Stupid Bullshit - George Carlin

And everyone wants to tell you their stupid bullshit, and a lot of them don’t know when to stop talking.

You ever run into that guy?

Doesn’t know when to stop talking, just continues running at the mouth like verbal diarrhea.

Don’t know when the conversation is over.

Stupid, trivial shit you don’t care anything about, things you’re not even remotely interested in. “Did I tell you about my mom and dad?

Well, my mom and dad went on vacation down to Mammoth Cave, Kentucky.

This is about six years ago, I think.

It seemed like it was six, about six years ago.

Six or seven, possibly seven, could be.

Yeah.

Somewhere in there, six, seven, more than six, less than seven.

Let’s call it six and a half.

So my mom and dad went on vacation to Mammoth Cave, Kentucky, and my dad found a big rock.

What he thought was a big rock turns out it was a dinosaur turd, a petrified dinosaur turd, 27 pounder.

You know, now that I think of it, it might have been eight years ago.

That would have been close to Y2K, wouldn’t it?

Remember Y2K?

Whatever happened?

Everybody’s all worried about that.

Nothing ever happened.

Ha, ha, ha, big fuss.

Nothing ever happened.

You know?

God.

That was strange, you know.”

“So let’s say, we’ll say, it’s eight…eight years.

It was either eight or five.

So my dad gave my mom this big turd.

He says, ‘Here, Mom.

This is a big dinosaur turd.

Put it in your purse to take that home.’ My mom said, ‘Dad, I don’t think this is a dinosaur turd.

This thing is still warm.

Whoever dropped this thing is still walking around in here, and we’d better get the fuck out of this cave.’ Nine years ago.

Nine.

I know it was nine because my wife was pregnant with our first boy, Mach Moody Benel Sayid Ben Salam, and he’s ten now.

Or is he?

He’s 11. Maybe, he’s 11. He’s either 11 or 5.”

And while all of this is going on, you’re searching through your mind for something graceful and diplomatic you can say to bring the conversation to a close, and all I can ever come up with is shut the fuck up.

Shut the fuck up.

Shut the fuck up.

Shut the fuck up.

But you can’t say that.

Good manners don’t permit it.

You have to find another way, and I go to body language.

I try to use my body language to show that the conversation is over.

I find myself leaning at a 45-degree angle trying to indicate the direction that I’d like to go if this person would just shut the fuck up.

And then, I might even give him a verbal cue.

“Surgery.

Surgery.

I’m late for surgery.

I’m having my ears sewn shut.”