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DON'T SH*T IN MY HAT AND TELL ME IT FITS BETTER Unedited, Un-PC, and Unapologetic
By MIKE CARACCIOLO MICHAEL BENSON CITADEL PRESS BOOKS
Copyright © 2008 Mike Caracciolo
All right reserved. ISBN: 978-0-8065-2867-0
Chapter One Let Me Tell You Something, Fellas: Stay Single
My son's friend is getting married. He met this woman on the fuckin' computer, on one of them fuckin' online dating services. You got to be out of your fuckin' mind to go on a computer today and look for a fuckin' woman.
There are thousands of fuckin' women with fuckin' personal ads on the computer. Hey, Mr. Fuckin' Bachelor, do you think those women give a fuck about you? Do you think they're lookin' for fuckin' love? Fuck, no. They are after one fuckin' thing: cash.
Let me tell you something, fellas. Take it from someone who fuckin' knows. Once you get married to a woman, ain't nothin' you do ever good enough. If you get 'em a house, they want a bigger house. If you get 'em a Mercedes-Benz, they want a fuckin' Rolls-Royce. If you get 'em a fuckin' Rolls-Royce, they want a fuckin' jet airplane.
It don't make no difference what you do for a fuckin' woman, it ain't good enough. If you make a million dollars a year, they want you to make two fuckin' million dollars a year. If you screw 'em twice a night, they want to be screwed five times a night. (As the great Mick Jagger once said, "I ain't got that much fuckin' jam!")
If you take 'em to the best fuckin' restaurant andyou buy 'em the best fuckin' food, it ain't good enough. So let me tell ya, any fuckin' young guys out there who are thinkin' o' gettin' married, go get your fuckin' head examined. You got to be out of your fuckin' mind. You can't please any fuckin' woman.
So take it from the voice of the fuckin' people: Stay single, you stupid bastards!
Retard Suicide Bombers
So just when you think the Muslim terrorist assholes can't sink any fuckin' lower, what the fuck do they do? They strap suicide belts onto a couple of retards who don't know any better, send 'em into a market, and then detonate the bombs by remote control! Killed over a hundred people. I mean, these fuckin' Muslim terrorists are scum-they ain't even got the fuckin' balls to do the deed themselves-now they're grabbin' retards off the fuckin' street to do their fuckin' dirty work!
This is what we're dealing with now.
What worries the Big Man is, we got plenty of retards right here in America them terrorist cocksuckers could use to do the same thing here-in a mall or a Wal-Mart or a fuckin' supermarket.
I mean, shit, you go into one of them Stop & Shops we got around here and there's always a bunch of them retards bagging groceries.
Who's gonna suspect a retard of being a suicide bomber? Some of these retards can't even stop drooling long enough to bag up a sack of fuckin' toilet paper.
How hard would it be for some Muslim bastard to say, "Hey, kid, if you wear this belt under your shirt, I'll give you a Hershey bar."
What's the kid gonna say, no thanks? He don't know any better 'cause he's a retard. Do the fuckin' math!
Fuck, no. Five minutes later, you're gonna see a fuckin' mushroom cloud over the goddamn strip mall.
They did in Baghdad, they'll do it here, mark my words.
These are the kinds of lowlife, murdering cocksucking savages who are slipping into America by the hundreds every fuckin' day.
So next time you're in a supermarket or a shopping center or wherever, and you see someone offering a retard a Hershey bar, get the fuck out of there pronto.
Anyway, think about it.
Waitin' for Osama
The Big Man was watchin' Fox News the other day and saw that they're waiting for a new fuckin' video from Osama bin Laden. They got the word that he made a new video. What? What the fuck? Who got the word that he made a new fuckin' video? I mean, come on, give me a fuckin' break.
You want to tell me that, with all of the fuckin' money they're offering for that terrorist motherfucker's head, ain't no one gonna rat the cocksucker out? They just gonna call up Fox News and say he made a new video so Fox should be expecting it? Bull-fucking-shit. They're offering fifty fuckin' million dollars for the head of Osama bin Laden on a fuckin' platter and still ain't no one coming forward. What the fuck is up with that?
And all the technology we fuckin' got today and we can't find this guy? I mean, we send guys to the fuckin' moon! And we can't find one fuckin' Muslim terrorist? I can't fuckin' believe it.
Me, I'm a sensible guy. I say, we outsource the fuckin' search for Osama bin Laden. I say, we contract the job out to the Chinese. I mean, we give the Chinese everything else, why not the job of putting the hit on Bin Fuckin' Laden?
The Chinese make all of our fuckin' clothes, all of our kids' fuckin' toys, all of our computer parts. They make everything! Give the fuckin' Chinese the contract to find this fuckin' Osama bin Laden and don't you worry. Take it from the Big Man, they'll find that son of a fuckin' bitch. They'll send a two-fuckin'-million-man army.
You don't fuck around with them fuckin' Chinese. They'll go into Afghanistan, they'll cover Iraq, they'll be all over the whole fuckin' Middle East, and they'll find the rat bastard. They'll put some ass-wipe terrorist up against a fuckin' wall, put a fuckin' meat cleaver to his head, and say, "You tell us where fuckin' Osama bin Laden is or you won't be shoppin' at the fuckin' Big and Tall store anymore. Tell us where he is or you won't have to worry about combing your hair anymore, on account o' your fuckin' body is gonna stop at your fuckin' neck!"
The Chinese would find him. Oh yeah, they'd find him and, when they do, they're gonna turn him into a fuckin' dish: Osama bin Laden Egg Foo Fuckin' Yung! With a side of Osama Chop Fuckin' Suey!
Why You Can't Get Miller in a Bodega No More
You know what a fuckin' bodega is? For those of you who don't come from New York City, let the Big Man explain. Throughout New York-in Brooklyn, the Bronx, Staten Island, and Queens-there are thousands, maybe fuckin' millions, of fuckin' bodegas. A bodega is a Hispanic-owned grocery store. They're usually on the corner and they're open twenty-four hours a day. They sell soda, beer, cigarettes, candy, Lotto tickets, reefer, and crack cocaine. Twenty-four fuckin' hours a day.
Well, the Big Man has just learned that the fuckin' Miller High Life company, makers of Miller High Life Beer, have decided to stop selling their beer in all the bodegas of New York. Those people who owned those fuckin' bodegas had the balls to charge twenty dollars-twenty fuckin' dollars!-for a two-dollar crack pipe. Can you imagine that? Now the greedy bastards are going to pay the ultimate price. Now they can't sell Miller High Life no more. I don't know why.
Tie a Yellow Ribbon Around Your Fat Ass, Tony Orlando
So I was talking with my old pal from Bensonhurst, Willie Potatoes.
Willie tells me he went for a checkup and his doctor said he needs to lose fifty pounds.
The Big Man is here to tell you, at our age, Willie's doc might as well have told him to lose five hundred fuckin' pounds. Losing weight ain't so easy when you're over fifty.
So's Willie's watching TV and he sees this commercial where Tony Orlando's hawking some shit called Nutri-System, where they send you food, you eat it, and you lose weight.
They show a picture of this Tony Orlando when he weighed, like, five hundred pounds and looked like a fuckin' beached whale. I seen that commercial myself.
Thing is, even after Tony Orlando says he lost all this weight, and went from wearing fuckin' pants the size of a fuckin' circus tent down to a size 34, he still looks like a fat schlub.
Whatever. Willie is all excited. He says, "Seems like a good deal. They send you steak and lasagna and all kinds of great shit. They even give you fuckin' desserts!"
Now, I got to explain that Willie Potatoes didn't get that name for no reason. The man loves to eat. The guy could even put me to shame when it comes to stuffing your face. I once seen him put away an entire two-pound standing rib roast-and that was as an appetizer.
I mean the guy eats like he had three assholes.
So he orders the 144-item meal package, but not from their 800 number. The cheap shit actually goes to eBay and gets it for half of what the Nutri-System people would've charged.
I mean, who the fuck buys breakfast, lunch, and dinner on fuckin' eBay? Willie Potatoes, that's who.
A few days later, the UPS guy delivers the goods. Willie's beside himself-there's scrambled eggs and peanut butter pastries and fettuccine Alfredo and cheese tortellini and pot roast and pizza, the whole ball of wax, ninety meals and fifty desserts, supposed to last you a month at least.
Long story short, Willie tries one meal but it don't fill him up. So he has another. And another after that. He polishes off the whole month's worth in two fuckin' days and he's still hungry. So he goes down to McDonalds and eats ten Happy Meals.
Instead of losing weight with that Nutri-System, Willie gains twenty fuckin' pounds. That's some fuckin' diet.
Willie said, "If I ever run into that greasy bastard Tony Orlando, I'm gonna kick his fat ass all the way to Cleveland."
The moral is, when something sounds too fuckin' good to be true, it usually is.
Anyway, think about it.
Columbia Uni-fuckin'-versity
You know, about a year ago, the Big Man, being the Voice, the Voice of the People, wanted to reach out. The Big Man wanted to give back. That's what I'm all about. So I offered my services to fuckin' Columbia University, the fuckin' Ivy League school up there at the top of Manhattan.
Now the school is jam-packed with book-smart people. They gotcher bona fide horn-rim glasses geniuses up there, but what the fuck do these people know about life? Doodely-fuckin' squat, that's what the fuck they know.
So the Big Man decided to volunteer his services, to address a gathering of Columbia University students and faculty on the subject of street smarts. Nothin' fancy-just the fundamentals of street smarts. Don't make eye contact with crazy people. Shit like that.
So I called up the lady who sets up the public speaking engagements at Columbia University.
I said, "Hello, Mrs. Bird. My name is Mike Caracciolo. I have a Web site on the Internet-www.thekidfrombrooklyn.com. I want to go up there and offer you my services, give your students and faculty a little piece of education that they ain't gettin' in the classroom."
She said, "Mr. Caracciolo, we will have to examine your Web site, and we'll get back to you in a couple of days."
Three days later, Mrs. Bird called me back.
"Mr. Caracciolo, I am very sorry to inform you, but due to your coarseness and your profane use of the English language, Columbia University, one of the most prestigious schools in the United States, cannot accept your offer to speak to our students and faculty. Columbia University only accepts men and women of honor to speak at our podium."
You know, I felt kind of bad at first that they wouldn't let me go up there and speak to these kids about what I know about street smarts. Then, then! I learned that this fuckin' Momo Onmydinnerjacket, the fuckin' dictator of Iran, this fuckin' terrorist, was going to speak at Columbia University. They wouldn't let me speak because they did not consider me a man of honor but they were going to allow this terrorist motherfucker a place behind their sacred fuckin' podium. This fuckin' university has the balls to call itself prestigious when it makes fuckin' decisions like that?
He's okay but I'm not. Here's a guy who starves fuckin' 60 percent of his people. He supplies a safe haven for all of the fuckin' terrorists. He sends millions of fuckin' dollars to Hezbollah. He makes fuckin' weapons to kill our soldiers. And his sole purpose in creating nuclear weapons is to annihilate the fuckin' state of Israel.
Now the fuckin' truth comes out. Now we fuckin' know what Columbia University is all about. So here's a tip to all you fuckin' parents out there who pay boocoo fuckin' bucks to send your fuckin' kids to Columbia University, and here's a tip to all the people who donate their hard-earned money to all of the corporations that donate millions of dollars to this prestigious school: get your fuckin' head examined!
See where your fuckin' money is going?
Leave Britney Alone!
Hey, remember back when Britney fuckin' Spears was going to make her big comeback, and she appeared on the MTV Awards? It was all over the fuckin' news. Every fuckin' person and his mother started taking a steamy dump on fuckin' Britney.
They said she put on a lousy performance. They said she was over-fuckin'-weight. Let me tell you something about the way Britney looked. Seventy-five percent of the fuckin' women in the fuckin' world would cut off a finger or a toe to look like Britney Spears looked that night.
They would fuckin' pay to have a body like Britney. I mean, come on, give me a fuckin' break. She's got two fuckin' children! She gave birth to two fuckin' children! After that, you can only do so fuckin' much. What do they expect? Do they want her to go on the fuckin' MTV Awards lookin' like fuckin' Twiggy or something, a razor-thin waif who looks like she's living on V8 and tree bark? No fuckin' way.
Me, personally, I think Britney has still got it fuckin' goin' on. She has got some great fuckin' body. And the Big Man thinks she put on a great performance that night. I couldn't fuckin' take my eyes off her.
For a person who was under the fuckin' influence, she did a fuckin' great job out there. I mean, she was liquored up and doped up and, taking that into fuckin' consideration, she did a hell of a job!
Imagine me and you getting up on the fuckin' stage all liquored up and doped up and trying to put on a fuckin' show. Puh-fuckin'-leaze! Leave Britney alone. Give her a fuckin' break. She's trying her fuckin' best!
All kidding aside, did you see that clip on YouTube of that guy with the eye makeup who got all weepy about the press's hounding Britney Spears? Of course, if the press really wanted to bug Britney they would leave her alone.
Five minutes without any fuckin' attention and she'd be shaving her fuckin' head again. But back to the clip, I think they should use that "leave Britney alone" kid as an example. They should give that YouTube clip to all of the teachers in America.
They should play the clip for their classes and then say, "See kids, see what happens when you take fuckin' drugs."
Get Me to Gitmo
This here government of the United States of America has got the wrong fuckin' idea. Put me in charge of these fuckin' prisoners, these fuckin' detainees, down there in fuckin' Guantanamo Bay in Cuba. Detainees. That's what they call terrorist motherfuckers these days.
I'd have a fuckin' tailor come in, measure 'em all. They'd all get $3,000 suits. They'd get beautiful shirts. Beautiful shoes. I'd put 'em all in a king-size bed and give 'em all high-definition TVs the size of a fuckin' movie screen.
Then I'd feed 'em the best food money can buy: Peter Luger steaks, the best wines and liquors. And after all that, I'd send 'em in with the world's most gorgeous women. The most gorgeous women naked. And I'd let these prisoners do whatever they want with these women.
Pretty soon the word would get out that this is the greatest fuckin' jail in the whole fuckin' world, and all of those other terrorist motherfuckers out there will be throwing up their hands.
They'll say, "I surrender. I fuckin' surrender. Take me to fuckin' Guantanamo Bay." They'll be beggin' to get caught, beggin' to go to that fuckin' jail. They'll say, "Allah sent me here. Praise be to Allah."
I'm just jokin'. Here's how I really feel. I don't want to tell you how many e-mails I've gotten from numskull knuckleheads with shit for brains out there in fuckin' World Wide Web land saying that 9/11 was a hoax and that the United States actually attacked ourselves so that we would have a reason to go to war. I guess there are always going to be loony kazoos who think this way. There are people who think we bombed our own ships at Pearl Harbor so we'd have a fuckin' excuse to go to war with the Japs. (Continues...)
Excerpted from DON'T SH*T IN MY HAT AND TELL ME IT FITS BETTER by MIKE CARACCIOLO MICHAEL BENSON
Copyright © 2008 by Mike Caracciolo. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
<%TOC%>
Contents Introduction: Join the Common Sense Party....................xii
Acknowledgments....................xvii
Let Me Tell You Something, Fellas: Stay Single....................1
Retard Suicide Bombers....................2
Waitin' for Osama....................3
Why You Can't Get Miller in a Bodega No More....................5
Tie a Yellow Ribbon Around Your Fat Ass, Tony Orlando....................5
Columbia Uni-fuckin'-versity....................7
Leave Britney Alone!....................9
Get Me to Gitmo....................10
Whiny Americans....................13
Airport Rest Rooms....................14
A Lot of Fuckin' Shit Has Happened to Me Since My First Book....................16
Pete the Nut....................30
Two Kinds of People the Big Man Can't Stand....................32
Little Tony the Wop....................33
Why I Still Hate Cell Phones....................33
Trying to Get Ointment for My Balls....................35
The First Time....................36
Confucius Say....................37
Getting Laid for Free....................40
Albert Sardi vs. Ralph the Cop....................43
How to Blow Off Telemarketers....................44
People Got Their Priorities All Fucked Up....................45
The F Word Is a Mighty Fine Word....................46
The Real Meaning of the Word Pimp....................47
How Do You Fuck Up Toast?....................48
Take My Word for It, Fellas, The Meter Is Always Running....................50
Old-Fashioned Melting-Pot Vocabulary....................51
Where Did All the Americans Go?....................52
Weddings....................53
What To Do with the Mexicans....................54
An American in Paris....................57
You Got to Be Crazy to Be a Cop Today....................58
Today, Everything Has Got to Be Fancy....................59
Slow News Days....................61
To Tell the Truth....................65
The Harsh Gavel of Judge Caracciolo....................67
I Don't Sell Tickets to Fuckin' Phonies....................69
Three Easy Steps to Taking Over Atlantic City....................70
Here's How to Lower Gas Prices....................73
One Size Does Not Fuckin' Fit All....................75
How to Solve the Overcrowded Prison Problem....................76
Nathan's Hot Dog Eating Contest....................78
Back in the Old Days When I Was Happy....................79
The Big Man Tackles Computer Technology....................83
Hey, You Cowardly Protesters, Come to New York!....................84
Imagine If Condoms Came in Sizes....................86
I Ain't Nothin' If I Ain't Tolerant....................87
The Guys Who Really Have Balls....................89
Tragic Misers and Melt-in-Your-Mouth Prosciutt'....................90
Make a Reality Show That's Really Real and Maybe I'll Watch....................92
Gay Marriage....................94
How Come White-Collar Criminals Don't Get Punished?....................96
Today's Special at the Indian Restaurant: Cat in the Hat....................97
How to Wipe Out Convenience Store Shoplifting....................98
The Departed Salami (with Apologies to William Monahan)....................99
Men Across the Nation Tryin' to Watch Football....................104
The Gruesome Twosome....................106
How Come Health Food Stores Smell Like Shit?....................107
The Stupidest Idea I Ever Heard....................108
The First Time I Ever Saw a Pair of Naked Titties....................110
The Entire Government Is Corrupt....................112
Tommy Malone and the Bag o' Burning Horseshit....................114
Is There Homosexuality in the Animal Kingdom?....................115
Where Did All the Cash Money Go?....................116
In These Biblical Times Insurance Companies Are Lookin' for Loopholes....................118
The Day Jimmy the Printer Took Me to a French Whore....................119
Irish Joe Walsh Knew What Law Enforcement Was All About....................122
Remember Anna Nicole....................125
Dead Man Fucking....................127
A Coupla Reasons to Stay North of the Border....................128
I Finally Found the World's Only Honest Newspaper....................129
There's No Such Thing as a Used Car No More....................131
When a Cool Breeze Turns into a Wet Fart....................132
When Will Women Learn That Men Chase Pussy?....................133
Where Do People Who Disappear Go?....................135
Husbands, Here's How to Tell When It's Time to Get Out....................136
The Way Men and Women Think Differently....................137
The Big Man Has Had Some Ups and Downs....................138
What Happened to All the Mortgage Companies?....................142
Justice Is So Swift It Only Took 'Em Four Years to Indict Barry Bonds....................143
An Evening in Giuseppe's Fine Italian Cuisine....................147
The Entrepreneurial Girls of Canarsie, 1963....................148
I'd Rather Be Blind Drunk Than Shit-Faced Any Day....................150
Back When the TV Screen Was Almost Round and Eight Inches Across....................151
Just Friends....................152
Ladies, Give Your Man What He Really Wants....................153
Wakes Ain't Like They Used to Be....................154
Fellas, Don't Call a Girl a Whore Unless You Mean It in the Nice Way....................155
The Jug Man Is Always Happy to See Ya....................156
Michael Vick Is About as Smart as a Box Of Rocks....................157
I Miss the Old Days When Dances Had Names....................158
Stop Putting Commercials On Cable TV....................159
Nobody Gives a Fuck About a Midget....................160
What's Your Favorite Name for a Fart?....................161
There Ought to Be a Sign-Warning: Stutterer at the Drive Through....................163
Even Goombahs without Buttons Enjoy Dealing in Good Old-Fashioned Cash....................163
It Ain't Pretty at the All-You-Can-Eat Thanksgiving Buffet....................166
Merry Fuckin' Christmas....................167
When I'm in a Public Men's Room I Don't Want Nothin' to Be Automatic....................169
In Vegas, There Is Only One Color....................171
Either They're Makin' Popcorn or I'm in an Airport Security Line....................172
Mark My Words, They're Puttin' Somethin' in the Food....................173
