Playboy: What about Watergate? That’s at least one instance in which the investigative reporters broke the establishment.

Carlin: Yes, Watergate. “The system worked.” I believe that phrase now represents the official historical verdict on that glorious chapter of our history. Well, bullshit! The system worked because McCord left some tape on the lock. And what’s the logical implication of that statement? Without the tape, the system wouldn’t have worked. So fuck the system.

Playboy: Do you vote?

Carlin: No. We’re led to believe we’re free through the exercise of ineffective freedoms.

Playboy: But some activists have helped the lives of some people—even without overhauling the system.

Carlin: I know, I know. It’s not that I’m unaware of the accomplishments of, say, Ralph Nader. He has made the lives of a small number of people a little better. But personally, emotionally, I’d rather divorce myself from the world than face the heartbreak of partial success. Because partial success implies overwhelming failure.

Playboy: For a nonvoter, you hold some strong opinions about politics. Have you ever considered adding Will Rogers-style political humor to your act?

Carlin: Will Rogers said, “I never met a man I didn’t like.” I say, “I never liked a man I didn’t meet.” And, although I never met him, I don’t like Will Rogers much, either. He got away with an awful lot because people were more innocent then. His whole bit was that politicians stink, which is a poor substitute for humor.

Playboy: Which comedians do you like?

Carlin: So many brilliant comics have entertained and inspired me throughout my life that no list could ever be complete. The first, of course, was Danny Kaye. Then the Marx Brothers, Abbott and Costello, the Ritz Brothers. I don’t know why the Ritz Brothers weren’t more popular. It’s my belief that Milton Berle and many other successful Jewish comics got their shtick from Harry Ritz. That man invented the moves for a whole generation. As a kid. I loved the radio comedians, especially Fred Allen. And I liked Jerry Lewis’ early work. His abandon. That’s what I’ve always admired. The ability to let go.

Playboy: Were you a Steve Allen fan?

Carlin: I loved his work on The Tonight Show in the Fifties. There was a certain power and impact to the phrases Allen used—”I certainly hope so and right in your mouth”—a crashing, cascading brilliance and an instinct for the jugular.

Playboy: Who was the first comedian to influence you whose influence is still evident in your work?

Carlin: Jonathan Winters. The voices, the characters—at least I see his influence on me. But he had something I lack: a window to insanity that he could climb through and really inhabit his characters. My characters just don’t have the heights and depths that his do, but he’s paid for his genius with several vacations in the Hoo-Hoo Hotel.

Playboy: Does your love of abandon include an admiration for Don Rickles?

Carlin: The first few times I saw Rickles, he amazed me with his brashness and willingness to cross lines. But I don’t like the way he closes his act—by apologizing for what he does. It’s insincere. A performer who kisses the audience’s ass is full of shit.

Playboy: One of your current projects is a motion picture you’re writing. The two modern comics who’ve gone that route with the most success are Woody Allen and Mel Brooks. What do you think of their work?

Carlin: In both Brooks and Allen, there’s such an overriding theme of their own personal Jewishness that it’s not always easy for a non-Jew to appreciate it all. But Brooks makes me laugh a lot—especially when he’s being interviewed and giving instant answers to things. The 2,000-Year-Old Man killed me, just put me away. There are elements of overindulgence in his films that don’t quite get to me, but the man himself has a brilliant comic mind. Woody Allen is irresistible: his beautiful observations and the wonderful way he toys with our psychological processes. And to have written so many fine scripts in such a brief period is really, to me, his most magnificent accomplishment. Twenty years ago, as a stand-up comic, Woody Allen wrote the following joke: “I was thrown out of NYU for cheating on a metaphysics exam. I looked into the soul of the boy next to me.” If he’d done nothing else for the rest of his life, I’d still love Woody Allen for that one joke. He doesn’t always make me roll down the aisle, but he always makes my mind laugh its ass off.

Playboy: You and Richard Pryor started out together in the folk rooms of Greenwich Village, and except for his work as a movie actor, your careers have taken remarkably similar courses—right down to the cocaine and the heart attack. Do you see yourself as the white Richard Pryor? Or him as the black George Carlin?

Carlin: In the early Sixties, Richie and I would frequently be on the same bill at the Café Au Go Go, and sometimes, while introducing each other, we’d do a few improvs between sets. There was always a rapport, and perhaps we share certain comic viewpoints, but I think Pryor is without peer. The thing he does better than anyone else is represent who he is, where he’s been and who has been around him. He doesn’t do whole characters in the sense that Lily and Jonathan do, but Richard does fantastic characterizations—an entire personality implied by just a line here, a gesture there. And his white guysreally kill me. Richard is just a genius. He makes me laugh from the soles of my feet—that’s S-O-L-E-S.

Playboy: Does Steve Martin make you laugh?

Carlin: I don’t laugh as much as I do at some of the other people, but I like Steve Martin’s mind. I like the attitude he brings to that arrow through his head. And I love the way he mocks the performer’s situation and self-image—the way he does that phony asshole onstage.

Playboy: Who else do you like?

Carlin: Martin Mull. I can’t even put my finger on exactly what about Martin I like, I just know that his jokes make me laugh very hard. They’re unusual. The twist of his mind is refreshing. And his songs are great.

Playboy: Have you noticed how many comedians keep going into their 70s and 80s? Do you think there’s something about comedy that’s good for the health?

Carlin: I seriously have thought that there must be a therapeutic value to humor, a life force that’s enhanced by laughter. Because it certainly is an observable phenomenon that comics just go on forever, though Freddie Prinze did fuck up the curve a little.

Playboy: Do you consider it a professional obligation to rush out and see every hot new comic and every film comedy that’s released?

Carlin: On the contrary; I try not to see new comics—their acts or their films. Part of that is professional. I don’t want to be influenced. But another part is fear and jealousy. I’m afraid to see how good they might be. I don’t like that emotion, but it’s part of me.

Playboy: You never buy material, do you?

Carlin: No, and again, this isn’t a very flattering thing to say about myself, but I don’t want anyone to think I need help. Now that I’m going to try to make movies, I have to open myself up to collaboration, because film is a collaborative art. And that’s difficult for me. I have an extreme jealousy of authorship;… Folks, we’ve got a really twisted guy here.

Playboy: You’re said to be one of the most stolen-from comics in the business. What was the most blatant theft you can recall?

Carlin: A comic I admire very much. Joan Rivers, did one of my pieces on TheTonight Show just recently. I couldn’t believe it, because it was a bit I’d used regularly for years. I said, “When my mother was pregnant with me, she carried me very low. In fact, for the last few weeks, my feet were sticking out.” And my follow-up, which Joan also used, was, “However, she did tell me it came in handy on stairs.” Theft is one of the risks you run when you buy material, and I’ll bet Joan bought that joke.… Now that I’ve said this in public, I guess I’ll find out.

Playboy: Any other examples?

Carlin: Remember I said that Garry Trudeau was also honored at that A.C.L.U. dinner—along with Lily and me? One of the things I said that night was, “I’m into a new lifestyle that doesn’t require my presence.” Garry later used that line in an interview. Maybe he thought he heard himself say it.

Playboy: In October 1975, you were the guest host on the first Saturday Night Live show. What sort of experience was that?

Carlin: I was totally coked out that week, so my memories are imperfect. And there was so much tension around that nobody was giving off real-life signals. But I do remember being made to feel extremely welcome.

Playboy: Was that tension more than the normal case of opening-night jitters?

Carlin: There was the pressure of a live performance and the pressure of a new show—both of which are normal. But there was also a certain amount of tension between the technicians and these young, privileged, snotty, satirical kids who were getting this big break.

Playboy: What was your first impression of the Not Ready for Prime Time Players?

Carlin: I could see immediately that they were good comic performers and great sketch players. I had trouble personally on that show, because I don’t consider myself an actor, and that includes sketch playing. I was so self-conscious and unsure that I eventually made them cancel a whole piece. I was supposed to play Alexander the Great at his high school reunion. I just felt so silly in that outfit and nothing in me could make me believe I was him. I guess I let a lot of people down, but acting has always been a problem for me.

Playboy: Even without you in the sketches, that opening Saturday Night Liveshow had an incredible impact. Were you aware at the time of how strongly people would respond, both pro and con?

Carlin: Oh, yeah. We even got Cardinal Cooke to call in before the show was over. I was particularly proud of that.

Playboy: As we recall, you did a monolog about God that night.

Carlin: Yes, and Cooke was so incensed he got right on the phone. All I said was that I’d been taught that I was made in God’s image, but it looked more like we had made Him in our image. And if He was anything like me, He was far from perfect. Then I said I thought the whole idea of God’s being perfect was out of the question. I mean, just look at His work. He can’t make two leaves alike. Every mountain range is crooked. He can’t even get two fingerprints the same.… And about that time, the phones lit up.

Playboy: What did you think, overall, of Saturday Night Live?

Carlin: The show made me laugh, but it didn’t really take on a lot of issues. Itseemed daring, and there were things that were sort of irreverent, but mostly they didn’t present any alternate ideas, they just tore down. Which is a form of comedy I can live with but I don’t love.

Playboy: You mentioned your own inability to act. Are you now admiring an ability simply because it eludes you?

Carlin: Maybe, but so far, I haven’t even been able to try to act. You see, I believe that ultimately, actors are escaping from themselves. I’ve spent the first 45 years of my life trying to figure out who I am and how best to expose myself to the world.

Playboy: Is acting something you might like to get into someday?

Carlin: If I can do what I’d like to do in comedy over the next ten years—a couple of books, a couple of screenplays, some fun on cable, a few more albums—then I think it would be really magnificent, about the age of 55, to begin serious training as an actor. Between 55 and 70, I’d like to play small roles in out-of-the-way theaters, then get into films as an older character actor; show up for eight minutes in the bar scene, do my little shtick and disappear. Oh, I would revel in that kind of life, and I’m going to try for it.

Playboy: Have you ever fantasized about living in another age?

Carlin: If I had lived in Babylonian times, I probably would have chiseled my jokes in stone tablets and dragged them from house to house. In the Middle Ages, I’d have been that odd fellow standing in the middle of the square, telling stories. The townspeople would pass and say, “Every Friday he comes in and talks for an hour. We don’t know why.” I would have loved that.

Playboy: In your performance fantasies, it almost doesn’t matter whether or not people are listening to you, as long as you get to do your rap.

Carlin: People become performers for many reasons. Some do it to get a lot of pussy—and that’s a good reason. Some want a bigger car. Other guys want to travel. My reason has always been that I was screaming to let all this shit out of me.

Playboy: Late at night, when the lights are out and the TV is off and Brenda is sleeping but you’re not quite asleep yet—what do you think about? What goes through your mind?

Carlin: I fly. I close my eyes and picture myself making the motions of treading water, and then I start floating over trees and houses and farms and fields that are crosshatched. It all rolls by just like in the penny arcade when you drive the car for a quarter. Occasionally, I’ll throw in a lake or a river. Sometimes I let an animal run by. Maybe a dragon. One dragon, that’s all. You don’t want too many dragons in your fantasy.

Playboy: Do you have any hobbies?

Carlin: No.

Playboy: No?

Carlin: I have interests and I read a lot, mostly nonfiction, because I’m probably still trying to finish my education. But my primary avocations are to make my family and my household happy, to live inside my brain, to have funny thoughts and to write them down—for myself, mostly.

Playboy: Do you think that desire to live within your own head derives from your lonely childhood?

Carlin: Probably. My mother would always say of me, “He certainly knows how to entertain himself.” So I don’t seek a release or an escape in activities.

Playboy: Do you deliberately avoid new activities because they might interfere with the life of your mind?

Carlin: Yeah; I’ve never permitted myself to experience the joys of racquetball and I don’t feel the loss.