...thanks to our fear of death in this country I won’t have to die. I’ll “pass away.” Or I’ll “expire” – like a magazine subscription. If it happens in the hospital they’ll call it a “terminal episode.” The insurance company will refer to it as “negative patient care outcome.” And if it’s the result of malpractice they’ll say it was a “therapeutic misadventure.” I’m telling ya, some of this language makes me want to vomit. Well, maybe not vomit. It makes we want to engage in an “involuntary personal protein spill.”
There are three kinds of people. Those who can count, and those who cannot.
Have you noticed that most of the women who are against abortion are woman that you wouldn’t want to fuck in the first place?
I was what they call a “fussy eater.” ‘He’s fussy! He’s a fussy eater!’ “Fussy eater” is a euphemism for “Big pain in the ass.”
I say live and let live. That’s my motto. Live and let live. Anyone who can’t go along with that, take them outside and shoot the motherfucker.
There’s a lot of little phrases in the language that don’t say what they mean. Take a shit is one. You don’t take a shit, you leave a shit. That’s the whole idea! To leave it!
You can say prick on television. If it happens to your finger it’s alright. You can prick your finger, just don’t finger your prick.