A story passed on to me by a standup comedy coach in Cleveland, when I, too, had dreams of shoring up my tottering self esteem through the merry laughter of strangers
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This is the story of The Boy Who Wanted to be George Carlin
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You see, long ago and far away, in a time known as the early 1980s in the distant land of Boca Raton, Florida, there was a college freshman who thought he was funny
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His whole life he had been "the funny guy" at school, using his ability to point out the physical or social shortcomings of others to make up for his own lack of wealth or good looks and remain friends with people who would otherwise be far more popular than he
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Sensing, however, that this meant his social status was fragile and hollow - and, more importantly, that he himself was kind of a phony asshole - he went searching for validation that being funny was not just a cheap way to become well liked but had meaning, power, virtue
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Lo and behold, he discovered the CARLIN AT CARNEGIE special that aired on HBO in 1982 Along with millions of other white dudes of his generation, he thrilled at the boldness of hearing the FCC's Seven Dirty Words on TV for the first time
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Not just that, but Carlin's vicious biting-the-hand attitude where he tore into the commercialism and hypocrisy of the very industry that made his career His candor about hot button political issues, his willingness to tap dance on third rail topics like abortion, religion
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How Carlin was, like Bill Hicks and Lenny Bruce before him, "more preacher than comic", willing to bravely forgo laugh lines for dangerously long stretches of time to scream about the brutality and decadence of America under Reagan
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Yes, the young man thought, this is my calling I'm not just a class clown or a bully scoring cheap laughs I will take this gift of Being Funny and use it to tear down idols and expose corruption I will be a prophet
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He bought the album (A PLACE FOR MY STUFF) that CARLIN AT CARNEGIE was based on, and listened to it religiously, forgoing his studies to immerse himself in the wisdom of the master He bought Carlin's other albums, and Bruce's, and Hicks', and Richard Pryor's
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He listened to them all, preparing himself for his new calling as a caustic social critic, although it was that original Seven Dirty Words routine that was dearest to his heart
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Finally, after months of preparation and practice and anxiety and doubt, he took the big step He signed up for a local open mic at a small club
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Palms sweating, lump in his throat, he looked out at the Thursday night crowd of drunken Boca Raton and reassured himself Just do what George Carlin did, he told himself Look like he looked, sound like he sounded, feel what he felt when he commanded the stage
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So he went up there and did it Grabbed that mic and owned it like George Carlin Stared down the audience and spat hot fire like George Carlin Let profanity roll out of his mouth with relish like George Carlin
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And he fucking killed The crowd laughed, gasped, applauded at all the right moments They were still with him when he cut the jokes and started preaching to them, filled with the same spirit of righteous anger and catharsis as the crowd at Carnegie
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He had them eating out of his hand, and when his stage time was up he got the biggest ovation of the night It was, far and away, the best day of his entire life
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And as he left the stage, carried aloft by the euphoria of the crowd's applause, the club manager quietly beckoned him aside And as he stood there, beaming, half expecting to be offered a headline gig on the spot, the manager told him he was now banned from this open mic
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"And if you ever pull that shit again I will personally kick your ass"
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But why, the young man pleaded The crowd loved him He pulled it off He'd sounded just like George Carlin up there
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Yes, the manager replied, because his whole set was, in fact, a word for word excerpt from Carlin's Seven Dirty Words routine, which he had memorized
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As the young man slowly felt the entire world begin to dissolve around him he asked, wait, are we not allowed to do that Don't musicians cover other artists' songs all the time
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No, the manager said, in comedy that's called stealing, and if you try it with a crowd in New York or Chicago or really anywhere outside a Boca Raton suburb where no one has HBO you'll get your ass kicked
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You're not half bad onstage, the manager grudgingly added as he bade the young man farewell, but from now on write your own material Write your own material Write your own material WRITE YOUR OWN MATERIAL
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The young man spent days with an open notebook in hand, desperately trying to think of material But, in fact, the only material he had was stuff he'd memorized off of the albums he'd spent all this time listening to
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Everything sounded just like George Carlin, or Bill Hicks, or Lenny Bruce All his attempts to riff on their material came back sounding like a poor attempt to disguise their material
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He tried to tap into that wellspring of rage The fury at the network suits and the born agains and the Reagan regime that seemed to make Carlin's invective flow off his tongue like pure adlib stream of consciousness (Even though, he was beginning to realize, it probably wasn't)
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And he slowly came to the horrifying conclusion... He didn't have any actual rage *George Carlin* had the rage, based on his many years of actual life experience *George Carlin* had the political opinions, and the simmering industry resentments, and all of that stuff
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He didn't actually hate Reagan or the Vietnam War or anything He just liked George Carlin being mad about those things He wasn't a disciple, or a zealot, or a true believer He was just a comedy fan
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Struck by his whole worldview and self-image crumbling to pieces, he found himself unable to sleep and began taking long, lonely walks Confronting the fact that he hadn't really changed after watching that comedy special, and was still just some asshole who wanted attention
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What was left for him now, with his dream of being George Carlin revealed as a sham? Throw himself back into his classes, graduate, be the "funny guy at the office" for the rest of his life, always wondering what could have been
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