So, personally, I never take any special precautions against germs. I don’t shy away from people who sneeze and cough, I don’t wipe off the telephone, I don’t cover the toilet seat, and if I drop food on the floor, I pick it up and eat it. Even if I’m at a sidewalk café. In Calcutta. The poor section. On New Year’s morning during a soccer riot.

And you know something? In spite of all of that so-called risky behavior, I never get infections. I just don’t get ’em, folks. I don’t get colds, I don’t get flu, and I don’t get food poisoning. And you know why? Because I have a good, strong immune system, and it gets a lot of practice.

My immune system is equipped with the biological equivalent of fully automatic, military assault rifles with night vision and laser scopes. And we have recently acquired phosphorous grenades, cluster bombs, and anti-personnel fragmentation mines.

So, when my white blood cells are on patrol, reconnoitering my blood stream, seeking out strangers and other undesirables, if they see any—any—suspicious-looking germs of any kind, they don’t fuck around. They whip out the weapons, wax the motherfucker, and deposit the unlucky fellow directly into my colon! Directly into my colon! There’s no nonsense. There’s no Miranda warning, there’s none of that three-strikes-and-you’re-out shit. First offense, BAM! Into the colon you go.

And speaking of my colon, I want you to know I don’t automatically wash my hands every time I go to the bathroom. Can you deal with that? Sometimes I do, sometimes I don’t. You know when I wash my hands? When I shit on them! That’s the only time. And you know how often that happens? Tops—tops—two, three times a week. Tops! Maybe a little more frequently over the holidays. You know what I mean?

And I’ll tell you something else, my well-scrubbed friends. You don’t always need a shower every day. Did you know that? It’s overkill! Unless you work out, or work outdoors, or for some reason come in intimate contact with huge amounts of filth and garbage every day, you don’t always need a shower.

All you really need is to wash the four key areas: armpits, asshole, crotch, and teeth! Got that? The hooker’s bath. Armpits, asshole, crotch, and teeth. In fact, you can save yourself a whole lot of time if you simply use the same brush on all four areas!

? HYPERLINK “file:///E:\\Documents%20and%20Settings\\Dom\\Desktop\\1791_NapalmSillyPutty%5B1%5D\\Napalm_body-contents.html” \l “TOC-20” ??BUT FIRST, THIS FUCKIN’ MESSAGE ?

Commercials use sex to sell things; why can’t they use violence and bad language too? Not all families are as “functional” as the ones they show you on TV.

MOM: Eat your fuckin’ corn flakes, ya cocksucker!

SON: Fuck you, Ma.

MOM: Why you little creep! ?SLAM! SMACK! POW!

DAD: Here, Son, try this. It’s new from Kellogg’s.

SON: Holy shit, raisins!

MOM: Hey, asshole! What’re ya tryin’ to do, spoil the kid?

DAD: Listen, cunt, I’m tired of your meddlin’! ?BLAM! POW! CRACK!

SON: Hey, Dad, when you get finished punchin’ Mom, gimme some more of that shit with the raisins in it, will ya?

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Actually, it’s our way of saying, “Bend over just a little farther, so we can stick this big advertising dick up your ass a little bit deeper [pelvic thrust!]. A little bit deeper [thrust!], a little bit deeper [thrust!], you miserable, no-good, dumb-ass, fucking consumer!”

? HYPERLINK “file:///E:\\Documents%20and%20Settings\\Dom\\Desktop\\1791_NapalmSillyPutty%5B1%5D\\Napalm_body-contents.html” \l “TOC-21” ??SHORT TAKES ?

Here’s some fun: Stand on line at the bank for a really long time. Then, when you finally get up to the window, just ask for change of a nickel. It’s fun. They actually call other tellers over to look at you.

Regarding Pokēmon, Beanie Babies, and such: something is really wrong when a major news story concerns how hard it is to buy a toy.

I don’t know how you feel, but I’m pretty sick of church people. You know what they ought to do with churches? Tax them. If holy people are so interested in politics, government, and public policy, let them pay the price of admission like everybody else. The Catholic Church alone could wipe out the national debt if all you did was tax their real estate.

Whenever I see a large crowd of people, I wonder how many of them will eventually require autopsies.

Laptop. How can this be? A lap has no top; it has only two dimensions, length and width. It’s not like a desk. A desk has a bottom, a top, and sides; you place your “desktop” on the top of your desk. A lap has only one plane; when you stand up your lap disappears. And your computer becomes a floortop.

Everything beeps now.

First there was rock ’n’ roll, now there’s just rock. What happened to “roll”? And what did Sears do with Roebuck? And exactly when did Montgomery leave Montgomery Ward? I have a theory. I believe that somewhere on a stage tonight a show will be performed by the Montgomery-Roebuck Roll Band.

I think there ought to be a feminine hygiene spray called “Sprunt.”

Think of how strange we’d look if all the cuts, burns, scrapes, bruises, scratches, bumps, gashes, and scabs we’ve ever had suddenly reappeared on our bodies at the same time.

Regarding jam sessions: jazz musicians are the only workers I can think of who are willing to put in a full shift for pay and then go somewhere else and continue working for free.

When someone asks you what time it is, glance at your watch and say, “It’s either six-fifteen, or Mickey has a hard-on.” Guaranteed they’ll ask somebody else.

What’s with these super-cautious drivers who pull way over to the far end of a speed bump so their cars won’t have to go over the highest point? Are they really worried that speed bumps hurt their cars?

Griddle cakes, pancakes, hotcakes, flapjacks: why are there four names for grilled batter and only one word for love?