We don't really need another remembrance of George Carlin, especially from someone who did not know him personally. But I can't help it: he is my moral compass in times of doubt and uncertainty. What do I think about war? What Carlin thinks. About abortion? What Carlin thinks. About our arrogant self-importance? What Carlin thinks.

I know Carlin better than I know Richard Pryor (two of the standup trinity, see below), and that was mostly because of Carlin's HBO work. I first saw Pryor in Live on the Sunset Strip and after it was over, after I had left the theatre, I heard for days and days—still do, actually—Pryor's crack pipe talking shit. That was one seductive pipe. For me, this is the holiest piece (moment, sketch, bit, routine, whatever) of standup, ever—Pryor the junkie, scorching himself at the alter of his funky and funny and possessive pipe, and Jim Brown, hovering, unmoved, asking, "Whatcha gon do?" Pryor talking shit to Jim Brown. "Whatcha gon do"?

Pryor headed to the movies; Carlin, to HBO. Yes, he was in a movie here and there, and he famously hosted the first ever Saturday Night Live. But I got to know him from "Playing With Your Head," "Jammin' in New York," "You Are All Diseased"—and most of his other HBO specials, 14 in all. I missed Mort Sahl and Lenny Bruce and don't have the energy or inclination to excavate their work. They seem too tightly imprisoned by the newspaper headlines banging around in their respective intellects.