Happy Birthday Don Rickles!
I'm sure if I actually wished him a happy birthday to his face he'd spit on me and then insult me in such an acerbic manner as to make my head spin and set my loins so aflame they'd spontaneously combust. I should disclose that one of the reasons Sarah Silverman ranks so high in my top twenty is that the idea of her breaking my balls whilst balling me is about as close to heaven as it gets. You know how Jack Black was blinded by love or whatever in Shallow Hal? Well that's me, but with one liners. I'm actually concerned that if I were to hang out with Don Rickles long enough he'd eventually start looking more and more like a sexy broad, that one morning I'd wake up next to a 80 year old man. And contrary to popular belief, that's not my shortlist of life goals.
Don Rickles is the Moses of insult comics. He went up on the mountain and came back down with perfection. He isn't the first, he won't be the last, but he won't be topped. Triumph is the only one that's ever come close, and he's a fucking puppet.
He also just published his memoirs, which you can (and should) buy HERE.
And finally, I'll leave you with the comedic equivalent of a four day orgasm. Whatever that asian meditation sex thing Sting does is called, that's bullshit. This is the real deal. 81 years young, hopefully 81 more.
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