Now, you wouldn't know it, for some of the things I've said over the years...but I like people. I do. I like people, but I like them in short bursts. I don't like people for extended periods of time. I'm all right with them for a little while...but once you get up past, around, minute, minute and a half...I gotta get the fuck outta there.

And my reason for this...my reason is for one that you may share, possibly: I have a very low tolerance level for stupid bullshit. That's all. Stupid bullshit, you know? 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's 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 at Mammoth Cave, Kentucky. This was about...six years ago, I think. Seems like it was six, about six years ago...six or seven, possibly seven, could be. 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 at 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, twenty-seven-pounder."

"You know, now that I think of it, it might have been eight years ago. That would've been close to Y2K, wouldn't it? Remember Y2K? Whatever happened? Everybody was all worried about that; nothin' ever happened. Hahahahahaha. Big fuss...nothin' ever happened! You know? God, that's strange, you know? So let's say...we'll say it's eight years ago, it was either eight or five."

"So my dad gave my mom this big turd; he said, 'Here, Mom, this is a big dinosaur turd; put it in your purse and 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 better get the fuck outta this cave!'"

"Nine years ago! Nine. I know it was nine because my wife was pregnant with our first boy, Mak Mudi Ben'el Said ben Salaam. And he's ten now. ...Or is he? He's eleven, maybe he's eleven. He's either eleven or five."

And while all this is going on, you're searching through your mind for something diplomatic and tactical and graceful that you can say to help end the conversation. And all I can ever come up with is, "BLOW IT OUT YOUR ASS! BLOW IT OUT YOUR ASS! BLOW IT OUT YOUR ASS! BLOW IT OUT YOUR ASS! BLOW IT OUT YOUR ASS!" ...You know?

But you can't say that. You...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's over. I find myself leaning at a forty-five degree angle...trying to indicate the direction I'd like to go...if this person would just shut the fuck up. And then I might even give them a verbal cue: "Surgery! Surgery, I'm late for surgery! I'm having my ears sewn shut!" ...You know? Yeah!

Same people on the phone, same people on the phone. Don't know when to hang up, don't know when the conversation's over. Dumb, trivial shit. Dumb questions: "So what are you guys gonna do five summers from now? We haven't made any plans; Marge wants to go to the beach, the kids kinda like it at the lake, and I wanna go to the mountains. Grandma wants to visit her sister in Frog Balls, Arkansas. How 'bout you, you made any plans? It's never too early to make plans. We're going to Norway in 2025. Did you know that up until the 1950s, Norway's economy was based largely on fishing? But now, thanks to the expansion of the world economy and increased...improved drilling tech..."

...And once again, you're searching through your mind for the right thing to say to help end the conversation: "shut the fuck up" comes to mind. Uh, or: "blow it out your..." uh, how 'bout "shut your fuckin' pie hole" might be good. Or, if he prefers cake, "shut your fuckin' cake hole". But these things...you don't wanna, you can't say those things, and you can't use body language on the phone. Well, you can always amuse yourself, you know [George pretends to jack off] ...or, if it's your mother, you show your mother respect, you put her on speakerphone [George pretends to jack off with both hands].

But that doesn't move the conversation along; you have to find another trick, and I go to tone of voice. You ever use your tone of voice to try to talk them into a soft landing? You try to coax the person toward the end: "Right. Good. Okay. Good. Alright then. Good. Right. Okay. Good, okay, okay, alright, al...aw, fuck, there he goes again! That cocksucker..."

"You remember my neighbor with the burns on 90% of her body? Well, she burned the other 10% now. She was lighting a fart and her bush caught fire."

"Listen...l-listen, Reverend...R-Reverend, Reverend, I-I hate to be rude, but...I just took a three and a half hour shit. And I'm bleeding from the asshole. Well, I don't have any Mercurochrome. Yes, I'll-yeah, I'll put a Snoopy Band-Aid on it, thank you. Yeah-yeah, thank you, you do that for me, yeah, say a prayer for my asshole, thank you very much."