Before I get to the man himself, George Carlin, let me rant a bit about opening "comic" Dennis Blair.

Dennis Blair is one of the worst hack comedians this reviewer has ever had the misfortune of seeing. Blair is more than a hack, in fact, he is a sort of uber-hack. This is a guy that ran the entire gamut of hack jokes, whose hackneyed subjects ran from Keith Richards, William Hung, psychic hotlines, airlines, Monica Lewinsky, the fact that white people are square, and - God help me - Michael Jackson. Michael FUCKING Jackson! What is this, 1989? Was this the fucking IMPROV? I did not see a fucking brick wall so I knew it was not the IMPROV. Well then, was I listening to shitty morning drive time radio DJs? No, my eyes clearly saw him on stage. "FUCK," it then hit me, "I have paid MONEY to see this bullshit."

This is a man for whom humor is equivalent to yelling into a microphone. Plus, Blair's idea of vulgarity is "shit" and "goddamn." Listen, I was there to see Mr. Seven Dirty Words himself and all Blair had to offer was "shit" and "goddamn?" I wanted to hear "cocksucker," "motherfucker," "tittyfucker" and "twat" goddamnit. Blair stole 45 minutes of my life; no... he SODOMIZED 45 minutes of my life. What really bothers me, however, is that this is a man that has written for Rodney Dangerfield! God, I can only hope that Blair thought he was playing to a bunch of hicks in the sticks (well, this is South Carolina) and so felt the need to break out his antiquated, banal bullshit.

George Carlin took the stage at 9 pm - thank God - and saved me from the existential and nihilistic crisis into which Blair's amateur antics had thrown me.

Carlin, straight from a week at the MGM Grand in Las Vegas, immediately launched into a new piece, "Modern Man." "Modern Man" was a sort of hyperkinetic spoken word piece composed of modern jargon and free association. Carlin did the whole bit, which was several minutes long, seemingly without taking a breath. Carlin has always been a wordsmith and he clearly loves the language. He is truly gifted in this respect, and while the bit was not really humorous, it was impressive; it was like watching a rapper spit rhymes.

The rest of Carlin's show was a showcase for his consummate delivery skills. Carlin is, first and foremost, a professional. In fact, he is the opposite of that hack Dennis Blair. Carlin launched into a series of his more recent bits (many of which are featured in Complaints and Grievances) that included "Parents of Honor Students," "People Who Oughta Be Killed: Self-Help Books," "Telephone Mimes Hands-Free Telephone Headsets," "Answering Machines," "Family Newsletters," "Guys Named Todd" and "Nasa-Holes."

During these bits Carlin was slowly working the audience to a fever pitch and a girl sitting behind this reviewer eventually burst into flames. Her sensibilities were clearly offended when Carlin bemoaned all the sweet "pussy" and "tight assholes" that got buried along with the corpses of dead young girls. Carlin had, in short, championed the notion of sexual organ donation. The girl sitting behind me, at this point, started complaining - loudly - that Carlin was an "asshole" and that he was "not as funny as he used to be." WTF? This is a girl that clearly had some sort of misunderstanding as to what Carlin is all about. I guess her familiarity with Carlin had been limited to his role as Mr. Conductor on Shining Time Station. This reviewer told said girl to, "Shut the fuck up" and a clearly nervous boyfriend implored her to do the same. Eventually the poor boyfriend had to escort his little shit of a girlfriend out of the theatre.

This was fine with me as I got to sit back and take in all the beautiful vulgarity of Carlin's work. Carlin is, after all, a poet who works solely with expletives. Let me share just a few of Carlin's quotable, expletive phrases: "Fuck the whales, save the pussies;" "Drink that, drive that, fuck you;" "Caviar feces smells better than bologna feces;" and "Tough titty in Kansas City." If I ever have a son, I am going to have him learn the fine art of cursing from the master himself, George Carlin.

The show concluded with a bit that particularly interested this reviewer. I have been watching Carlin's various HBO specials since I first got cable in the mid-1980s. I have always been amazed at Carlin's sleek and spotless delivery and I have always been curious as to how he was able to hone his act. Tonight I learned how. Carlin tours extensively in the year prior to an HBO taping. While touring Carlin tries out new material, some of it scrawled on a piece of paper, in order to "passively learn" it. Tonight Carlin debuted a new, and infant, bit about what he likes. What does Carlin like? Catastrophes of proportions that only his complex web of verbiage can describe. It was gorgeous. It hardly seemed like a new bit, he fudged but a single line. After an hour and a half Carlin finally exited stage right. He did so with a classic, goofy George Carlin dance. At 67 years of age he shows no signs of slowing. God bless him.

Rating: 4