-Jogger asshole's running down the street with headphones like he wants to shut the world out. Here I am by myself running my little ass off. Not in my world, motherfucker. I swerve just to hit the cocksucker, thinking he's special, running with his little headphones and short shorts.

-Ever notice how weathermen say 'precipitation event.' Like what the fuck is that? It's gonna rain, asshole. Here, I got something for you: a suck my dick event.

This could go on and on and in a perfect world it would. We'd hear a loop tape of Carlin 24 hours a day to remind us how pretentious and pompous and silly and just plain fucking crazy we all are. Because, trust me, we need to be reminded.

Before I say a final goodbye to Carlin I want to comment on Chris Rock, since I mentioned him earlier. His physicality is not as precise as Pryor's and Carlin's but his energy is madhouse: he strides back and forth and back on the stage, as if leashed, and at just the right moments will stop and look at the audience like a kid caught jerking off in his bedroom one night.

-A man's only as ethical as the options he's presented in life.

Yes. That's right, Chris, and who else is gonna say these things, now that Carlin and Pryor are gone? The torch is passed.

And yes to Carlin, too: for all he ever said, in any routine, anywhere. He was, to me, always right. What he said always made sense and it made me think and it made me laugh out loud. Carlin's beliefs are my beliefs; everything he said is the truth, and the truth never gets any funnier. And if his cynicism sometimes overtook his humor in his later bits, that's fine too. Isn't that what happens? We grow old, see way too much shit, and become cynical over the whole shooting match?

Carlin's not getting the last laugh, and he never imagined he would. He's only getting what he believed in, which is to say, nothing. The planet, right this minute, is doing to Carlin what he always said it would: it's busy not giving a shit about him. It's busy cycling him into shit and simply absorbing him, assuming him into itself, where, if human life is still hanging around even 200 years from now, some comic somewhere will believe in only one god, Carlin, and he or she will worship at his altar.

How goddamned funny will that be?