be sure that drugs are involved.

When I die, I don't wanna be buried. But I don't wanna be cretamed either. I wanna be blown up: put me on a pile of explosives and blow me up. Of throw my body from a helicopter; that would be fun. One stipulation: wherever I land, ya have to leave me there. Even if it's on the mayor's lawn. Just let me lie there. Would keep the dogs away.

Isn't it nice that, once your parents are dead, they can't come back and start f___ing with you again?

The trouble with a sitcom is that every week it's the same group of irritating a__holes.

People who say they don't care what people think are usually desperate to have people think they don't care what people think.

You know what would be great? To be in a coma. Y'know; you're still alive but ya have no responsibilities:
-"He owes me six thousand dollars."
-"He's in a coma."
-"Ahh, okay. Never mind."

If I had my choice of how to die, I'd like to be sitting on the crosstown bus and just suddenly burst into flames.

Have you noticed that flourescent lights seem afraid to come on? When ya turn on a flourescent light, it flickers and hesitates, and it's sort-of unsure of itself. Then after several seconds it seems to gain confidence and light up at full strength. What's that all about? Couldn't these lamps be given some sort of counselling?

The Christians are coming to get you. And they are not pleasant people.

I recently bought a book of free verse... for twelve dollars.

If the police never find it... is it still a clue?

You know an odd feeling? Sitting on the toilet eating a chocolate candy bar.

Ya can't argue with a good b______.

I've thought it over and I've decided pus is okay.

Every sixty seconds, thirty acres of rainforest are destroyed in order to raise beef for fast food restaurants that sell it to people, giving them strokes and heart attacks, which raise the medical cost and insurance rates, providing insurance companies with more money to invest in large corporations that branch out further into the third world so they can destroy more rainforests.

When I was a kid, if a guy got killed in a Western movie, I always wondered who got his horse.

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Here's something we all have in common: flying on big airplanes and listening to the announcements and trying to pretend the language they're using is English. Doesn't always sound like it to me. It starts at the gate: "We'd like to begin the boarding process." Extra word: "process." Not necessary; "Boarding" is sufficient: "We'd like to begin the boarding." Simple; tells the story. People add extra words when they want things to sound more important than they really are. "Boarding process" sounds important - it's not: it's just a group of people getting on an airplane.
But, to begin their "boarding process," the airline announces they will "pre-board" certain passengers, and I wonder, "how can that be? How can people board before they board? This I gotta see!" But, before anything interesting can happen, I'm told to get on the plane: "Sir, you can get on the plane now." And I think for a moment, "On the plane, no, not me, I'm not getting on the plane, I'm getting IN the plane. Let Evel Knievel get ON the plane. I'll be sitting inside in one of those little chairs; it seems less windy in there."
Then they mention that it's a non-stop flight. Well, I must say I don't care for that sort of thing: call me old-fashioned but I insist that my flight stop... preferably at an airport. Somehow, those sudden corn field stops interfere with my day. And just about at this point they tell me the flught has been delayed because of a change of equipment, and, deep-down, I'm thinking, "broken plane."
And, speaking of potential mishaps, here's a phrase that apparently the airlines simply made up: "Near miss." They say that, if two planes almost collide, it's a "near-miss." Bullshit, my friend, it's a near-HIT. A COLLISION is a near-miss.
*crash*
-"Look, they nearly missed."
-"Yes, but not quite."
Back to the flight: As part of the continuing folderall, I'm asked to put my seat-back forward. Well, unfortunately for the others in the cabin, I don't bend that way. If I could put my seat back forward, I'd be in p___o movies.
There's also a mention of carry-on luggage. First time I heard this term I thought they said, "carion," and they were gonna bring a dead deer on board. I wondered, "Well, what the hell would they want with that? Don't they have those little TV dinners any more?" And then I thought, "Carry on. Carry on, of course! People are going to be carrying on! It's a party." Well, I don't much care for that. Personally, I perfer a serious attitude on the plane. Especially on the flight deck, which is the latest euphemism for "c___pit." Can't imagine why they'd wanna avoid a colourful word like "c___pit," can you? Especially with all those lovely stewardesses going in and out of it all the time.
By the way, there's a word that's changed: "stewardess." First it was "hostess," then "stewardess." Now it's "flight attendant." Y'know what I call her? "The lady on the plane." These days, sometimes it's a man on the plane. That's good - equality, I'm all in favour of that. The flight attendants are also someties referred to as "uniformed crewmembers." Ohh good, uniformed. As opposed to this guy next to me in the Grateful Dead T-shirt and the f___ You hat, who's currently working his way through his ninth little bottle of Kalua.
As soon as they close the door to the aircraft, they begin the safety lecture. I love the safety lecture. It's my favourite part of the flight. I listen very carefully, especially to the part where they teach us how to use the sealbelt. Imagine that: a plane full of grown humans, many of them partially-educated, and someone is actually taking the time to describe the intricate workings of a belt buckle: "Place the small metal flap into the buckle." Well, at that point I raise my hand and ask for clarification: "Over here please, ove here, yes, thankyou very much. Did I hear you correctly? Did you say, "Place the small metal flap into the buckle"? Or did you say, "Place the buckle over and around the small metal flap"? I'm a simple man. I do not posess an engineering degree, nor am I mechanically inclined. Sorry to have taken up so much of your time. Please continue with your wondeful safety lecture." Seatbelt: high-tech s___.
The lecture continues: The next thing they advise me to do is to locate my nearest emergency exit. Well, I do this immediately. I locate my nearest emergency exit and I plan my escape route; you have to plan your escape route. It's not always a straight line, is it? No. Sometimes there's a really big fat f___ sitting right in front of you. Well, I know I'll never be able to climb over him, so I look around for women and children, midgets and dwarves, cripples, elderly widows, paralysed veterans, and people with broken legs - anyone who looks like they don't move too well. The emotionally-disturbed come in very handy at a time like this. It's true I may have to go out of my way to find some of these people but I'll get out of the plane a whole lot quicker, believe you me.
My strategy is clear: I'll go around the fat f___, step on the widow's head, push those children aside, knock down the paralysed midget, and escape from the plane in order, of course, to a__ist the other passengers who are still trapped inside the burning wreckage. After all, I can be of no help to anyone if I'm lying in the aisle, unconscious, with some big c___sucker standing on my neck. I must get out of the plane, make my way to a nearby farmhouse, have a Dr Pepper, and call the police.
The safety lecture continues: "In the unlikely event-" - this is a very suspect phrase, especially, coming as it does, from an industry that is willing to lie about arrival and departure times - "In the unlikely event of a sudden change of cabin pressure-" - "Roof flies off" - "-an oxygen mask will drop down in front of you. Place the mask over your face and breathe normally." Well, no problem there. I always breathe normally when I'm in a uncontrolled six-hundred mile-an-hour vertical dive. I also s___ normally - directly into my pants.
Then they tell me to adjust my oxygen mask before helping my child with his. Well, that's one thing I didn't need to be told. In fact, I'm probably going to be too busy screaming to help my child at all. This will be a good time to learn self-reliance. If he can surf the f___ing Internet, he can g______ jolly-well learn to adjust an oxygen mask. It's a fairly simple thing - just a little elastic band in the back; not nearly as complicated as, say, a seatbelt.
The safety lecture continues: "In the unlikely even of a water landing-" - "a water landing." Am I mistaken, or does this sound somewhat familiar to "CRASHING INTO THE OCEAN"? - "-your seat cushion can be used as a floatation device." Well, imagine that: my seat cushion - just what I need; to float around the North Atlantic for several days clinging to a pillow full of beer farts.
The announcements suddenly cease: we're about to take off. Time for me to drift off to sleep. So the Captain can later awaken me repeatadly with the many valuable sight-seeing announcements he will be making along the way. I'm always amazed at the broad knowledge these men have of the United States. And some of them apparently have REALLY good eyesight: "Uh, for you folks seated on the left side of the plane, that's old Ben Hubbard's place down there an-. And - whaddaya know - there's Ben comin' out onto his porch right now. What's he doin'? By God, he's pickin' his nose! Wow, look at that one! That is one prize booger. And look, he's throwin' it into a bush; ain't that just like Old Ben? Over on the right-"
*snoring* Suddenly, I'm awake. The flight is almost over and somehow, along the way, the Captain has become politicised. His latest offering: "Ladies and gentlemen, we have just begun our gradual descent into the Los Angeles area, similar in many was to the gradual descent of this one great nation from a proud paragon of God-fearing virtue to the third-rate power awash in violence, s__ual excess, and personal greed."
I drift off again and awaken just as the end-of-flight announcments are being made: "The Captain has turned on the 'Fasten Seatbelt' sign." Here we go again. Who gives a s___ who turned on the sign? What does that have to do with anything? It's on isn't it? And, by the way, isn't it about time we found out who made this man a Captain? Did I sleep through some kind of armed forces swearing-in cermemony? "Captain," my a__, the man is a f___ing pilot and he should be happy with that. If those sight-seeing announcements are any mark of his intelligence, the man's lucky to be working at all.
Having endured anough nonsense from this so-called "Captain," I finally raise my voice: "Tell the Captain, "Air Marshall Carlin says he should go f___ himself.""
The next sentence I hear is filled with language that p___es me off: "Before leaving the aircraft, please check around your immediate seating area for any personal belongings you might have brought on board." Well, let's start with "immediate seating area." Seat. It's a g______ seat. "For any personal belongings," well, what other belongings do they think I have? Public belongings? Do they honestly think I brought a fountain I stole from the park? "You might have brought on board." Well, I might have brought my Xixoni arrowhead collection but I didn't so I'm not going to look for it.
Then they say, "We'll be landing shortly." Doesn't that sound like we're gonna miss the runway? "Final approach" isn't too promising either. "Final" is not a good word to be using on an airplane. Sometimes the pilot will speak up and say, "We'll be on the ground in fifteen minutes." Well, that seems a little vague. "On the ground" could mean any number of things, most of them not very good.
By this time we're taxiing in and the flight attendant is saying, "Welcome to Los Angeles International Airport-" - Well, how can someone who's just arriving herself possibly welcome me to a place she hasn't gotten to yet? Doesn't this violate some law of physics? We've been on the ground barely four seconds and she's comin' on like the mayor's wife - "-where the local time-" - Well, of course it's the local time. What do they think I was expecting, the time in Norway? - "Enjoy your stay in Los Angeles or wherever your final destination might be." Someone should really tell these airline people that all destinations are final, that's what "destination" means - destiny; it's final. Think of it this way: if you haven't gotten where you're going, you probably aren't there yet.
"The Captain has asked-" - more s___ from the bogus Captain. Y'know, for someone who's supposed to be flying an airplane, he's taking a mighty big interest in what I'm doing back here - "-that you remain seated until he has brought the aircraft to a complete stop." "A complete stop," not a partial stop. No, because during a partial stop, I partially get up, partially get up, partially get my bags, and partially leave the plane.
"Please continue to observe the 'No Smoking' sign until well inside the terminal." Folks, I've tried this. Let me tell you - it is physically impossible to observe the 'No Smoking' sign even from just outside the airplane, much less from well inside the terminal. You can't even see the AIRPLANES from well inside the terminal.
Which brings us to "terminal." Another unfortunate word to be using in a__ociation with air travel. And they use it all over the airport. Somehow I can'ty get hungry at a place called 'The Terminal Restaurant'. Then again, if you've ever eaten there, you know the name is quite appropriate.

When you make a sandwich at home, do you reach down past the first few slices of bread to get the really good bread? It's sort-of a survival thing: "Let my family eat the rotten bread: I'll take care of Numero Uno." And sometimes the issue isn't the freshness but it's the size of the slice you're after. Everyone knows the wider slices are somewhere down near the middle. So down you go, past about six inferior slices, to reach the ones you want. And then, as you pull them up, you have to be careful they don't tear. And then, JUST before you get them out, the top six slices shift position and fall perpendicular to rest of the loaf. I leave 'em that way; let the family think a burgular made a sandwich.