I Had the Right to Remain Silent...But I Didn't Have the Ability (3 page)

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Authors: Ron White

BOOK: I Had the Right to Remain Silent...But I Didn't Have the Ability
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I
almost died last year. Actually I didn't almost die, I didn't even get hurt.
I was in a near-miss plane crash. And I was flying from Flagstaff, Arizona, to Phoenix, Arizona, because my manager doesn't own a globe.
I was on a plane yay big--like a pack of gum with eight people in it--and the engine going
rrrrrr
, like a playing card on a kid's bike.
We took off from the Flagstaff Airport Hair Care and Tire Center there. We're traveling at half the speed of smell. We got passed by a kite. There was a goose behind us, and the pilot was screaming, "Go around!"
We get halfway to Phoenix, we got to go back. It's a nine-minute flight; can't pull it off with this equipment.
We had engine trouble. We lost some oil pressure in one of the engines and they told us about it over the speaker system of the plane, which was stupid. . . . They could have just leaned back and mumbled, "Hey, we lost some oil pressure."
"Heard ya. Sure did."
It was weird. Everybody on the plane was nervous, but I'd been drinking since lunch and I was like, "Take it down, I don't care."
You ever have one of those days? "Hit something hard. I don't want to limp away from this piece of shit."
The guy sitting next to me is losing his mind. Apparently, he had a lot to live for. He goes, "Hey, man, huh, huh, hey man, huh, huh, if one of these engines fails, huh, huh, how far will the other one take us?"
"All the way to the scene of the crash, which is pretty handy, 'cause that's where we're headed. I bet we beat the paramedics there by a half hour. We're hauling ass."
A
s a stand-up comedian, I've got a really good job. I like my job.
It's important to have a good vocabulary in my job. And actually I haven't always had one. When I was younger, if I'd known the difference between
antidote
and
anecdote,
my friend Bob Schneider would still be alive today.
He got bit by a copperhead; I'm reading him humorous stories out of
Reader's Digest
.
His head's starting to swell. I'm like, "It ain't working."
He goes, "Read faster."
I
'll tell ya a little bit about myself. I'm from Texas. I'm a cowboy, a real cowboy. I was a bronc rider for six years of my life, and it's affected me.
Now when I have sex, I have to throw out my arm for balance. Seems to be some dispute between the wife and me, whether or not I'm staying on that
full
eight seconds.
So we got the timer and buzzer, and set it up right there in the bedroom. I taught her the meaning of the phrase "most of the time."
Would've been "all the time," but she won't let me tie that rope around her waist anymore. She hates it when I spur her out of the chute.
Hey, you laugh, it's not easy to keep an erection with a clown in a barrel in the corner of the room.
You gotta stay focused.
I
'm probably not a typical Texan in that I don't hunt. I fish, but I don't hunt. And not because I think it might somehow be more holy to eat meat that's been bludgeoned to death by somebody else, that's not it. It's really early in the morning, it's really cold outside, and I don't want to fuckin' go.
My cousin Ray on the other hand thinks killing a deer with a deer rifle is magic in the forest. Here's Ray after the big kill:
"Hell, it was four in the morning, twenty-two degrees outside.
" 'Course, you weren't there . . . pussy. I'm in a camouflaged deer blind with greasepaint on my face. I've got deer urine on my boots--I'm not sure why."
I made that last part up.
"I got a thirty-ought-six with a twelve-power scope and a bullet that'll travel twenty-two hundred feet per second. When that deer looked up and licked the salt sucker I'd hung from the danged oak tree, I caught him right above the eye."
Yeah, well I hit one with a van going 55 miles an hour with the headlights on and the horn blowing. Whoo, that's an elusive little creature.
If you ever miss one, it's 'cause the bullet's moving too fast. Slow the bullet down to 55 miles an hour and put some headlights and a little horn on it. The deer will actually jump in front of the bullet.
I
got happily married to a rich woman. If you ever have a choice, go ahead.
Actually, that's a lie. She's not rich at all.
Her parents are loaded. And they hate my guts. And I'm waiting for them to die.
And you'll know if they die, too, 'cause you'll never see my fat ass again. I'll be in Palm Beach with my new friends.
"Hand me a beer, Teddy."
My rich in-laws have servants. Is that weird? I thought when I married their daughter, they'd send a servant along with us to help do all the shit they never taught her how to do.
And I was wrong. We're leaning on her domestic skills. Ooh, she's handy.
I came home from doing a show one night, and she goes, "Honey, the dryer's broken."
"Did you check the lint filters, sweetheart? Sit down, honey, I'll check it." I open it up.
"Is there anything in there?"
"There's a
quilt
in there. Look, you made a sofa cushion. You are a handy girlie-whirly."
I
hear a lot of, "Ron, you're a pretty good-sized old boy. Well, I guess the little woman's a good cook."
Bullshit. Oh, it got a little better when she figured out that the smoke alarm's not a timer. I had to tell her, "Honey, the food is done before that particular buzzer goes off."

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