George Carlin, the standup comedian who made legal history by uttering seven rude words, died on Sunday at the age of 71. His passing presents every responsible news organisation with a dilemma – do we, or do we not, print those seven words?
He used them all in a thoughtful comedy routine about language that he performed in Milwaukee in 1972. “There are no bad words. Bad thoughts. Bad intentions,” he said. Yet, out of 400,000 words in the English language, there are seven: “That will infect your soul, curve your spine and keep the country from winning the war….”
In addition to the seven that you “cannot say ever, ever, ever, not even clinically”, there are some “two-way words” that are innocent or offensive, according to context. For example, Carlin pointed out: “It’s OK to say [baseball star] Roberto Clemente has two balls on him. But you can’t say ‘I think he hurt his balls on that play.’”
Alternatively: “You can prick your finger, but don’t finger your prick – no, no.”
Born in New York in May 1937, Carlin was brought up by his single mother, who managed the New York office of the Philadelphia Bulletin. He discovered in childhood the power of comedy – or so he claimed – because his Aunt Aggie used to show him the Sunday comics sections four weeks ahead of publication. “I guess you can realise the power this gave me in the schoolyard – to be able to predict weeks ahead of time precisely the way Mandrake the Magician would escape from the lost cave… in the days before television, and when you’re eight years old, it was power beyond belief,” he said.
Discharged from the Navy in 1957, he teamed up with Jack Burns to do a traditional nightclub routine in suit and tie, parodying commercials, DJs and weather forecasters. But in the 1960s he saw Lenny Bruce on stage and, according to Burns: “It was an epiphany for George. The comedy we were doing at the time wasn’t exactly ground-breaking, and George knew then that he wanted to go in a different direction.”
For a time, he gave up the nightclub circuit in favour of campuses and other venues when he made contact with a younger and more radical audience. Soon, he was not only selling out college gigs, he was making records that sold over a million copies. In 1975, he was chosen to host the first episode of the late-night comedy show, Saturday Night Live. Two years later, he launched himself in the freer world of cable television, and achieved recognition as one of the US’s most influential comedians. He made 130 appearances on The Tonight Show, produced 23 comedy albums, wrote three books, and appeared in several movies.
In the 1990s, he was nominated for a string of awards, winning his second of four Grammy awards for the album Jammin’. He starred in his own sitcom, The George Carlin Show, and was even allowed to perform in a show aimed at children, as the voice of a train conductor in the series Shining Time. By then, he was such an established figure that it was almost forgotten what a renegade he had once seemed to be. He was recently awarded the Mark Twain Prize for American Humour, which he was due to collect at the Kennedy Centre in November.
“I figured out years ago that the human species is totally fucked and has been for a long time,” he claimed on his website soon after his 70th birthday. “I also know that the sick media-consumer culture in America continues to make this so-called problem worse. But the trick, folks, is not to give a fuck. Like me. I really don’t care.”
In the 1980s, Carlin survived a heart attack, two open-heart surgeries and serious tax problems. In December 2004, he took two months off his comedy tours and went into rehabilitation for his addictions to Vicodin and red wine. He made his final appearance at the Orleans in Las Vegas, shortly before he went into hospital in Santa Monica with heart problems on Sunday afternoon. He died that evening.
“He was a genius and I will miss him dearly,” Jack Burns said. The actor Ben Stiller said: “He had an amazing mind, and his humour was brave, and always challenging, while being incredibly entertaining. He was one of the greats.”
*Shit, piss, fuck, cunt, cocksucker, motherfucker, tits
Via George Carlin: Seven words that shook a nation
***
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 uplinked 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 bio-degradable.
I interface with my 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, ridin’ the wave, dodgin’
the bullet, pushin’ the envelope.
I’m on point, on task, on message, and off drugs.
I’ve got no need for coke and speed; I’ve 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 street-wise 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 pro-
active outreach.
A raging workaholic, a working rageaholic; out of rehab and in denial.
I’ve 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. ‘Cause I’m tireless,
and I’m wireless. I’m an alpha-male on beta-blockers.
I’m a non-believer, I’m an over-achiever; Laid-back and fashion-
forward. Up-front, down-home; low-rent, high-maintenance.
I’m super-sized, long-lasting, high-definition, fast-acting, oven-
ready and built to last.
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-care giver.
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 e-mail.
And the software on my hard drive is hard-core—no soft porn.
I bought a microwave at a mini-mall. I bought a mini-van at a mega-
store. 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 pre-washed, pre-cooked, pre-heated, pre-screened, pre-
approved, pre-packaged, post-dated, freeze-dried, double-wrapped and
vacuum-packed.
And . . . I have 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’ve got
glide in my stride.
Drivin’ and movin’, sailin’ and spinnin’; jivin’ and groovin’,
wailin’ and winnin’.
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 lunchtime is crunch time.
I’m hangin’ in, there ain’t no doubt; and I’m hangin’ tough.
Over and out.
***
Thanks for all the laughs George, you were the most funniest and unique man on this planet and on any planet, you will be missed.
George Carlin is dead at the age of 71.
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