Carlin had so many years of crusty brilliance ahead of him. He played in Madison not two years ago and still performed with that fucking scary sharpness, at times wicked, gracious, and cute, and he was still working up new material. I remember driving around with Matt listening to the Classic Gold compilation, and how things from those albums, shit I can't always remember off the top of my head, just effortlessly pops out whenever Matt and I see each other. I remember watching the You Are All Diseased special, and how my dad cringed when Carlin described a guy's armpits as smelling "like an anchovy's cunt."
"If there is a God, may he strike this audience dead."
God dammit. More on this later.
No comments:
Post a Comment