George Carlin died of heart failure Sunday in Los Angeles. He was 71.

The comedian, oft-praised as a genius, leaves behind a legacy of playing a cloying homosexual in the film "The Prince of Tides" as well as his seminal role of Rufus in both "Bill and Ted's" films. He was also once on an episode of "That Girl."

Despite the one-season sitcom he starred in in the 1990's and his influential commercials for Honda and 1-800-COLLECT, many people may be surprised to discover that Carlin was once a controversial and counter-cultural force in American comedy. In those iconic days of the 1970's, Carlin often railed against commercialism and the forces of marketing gone horribly out of control.

He was preceded in death by his integrity, his wit, and his sense of knowing when a joke wasn't working. 

I'm only taking an educated guess when I say I'm pretty sure I know where the naked maid put the jewelry.

After the 50-year-old man hired the woman from the Internet on Friday, the maid stole from his suburban Tampa home despite not wearing any clothes, the Hillsborough County Sheriff's Office said.

The woman arrived at the home in a one-piece, light colored dress. She took off the dress and cleaned the house for $100-per-hour, authorities said.

The man told deputies he left the maid alone in the bedroom to clean, according to sheriff's office spokeswoman Debbie Carter.

When the man's wife came home from vacation, she discovered $40,000 in jewelry missing from their bedroom.

 Inflammatory Fox radio and television pundit Bill O’Reilly made it clear in no uncertain terms that he seldom, if ever, washes his hands after taking a dump. The loofah-loving right winger claims that such sanitary impulses bespeak an unmanly admission of vulnerability.

“A little retained crap under the fingernails builds character. It strengthens resolve, and exemplifies the value of personal responsibility that makes this the greatest country in the world,” he explained, his jowls shimmering with child-like glee.

Co-workers, friends, and fans have noted that they often spot O’Reilly stepping out of a men’s room stall, brazenly adjusting his belt, and giving himself a wink and finger-pointing gunshot in the mirror before turning jauntily on his toes and exiting.

Gus Moses, a men’s room attendant at the Tusk and Spittle, a steakhouse frequented by conservatives and their assorted buttoned-down hangers on, noted that O’Reilly occasionally fingers through the complementary mints, selecting a few of the pale pink ones as he leaves.

“He hates those light blue mints,” Moses explained, arranging a row of men’s cologne bottles from tallest to shortest. “But he’ll dig for a minute or two to get them red ones. Then he tosses me two bits and tells me to keep ‘fighting the good fight,’ whatever the hell that means. I let that quarter just hit the floor. He probably thinks I got no hand-eye coordination but I just don’t want to catch a quarter that’s got traces of minty shit on it.”

If he’s feeling especially entitled, O’Reilly also apparently fails to flush the toilet, and has announced with pride the heft and composition of some of his more significant “deposits”.

Columbia University psychology professor Dr. Asa Millvene explained that many people with a delusional sense of self worth who revel in the faux power bestowed by an audience of mentally enfeebled, media-dependent sycophants are intentionally negligent with their hygiene.

“They see a parallel to their adherents in their feces,” said Millvene, “a vile product of their own persona that, instead of needing to be cleansed, should be coddled. I wouldn’t be surprised of Mr. O’Reilly’s underwear looks like a four-car pileup.”

While still unconfirmed, several laundry drop-off services operating in proximity to Mr. O’Reilly’s home and office maintain that his skidmarks are indeed proverbial strips of bacon.