
I remember in the mid-sixties, my mother came back from one of her sorority conventions, and she talked about a comic who had entertained these very straight, very reserved ladies with stories about birth control pills sold in a "sex pack", and a strange hippie weatherman named Al Sleet. Even my Mom, who was so repressed that she couldn't bear the mention of certain words (except when she and my Dad argued) found him to be hysterical.
I remember listening to his album (back when there were no CDs) and playing them over and over again until some of the bits were ingrained in my mind and I could recite the "Seven Deadly Words" almost by rote. His latest stuff was just as sharp, though his anger seemed more and more overt. He was almost so enraged he was starting to lose the humor. Like Lenny Bruce's obsession with his legal proceedings, Carlin couldn't see much good in the human race, and he had no problem putting words to that. Sometimes, such ranting would veer into the uncomfortably curmudgeonly.
The best of Carlin's bits saw the truth behind the facades, whether it was the glib smugness of advertising slogans or the hypocrisy of religious fanatics, and he could lift the rocks up and find the humor in the bugs underneath. That was his real talent, in making you think about what you were laughing at, instead of just laughing.
Rest in peace, George. You made me take this world less for granted, and I am grateful for that.
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