Several years ago comedian George Carlin did a routine on the seven words you can never say on television. I didn’t go, but one of his appearances was at the Fisher in Detroit. Jim Fizgerald, now retired back-page columnist for the Free Press, went just to make sure he knew them all.
Recently someone sent some Carlin writings he composed after his wife died. Here are some of his sort of surprising excellent thoughts:
‘The paradox of our time in history is that we have taller buildings, but shorter tempers, wider freeways, but narrower viewpoints.
‘We’ve learned to make a living, but not a life. We’ve added years to life but not life to years. We’ve conquered the atom, but not our prejudice. We’ve learned to rush, but not to wait.
‘These are the days of two income homes, but more divorce, fancier houses, but broken homes. We build more computers to hold more information, to produce more copies than ever, but we communicate less and less.
‘We have multiplied our possessions, but reduced our values. We talk too much, love too seldom and hate too often. Remember to say ‘I love you? to your partner and your loved ones, but most all mean it. A kiss and an embrace will mend hurt when it comes from deep inside of you.
‘And, always remember – Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away.?
By the way, only six of the seven remain unspoken on regular television channels. I’ve been told you can hear them all on cable.
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Redneck and blonde jokes continue. My Christmas present Redneck calendar had this one, ‘You might be a Redneck if you have ever decorated a birthday cake with a caulk gun.?
Hazel used to chide me for mowing the lawn more often than she thought it needed. I probably did, but I enjoy doing it. Recently a half dozen or more males were lined up at a rest stop urinals, when they heard me tell my travelling pal, ‘I love to mow lawn,? in unison all said, ‘You can mow mine!?
Last week I broke out with hundreds of red spots on my stomach and chest. Somewhat alarmed I asked my doctor what infection I’d contacted. It took seconds for him to remind me not to fry bacon with my shirt off.
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I’m well aware that the overwhelming majority (4 of my 5 readers) are senior citizens. This one is really for us:
PILLS
A row of bottles on the shelf
Caused me to analyze myself
One yellow pill I have to pop
Goes to my heart so it won’t stop
A little white one that I take
Goes to my hands so they won’t shake
The blue ones that I use a lot
Tell me I’m happy when I’m not
The purple pill goes to my brain
And tells me that I have no pain
The capsules tell me not to wheeze
Or cough or choke or even sneeze.
The red ones, smallest of the all,
Go to my blood so I won’t fall
The orange ones are big and bright
Prevent my leg cramps in the night
Such an array of brilliant pills
Helping to cure all kinds of ills
But what I’d really like to know
Is what tells each one where to go?
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Time to end this: While driving in Pennsylvania, a family caught up with an Amish carriage. The owner of the carriage obviously had a sense of humor, because attached to the back of the carriage was a hand printed sign, ‘Energy efficient vehicle: Runs on oats and grass. Caution: do not step in exhaust.?