…make me wanna curl up on the couch with a bag of sour cream and onion potato chips, a liter of Wild Cherry Pepsi, and all the daytime TV I can ingest in six hours.

Since I can’t do that today — got a deadline looming like a looming thing — I’ll post this instead:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KBxzvSbGJ2w&feature=related]

The first time I heard George Carlin’s riff on the Seven Words You Can’t Say On TV, I was eleven years old and hanging out at my best friend’s house. Her mother wasn’t home, and we gorged ourselves on freshly baked chocolate cake, hauled her older brother’s Penthouse collection from under his bed, and threw George on the turn-table for a little grown-up entertainment. It was the first time I’d heard at least two of those seven words.

I made sure to be gone before her mother returned.

The last time I heard George was a year ago next month. I was in the third row of the balcony at the State Theatre, and he was trying out his new act. I remember he complained of not feeling well, and warned us that we might not get what we paid for. Then he proceeded to bring down the house, to the tune of three standing ovations in thirty minutes.

Check out Paperback Writer’s moving tribute here.

RIP, Mr. Carlin.