Operation Foole with an "e"

EDITOR'S NOTE: Most ideas here are George Carlin's ideas.

He's dead now, but like he always said, "Fuck the dead! Hey you're dead, what do you give a shit?"

From all the things that George Carlin taught me in his lectures about life (yes, they were lecture about how to live), the one thing that always stood out for me were his rants about death. He always had a very peculiar view of death, one that I like the legion of his fans took to be their own.

I can't help feeling sad that the man who introduced me to stand up comedians died, but I also want to do the man justice for the things that he has taught me.

Thirty years ago, during his 1978 special in Phoenix he talked about death, as he usually did. But when I devoted two long nights watching the body of his work again on HBO, I caught something that I previously didn't. That's because when he talked about death he was alive. But now he is gone and so is his soul. And he knew where it would go, too.

"I think your soul goes to a garage in Buffalo," he said. Hey you go where you think that you are going to go, that's what he said. I still think about where he actually did think his soul would go.

I hope that it went into the people's collective minds since he was a beacon of truth in America. When you understood Carlin beyond his love of the language and human potential, you understood what life was about. It was far from superficial for him. In fact, he was like the sheepherder who led his cattle into whatever foray his mind felt like leading you to.

Sometimes he felt dirty, as in his Carlin "Back in Town" special when he took on feminism and said that it is easy to piss off a feminist. "Hey cupcake make me something to eat and give me a blowjob."

"I know I'm a pig," he said. Then he said that he is a twisted evil fuck and that he accepts it.

But from most of the media reports that I've read about Carlin and the legion of comedians and fans voicing their take on him, they always talk about his relevance today.

They talk about the 7 dirty words and the Supreme Court case and his ties to Lenny Bruce.

But nobody talks about the fact that he was one of the only mainstream comedians who could say the foulest shit on the stage and get away with it.

He made it in his life. He did it his own way.

Sure some will say he is a comedic martyr by now.

But I always viewed him as the grandfather that you always wanted to have. The one who would pull out the nudie deck of cards during Thanksgiving when the parents weren't watching and show you the ropes.

To listen to Carlin, it wasn't about being hip.

I think that what he did was the highest form of social commentary that could ever be. And he sailed through it, through the times, through his complaints and grievances, his people he could do without, his dog humor, his political humor and just plain ol' things that pissed him the FUCK off. And rightly so. He did it like a champion.

"It's a great country, but it's a strange culture." - George Carlin.

So I do hope his soul is somewhere in a garage in Buffalo. Maybe I'll visit one day. And he will be hanging out with all of his dead dogs and cats that he frequently talked about and he still would be shaking his head at the world that he left behind.

SHIT, PISS, FUCK, CUNT, COCKSUCKER, MOTHERFUCKER and TITS.

Depp

Sometimes in journalism you face a lot of disappointments. Sometimes the job gets in the way of following your wants and wishes. But hey, it's the job. It pays the fucking bills.

The office was struck with Johnny Depp fever since he was filming the John Dillinger movie "Public Enemies" right across the street from our office in an old police station. Sure, the movie trucks came in, and the security guards "didn't know anything" as they chewed on French fries from the local McDonald's, but there was no sign of the actor.

So the pressure was on.

Would he show up? Will he show up? Get the camera ready for some action since this is community news.

So we never got the shot.

But apparently, the man DID show up, him and Christian Bale, who will forever be known in my mind as Patrick Bateman of "American Psycho" fame.

We started at 9 a.m. Shit, even the editor rolled in on time. The office was full of surprising expectations. Hell, maybe he WILL be there.

But the day dragged on as they usually do and no Depp was in sight. The only "depp's" I thought that were in attendance were the the dip shits who thought they would see Johnny Depp.

I was the dip shit.

As is customary at Nadig Newspapers, we cover the meetings of the Lincolnwood Board of Trustees. The board talks about riveting stuff like changing yard setbacks and approving grant money.

But at this point I was in a panic. It was bad enough that I drove all around the City's police stations covering area crime, but I was missing out on some Depp action.

Anyway, the day was over and it was time to go home.

So instead of staying and waiting for Johnny Depp, I went home to get something to eat and take a shit.

Bad judgement.

I began my journey to Lincolnwood for the meeting and I stopped by the "set" to see if "Johnny was there?" He WAS, but some security lady told me that he wasn't. I knew this because there were some fans staked out on the lawns. They knew he was there, but I didn't.

Cue the meeting.

But on the way back home, I parked my car and walked up to the set and asked one of the truck drivers who caters to the stars if "the star of the show was going to show up."

"Oh man, you missed him buddy. By about two hours," he said.

"Two fucking hours?" I said.

"Yeah both of them came in. Him and Christian Bale. You know what [Depp] does, he shoots the scene, goes to his trailer, changes, and then jumps into a car and he is gone," he said.

That's when the dagger was placed roughly into my heart.

"Fuck," I said.

I said some other things, but then I decided to drown my sorrows in vodka.

"Fucking Johnny Depp," I said.

I called some friends so that they could guide me through the ordeal, but in the end, yeah, I was a disgruntled fan of his work. But it was my fault. I should have been out there at 5 p.m. dragging a fold out chair and a beer can "waiting for Johnny Depp."

Sometimes work is more important that Johnny Depp.

Cue the vodka.

Ciao,

Gonzo.