MITCH, WE HARDLY KNEW YE

I was saddened to hear last week of the passing of Mitch Hedberg. Somehow, I never managed to catch one of his numerous TV appearances or live shows, but his comedy (check out his live show CD Strategic Grill Locations) was brilliant. Somewhat reminiscent of Steve Wright, it was off-the-wall but, at the same time, made perfect sense.

Here are a few of his jokes, stolen from The Ministry of Minor Perfidy. [A tip of the Elisson fedora to Rocket Jones for the link.]

I got an ant farm. Them fellas didn’t grow shit.

Last week I helped my friend stay put. It’s a lot easier than helping someone move. I just went over to his house and made sure that he did not start to load shit into a truck.

I got my hair highlighted, because I felt some strands were more important than others.

I had a stick of Carefree gum, but it didn’t work. I felt pretty good while I was blowing that bubble, but as soon as the gum lost its flavor, I was back to pondering my mortality.

I want to be a race car passenger: just a guy who bugs the driver. “Say man, can I turn on the radio? You should slow down. Why do we gotta keep going in circles? Can I put my feet out the window? Boy, you really like Tide.”

I got in an argument with a girlfriend inside of a tent. That’s a bad place for an argument, because I tried to walk out, and had to slam the flap.

I type 101 words a minute. But it’s in my own language.

I don’t have a girlfriend. But I do know a woman who’d be mad at me for saying that.

I’m against picketing, but I don’t know how to show it.

I was walking down the street with my friend and he said “I hear music.” As if there’s any other way to take it in.

At my hotel room, my friend came over and asked to use the phone. I said “Certainly.” He said “Do I need to dial 9?” I say “Yeah. Especially if it’s in the number. You can try four and five back to back real quick.”

My lucky number is four billion. That doesn’t come in real handy when you’re gambling. “Come on, four billion! Fuck. Seven. I need more dice.”

I love blackjack. But I’m not addicted to gambling. I’m addicted to sitting in a semi circle.

I don’t own a cell phone or a pager. I just hang around everyone I know, all the time.

I used to do drugs. I still do drugs. But I used to, too.

The thing about tennis is: no matter how much I play, I’ll never be as good as a wall. I played a wall once. They’re fucking relentless.

I would imagine if you could understand Morse Code, a tap dancer would drive you crazy.

I went to the park and saw this kid flying a kite. The kid was really excited. I don’t know why, that’s what they’re supposed to do. Now if he had had a chair on the other end of that string, I would have been impressed.

Requesciat in pace, Mitch. Perhaps you’ll have Pope John Paul II pissing his Angelic Garments in heaven...assuming all y’all end up there. And if there’s a there.