Read I Had the Right to Remain Silent...But I Didn't Have the Ability Online

Authors: Ron White

I Had the Right to Remain Silent...But I Didn't Have the Ability (7 page)

BOOK: I Had the Right to Remain Silent...But I Didn't Have the Ability
9.34Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads
'Cause that's who I hang out with. It bent him out of shape that I wasn't upset about it. He goes, "How come you ain't upset? I know you're pro-death penalty. How come that don't make you mad?"
"You know, I'll tell you why it doesn't make me mad. Because spiritually, Osama bin Laden is prepared to die for Islam. But I guarantee you: Spiritually, Osama bin Laden is ill-prepared to lick jelly out of Thunder Dick's butt crack."
"I hate grape jelly."
"Shut up and lick my butt! And you got to do a good job too, 'cause you're in this till Thunder Dick comes. It ain't just a 'Nah, nah, there I did it.' Boy, you gotta try. You gotta tickle the inside of Thunder Dick's thigh. You gotta fondle Thunder Dick's nut sack a little bit. 'Cause if you don't make him come pretty quick, you're gonna run out of jelly."
Comedy is not always pretty, folks. Every once in a while somebody will get tongue-fucked in the ass right in the middle of a humorous situation.
I
really enjoy performing at the Indian casinos that are popping up around the country. They're all really nice places; the people from all the tribes are great.
I was performing at this new Indian casino up near the Canadian border. And they picked me up in a Mini Cooper. I'm like, "Where am I supposed to sit?"
This guy's defending this car like it's the greatest thing ever made. He's like, "Oh,
no
,
no
, this is made by BMW. It's a great car. You'll see."
We go outside. His battery's dead.
So I give him a jump off my iPod, which is considerably more powerful, it turns out.
I wound up having a great time there and I'm looking forward to going back. But some of these new Indian casinos I know are bogus. Like I was in northern California, performing for the Benihana tribe. I was like, "You know what? Bullshit."
I met the chief. He was the Indian from the Village People.
Just because you have a feather doesn't mean you can open up a casino.
I was at another Indian casino in Hollywood, Florida, in the fall. I performed at the Hard Rock Casino on the Seminole Reservation. And at seventy years old, my mother is my biggest fan, and I called her and I told her where I was. And I hear my father in the background going, "What'd he say?"
And my mother said, "He said in Hollywood, you need reservations to get a cinnamon roll."
"What, Mother?"
"That's what you said."
"You're right."
I lost my ass at that casino. I'll give you some idea how my luck went. The last night I was there, I put a dollar in a soda machine, and nothing came out.
I didn't even get pissed. I just moved on to the next machine, put a dollar in it.
A drink came out, and I was there till dawn. I won four and a half cases of Diet 7-Up.
A
t a lot of casinos now, they have all these penny slots. How pathetic, you know?
The only thing more pathetic than playing penny slots is watching somebody play penny slots.
"You won a nickel."
But different strokes for different folks, you know? One night I saw a whole family playing penny slots, and they were having a lot of fun. Laughing and giggling.
And the littlest kid won a bunch of pennies. And he shared them with his older brothers and sisters. You know how little kids just spontaneously share?
"They took my pennies, Mommy!"
"Did they get them all? No? Let me have those! Hey, look at all the pennies the brat had."
"WAAH!!!!"
And it got me thinking on a new slogan for the casino industry:
"The family that slots together, stays together." Bet on it.
I
'll tell you how I lost my ass at the Indian casino. The trouble was, I started watching those Texas Hold 'Em tournaments on television. I mean, I'm watching those tournaments like a four-year-old watching the Road Runner.
And the only thing that's dangerous about doing that is that if you watch those shows long enough, you start to think you can play that game for real. But you go into one of those big poker rooms, you find out really quick that they don't let you see everybody else's cards.
I'm sitting there going, "How am I supposed to know how much to bet?"
That Indian casino was beating my ass like a tomtom at the poker table.
I love westerns, you know. But if they made a western that was set today, to be accurate, instead of the Indians surrounding the settlers and shooting burning arrows at the covered wagons, they'd be saying, "How about a friendly little game of poker, Paleface? See that smoke signal? That's where our new casino is.
"No money? No problem. We'll stake you a stack of chips on the wagon."
T
hat little tour in Florida, our second stop was in Fort Myers. My wife and I wanted to go nearby there to Sanibel and Captiva Islands. That's basically where Jimmy Buffett lived when he was making "Margaritaville." A very, very cool place--very romantic.
The only way to get there is across this rickety little wooden toll bridge. And the toll to cross this bridge is six bucks.
To cross a little rickety fucking bridge. I expected there to be a troll and some billy goats or something.
And I make a lot of money. Not doing comedy. I sell shrimp out of a van.
But six bucks seems like a lot of money. And then when you get up to the little cage where you pay the toll, I swear to God it's true, there's a little sign that says, "No coins or cash."
What do they want you to give 'em, a hand job?
"Buddy, if you just raise that gate a little bit, I'll get my family through. Could you please think of something naughty? My hand is getting tired. I'm only gonna do this for another thirty minutes, and then we're just going to go over to another beach."
W
hen I'm touring, my wife and I usually travel on a big tour bus with our three dogs. We have two Scottish terriers, because if you drink enough Johnnie Walker products, eventually they just send you the dogs. And I qualified early last year.
Their names are Birdie and Bogey. People say, "That's cute. They're named after your golf game."
I'm like, "If they were named after my golf game, they'd be Double Bogey and Where the Fuck Is That Ball Going?" Which is a kind of a long name for a pet.
"Come here, Where the Fuck Is That Ball Going? Go get the ball, Where the Fuck Is That Ball Going? Where the fuck did that ball go, Where the Fuck Is That . . ."
T
hen there's my English bulldog, Sluggo. He ran away last year, and he was gone for ten hours. All day.
When he came home, just to piss him off, I took him for a walk.
I
was in my backyard one day picking up dog shit. And I realized I now have four people working for me full-time. And I'm wondering, "How did I wind up picking up the dog shit?"
So now I'm picking up dog shit and reevaluating everybody else's responsibility. And I notice a particularly huge piece of shit. Seriously.
I know it's Sluggo's. 'Cause he outshits the Scotties two to one.
And I'm looking at this pile of shit, admiring it, really. As only a man who picks up a lot of shit can admire a pile of shit. After a while, I start to think it says something on the side of it.
So I go in the house, and I get my glasses. 'Cause I can't read shit without my glasses. . . .
BOOK: I Had the Right to Remain Silent...But I Didn't Have the Ability
9.34Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

Club Himeros by Doucette, G
Death to Pay by Derek Fee
Intrusion by MacLeod, Ken