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Tom Segura | I wish I was home right now. -Um… - No offense. Not personal. That is literally my first thought whenever I walk into any room. I’m like, “Well, I wish I was home right now.” -Uh… I think it’s your thought too. I think you’re like, “I hope this is good,” but also, “Wrap this shit up so I can go home.” I actually think that’s the meaning of life. Like, people are always philosophizing, “What is the meaning of life?” I’ll tell you the meaning of life. The meaning of life is, “Fuck this place. Let’s go home.” Now…
Luckily for all of us, I think we are five years away from never leaving our homes again. - -And I’m pretty fuckin’ excited about it. There… There are a lot of indicators if you’re paying attention. Like, number one, do you ever really process that you don’t have to leave your home to buy anything? You’re like, “Yeah, I order some things online.” No, no, no. You can sit on your couch, pull up your phone, and if you want to, just be like, “I want bananas. And I want hammers. And… -I want an eagle’s beak.” -And then… - Amazon’s like, *blows raspberry* “It’s on your fuckin’ doorstep.” How about that? Isn’t that insane to you? You don’t have to leave your home to see people. You should. You don’t have to. Just hold up the same device and be like, “Hi.” “Bye.” And you saw everyone.
But the number-one indicator that we are not gonna leave our homes one day very soon are the number of commercials I see for beds that sit up for you. -Now… - if you don’t know what I’m talking about, you haven’t been watching TV. There are endless commercials that air, where basically, a guy comes out and he’s like, “Doesn’t it suck to sit up?” Something like that. And I guess the people are like, “It does suck!” And he goes, “Well, get this fuckin’ bed. You don’t have to sit up no more.” They try to advertise that it’s for snoring. It’s because you’re a piece of shit. That’s why you got that bed. All you’ve done is lay down. You’ve been sleeping for hours, and your first thought when you wake up is, “I don’t even want to sit up. I want to go from here to…” -Mm… - Well, wakey-wakey, little turd. How are you gonna change the world? That means in two years, we’re gonna be sitting in beds that sit up for us, and we’ll just go, “Food.” And then a mechanical arm will come out. And then you’ll go, “Shit.” And the bed will open. And you’ll go, bah! And you’ll shit through the bed. And then you’ll be like, “I’m tired. I wanna rest. Oh, yeah.” -Mm… - And we’ll all be 800 pounds. -I can’t fuckin’ wait.
Now… - Speaking of weight, I lost a decent amount of weight recently. I was on… That’s right. I was in a weight loss contest with the fattest man on Earth. - -And… Yes. You may have seen him. His name is Brent Crystals. And…. I beat him in this contest because I’m a better person, -but that’s not what I want to talk about. - I lost about 50 pounds, and you know… Yeah. Maybe… Maybe you’re out there right now and you’re thinking, like, “Hey, man. If you can do that, I can do that.” Probably not. I mean, look what I’m doing right now. Can you do this? I don’t fuckin’ think so. I’m just an awesome guy. But… You know what sucks? When you lose weight on a public platform like I did, you get… I get so many messages. People are like, “You inspired me.” And I’m like, “Oh, I didn’t mean to.” People ask me like, “Will you coach me into weight loss?” -And I’m like, “Absolutely not.” - One guy hit me up like 50 times. “Give me a message to get this kick-started.” “I’ll give you a message. When you look in the mirror, do you say, ‘I fuckin’ hate you’? Then you’re not ready. Cry more and eat less.” Send. -That’s my message. - Hey, you asked me.
Now… I’ll tell you, on a grand scale, who’s helping nobody lose weight is Starbucks. And this is true. They have a national training campaign to try to trick you into ordering food. And this is why. They know you’re going to order a beverage. So, they try to lead you into food. Pull into any Starbucks drive-through. And now they greet you, they say, “Welcome to Starbucks. What can we get started for you to eat today?” -And you’re like, “Wait, what? - I just wanted coffee.” And they’re like, “No shit. What else do you want?” You’re like, “I don’t know, sausage? I mean, what do you have?”
I don’t respect that. I like my shame straight-up and honest. And nobody does that better than the West Coast burger chain In-N-Out. And if you’ve never been… If you’ve never been in In-N-Out, get your fuckin’ life together and go. And I want you to go simply so you can experience the most shameful and honest question in all of fast food. ‘Cause you pull up and you go, “I’ll have a double-double, fries and a Coke.” And they go, “Will you be eating in the car?” “Yeah, I think so.” And they go, “I bet you will, you fat, fuckin’ pile of garbage.” Doesn’t that question sting? You’re like, “Am I living in my car? Why am I eating in my car?” ‘Cause if you say no, they give you a bag, and they’re like, “Leave with dignity.” But if you say yes, it’s an open tray, and they go, “Eat out of that, pig.” And then it falls in your lap and they go, “Pick it up!” And you’re like, *mumbling* “Hot dog, french fries.” “Are you gonna jerk off when you get home ’cause you’re lonely?” And you’re like, “Yes, yes.” “We’re gonna give you a free milkshake because you’re bummin’ everybody out. We’re fast food workers. You’re making us sad. Get the fuck out of here.”
You can’t say “retarded” anymore. It was just here. Don’t you remember? -“Retarded.” That’s how I… - People get very upset. I don’t really support the arguments against it. When people are like, “You shouldn’t say it.” “Why?” “What if there’s one over there?” And you’re like… We never said it like that. We were never like, “Look at that guy!” You didn’t say it like that. You said it to describe an idea, or a situation, you know? If your friend was like, “I’ll pick you up at your house, and then we’ll come back to my place, and later we can go back to your house. And we can get your bags. And then, we’ll come back over here after that.” And your like, “That’s retarded. Why the fuck would we do that?” But now you can’t say that. Now you’ve gotta be like, “That’s not… smart. Your idea has an extra 21st chromosome, if you ask me.” It’s not the same.
You can’t say, “That’s gay.” Damn. I used to abuse that expression, I’m not gonna lie. And never for anything remotely sexual. I just would say it all the time. If you were like, “I’ll have a water, no ice.” I’d be like, “That’s gay.” You know? “Why do you have so many balloons? That’s gay.” Shit like that. Can’t say it anymore. Now, to be clear, you can say “that’s gay.” But it has to be for something overtly gay. Like it has to be ten guys standing in a line, each of them has their dick in the ass of the guy in front of them. And they’re marching and going, “I want the come. Give me the come. I want the come.” -And then you can go, “That’s gay.” - And even then they’re like, “Take it easy.” And you’re like, “All right, jeez.”
You can’t say “midget.” Goddamn it. I never thought we’d lose that one. You can’t say it. People get very upset. I never said it to be cruel. And let’s be honest. It was perfectly acceptable for years. The best part about the word midget, before it became offensive, is that it’s specific. You know what someone’s talking about. That’s what was great about it. You could be like, “I was at the zoo today and I saw a midget.” And you’d be like, “Did they feed him to the lions? What happened next?” But now, I can’t say that. Now, I gotta be like, “I saw a little person.” -And you’re like, “Was it a child, or…” - Like, “No. Under 4’11” with the hands.” “Oh, okay.” Now you know what I’m saying. So… You might be sitting in your seat now, going, “Tom, what can we still say?
What can we say?” I’ll tell you what you can say. White racial slurs. All of ’em. Let her rip. Cracker, mick, kraut, polack, frog, guinea, wop, honky. Have fun. Say ’em all you want. And if you’re not white, and you’re going, “Wait, are you saying I can say those?” -That’s exactly what I’m saying. - Nobody cares. Call up your Italian friend tomorrow and be like, “Hey, you fuckin’ guinea.” And he’ll go, *laughs* “I don’t care. I don’t give a shit.” It’s not a historically disenfranchised group.
The best slur of all, for me, I think, is honky. And I’ll tell you why. The word honky is hilarious… in and of itself. But for some reason, truly racist white people have latched onto that word. It’s like this great indicator to know if someone’s racist. If they act like that word is offensive, run, okay? You don’t believe me, watch the news. Next time there’s some racial fight in the news, they’ll find some hillbilly. “What happened?” He’ll be like, “Well, he called me a honky.” And they’re like, “Did you pass out from laughing hysterically, or what happened next?” He’s like, “No, I stabbed him.” And you’re like, “Oh, shit. That’s fuckin’ crazy.” I’ll pay you to call me a honky. I don’t care. It’s a great word.
I saw a racial fight recently, which is terrible, but I watched it. How are you not gonna watch? You’re gonna watch every fight, you know? Fights have that weird quality. Fights are kinda like hand jobs, in that you don’t really want one, but you’re like, “We’ll see where it goes.” You know? “Will you give it a kiss? No? All right.” So, you know. Had to take a shot. So… I’m in Philadelphia, walking through the park in the middle of the day. Beautiful day in Philly, beautiful park. I’m walking through this park. And as I’m walking through it, I see a white guy. And he yells across the park to a black guy, he calls him a n… *mumbles* -And… - When you hear that and you’re in public, you’re like, “Oh, my God. I’m gonna die.” That’s your first thought. And then, another black guy, I don’t know if he lived in the bushes, but… He popped out of the bushes, like… if this is a bush right here, I just saw a black guy go, “Mm-mm. No. Not in my park. Uh-uh” But it’s like, no one else saw that guy. Only I was like, “Oh, my God! I see that guy!” Like that. It became my own personal movie. I watched him line up like the honey badger. He was like, “That one? All right.” He fuckin’ sprinted across the park. And he tackled the white guy. So instinctively, I just went, “Get him!” But it took me a second to realize, I’m the only other white guy in the park. Yeah, so like, ten black people turned and I went, “No! Him, him! Our him!” And they were like, “What?” And I was like, “I’m out, that’s what.” And then they killed that white guy.
And for the record, I don’t give a fuck if they did. You know why? There is no such thing as white-guy loyalty. Okay? I mean, there is, but those guys are obvious as they hold torches. -But the rest of us… - The rest of us are not having that shit.
Let me tell you something, man. I’m jealous of inner-racial loyalty. ‘Cause I see it. If you’re white, you see it with other races. Asians, black people for sure. What I’m talking about… There could be a dangerous situation. Let’s say it’s a fight, and there’s a black guy in that fight. And then another black guy, that doesn’t know him, will go, “I’m gonna involve myself. Just on account of us being of the same race. At our core, we are brothers.” I see that, I’m like, “Wow.” ‘Cause when you’re white and you’re in that situation, you’re like, -“Fuck that guy. I don’t know that guy. - Do whatever you want to him. I don’t give a shit.” Let you do something like that guy in the park, and then look at me like, “Are you gonna help out?” You should know something. You’re about to get murdered. Okay? I will fuckin’ take pictures as you’re beaten, and upload them, #honky #deadhonky. Fuck you, cracker. I’m out of here.
Now… I’ll tell you, it is fantastic to be in the people’s republic of Denver. It is a great city and, uh… Absolutely love it here. I think you’ve probably already taken it for granted, your lax weed laws. And you forget. You forget the struggle that we all went through at one time. We’re all traumatized by it. I hope you acknowledge that. We our traumatized by our upbringing, okay? If you’re over four years old, you are traumatized by this nation’s laws. And this is what I mean. I bought weed last week. The same dude I buy it from all the time. It was a public place. The first thing I said to him when he gave it to me? I go, “I’m gonna go put it in my car.” And he goes, “Why?” And I just, instinctively, I go, “Cause weed.” And he goes, “Tape it to your fuckin’ forehead. Who gives a shit?” And I was like, “Oh, yeah, I forgot.” |
Tom Segura | But we, as a nation, we have been traumatized by these horrific laws and people being imprisoned for having weed. And it highlights the absurdity of not only it having been illegal, and so crazy for so many years, but also, highlights how the next generation will not believe our stories about it at all. There’s a zero percent chance they will understand what we’re talking about. It’d be like trying to tell a kid now, like, “Hey, you know pigeons used to deliver messages to people.” They’d be like, “What the fuck are you saying right now?” It would be the same thing. I’ll sit my son down one day and be like, “You know when I was your age, to get weed, I almost died.” And he’ll be like, “Why? Was 7-Eleven on fire or something?” “They didn’t sell it at 7-Eleven. Daddy used to get in cars with strangers.” “Where are we going?” “Chill out.” “All right.” The three-hour round trips to buy weed. “What kind of weight were you moving?” Twenty dollars’ worth of marijuana. That kind of major shit.
I bought weed from a dude in a stand-alone trailer one time. Not a trailer park. A solo trailer. The most terrifying housing situation that exists. Where other trailer people are like, “Get the fuck out of here.” Kick ’em out. I just walked up to that shit, 15. This dude’s like, “You trying to get a sack?” -I was like, “Oh, shit. Yeah.” - “We could go do that.” I was like, “All right. Cool.” And he goes, “We just need to go get it.” I was like, “You don’t fuckin’ have it? Isn’t that your sole responsibility?” I tried to play cool, “Let’s go get it.” He goes, “I’ll go get it. You stay here and watch my place.” And I was like… “Okay.” Then he goes, “There’s a .357 and a shotgun on my bed. Anybody comes in here, blast ’em.” Inside? Paralysis. But what I said was, “That’s what’s up.” -Like, yeah, man. Pow. - *imitates explosion* Then he stopped at the door. “But don’t shoot my mom.” I go, “Can we get a description before we agree to terms? How about a height and weight on old mom?”
Not everybody agrees on weed. That’s fine, I don’t care. Like my parents, we don’t agree… They are not cool with weed. I don’t care. They’re old. I still love them. My dad’s a Vietnam vet, you know. Some of them are cool… -*man* Yeah! -…with weed. Some of them are not. Some don’t want to talk about Vietnam. -My dad does. - Some are like, “I don’t want to talk about it.” And my dad’s like, “What do you want to know?” Here’s what I wanted to know as a kid. It’s terrible to ask a stranger this, but this was my own father. And I’d seen a lot of movies. So, I’m like, “You were in the war. Did you kill anybody?” The first time I asked him, he goes, “No, I didn’t.” I go, “All right. Okay.” A few years later, I asked him again. “Did you ever kill anybody?” He goes, “I was a lieutenant. I was in charge of people. It didn’t work like that.” I said, “Okay.” A few years later, I asked again, “You ever kill anybody?” And he goes, “I threw grenades into bunkers.” I go, “Were there people in there?” He goes, “There were, yeah. Just little pieces by the time I got in there.” Then last year, I go, “Did you ever kill anybody?” He goes, “There’s no better feeling than killing the enemy.”
Whoa. I can remember the first time we ever talked about weed. Because it was Christmas Day. That’s why it stood out. I was 12 years old. I think my sister brought it up. She was like, “I want to smoke weed.” And my dad goes, “You want to know what I think of marijuana?” And I was genuinely curious. I go, “What, Dad?” He goes, “I was at a party one time. And somebody pulled out a marijuana cigarette. And I said, ‘I’m out of here.'” And I was like, “Cool story, nerd. You got any other ones?” And he goes, “Well, yeah. One time, I was in Vietnam, and some Viet Cong tried to sell my marines marijuana. So, I found him, and I picked him up by his throat, and I threw him on the ground, and I put my M16 in his face. And I said, ‘If you ever come here again, I’ll fuckin’ kill you.'” And I go, “Do you have any stories in between those two stories?” Jesus. It’s Christmas, bro. Goddamn.
Two years after that, there was a woodpecker fuckin’ up our house. This will all make sense. And… Woodpeckers can really damage your house. I remember my dad paid a guy $500 to patch up that part of the house. A month later, the woodpecker returned. This time, my dad did not call the guy. He woke me up, his teenage son, on a Saturday morning. Picture you’re dead asleep. And my dad, whispering in your ear, with his potent dad breath. He just whispers in my ear, dead asleep, “I need you to shoot a bird.” I just go, “I don’t do that.” And he goes, “Figure it out.” So, I said, “Okay, Lieutenant.” And I got an air rifle. I shot the woodpecker. I remember, I shot it mid-peck, so it was going… *imitates woodpecker* Landed in front of me. So much bigger up close. Really big. Red feathers, distinct features. I was blown away. I bagged it up, I threw it away.
I went over to my girlfriend’s house, I started telling her family about it over lunch. I should mention, at the time, my girlfriend’s family ran a wildlife conservation center. So… I didn’t know my audience. But… I heard a few forks drop, and I look up. And her dad goes, “Oh, my God. You killed a long-billed woodpecker. That’s an endangered species.” And I go, “Oh.” I said, “My dad made me do it.” And he goes, “How does that make you feel, knowing that you did that?” And I said, “There’s no better feeling than killing the enemy. -It was fuckin’ awesome. - I loved it. Those birds are extinct now. I did that shit. I don’t give a fuck. I’m crazy.”
So… Oh, man. Don’t you hate everyone? -Um… - I mean, obviously, I’m not talking about you guys. But, uh… No, I’ve been on this tour for a long time. Too long. And I meet people sometimes after shows, you know. I meet people, and it’s always a roll of the dice. I’ve been meeting lunatics. I mean, I meet people. I met a guy after a show recently. I’m shaking people’s hands, saying hi. Guy comes up to me, he goes, uh… *mumbles* And I go, “What?” And he goes… *mumbles* I said, “Where am I from originally?” And he goes… *mumbles* I said, “I was born in Cincinnati, but I moved around a lot. *man* Yeah! And he goes, “Huh.” *mumbling* And I go, “Are you a person that’s talking to me right now?” And he goes, “Yeah.” And then I decipher that what he’s saying is, *in Southern accent* “I’m from Lafayette, Louisiana, about 20 miles south of there. There’s a bunch of Seguras down there. I thought maybe you’re from there too.” And I go, “Oh. Fuckin’ no.” *mumbling* And then I realized, we have this whole population of Cajun people living amongst us, like they’re one of us. And they’re not. Why do they have rights? This guy had the audacity to ask me, he goes… *mumbling* I said, “Did you just ask me if there’s a Redbox around here?” *mumbles* I go, “I don’t fuckin’ work here.” Like, I thought he was moments away from being like, “I do declare. I am a cartoon character and I’ve come to life.”
Here’s all I’m saying. I support building a wall if it’s around the state of Louisiana because those people are out of their fuckin’ minds. *mumbling* You fuckin’ swamp people, we don’t need you. What are we gonna miss out on? *in Southern accent* “Where you gonna get your shrimp?” -Oh. - What a contribution. *in Southern accent* “No more gator, no more shrimp.” Fuckin’ inbreds. So… Cracker-ass inbreds, *laughs* we don’t need you. Fuckin’ tell ’em. They’ll see this shit. Fuck you, cracker. So…
Probably checked in to 400 hotels this year. And when I tell you that this has happened to me more than half a dozen times, I am not exaggerating. Every hotel check-in begins, usually, the same. It’s standard. Hotels, you know, the people at the desk, they go, “Last name?” And this just happened to me. “Last name?” And I go, “Segura.” And the guy goes, “Whoa. Are you Japanese?” And I go, “Hundred percent, yeah.” He goes, “We don’t get a lot of Japanese people here. That’s pretty cool.” So, I have to stop him, and go, “Hey, man. I’m not Japanese.” And he goes, *in gruff voice* “Segura. Segura! Sounds Japanese.” I go, “That’s ’cause you’re saying it Japanese. I could be Smith, and if you want to go *in gruff voice* ‘Smith…’ - -then it’s Japanese.” And he goes, “Well, what are you?” Which is fuckin’ rude. Can I just say, it’s never important to ask that question. “What are you?” It’s never important to ask that. It’s sometimes important, but… - -not a lot. When is it important? Sushi chef, accountant, 100-meter dash. -Outside of that…
Sometimes it matters, so… I tell ’em. I go, “Segura is Spanish.” And he goes, “That’s weird. You look white.” And I go, “I am white.” And he goes, “But you’re Spanish?” And I go, “Correct.” He goes, “Do you speak Spanish?” I said, “Yes.” And he goes, “So, you’re Mexican.” And I go, “No.” And he goes, “I don’t know what’s going on.” I said, “What’s going on is you failed fuckin’ social studies. And you’re not too good at geography either.” And then I see his head drop like he feels bad. “Look, man. You understand there’s white people in Mexico, you know that.” -And he goes, “No, I don’t.” - I said, “There’s white people there, black people there, even Asian people there. And if you really want to shit your pants, those Asian people, -they speak Spanish too. - You don’t expect it, but they’re like, ‘Dim sum…’ *speaking in Spanish* -They are… - Asian, and they speak Spanish.” *imitates explosion*
Now, as you can tell, I speak beautiful, perfect Spanish. And… It is to no credit of my own. My mother is Peruvian, and her English wasn’t good. So, she spoke to us in Spanish. And that’s how I picked up on Spanish. I get so many different reactions when people find out I speak Spanish. I either get completely incredulous people who are like, “Holy fuckin’ shit. I can’t believe what’s coming out of your mouth right now. I think I’m gonna piss my pants.” And I’m like, “I don’t speak Aramaic. I speak Spanish. Why is this…?” They’re like, “It’s not supposed to come outta you, bro.” So, I get that reaction, or I get people who are like, “You speak Spanish? Yeah, I speak Spanish too.” I’m like, “No, you don’t.” They’re like, “No, I took four years in high school.” And I’m like, “Yeah, I played football for four years in high school, and the Broncos aren’t giving me a look this week. -So, no, you don’t.” - Your Spanish sucks. With a capital “M” for mierda.
Now… I grew up in a Spanish-speaking household, which means I listened to a lot of Spanish music. I only point that out… I think it’s important to point out, when you listen to Spanish music, it influences who you become, like all music would. For me, I used to listen to this singer named Juan Luis Guerra, a Dominican singer. And he would sing, just a lot of love songs. Songs with titles like “Si Tu Te Vas.” Which means, “If you were to leave me.” And the lyrics go: *speaking in Spanish* Which means, “If you leave me, my heart would die.” I’m ten years old and I’m like, “Oh, shit. I don’t want that to happen.” So, I would balance it out. I would listen to a lot of Todd Shaw. And you might know him by his stage name Too Short. And he would sing songs… like “Blow Job Betty.” And… I would go back and forth between these two great songwriters, you know?
*singing in Spanish* ♪ I bust a left nut, right nut In her jaw ♪ ♪ Sperm on her cheeks Is all ya saw ♪ And that’s how I go through life today. Today, I’m basically like, “Hola…” *grunting* Sorry, Mom. Now…
By the way, is there any more satisfying feeling than letting an elevator door close on somebody? I did it… I did it at the hotel earlier. *laughs* I got such a warm rush through my body. It felt like the inside of my body hugged the outside of my body, you know? I was trying to figure out, “Why does this feel so good?” I think it’s a taste of power. Like most of us, we have no power in our everyday lives. But if you’re alone in an elevator, -you are lord of the elevator shaft. - You get to decide, like a king with his drawbridge. There’s “Hold Open,” and “Close.” And you can watch people walk up and be like, “Mm-mm.” -And you hit that. - And then you see it close, and you’re like… *laughs* Sometimes, a second later it opens, and you’re like, “Fuck!” You get nervous energy, like you’re a kid. You’re like, “I’m in trouble.” It’s always some lady who’s like, “You didn’t see me?” “I don’t even know how this thing works. So many buttons. I tried all of them.” |
Tom Segura | That’s crazy. And then he checks, rather aggressively, I would add. He goes, “You feel all right.” I go, “Okay.” Then he goes, “Hey, if you want a second opinion, -I could put another finger in there.” - So, I go… *laughs* “Get it out.” He goes, “Well, stop laughing. Every time you laugh, you’re clamping on me. I can’t get my finger out until you stop laughing.” And I go, “Get it the fuck out. Now.” Then I sit up. I go, “Did you just give me a prostate exam so you could run those two lame-ass jokes by me?” -And he goes, “Yes, I did.” - And I said, “It was really funny, actually.”
Then he tested my vision. He washed his hands, he tested my vision. And he goes, “You’re right. You have latent farsightedness.” I go, “What does that mean?” This is his quote. “Your vision’s always sucked. You just didn’t know it.” I go, “Do you care to explain more?” He goes, “Think of it like this. Your eyes have been fighting to make you think you can see well. And now they’re tired. That’s why you’re here.” I go, “Dude, that’s like me saying, ‘I’m young, uh, and my skin got tired. Now I’m old.'” He goes, “That’s an interesting way of putting it.” I go, “No, it isn’t. I’m just old and blind.” “Don’t forget you’re balding.” And I go, “I know. I used to have hair, but they got tired, then they fell out.” And he goes, “Now, you’re getting it.” I’m like, “Dude. How do you get paid to do this?”
And I get why you laugh at my physical flaws. Physical flaws are funny. They just are. Disabilities are not. But some are. Most aren’t. We know those ones, you know? Like, if there’s a 10K or a quilt. That’s pretty bad, but… The rest are up for debate. If you’re sitting here and you’re like, “Well, when is it ever fu-fu-funny?” Well, luckily for you, I have three examples.
First… foreign accent syndrome. Some of you know about it, some of you don’t. It’s real. You can look it up on your way out of here. Some people experience head trauma. Not funny. But they wake up speaking their native language with a foreign accent. Very funny. I defy you to watch interviews with these people and not piss yourself laughing. Do you understand? Like, a farmer in Alabama who’s normally like… *mumbling* -That guy… - hits his head and is now like, “Eh, the tractor trailer, it, eh… It fell.” That’s not funny to you, you piece of shit? Really?
The best case ever of foreign accent syndrome happened in the UK. Not only was it a British woman who lived her entire life in the UK, she’d never left the town she was born in for 33 years. She was in an accident, and she woke up speaking English, but with a Chinese foreign accent. Did you hear what I just fuckin’ said? Do you now believe in God and his awesome sense of humor? A British lady, who, her whole life, was like, *in British accent* “Hello. It’s a bit of a whiffle, isn’t it? – Like that. – Now says, *in Chinese accent* “I have not had my conversation, -and it’s over three year now.” – First, do you know how hard it is to do that impression without squinting? Secondly… if you’re getting uncomfortable, like, “Whoa. He’s mocking an Asian accent?” No. She’s white. This is fine. -A white… - British lady just happens to say, *in Chinese accent* “Would you like… a cup of tea? Taste good? You want milk? You want biscuit? Oh, good. You want me suck the dick now?” -I don’t know, whatever. - She’s a nice British lady. She can say whatever she wants. If you’re sitting in your seat right now and you’re like… *grunting* “I don’t think it’s funny.” Well, don’t get your tits in a tussle. I got two more for you. So…
What about persistent genital arousal disorder? That is a fancy way of saying, “Never not coming.” These are people that have orgasms every 90 seconds. And they can’t have jobs. Why can’t they have jobs, Tom? ‘Cause they’re coming all the time. It’s not appropriate for you to be like, “Can I try on this shirt?” And the guy’s like… *grunts* “Fuck your shirt. I’m gonna wear my old shit. I’m not wearing your fuckin’ shirt.” Can you imagine? You’re like, “We’re out of orange juice.” Or… - -Oh. “Just bring water, that’s too much sugar. I don’t want any more of that.” Some people suffer from both of those afflictions. It’s rare, but it happens. Can you imagine that? You walk up to somebody like, “I’m sorry to hear about your dad passing away.” And he’s like… “That feels good.” I made that one up. That’s not true, but… That was cheap, but that was fun.
Now… If you’re still not on board with this, how about an old reliable one? You know, how about Tourette’s syndrome. Yeah. Maybe you’ve heard of that. If you haven’t, let me tell you. When I was in fifth grade, my parents sent me to a new school on a Wednesday. I’ll never forget. It was a Catholic school, and on Wednesdays, they had Mass. So picture, you’re a new student at a new school, you don’t know anybody, and the first thing you’re doing, is you’re going to church. So, I walk in and the priest starts the service. He goes, “In the name of the Father, and the Son…” And the kid in the row in front of me goes, “Fuck your cunt.” And I’m like, “Oh. Uh-uh.” Nobody did anything. No one batted an eye. He goes, “Holy Spirit.” -Starts reading from the Bible. - -This kid goes, “Lick my balls! - Fuck you!” I am laughing so goddamn hard. But I know I’m not supposed to laugh. It sounds like I’m having a stroke. I’m ten. I’m like… *mumbling* I have tears running down my face. And finally I am able to get out, “How come nobody else… is laughing?” And the kid next to me goes, “He’s got Tourette’s. It gets old.”
Three years I was at that school. That shit never got old. That was… the greatest gift God ever bestowed upon me. And I’ll tell you this. The greatest day of my life, up until the day my son was born, was the day we had a substitute teacher that year, and they didn’t warn her about him. Your imagination is serving you correctly. It was glorious. I watched a ten-year-old boy break a grown woman’s spirit. These poor substitutes don’t know what’s going on in your class. She walked in… Somehow, they didn’t tell her. And she’s like, “Read chapter three.” And his ticks would build. Meaning, they would start small. So he would be sitting in class, like… *mumbles* *mumbling* So she goes, “What’s going on?” And we’re like… *gasps* “She doesn’t know.” And he would do this every day. He would take markers and paint his own shirt. Every day he did it, but she doesn’t know about it. She sees it. “What are you doing?” “What do you think, bitch?” -*grunts* - Then he starts painting his face with the marker. And she goes, “Stop that.” And he goes, “Fuck you, bitch. Fuck you.” And she’s like, “What’s happening? What’s happening?” And we go, “That’s Kevin. Why are you crying so much right now?” She killed herself. She’s dead. So… She’s out of teaching, but she’s fine.
So… I know. Some of you guys are like, “Jesus, he’s a real jerk.” I’m not that bad. I’m not. I’m a new dad. How about that? I, uh… Yeah. Yeah. It’s the best. It’s awesome. Guys always hit me up. I don’t know why they trust me. “Should I do it?” And I’m like, “Of course you should do it. It’s the best. It’s awesome. They’re amazing. And also, being a dad is easy, man. Super easy. It’s way easier than being a mom.” Here’s all you gotta do if you want to be a great dad, seriously. Don’t abandon your kid. That’s it. That’s all you gotta do.
No, I do believe being a mother is inherently harder, especially at the beginning. And that’s why I don’t like when I hear men complain about it. I have friends that are like, “My kid cries a lot.” And I’m like, “Yeah, ’cause you’re his dad. That’s why he cries a lot. If I saw your face first thing in the morning, I’d bawl my fuckin’ eyes out too, so…” What do you mean, “He cries”? He can’t talk, you dumb-shit. “Ah” means something. Figure it the fuck out. That’s why they make them so cute. Did you know that? It’s so you don’t strangle them. My son is so fuckin’ cute. He’s not Asian-baby cute, but he’s right below that, you know? Asian babies are cuter than bunnies and puppies combined. I would throw away 20 white babies to have an Asian baby. But thankfully, the exchange rate is better than that, so… Five? I don’t know.
Can we please stop, collectively, as a society, stop pushing the myth that having a baby is a selfless act? I hear people say that shit. “It’s the most selfless thing… -*mumbles* - that you’ll ever do.” No, it’s not. It’s not selfless. It’s selfish. Necessary, but selfish. Why? You fall in love with a miniature version of you. What’s more selfish than that? You’re like, “This is awesome. It looks just fuckin’ like me. I’ve never loved anything more in my entire life. My favorite parts of you are the parts that look like me. Some parts look like you. Those parts are all right, but… the parts that look like me are amazing. I would do anything for you, mostly because I feel like I’m doing it for myself. You’re the best, new fresh me.” *kissing* That’s what you’re doing. You’re populating the world with more of you. You’re saying, “I’m fantastic. *blows raspberry* -Here’s another one of me.”
Do we really need that many more of you? Yeah? I mean, do we? I mean, Martin Luther King Jr. had four. I get it. He should’ve had ten. But you? All excited about, “Crab legs are on sale at Costco on Sunday, y’all.” I think we’re all good on you. I think maybe you should stop.
Now, I’ll be real with you. If you’re wondering about it, about parenthood, you’re gonna have no more time. It’s okay, ’cause you’ll still have moments. Time and moments are different. What’s time? Time is like, let’s say tomorrow you sleep in till noon, and then you eat food in bed. And then you go, “Fuck today.” And you go back to sleep. You got a lot of time on your hands. Moments are like, you take a sip of something. “That’s good.” That moment is now over. See? You live in moments.
Masturbating is important, you know? You appreciate it more when you’re a parent. I look forward to masturbating more than sex. You know why? ‘Cause I know I’m gonna treat me right. That’s why. Yeah. I love it, man. I clear the bed. The dogs can watch, but nobody else, you know. I’m at the point now where I taunt myself. Any of you do that? I’ll lay in bed and I’ll be like, “Who’s been a good boy? Oh. Who’s been good? Who’s been bad?” And then I grab my balls from behind, like, “Who the fuck was that? Did you…? You brought somebody?” “I didn’t bring anybody.” But… I keep it exciting. I’m telling you the truth! “Cool shoes, Tom. Where’d you get ’em.” All right, I’ll tell you.
So… I was doing shows up in Portland, Oregon. And did a few shows. Big show like this. A group came up to me afterwards, and they go, “We noticed you have Nikes on. Do you like them?” And I go, “Yes.” “Do you want to come to Nike headquarters tomorrow?” And I said, “Not really. No. I like your shoes. I don’t want to see your office, man.” And he goes, “Well, you can shop at the employee store.” So, I go, “What’s that?” He said, “It’s a warehouse that has every product imaginable. And you would get 50 percent off.” And I go, “How about I rent a U-Haul and I empty your fuckin’ store tomorrow?”
He goes, “Have at it.” I get excited. Next morning he calls me. He goes, “I wanted to tell you, you can come to Nike, but you’re not allowed to shop in our store.” And I go, “Why?” He goes, “We put your name in our system, and it was flagged.” I’m like, “Flagged. By Nike. For not doing sit-ups? What the fuck is that all about?” And he goes, “No. You’re a person of influence.” And I go, “Excuse me?” He goes, “You’re an entertainer. We call that a person of influence. You’re not allowed to shop in the store.” I go, “That’s fucked up.” “You can try to go through the entertainment division.” “What’s that?” And he goes, “That’s free stuff.” I go, “All right.” So… I get that number and I call. And this guy answers, “Nike Entertainment.” And I go, “Hey. Tom Segura.” And he goes, “Okay.” And I go, “I’m a person of influence.” And he goes, “Okay.” And I go, “I’m calling about my free shit.” And he goes, “All right.” And I go, “So, how do you want to do it?” And he goes, “We’ll regroup, and we’ll get back to you.” And I go, “Okay.” And they never called, so I bought these Adidas for $130. So… Fuck you, Nike! Let’s see if you even survive without my purchases now. |
Tom Segura | I was trying to figure out, like, where is power the most equal, you know? I think it’s a parking lot. Just hear me out. It doesn’t matter what you drive. If you drive something, that parking space is yours. And when you are ready to leave, and other people are looking for a place to park… -Oh. - Don’t you love that moment? Like, you’re walking back to your car from the mall on a Saturday, and you’re done shopping, and see you people like, “Ah… Where will I park?” And then they see me. “Hey, are you…?” -I’ll be like, “I don’t know. - Maybe.”
I like to give them false hope. Do you ever do that? They’re waiting for the brake light. First, they have their blinker on, like that’s an official… “My blinker’s… That shit is mine.” “Okay. Are the US Marshals gonna back you up on this shit right now?” But they want your brake lights to appear, ’cause that means you’re starting the car. So I’ll just hit my brake. And release it. And you feel the tension rising. You’re like, “This is exciting.” And then they snap, and they’re like, “What the fuck are you doing?!” And that’s when I go, “I’m eating In-N-Out. I’m… I’m gonna have this burger now. It’s probably gonna take an hour, I don’t know.” Then, as soon as they drive by, “No, I’ll eat it later. I’m gonna take off.
Yeah. I’m very philosophical, you guys. I feel like life is about timing, you know? Timing. When to pull out, when to… - -stop wiping. When do you ask a professional athlete for his autograph after a home play-off loss? And I think the answer is never. Thankfully, one of my friends doesn’t think this way. It is my favorite thing that’s happened in my adult life, okay? One of my buddies, he lives in Cincinnati. He is a big Cincinnati Bengals fan, okay? Now… Yeah, I know. They’re tough. So… He goes to their game, they lose, which isn’t weird. -And then… - he decides he’s gonna wait in the tunnel, and ask players for autographs. Now, if you’re like me, you might be wondering, “Wait, are you friends with, like, an eight-year-old boy or something?” No, it’s a grown man. So… picture me in the tunnel of the stadium, -like, “Hi, guys. – Keep your head up.” “Can I have an autograph?” And he said they were all like, “No.” And some of them were like, “Fuck you.” Imagine your heroes being like, “Fuck you.” *laughs* Oh, my God.
And then, Adam “Pacman” Jones walked out of the locker room. Now, if you don’t follow football and you’re like, “I don’t know who that is,” well, how can I best describe him? Um… One time he went to a strip club, and a bunch of people got shot. And then, that happened two more times. What’s up? I’ll give you a sense of his vibe as, bang-bang, ba-bang-bang-bang, ba-bang-bang-bang-bang-bang. He is not approachable. So… my honky-ass friend… *laughs* *man* Whoo! the biggest honky in America… *laughs* goes, “Pacman! Will you sign this football?” And he said Pacman went, “What?” Which to me would’ve been like, “So you don’t? All right, cool.” My friend just decides to make it more clear. He’s like… “It’s a football. And you play it. And I just watched you. Uh… Will you sign this?” And he said Pac goes, “What the fuck did you say to me?” Which, now, I’m like, “Why are you still there?” And he’s like, “I think, ’cause I’m actually shitting myself as it happens.” But now he knows he’s got one shot. Pac walks right up to him, like, “What’d you say?” My friend, he just goes, “Look, man. It’s a football. It’s for my dad. And my dad loves you.” He said Pacman looked at him and he said, “Tell that motherfucker I appreciate him.” That’s the end of the story, but… *laughs* Don’t you love the juxtaposition of angrily being like, “You tell that motherfucker,” but then, “Don’t forget to say thank you.”
I’ve been trying to incorporate that into my life. I was at an airport bar, I was getting up, and they called my flight. The bartender goes, “Somebody recognized you. They sent you a drink.” “Tell that motherfucker I appreciate it. And he goes, “What the hell did you just say to me right now?” I said, “Fuck his mother, I appreciate her. Tell him that.” Asshole. So… I still haven’t found a place for it, but I’m working on it.
So… I met, um… Like I said, I meet a lot of people. I met a woman after a show recently. They’re allowed at my shows. And… See? They’re here. And, uh… She came up to me and she was like… *giggles* -It’s a very specific woman, all right? - I do feel like I just did a .02-second impression. Everybody’s like, “I know who you’re talking about right now.” ‘Cause every city has…. *giggles* You know my favorite part of that woman? If you go, “Why are you laughing?” She’ll go, “I’m not.” *giggles* Okay. So, she comes up to me and she goes, “Funny show.” *grunts* And I go, “Thanks. Thanks, motherfucker, I appreciate it.” So, I go… I go, “Thank you.” “Are you gonna go jerk off all over your hotel room now?” And I was like, “Ugh.” I said, “I’m probably just gonna pick a spot, you know? I’m not gonna…” She goes, “Yeah, I get it.” And I was like, “Good.” Then she goes, “I’m super horny.” And I go, “Okay.” She goes, “I’m horny the way guys are.” And I go, “No, you’re not.” Then she goes, “Yeah… I am.” And I said, “You’re really not.” And she goes, “Yeah, why do you say that?” And I said, “Let me tell you a little story.
When I was a freshman in college, I looked like this. I looked 47 years old.” It was alarming to other students. They would see me walking through the door, and they’d be like, “Are you a fuckin’ administrator here or something?” I’d be like, “I’m a freshman. I’m 18.” And they’re like, “You’re a narc, that’s what you are.” This is my birth face, man. I’m 41 Jump Street. So… With this face, came great responsibility. I bought alcohol for our entire dorm. I don’t mean three or… Everybody. It wasn’t even a challenge. I looked so old, that when I walked into liquor stores, they’d be like, “Hello, sir. How’s the stock market today?” Shit like that. I bought booze. Everybody got booze.
I did the same thing with pornography. Let me tell you, before you jump at me like, “Why would you do that? You could just watch it in your dorm room online.” Well, the story takes place in 1997, and… there was a lot of buffering back then. That is the truth. I don’t know if you remember the late ’90s or were even around, but porn in the late ’90s was like, “Ah. Hm.” “Ah. Hm.” Who am I kidding? I use my right hand, so, “Ah. Hm.” Now… keep in mind, I’m not buying porn for a couple buddies. It is for an entire building of 18-year-old freshmen dudes in college. You can’t wrap your head around how massive and specific these orders were. I would go door-to-door, and guys would hand me cash and their wish list. They’d be like, “I want black cocks, asses and feet. Don’t fuck it up.” -I was like, “All right.” - Do you know what kind of a psychopath I looked like walking through a porn store with a grocery list, like… “Mom said not to forget.” *fakes laughter*
So, one day, I am buying outrageous amounts of porn. And the owner of the store comes up to me. “You should go to this other store.” And I’m like, “That is a weird thing to tell your best customer, man.” So I go, “Why?” And he just goes, “I just think you’ll like it.” And so I go, “Okay.” I go. He sends me to… I don’t know if you’ve ever been to a cement-block building with no sign or address. The kind of building that’s like, “I don’t know. You fuckin’ guess what’s in here.” Well, I walk in, and I see a man wearing overalls and no T-shirt. Which, I think we all know, is the international uniform for the last guy you’ll ever see. Now… this guy… is behind the counter. He looks up and sees me. And the first words out of his mouth are, “Piss fetish?” -And I go, “What? - No.” And he goes, “Oh, I got a full bladder. Don’t want to waste it.” And I go, “What the fuck?” I said, “Is that what you do around here?” And he goes, “Among other things.” I said, “Well, then, show me around. -Let me see what else you have.” You know? - I don’t want to be closed-minded.
So we go through the store. He shows me movies and toys. He goes, “We got a booth. You can put in a quarter.” And I go, “Yeah, I got it.” And he goes, “But this here’s our VIP. And you’ll notice, there’s a hole in the wall. And if you’re standing in there, someone might stick their finger through that hole. And they’ll go just… like… this. And if you want to, you stick your prick in that hole, and *clicks tongue* someone will suck it on the other side. And my dumb ass goes, “Is it a guy or a girl?” He goes, “You see any other cars in that parking lot, Junior?” So then I felt a pool of diarrhea forming inside of me. And fear shooting down my spine. As I was certain I was gonna get kidnapped and raped by Mr. Fuck Dynasty. So I said… “I”ll just take my movies. Thanks.”
So lady, when you say you’re horny “the way guys are,” I ask you, are you willing to go into an unmarked building and wait behind a wall for a stranger to stick his dick through a hole in that wall? And then you, bah, bah, bah, bah, bah, polish it off for the love of the game? Because that’s what savages men are. And she goes, “Yeah. I’m not that horny.” And I go, “I know.”
See, I just feel a responsibility to remind women of what pigs men are. If you’re a woman here with a man right now, you should know he is two drinks away from walking to that booth. -And honestly… - I’m no better. If he had answered my question differently… “Is that a guy or a girl?” He went, “I don’t know.” I’d be like, “I don’t fuckin’ know either, so…” “She’s got a rough chin on her, for sure. Where’d you go, man? I don’t see you anywhere.” All right. I lost some of you on that one. That’s how that goes. -So… - I see.
Some women are like, “Mm-mm. My man would never do that.” Okay. Sure. You want to know how big of a pig your man is? He’s however big of a pig you give him permission to be. Every man has unlimited “pig-tential.” Just needs a little nudge from you, coach. How about that? Doesn’t go both ways. Isn’t that fascinating? If you’re a guy, you can’t be like, “I want you to eat it from behind.” She’ll be like, “The fuck did you just say to me right now?” But a woman can go, “I want you to eat it from behind.” And we’re like… *mumbles* - “I’m gonna take some home in a doggie bag.” *barking*
I’m getting older. I know. We all are. But I am. I feel like I’m getting old. And I know you guys are looking up, you’re like, “What? You’re perfect.” But that’s on the outside, you know? You know what the biggest kick in the balls is? Is when your vision starts to decline. Especially if you’ve had perfect vision. I’ve never even thought about it. I’ve had excellent vision. I’ve had vision that’s off the charts. Like, if I’m hanging out with friends, and there’s a sign ten blocks away, I can see it. “How do you see that?” “Jesus loves me. I see it. I can see it right now.” And now I have, like, the squint of death. Or I look at shit like that. People are like, “You all right?” “Yeah. I’m just looking at shit. Don’t you ever look at shit?”
And it’s tough to accept. I’ve been in denial. You know where you can’t be in denial anymore? The DMV. I went to renew my license. And when you go, you sign and you pay. Very casually, the lady goes, “Can you read line three?” And I was still arrogant about it. I was like, “Pfft. Check this shit out. A, X, G, L, seven.” She goes, “Seven?” I go, “What the fuck is that? I don’t think I’ve ever seen that symbol before in my entire life.” And she goes, “That’s a T.” So, I went… *chuckles* “Pretty close.” And she goes, “Yeah, you’re right. That’s pretty close.” It’s the Los Angeles DMV, so… I leave.
I’m in a panic. I go straight to my doctor. I go to the same abusive asshole doctor I’ve been seeing for over a decade. I walk into his office. I go, “Dude, test my vision.” And he goes, “You should get a prostate exam.” I’m like, “For my eyes?” And he goes, “You should do it.” “I’m not even 40.” He goes, “Try it.” -I’m like, “Try it? - Like a sorbet? Just see if I’m into this flavor?” And he was like, “Yeah.” And I go, “All right, you’re my doctor. So, okay.” So, I’m naked. I’m in the fetal position. He lubes up. It is a ton of lube. I didn’t know that. I was like, “That’s why I’ve never had success with this before.” And he goes, “You’re gonna feel a little bit of pressure. And that is my cock… It’s my finger,” like that. It’s moderately funny. But if someone’s finger is going in your ass, as they say that, you’re laughing. I promise you, you’re laughing. Just out of appreciation, you know. You’re like, “You said cock.” *laughs* |
Tom Segura | You want to know how crazy that company is? I told that story in New York City at a show. And the next day, a Nike executive got my cell phone number, and called me and goes, “I was at your show last night. And I think it’s very rude that you’re telling that story.” And I go, “Pfft. I think it’s rude that you didn’t give me free shit.” “I think you should stop telling that story.” And I go, “Fuck you. Get out of here, man.” And he goes, “Fuck you.” And I go, “Why don’t you change my diaper?” And he goes, “What?” I said, “You heard me, bitch.” And it was at that moment I realized, we have this amazing insult at our fingertips -that we’re just not utilizing enough. - Why isn’t “Change my diaper” part of the lexicon? It should be the ultimate insult. It should be “Fuck you.” “Why don’t you fuck your mother?” “Why don’t you change my diaper?” Game over. I’m serious. Rappers should wear them in videos, and be like, “Change my diaper, bitch.” The president of another country should tell ours… “Change my diaper, orange man.”
And listen. If you’re a parent, you know exactly why that insult is so appealing. If you’re not, let me key you in on a little secret. There’s a reason your asshole is the only part of your body you can’t physically see. It’s a fuckin’ horror show, okay? When you have a little one, you have a front-row seat for years. And my son shits with his eyes closed. I don’t know how often you do that. I’m guessing it’s twice a year. Maybe the day you get back from Cancun, and when you tell the lady in the Thai restaurant, “Yeah, I can handle my spice.” My son, every single shit, he’s like… *grunts* And when he’s done, he makes eye contact, and you’re like, “Whoa.” And he pushes out the last bit as he stares through you. He’s like… And you’re like, “Ugh. You’re nasty as hell. Gross.” Just once, it would be nice if, as I’m cleaning my son’s shit-filled asshole, if he would look up at me. “Hey, motherfucker, I appreciate it.” And I’d be like, “Yeah. And I appreciate you.” |
Tom Segura | Here’s another bit of information. I also don’t want to look at them. I don’t. I refuse to watch the Michael J. Fox show because I don’t want to see shaky face not stand still for one frame. The guy can’t eat soup. It’s depressing, okay? Try to pawn this thing off as a comedy? Get the fuck out of here. You’re bumming everybody out. How many Parkinson’s jokes am I supposed to applaud with this thing? I won’t watch the show. I’ve seen a commercial. I will not watch that show. You know why? A version of it plays in my head, and it is fucking awful. And I think it’s probably accurate. I really do. I bet you that show is nothing but setups for that shit. I bet it’s just like, here… in the next episode he goes, “dad, can you help me hammer in this nail?” And he goes, “you know they don’t trust me with those.” And then you get to go, at home, “I get it. He’s got fucking Parkinson’s.” You don’t think that’s been fucking pitched in the writers’ room? “It’s pasta night. Dad, can I get some parmesan?” “That’s one thing I can do forever.” “I’m good. I said I’m good.” You don’t think the episode idea has been talked about, where he goes to work, and his coworker gets to say, “you know, I got to get my wife a vibrator.” “That’s one thing my wife doesn’t need.” And then you get to go, “I get it. He’s got fucking Parkinson’s.”
I don’t want to see that shit. I’m sitting at home. I’m trying to have fucking dinner. I’m sitting on my couch. We have a table, but I’m an adult, and I can sit wherever I want. So I’m sitting on the couch, about to have dinner, and this fucking… a girl… two girls… one girl… a girl… two… one… a girl… two girls… one girl who has two heads on one body comes on. Their heads face each other. Their heads are like, “Mmm.” They look like they’re gonna grunt. They look like they’re gonna go, “Mmm… Aah!” Like that, but they don’t. This comes on TV. There’s no warning on the screen, like, “hey, in a second, you might shit yourself.” Put down whatever you’re holding, seriously.” I’m sitting there, about to eat chicken paprikash, and it’s hot, and I go… *Blows* And then I look up, and I go… *screams* Ten seconds later, I’m wiping the back of my legs. Now… I’ll be honest, when she first appeared on-screen, I was like, “hey, lady, you’ve got something on your shoulder.” “No, you, you’ve got something on your shoulder.” But then, I realized, “Tommy, why are you so upset? “You love monsters.” Now… *sighs* Here’s what’s upsetting about this show. If you’re gonna air a fucking freak show, which is what that is, do you mind? Could you please include the freaky shit? That’s why we’re watching. You watch this show, the two girls with the fucking one body, two heads. *Mumbles* They’re like, “what?” “Yeah. Here’s what she likes to do. “She likes to get, fucking, her nails done. What’s the problem?” You’re like, “she has two fucking heads that face each other. Why are you cutting out scenes that I know exist?” There’s got to be days where one of them is like, “I feel like going out tonight.” “Well, I feel like staying home.” “Well, I control the legs. We’re fucking going.” Where’s that? What about people that one of ’em loves and one of ’em hates? That has to happen. They have separate minds. “We’re going to Tony’s house.” “I fucking hate Tony.” “Well, I’m gonna blow him, “so you better get ready for ball duty. Meh.” I can feel your judgment. I reject your judgment completely. First of all, everybody loves blow jobs. Secondly, I’m not making this shit up. If your Siamese twin sister is doling out bjs, you’re along for the ride. You don’t have to participate, but you’re at least there, I don’t know, giving notes, I guess. “Mm, mm, mm.” “You have horrible technique. Meh.” “I can see your teeth. Meh.” “Why is it so dry? Meh.” All right, we’ll move it along. I get it. Not everybody’s on board with double-headed bjs. Will you at least admit to me, and more importantly to yourself, that you would love to see the girl with two heads take a shit? Just to see if the faces match up, right? Just to see if one of them’s like… *Grunts* And the other one’s like, “hey, take it easy. It’s my ass too, you know.” Oh, come on. I really wish that each and every one of you could see my internet search history. Because I think you would all say the same thing. I think you would all be like, “this is one sick, twisted, deviant pervert, who also loves current events.” My history is literally a back-and-forth volley of, like, “big, sloppy tits” smacked back and forth by 13 cocks.” “What’s going on in Syria?” I feel badly about watching so much of it too. You know why? ‘Cause it’s lazy. I know watching that much porn is lazy. It gets in the way of other things I want to do, like learn another language. I’d love to learn another language, but there’s too much porn to watch. Why not combine the two, right? Have you seen these language videos? They are boring. “The man is sitting down.” You’re like, “all right.” Have you seen an anal gangbang? Super exciting. Here’s what I propose. You download the series, and then tutorial number one begins to play. All right? Here’s what happens. An elevator door opens. A woman is giving a guy a blow job, all right? Like, an aggressive blow job. Not one of these, like… *Hums* No. I mean, like… *Gagging* Where you’re like, “Jesus Christ! “Is the answer in there? Is that why she’s doing that?” And she has tears running down her face and slobber all over herself. And she goes… “*Gagging*”. “Which way is the subway? *Speaks Spanish* *Gags*”. You’re like, “now it’s sinking in.” Some of you didn’t like that one. I can tell by your faces. Maybe that’s because you’re more advanced and you’re ready for tutorial number two. In this one, a man is chained to a wall. His arms and his legs are chained, and he’s completely naked, and you’re like, “whoa. What’s going on here?” And then, a few seconds later, a woman enters frame, and she’s wearing, I don’t know, a 15-inch strap-on. She doesn’t say hello or tap him on the shoulder. No warning, just bow! You’re like, “holy shit!” And she just goes to hammer town. She’s like, “bow! Bow! Bow!” And you’re like, “what the fuck?” And then, after, like, the tenth stroke, she goes, “this salad is too spicy. *Speaking Spanish*”. And you’re like, “I’m learning Spanish. Can somebody pass me a Kleenex?”
*Sighs* Mm. I’m married. You like that segue? I like being married. I do. You see a lot of comics, you go to shows, and they’ll be like, “I love getting out of the house, just so I can get away from that bitch.” And you’re like, “wow, sounds like you married a real fucking asshole, man. That’s awesome.” I like it. You know what the best part of being married is? You get to stop pretending. And that’s what fucking dating is. It’s an act. You’re on Broadway. For however long you’re dating, you’re doing an act, and it looks exhausting. That’s why if you’re dating and you’ve ever been out in public, and you see married people look at you like this, and you’re like, “what the fuck are they looking at?” They’re tired for you. It is… it’s an act, and it’s exhaust… you see it all… dating is a guy going, “uh, just so you know, I’m this guy.” And the girl’s like, “well, just so you know, I am this girl.” And then you get married, and you’re like, “uh, so can we knock this shit off?” And she goes, “I hope so”, “because I gotta fart pretty bad. I’ve actually had to fart for, like, four years.” “All right. Let that fart out.” Sexually liberating to get married. It is, really is. Especially for men, ’cause here’s what happens. When you start dating somebody, you know, your first thing is like, all right, you see the girl, and you’re like, “I want to get in there.” That would be… or however you phrase it in your head, right? Right, and then, you go out on a few dates, and as you get closer to the act… the magical act happening, a lot of times a woman will ask a guy. She’ll be like, “oh, so, like, what are you into?” What do you like?” And this is when a man’s brain goes, “don’t scare her. You could fuck this up for us.” So we lie to you, and we’re like, “oh, I like to hold hands.” “Uh, I like if you go… *Blows* On my neck. That’s cool.” Then you get married, and you’re like, “I want you to yank on my ball bag “like you’re stuck at sea and this is the only motor that’s gonna take you home.”
A lot of girlfriends can’t handle that shit. Girlfriends will be like, “ugh, what?” But a wife? A wife will go, “that it?” And you’re like, “oh, yeah, I get you for, like, 50 years.” She’s like, “yeah, I’ll spit butter in your ass.” Whatever you want, man.” Or whatever. Margarine, I don’t know. Whatever you’re into, so… olive oil. You find, the longer you’re with somebody, you’re like, everybody has something. Everybody has something weird and kinky and different. Everyb… and you suppress it, and you go, like, “oh, my god.” “If anybody knew… oh, my god. I would fucking die if somebody knew.” Everybody has something. And you’re like, “no, not everybody. What about Jim? He wears a blazer.” Jim too. Jim likes to be hit in the nuts with a wrench, okay? Jim’s out of his fucking mind. I tour the country. I ask people all the ti… I hear shit. You cannot make this sh… I was at a show. I asked people in the aud… like, “what’s your fucking craziest thing?” And a lady in the front row, she goes, “I have one.” And I go, “what is it?” And she goes, “oh, never mind.” I go, “what is it?” And she goes, “all right. “I like to think of different scenarios in which to kill my husband.” And I was like, “damn.” And he was sitting right there, and he was like, “that’s what’s up. That’s what she likes.” I was like, “really?” And she was like, “oh, yeah.” I go, “you go, ‘I’m super horny. “‘I had the best dream “‘that you were floating in the pool, and then I threw a cement block at your head.'” and she goes, “that would be a great one.” Same show, I swear to you, a lady goes, “I have one.” And I go, “what is it?” And she goes, “I like to sit on my husband’s face.” And I go, “that’s not that unique. You can’t really claim that that’s your weird thing.” And she goes, “yeah, but I only like to feel his eyelashes” against my butt cheeks.” And I was like, “what?” And she goes, “mm-hmm.” And I was like, “I didn’t even know that was a thing.” And she was like, “oh, yeah.” Like, “where the fuck have you been?” And I’m like, “what if he, like, you know, sneaks a lick”, like, ah-ah, like that?” And she goes, “I go, ‘no!'” I just want to feel squink-squink-squink.” So stop feeling weird and sit on people’s faces, all right? That’s what I want you to leave here with.
Guys, we’ve covered a lot of stuff tonight. We really have. Some of you might, you know, not think highly of me. I don’t know, some of you might be like, “this guy’s fucking stupid.” Some of you might think I’m offensive. Some of you might think I’m unenlightened. I don’t know. But I will tell you this. I believe in humanity. I do. I believe we’re all here together, and I believe there’s no such thing as coincidence. And I think I can tell you the story that will also make you believe this, all right?
A few years ago, I was in Washington D.C., and I was sharing a cab with a woman I didn’t know. Never met her before in my life. We’re splitting the cab. Midway through the ride, as I’m looking out my window, I hear the woman go, “hey.” And I thought she was gonna be like, “hey, like, you want to fuck or something?” And I was gonna be like, “I can’t. I’m married. So make it quick, all right?” I look over, I’m like, “what is it?” And she goes, “is this yours?” And she’s holding a wallet. And I go, “no, it’s not mine.” And she goes, “oh, it must be the previous rider’s wallet.” I’ll just give it to the driver.” And I go, “don’t do that. Look at him.” “He looks like a cab driver. “He probably smokes crack every once in a while. You can’t trust these guys.” I go, “give it to me.” I’ll get it back to the rightful owner.” And she goes, “really?” I go, “yeah.” She gives me the wallet. Now, I feel obligated to find the owner. But here’s the honest-to-god truth, I really want to. I’ve always dreamed about finding a wallet. I don’t know why. I dreamed I would find a wallet, I would open it, it would have $1,000 in it, I would get it back to the rightful owner, it would turn out to be, like, Will Smith, and then he’d be like, “do you want a helicopter?” And I’d be like, “yeah.” And then I’d be like, “I got a family in Denver. Do you like furniture?” So I open this wallet. It has $2, a grocery store rewards card, and a community college I.D. So I have found not Will Smith’s wallet. But I still try to do the right thing. I call the grocery store, I explain the situation, and I go, “can you help me out?” And they go, “no, we’re a grocery store. “We don’t track people down. Eggs are on sale. Go fuck yourself.” And I was like, “cool.” Thank you. Thank you for your help.” Then, I call the community college, and I speak to literally every department in the community college for 41/2 hours, before I finally get a contact number. I call the number, and a man answers the phone who I can only imagine has never used a phone before, ’cause he actually answers the phone with a noise. So just to break this shit down, I don’t know if you’ve ever used a phone before, but usually, when you call someone, *mimics phone ringing* And they pick it up, they say, “hello.” That’s fucking it. That’s what people say when they answer the phone. Maybe if they’re in a bad mood, “what?” Those are the two options. This man answers the phone… *Mimics phone ringing* Picks it up, and he goes, “ah.” And I go, “hello?” And he goes, “wah.” And I go, “I’m gonna talk, and then you talk.” And he goes, “yeah.” Like, it was the first time someone explained to him how fucking phone calls work. Up until that point, he was just like, “that made a noise.” “I’m gonna make a noise too. Ah.” So I go, “hey, I found this wallet.” “I was given your number. I’m trying to return the wallet.” And he says, “it’s probably my son’s wallet. “He’s always losing shit because he’s a piece of shit.” That’s the first thing… I don’t even know how to respond. I’m like, “ah.” I go, “well, can I give him his shit back?” He goes, “he’s a real asshole.” And I go, “we’re talking about your son right now?” And he goes, “yeah, I don’t think he’s gonna amount to anything.” I go, “Jesus Christ.” I go, “maybe he will amount to something” if he gets his wallet back.” And he goes, “yeah, yeah.” I’ll let him know you called.” And then he hangs up the phone without taking my information. So his plan is to go to his son and be like, “some guy found your wallet. Yeah, I don’t fucking know,” and just, like, walk away. |
Tom Segura | Oh, my God. I do think about death. I just want it to be justified, you know? Like, if I die violently, you know, maybe I have, like, Serena Williams sitting on my face, and… I don’t know, Venus is polishing me off, and they’re trying to fit a racket in my ass or something like that. Then my wife comes in, boom, and I’m, like, fucking done. It’s fun that way. I don’t want it to be a dumb death. I feel like there’s dumb deaths that they kind of subtly mock, like, on the news. They do. They’ll be like, in local news… they’ll be like, “and then, also coming up, “a guy was trying to get a soda out of a vending machine, and then it fell on him.” And they’re like… and you’re like… ’cause that could happen to you. It could be, like, you know, like, I would go to the fucking mall, and then I fall down the stairs, and then they send a news crew, and they’re like, “what happened?” And they interview the dumbest fucking guy, and he’s like, “I seen him fall. And then he don’t move no more.” And you’re like, “that’s my eulogy? Thanks a lot, man.”
I felt like I was gonna die a few months ago. I called a car service to take me to the airport. You know, when you’re like, “I got 60 bucks. Let’s fucking do this, right?” This nice town car comes to the house. The guy gets out. He’s got all white hair. Much older man. From the beginning, he makes me uncomfortable when he calls me sir. I don’t know if you’ve ever had a guy way older than you call you sir. You’re like, “hey, man. You’re, like, 1,000 years old.” “You have a couple weeks to live, maybe. How about we drop the formality, okay?” I get in the car, he goes, “the temperature all right, sir?” I go, “it’s fine.” He goes, “would you like a bottle of water, sir?” And I go, “you don’t have to call me sir.” You can just call me Tom.” And at that moment, all of his professionalism went out the window. ‘Cause the very next thing he said was, “you smoke weed?” And I was like, “I mean, yeah, sometimes.” And he goes, “do you want to smoke some now?” And I was like, “I mean, yeah.” But I don’t think my driver should be offering me, you know? He doesn’t miss a beat. He opens the console. He takes out a joint. He lights it. He passes it back. I hit it out of respect, right? ‘Cause he’s old. And then I give it back to him, and the next thing he says is, “yeah, I can’t drive unless I’m fucked up.” I’m like, “did you hear what you just said?” And he goes, “yeah, I’m ripped right now.” I’m like, “well, hands on 10:00 and 2:00, motherfucker.” Like, “keep it together.” I go, “so is that all you do? Smoke weed?” I can handle a guy that smokes weed. He goes, “well, I love it all.” And I’m like, “what’s all?” That’s a broad statement.” He goes, “I love coke. I love heroin.” “But there’s nothing like smoking rocks, you know what I’m saying?” And I was like, “no, I don’t know what you’re saying.” Mind you, this is while he’s driving, so it’s actually like, “I love smoking rocks, man. You know what I’m…” I’m like, “dude, turn around.” So I go, “can I ask you something?” He goes, “yeah. What’s up?” I go, “what’s it like to smoke rocks?” I’ve never done that before.” And he goes, “ooh-ooh!” I was like, “is that the whole sentence? Is that it?” He goes, “that shit is the best! “What I like to do personally, “is I like to sit in my apartment and fire ’em up. “And then I look out the peephole. “And I watch people walk around. “And I just freak the fuck out about what’s gonna happen next.” And then, he gave me a head nod like, “doesn’t that sound awesome?” I was like, “dude, that sounds terrible. “That’s called a panic attack, “and that’s a horrible sales pitch for crack. Now, I’m definitely not gonna try it.” We pull up to the airport, and I go, “it’s none of my business, but I think you’re too old to be messing with all these drugs.” And he goes, “I don’t do it anymore, Tom.” Yeah, it was “sir” at the top of the ride. Now, it’s “Tom, you piece of shit.” “I don’t do it anymore. I did it when I was younger.” And I go, “all right.” And he goes, “I mean, I still do it every once in a while.” “But you know what they say, if you do something every once in a while, it’s not that bad for you.” And I was like, “dude, I think they mean that about”, “like, pizza and chocolate.” “Nobody ever means that for crack, just so you know.” I’ve never heard, “what are you doing?” “I’m smoking rocks.” “Well, not every day, okay? You crazy kid.”
Weed‘s not a big deal, though. I don’t know why the fuck people make a big deal out of weed. You know? You… You see it change. I mean, states have it legalized. I don’t know why… the perception, I find, from other people about California, they think that we’re like the wild fucking west. Like, people, they’re like, “aw, you live in I.A. “You guys just smoke joints and tell the cops to suck your dick, right?” And I’m like, “yeah, that’s exactly right, yeah.” “You should do that too when you come out. “L.A.P.D. Is super into that. “But take your joint, flick it at ’em, “be like, ‘suck my dick, man.’ they’ll laugh and high-five you… it’s fine.”
It’s so dif… I mean, first of all… all right, let’s be clear. If you get a medical card, one of the things that people don’t know, they have expiration dates on them, and you have to renew your card all the time. And it’s not what you think. It’s not exactly the easiest thing. You literal… you have to get in your car. You have to drive down to a place. That’s it… that’s all you gotta do, is go drive there. Takes, like, five minutes. But my card expired three years ago. I still haven’t renewed it. I tried to go to a dispensary a few weeks ago, and there’s two rooms. There’s the room they check you out in, they check your stuff, and then, there’s the main room with all the goodies, right? And the guy took my card, and he goes, “dude, I can’t let you in. Your card expired three years ago.” I was like, “come on, man.” And he was like, “all right.” I was like, “wow, I’m a really good negotiator, huh?” I didn’t real… well, once you put it like that, yeah.
Getting that medical card is surreal. My experience was surreal. I went to a doctor’s office, and it’s not dr. Dickhead that I was telling you about. This is a different doctor. He’s a doctor because he got a business card, and he put “dr.” on it. His office was such a piece of shit, that you could hear the conversation going on between the doctor and the patient ahead of you, which is never supposed to happen. So as I’m waiting for my turn to go in, I’m waiting, and I hear the doctor go, “oh, what is your medical need for marijuana?” And the guy in there goes, “oh, I have a bone disease.” And I was like, “oh, shit. I don’t have a bone disease.” Like, I thought you could just be like, “weed’s awesome.” And he’d be like, “yeah, I fucking know,” like… So I start to panic internally… like, what am I gonna say? And in my mind, I just go to the worst shit. Like, in my mind, I’ll be like, “just say you have AIDS. Like, just tell him you have AIDS.” Then he’ll be like, “when did you find out?” I’ll be like, “I just found out, like, five minutes ago.” “You don’t seem that bummed out.” “Well, I’m just happy to be here, so let’s wrap this shit up, man.” For some reason, I pictured him asking me to prove it, which they would never be like, “prove it,” and you’re like, “oh, I left my aids card at home.” I don’t have it on me.” Then I go, “that’s way too dramatic. Just dial it back.” I’m like, “ah, I’ll just say I have cancer.” That’s much more believable.” Then I start thinking of all my family members that have died of cancer, and I’m like, “man, if I say I have cancer just to get weed, I am getting cancer next fucking week.” By the time I have that thought, I’m sitting in front of the doctor. He’s like… I go, “what?” He goes, “what is your medical need for marijuana?” And the best I can come up with on the spot is, “my eyes hurt.” And he goes, “do you have vision problems?” And I go, “oh, yeah.” And he goes, “you don’t wear glasses?” And I go, “can’t. Hurts.” “Everything hurts. Ow, ow. Ow, ow.” He writes me a prescription. I go to leave. As I leave, I see the guy who’s going in next, and I don’t know why I think it’s gonna be funny to listen. ‘Cause I think he’s not gonna get it, and I’ll tell you why. I completely judged the guy, ’cause the guy’s your typical L.A. Cholo Mexican gangbanger, okay? It’s a very specific look. You’ve seen movies. You know what the fuck I’m talking about. It’s khaki dickies with an oversized white t-shirt, Chuck Taylors, an L.A. Hat, and also an L.A. Tat in, like, this general area here. So it’s like, “aw, if I lose my hat, I still have my favorite team right fucking here.” So I listen at the door. I’m like… *Laughs* And I hear the doctor go, “what is your medical need for marijuana?” And the guy goes, “I just really like the way that weed makes me feel.” And then the doctor wrote him a prescription for that. Yeah, you don’t have to lie. You can just be like, “weed’s awesome.” And he’s like, “yeah, I fucking know. “I feel sorry for all the people with diseases “that keep coming in here, man. “The last dude’s eyes didn’t even work. “It was sad. You’re lucky you have your health, ese.” “Orale.”
I’m always trying to set goals. My latest goal… I’m trying to be less polite, you know? ‘Cause the world is not as polite as you’re raised to believe it’s gonna be, you know? I don’t understand why we accept that when you say “thank you,” people don’t have to say “you’re welcome” anymore. People have stopped. Now, you say “thank you,” and people give you a nod, like… I want to stab you in the fucking ears if you do that shit to me. I do. I’ll go, “thank you,” and they go… I go, “did you not… did you not just hear” what I just said to you, man?” And you get, like, a follow-up nod. So now, I skip it all. I just take shit, and I go…
I find rudeness everywhere. I think the rudest person in the world is a person that waits outside of a grocery store with a petition for you to sign. What a fucking asshole you are. They do that, and do you know why that’s a shitty thing to do? They’re systematically trying to ruin your happiness. ‘Cause you’re leaving the grocery store, and you’re feeling what? You’re feeling happy. You’re like, “oh, I got soy milk. It’s gonna be a good week. All right.” And then they stop me ab… “sir, could you look at this?” I’m like, “look at what?” And they’re like, “do you want children to starve and die on the streets?” And I’m like… “Now I do… now that you just ruined my day, I do, yeah. I want you to die first, but then I want all of them to die.” I say the opposite of whatever they’re trying to fucking get me to sign. Like, “this is to teach blind people how to do Shakespeare.” I’m like, “I hope they all go deaf first.” And they’re like, “Jesus.” I’m like, “yeah, that’s fucking right. You’re the asshole, not me.” “This is to end the war in Afghanistan.” I go, “I fucking love the war in Afghanistan.” “It’s my favorite war. I hope it goes on for 1,000 years.” And they’re like, “you’re crazy.” I’m like, “that’s right. I’m crazy.” Remember my face and never ask me to sign shit again.”
I can’t get over rude people. I was in a hotel a few weeks ago. I go down to the hotel gym. I get on the treadmill. I run, I don’t know, 70 miles, right? 170 miles, thank you. 170 miles. But I’m alone. There’s nobody in there. I’m sweating. I’m hyperventilating. *Groans* Then, out of nowhere, I just hear, “getting it in?” And I go, “Jesus Christ! What?” This guy goes, “you getting it in?” I go, “getting what in?” He says, “you getting a workout in?” I go, “doesn’t it fucking look like it?” He goes, “yeah, you just gotta keep doing it.” And I go, “okay.” He goes, “nah, I used to be like you.” And I go, “what?” He goes, “I used to be like you. “You just gotta keep eating right and keep doing it, and you’ll get there.” And I was like, “dude, I’m disabled.” And he was like, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know that.” Let me… let me point something out. It’s okay for me to make jokes about disabled people and people with horrible diseases because they make me uncomfortable, and I don’t want to be like them. Maybe that makes me a bad person, but I’m an honest person, and I’m telling you, that shit is terrifying. I don’t want to be like them. |
Tom Segura | I realized today that I need a hobby, because my workday just started, like, now. Right now. I mean, here’s the thing, it’s not even that big a part of my day. So even if it doesn’t go well, it’s like, ah, you know, still a pretty good fucking day. Like, it was… wasn’t a bad day. It just… you know, that part at work that, for an hour, just didn’t go to my liking, and then I had a great day otherwise. ‘Cause my whole life is basically, you know, it’s… it’s… it’s hotels. Being in a hotel, just waiting for the show. Sad, right? I’m just waiting for the show to start. And you’re like, what… what am I gonna… I mean, you can only jerk off so many times before you’re like, all right, I’m gonna do it again, but… Right now it hurts. I should find something else to do. I absolutely ruin hotel rooms. Like, if you stay in a hotel room after I stayed there, shit is gonna itch on you, okay? Just being honest. Come on, hotels are great. Everybody loves hotels. Especially when you check in with your significant other. Why? Because you know in a hotel you’re gonna have sex, and you’re gonna have an elevated form of sex. You’re gonna have hotel room sex, which is, let’s have sex, but let’s also disrespect this room. Yeah. I do that too, except I’m alone. Like, I always wipe my balls on the curtains, because I know they don’t change those. Think about that the next time you want some sunlight. Or don’t. Just know that it’s on your hand, you know what I mean?
Here’s what I’ve been trying to figure out. I got into online shopping recently. I guess that’s a thing. Here’s what I’ve been doing though. I shop for things that are, like, way out of my price range. And then after a while, I go, “oh, yeah.” I can’t afford that.” Like today, I was looking at yachts online. And then I was telling myself I didn’t want them, as if they were an option, you know? I was like, “155 feet? That’s not even” “big enough for all my friends and family. I’m not getting that shit.” What the fuck am I doing? You ever do that? You ever go down, like, a rabbit hole online, and then, like, six hours have gone by, and you’re like, “I’m shopping for the private jet” “that best suits my needs. “I think I found… this is it right here. The g550.” How much is this? Place order. $53 million? Well, maybe not now, but maybe later. I’ll just bookmark that shit for now. Boop.
You know what that is? That’s a sense of entitlement. That’s me thinking I should be associated with this thing. And I haven’t earned it. I haven’t. Neither have you, but also me. I get that feeling the most when I get upgraded to first class. Yeah. I fly every week. I never buy a first class ticket. I buy coach tickets. I buy them so much, I get bumped up to first class. I am telling you, the moment I get bumped up to first class, I get washed over with this feeling. I’m like, “look at these fucking poor pieces of shit” on my flight. Ugh.” I’m so much better than them. Don’t stand next to me. Ugh, dude. I dare you to try to come up from coach and use the first class bathroom when I’m there. I’ll put my hand on your chest, okay? No. No. There’s a pig trough in the back. That’s for you guys. That’s for the big ballers up front. Some people buy first class tickets. I always feel like they know you got upgraded. They always give you the look like, “by the way, we fucking know.” You can sit up here, but you’re not like us.
God, it’s so weird. People… people ask me cra… like, I get asked fucking travel advice from strangers. Can we just break down how crazy that is? Like, people come up to me, and they’re like, “hey, you travel a lot, right?” And I’m like, “yeah.” They’re like, “where should I go?” Uh, I don’t fucking know you, man. You ask travel advice to people who know you intimately. They know you well. They can guide you based on what they know about you. I mean, you don’t ask strangers dining advice, right? You’re like, “hey, man, where should I eat tonight?” I know I’ve never met you before in my life, but do you think you could give me a recommendation? Uh, yeah. You should try this dim sum place. But then, that person might go, “oh, I hate the Asian world.” And you’re like, “oh, shit.” I didn’t know that about you.” “Yeah, I killed, like, four of them.” “What are you, like, a serial killer, or something?” “Yeah.” Now, you’re in an awkward conversation with a serial killer.
Here’s all I’m saying. I can’t tell you where to go. I can tell you where not to go. Wherever they film The First 48 on A&E. Oh, if you’re not familiar with the show, here’s what it is. Camera crews follow real homicide detectives for the first 48 hours after a murder. And the reason that that time distinction is so important, is that after 48 hours, uh, they give up on that murder. They’re like, “that’s some old shit. What do you want to do today?” You’re like, “how about you keep trying “to solve that murder, man? “That shit happened on Monday. It’s Wednesday. We’re not gonna solve that shit.” Really?
There are so many amazing moments on that show… so many. A lot of the episodes take a similar path. I’m blown away, first of all, at how many times there’s a witness to a murder. It’s crazy. I always thought murders happened in dark alleys, nobody saw shit. No. Every other episode, they’re like, “you see that shit?” And the guy’s like, “I saw that shit. Yeah.” “Where?” “Right fucking here.” “Really?” “I was standing here, and then he killed that dude there.” “What did he look like?” “He was, like, 5’2″ to 6’8″, something like that.” “That’s the fucking description you’re gonna give us?” “Uh-huh.” “Anything else about him?” “Yeah, he had ears too.” “Thanks, man.” “No problem.” They still will sketch that shit out. And they show it to people. “Do you know this guy?” And everyone’s like, “nah.” But then one guy’ll be like, “yeah!” That’s Cricket right there.” They’re like, “oh, shit.” You know him?” “I been knowin’ Cricket 27 years.” “What’s his real name?” “Man, that’s just Cricket. I don’t even know.” Stop being white and weird. That’s a perfect fucking impression, and you know exactly who that was, okay? Yeah, it’s a black guy and he’s wearing a wife beater, and he’s got on a dirty hat and he’s got a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, and he looks like he’s about 33, but you find out he’s 76 years old. And he speaks super aggressively to the cops. Like, “I been out here for a minute!” And they’re like, “all right, all right. “Jesus Christ. When was the last time you saw him?” “He came through with jellyfish last week. They were lookin’ for some smoke!” And they’re like, “all right. Jesus Christ.” They always cut to the whitest detective from that guy too. They cut from that guy to a guy who’s like, “I don’t think he’s gonna help us out. We’re gonna have to find Cricket on our own.”
That show has the best moment in television. It’s the most dramatic thing you could ever see, ’cause it’s real life, and that is the interrogation. The interrogation is amazing. Because here’s the thing about drama… if you want to have a great, dramatic moment, raise the stakes. Guess what? There’s no higher stakes than somebody being questioned about taking somebody else’s life. It’s inherently compelling television. It is also super serious. But the detectives insist on using the suspect’s street name, so the whole thing turns into a fucking cartoon. Like, they’re literally like, “your life is on the line. “We need to talk to you. “Why don’t you have a seat, “uh, little stank? “Why don’t you sit down for a second? Did you or did you not know dookie shoes?” “I don’t know no dookie shoes.” “I got a picture of you hanging out with dookie shoes.” “I mean, I seen him. I don’t know him.” And then, they’ll throw one bit of evidence against the wall, hoping it’ll solve the case. They’ll be like, “well, we were talkin’ to nah’mean”, and he said that you were at the 7-eleven last week.” And he’ll be like, “yeah, I shot him in the face.” And you’re like, “goddamn, really?” That’s all it took to break you? Dude, lie. Lie for longer. You can kill somebody, you can’t lie for ten fucking minutes about it? Like, dudes will break on anything. They’ll be like, “we heard you had on a blue shirt last Friday.” “Yeah, I stabbed those four people.” Dude, a lot of people have blue shirts, man. You could still get out of this.
Here’s what I’ve learned watching that show, okay? Lawyer up. You can’t handle that shit. Everybody’s like, “I’m gonna talk to the cops and straighten this whole thing out.” You’re gonna do 25 to life. Have fun with that, man. Nobody asks for a lawyer. I’ve seen 300 people get interrogated on this show. Two of them were like, “can I talk to a lawyer?” And both times, the detectives were like, “fuck!” And then, at the end of those episodes, it said on the screen, “all charges against Tayshaun were dropped.” Or Jim. Pick a fucking name. Let’s be honest. There’s no Jims on the show. I’ve seen every episode, and none start with, “hey, Bryce, can we talk to you for a second, man? Where were you last Friday?” “I was over at tanner’s house. “Then Skylar had a party, so we went over there. “And then, we picked up Connor, and we had pancakes. “Sorry, bro. Detective bro, bro.”
I swear to God, there is no more liberating and fun thing to do in this world than scream in your best aggressive black guy voice. Holy shit. So much fun. I highly recommend you do it. Not if you’re black. If you’re black, you already do it. But if you’re white, do it. Do it in public. Do it where there are black people. And here’s a little secret, if you do it well, there is a possibility that a black guy will yell back in return. I do it all the time. I live in Los Angeles. Pick your spot. I go to Crenshaw. There’s never a shortage there. I do. I hang back and I go, “hey, yo!” And sometimes… sometimes, a black guy’ll go, “sup, d?”
I did it to Big Daddy Kane one time. I swear to god. I swear… hand to god. If you don’t know who Big Daddy Kane is, you can go fuck yourself, okay? I was standing on Sunset Boulevard. – A limousine pulled up. – Whoo! Like for sunset? Really? All right. A limo pulled up, like, I don’t know, 30 feet from me. I was just, like, all right. See the door open. Who’s getting out of this limo? Expecting, like, a bachelor party or some shit. Fucking Big Daddy Kane. I’m like, get the fuck out of here. And something just took over, you know? The spirit grabbed me. And I was like, “‘sup, Kane?” And his head whipped around, and he was like, “you?” And I was like, “nuh-uh. That wasn’t me. “Somebody over there did that shit. That wasn’t me.” If you ever see Big Daddy Kane, please do the same shit to him.
Every week, it’s another city for me. I get asked the same questions every week by people. “Are people the same everywhere?” No. Some places suck and they have shittier people. I just gave you a sociology degree. How about that? You like that? Here’s one universal truth about people, though. This one is true, and that is that everybody just wants to connect. It doesn’t matter where you go, or what language you speak, people just want to connect. And you know when you have chemistry with somebody. You know if you’re like, “I want to hang out with this person,” or “I want to date this person,” or “I want to harness this person to the bottom of my big rig and drive them around for a while “and bury them 18 miles west of lake worth. And when I drive by, I’ll get a boner.” We all have these thoughts, right?
Sometimes there’s nothing there, and people try to force a connection. I think that shit’s rude. I’m checking into a hotel a few weeks ago. The guy comes from behind the counter and he goes, “where are you from?” I said, “Los Angeles.” And he goes, “yeah, I got family in Denver.” And I was like, “what a coincidence.” And he goes, “yeah, they got a furniture store.” And I was like, “ah.” I like to sit on furniture. We’re two for two. I have shoes on. Do you have shoes on? Do you like to walk around? Let’s fucking party. There’s nothing there. Sometimes, there’s nothing there. And that’s okay. You’re not supposed to connect with everybody on the planet. That would be absurd. You should embrace that. I’ve been doing this. You should do this too. Next time you’re at a bar or you’re just out walking around, and somebody goes, “hey, man.” Just go, “nope.” I’m all friended up.” And if they’re like, “I just want to know what time it is.” Be like, “I only tell my friends what time it is.” You’ll feel like a dick, but then you get over it real quick.
I feel like no matter where I go, ten times a day, I find myself asking myself this question… I find myself going like, “hey, man”, “is anybody else seeing this shit right now? Have I stepped into a parallel fucking universe or something?” Like, I went to buy a coffee just a few weeks ago from a coffee place. Just so there’s no confusion. I didn’t go to a shoe store. I went to a coffee place, okay? I go to the lady behind the counter, and I go, “can I have a coffee?” And she goes, “well, we have a special promotion”, “and today, for $2, you can get this drink, “and it has vanilla, and… and there’s whipped cream and there’s sprinkles on it.” “And I was like,” that’s cool. “I don’t want that. May I have a coffee?” “And she goes, it’s the last day… Of this special promotion.” And I was like, “oh, I think I understand “the full scope of the promotion. May I have a coffee?” And she’s like, “you’re a fucking loser.” Here’s the thing, this woman was enormous, okay? She was hu… she looked like four people melted into one. So I was like, “you know what?” “You’re super fat. “You know when shit tastes good. Hook that shit up. I want to try it, all right?” And she goes, “it’s $2.” And I go, “all right.” And then I extended a $20, and she goes… And I go, “I’m sorry?” And she goes, “I don’t have the change for that.” And I was like, “oh, so what do you want to do now?” Are you saying I have too much money to shop here?” And she goes, “we just can’t handle it.” And I was like, “handle it?” It’s a 20.” Like, I didn’t put the hope diamond on the counter, and go, “figure it out, stupid.” Like, it’s reasonable, right? And she was just all shoulders. Like, mm. And I go, “nothing? You have no solution?” And she goes, “do you still want coffee?” I’m like, “yeah. That part’s never changed.” That’s why I’m here.” I go, “you can’t resolve this at all?” And she goes, “you could ask somebody else for change.” And I go, “another customer in line?” And she goes, “yeah.” And I go, “what about the box” with buttons in front of you?” And she goes… So I turn around to the line of people, and I go, “excuse me”, “do any of you guys have change?” And everybody was like, “you fucking asshole.” “Like, you’re at the place to get change. You’re right there.” Well, then this one Arab guy… and I’m not saying that means anything… but he was, so why leave it out of the story? He goes, “I have everything.” And I was like, “oh.” And then he opened his attache and he had every denomination of every currency. Like, where I could go, “I want one of those, and I want one of those, and I want one of tho…” he’s like, “yes, yes, yes.” Now, enjoy your pussy drink.” Okay. All right. And I want you to know something. I drank that pussy drink, and that’s the best shit I’ve ever had in my entire life. Pussy drinks forever. I’m not sure that’s what they’re called, so take your chances. But it would be cool if you went to a Starbucks tomorrow, and you’re like, uh, “can I get a pussy drink?” And they’re like, “I think I know what you want. Hold on a second.” |
Tom Segura | Can we just all agree on one thi… can we just fucking get onboard with the fact that it is time to see an end to the man who walks around in public with a cowboy hat on, like he’s not wearing a cowboy hat in public? I see these guys everywhere. Banks, grocery stores, airports. And now, not only do I see guys wearing cowboy hats, but they have adopted the cowboy persona. Like where they think they’re actual fucking… like the… *snickers* Well, pardon me, ma’am. I’ll tell you what. I’ll tell you what. I’ll tell you what. You look fucking ridiculous right now. Like, you’re a cowboy, really? Cock-a-doodle-doo. A-bang-bang-bang-bang-bang-bang. Get the fuck out of here. Here’s all I want from cowboys. Just be cowboy all the way, all right? Work with livestock. Like, if somebody says, “let’s go get a beer.” I want to hear you say, “I got to shave some sheep.” End your disputes with a pistol. If somebody cuts you off in line, be like, “meet me at the saloon at noon. I’m a cowboy.” And you better ride a horse everywhere. If you wear a cowboy hat, you shouldn’t be allowed to sit in cars or look at planes. You should just be like, “I’ll tell you what. “I’ll tell you what. San Francisco sure is a pretty city.” Yeah, I’ll see you there in six months, when you get there on your fucking horse. If you’re a cowboy, then I am a knight. I’m a knight, and I’m gonna wear armor every day, in case somebody wants to joust. And you leave me alone, because I’m doing the queen’s work. Okay, mummy?
You know who likes to be cowboys more than anybody? Do you know who? Three-year-olds. Because they’re not developed yet. And they go, “mommy.” *Imitates gun* And you go, “yes, you’re a cowboy.” “And your sister’s a princess. “And your father’s fucking Batman. “‘Cause you live in la-la land. You don’t know what’s going on right now.” Cowboy hats should come with class rings. ‘Cause I feel like the same guy that buys one buys the other anyway, you know? “Check it out. “’87. I scored 14 touchdowns that year.” “What are you doing now?” “I’m just thinkin’ about killing myself.” Oh, okay. Why don’t you get a corvette and make it a whole kit?
Mm. *Sighs* I just realized my fucking… I do have a hobby. It’s probably the saddest, most pathetic hobby there is. And that is just watching television shows. What is lamer than, like, “what do you do for fun? What’s your hobby?” “Oh, fucking, I watch TV.” That’s so indicative of our country. And, like, some people are amazing with their, like… “oh, I b… I build furniture.” You’re like, “that’s your job?” “No, no. I’m a urologist.” But, like, on the side, like, I… oh, I like to… I like to watch my shows.
I don’t like the way people knock tv though. It’s all the… all the same cliche shit they said when we were kids, they now say as adults, right? They’re like, oh, you know, you… you know, you watch too much tv, it’ll rot your mind, or, you can’t learn anything from television. But that’s not true. You can learn a lot from television. For instance, without television, I would have no idea that Steven Seagal is out of his fucking mind. Or alive. I also didn’t know that. He has a show. It’s not a scripted show. It follows around the real Steven Seagal. And every episode begins with him looking in the camera and saying, “I don’t know if you knew this or not”, but for the last 20 years, I’ve been a cop.” And you’re like, “what did you just say? “I thought you’ve been making shitty movies “for the last 20 years. What are you talking about?” And you watch this show, he has the most unlikeable quality in a human being, which is that he is an expert in everything. Literally, if a dog walks by, he’s like, “that’s a shih tzu, boxer, hound mix right there.” And they’re like, “how do you know that?” He’s like, “I’ve been working with dogs for, like 35 years.” Then, a helicopter flies by. He’s like, “that’s a hub-106.” And they’re like, “how do you know that?” And he’s like, “I’ve been flying helicopters for, like, 47 years.”
Then he does the thing though, that everybody does who knows something about everything. Everybody has a friend, no matter what you’re doing, they know the history of it all, they know every topic, every fucking fact. If you’re eating dinner, they’re like, “you know, forks are from the roman times”, and they would sculpt them out of bark.” And you’re like, “will you shut the fuck up, and let me finish this please?” Seagal will do that too, but you know he’s making it up. He’ll be like, “you know, they also call that helicopter” a skippy.” And they’re like, “why?” And he goes, “listen to it.” Skip-skip-skip-skip-skip-skip… that’s bullshit. You made that shit up. “Nah, seriously.”
It just blows my mind… it really does… that everybody in this room… everybody… has this real world possibility in their lives… all of us, we could go tonight, if we wanted to… tonight, you could go to Louisiana, you could start a fight in a bar, and there is a real world possibility that Steven Seagal will arrest you. Isn’t that insane to you? I’ve lost sleep over this shit. I mean, that’s crazy. That’s literally like if you leave here, and you roll through a stop sign, and then, Sylvester Stallone is like, “hey, roll it down.” “And you’re like, get the fuck out of here. You work here?” And he’s like, “it’s my passion.” “Will you say Adrian or something?” “Nah.”
It’s nuts. You have to watch this show. He… he panders to every group according to race, knowing full well there’s a camera crew following him around. He doesn’t give a shit. If you’re white, he’s like, “how’s it going? “All right.” *Snickers* And then, to black people, he’s like, “what’s up, cuz?” And they’re like, “hey, what’s up?” “I’m holding you down, so holler if you need somethin’.” “Okay.” And then, to all Latinos… Spanish speaking people… he insists on speaking horrifically broken Spanish, even if they start the conversation in English. If they’re like, “hey, yeah, I called 911. Thank you for coming.” The thing is… he’s like, “ah, hold on.” Mucho queso.” They’re like, “I think my English is way better than your Spanish, man.” And he’s like, “no gracias.” And then, to all Asian people, he bows, regardless of where he meets them. If you’re Asian, and you cross Steven Seagal’s path, he’s like, “ha.” And they go, “hey, I was born here, you dick.” Like, you don’t have to do that.” And he’s like, “sorry.” I’ve been doing martial arts for, like, 85 years.”
He trains other cops in hand-to-hand combat. I think that’s infuriating. For those cops. It’s not like we’re hanging out, we’re like, “hey, man, do you want to do, like”, “a couple shots, and then go down the street? Steven Seagal is teaching people how to throw punches.” And we’re like, “okay. Let’s fucking go.” No. It’s you’re a cop, and you show up at work, and they’re like, “we’re gonna go over “hand-to-hand combat today, so you can protect yourself if you’re in a really dangerous situation.” You’re like, “oh, cool.” “Who’d you bring in to teach us? Like, some navy seals, or green berets?” And they go, “no.” We brought in Steven Seagal.” And you’re like, “are we shooting a fucking movie” this week or something?” They’re like, “uh-uh.” “Okay, I’ll pass, ’cause that’s ridiculous. I don’t want to be a part of that.” That’s literally like if you were, like, at NASA, and they’re like, “all right, future astronauts.” “We’re gonna go over space exploration, “and to get us started, why don’t you welcome Captain Kirk? Come on out, man.” And you’re like, “is he qualified to do this?” And they’re like, “oh, you’ve seen him do all that shit.” “Yeah, he knows what he’s talking about, man. He’s been up there.” They show him teaching people how to fight. It’s horrible. He’s bloated now. He doesn’t have the same range of motion. He’s like, “everybody line up.” If somebo… if somebody throws a punch, you can… you can block it like that. *Exhales* And then… and then, you can kick ’em in the throat like that. Are you kicking a child in the throat right now? Some people’s throats are down there. I like Havarti cheese the most. What’s your favorite?
Um, I’m sorry that I’m fat. I just realized how fat I was by how winded I got from just doing those little motions. *Groans* Jesus. It’s ridiculous. Sometimes I just look in the mirror, and I’m like, “fuck.” I lie to myself all the time. I cheat. Like, I’ll look in the mirror, and I’m like, “hmm.” Yeah, that’s what you look like.” It’s all these little things that you don’t think about and you just do it automa… here’s where I really had to call myself out. I was getting into a shower in a hotel, and it was one of these hotel bathrooms where there’s just mirrors everywhere. And as I was stepping in the shower, I looked, and I was like, “oh, my god.” Like, “look at you.” “I can’t believe somebody lets you fuck them. This is crazy.” I always like it when I eat myself out of breath. I feel like that’s a good boost to my day. You know, I’m eating, and then I go… *staggered deep breath* It’s better a few moments later, when you get to think about it, and you’re like, “why did I just stop?” To take a deep breath. Oh, yeah. My body also needs air, you fat fucking turd. I did the fattest thing you can do a week ago. Maybe not the fattest thing. I think the fattest thing you can do is probably eat another fat person, right? Like, if you’re fat and you see another fat guy, and you’re like, that guy looks delicious, you’re super fat. I didn’t do that. I did, however, go out to eat. I went out to breakfast. I had croissant. Everybody knows what a croissant is, right? It’s a flaky-looking thing. I ate one, and one is enough. And then I left this place, and I was walking down the street. And I saw a bakery, and I was like, “I wonder what their croissants taste like.” So I entered a second venue to shovel bread into my stupid, fat mouth. And the big payoff is that when I was done, I got to go, “oh, no.” “The first place has better croissants. Yeah.”
I had catastrophic diarrhea this morning. And I just found out that not everybody does. Here’s how I found out. We moved… my wife and I moved to a new place. In the new place, the living room couch is closer to that bathroom than it was in the old place. So the second day we’re there, I go in there, I do my thing. When I walk out, my wife is no longer sitting on the couch. She’s now standing, holding car keys. And she goes, “do you need to go to the hospital?” And I go, “for what?” And she goes, “for what just happened in there.” And I go, “what just happened in there?” And she goes, “is that normal for you?” And I was like, “I don’t even remember what happened”, so I guess so.” She goes, “Jesus, how often do you shit like that?” And I was like, “every day.” She goes, “oh, my God. Is there blood in there?” There could be. I don’t know. I just go, bap! And I hit flush. And she goes, “you don’t look at it?” And I go, “where am I supposed to look?” “It’s everywhere. “You want me to look at each individual piece? No, I paint the bowl, and then I wash it away.” That’s how I found out, at 34 years old, that not everybody has diarrhea every day. I feel like, you know, wives have to get in one last jab too, ’cause first of all, this wasn’t even an argument. This was a conversation. And she won the conversation, okay? She did. I feel horrible about my digestive system. You win. It’s settled. I’m sitting on… I’m sulking, like… *Sighs* On the couch. She’s going to leave this day, right? And she stops at the door as she’s leaving the house, and she goes, “you know, you’re probably gonna die.” And I was like, “cool, babe. Have a good day.” I’ll see you when you get home.” Then I started thinking about it, and I’m like, “maybe I am gonna die.”
I went to the doctor that day, and I’m… I’m gonna be completely honest with you. I went to the doctor, and I was like, “all right.” I’m just gonna get a checkup, see what’s going on.” The honest truth is I knew it wasn’t gonna be awesome, okay? I knew the doctor wasn’t gonna be like, “you might be surprised to hear this, but you’re perfect. Like, you’re a perfect physical specimen, man.” I knew that wasn’t gonna happen, but I didn’t expect him to be a dick. Usually, they’re not. I feel like in my experience, doctors are polite. Almost overly polite, where it’s phony and condescending. When they go, “ah, really interesting story you got there.” Doctors do that because you’re telling them a story, and doctors don’t want to hear a story. Doctors want to hear “this hurts,” not “I was over at my friend Charlie’s house”, “and we went to move the ottoman, and… “I mean, you can use it as a coffee table, “or you can use it as an ottoman. It’s up to you,” and your doctor’s like, “I want to blow my fucking brains out right now.” I go in there, I sit on the exam table, which is my least favorite table to sit on in the world ’cause it’s the only table that, in 30 years, I’ve sat on where my feet don’t touch the ground. So I feel like a fucking toddler, waiting like… *giggles* My doctor comes in. He doesn’t say hello. He doesn’t say good morning. He just walks in. He points at me, which is super aggressive, you know, to start a conversation with somebody. Like, “hey, man.” You’re like, “hey. What’s up, man?” And he goes, “do you want something for your hair?” And I go, “what?” And he goes, “do you want something for your hair?” And I go, “I don’t get it.” And he goes, “has nobody told you that your hair’s falling out?” I was like, “damn. No.” And he goes, “ah. Sorry.” I’m like, “all right.” Then he pulls my chart out of the slot, super dramatic, so that it makes a fucking noise. He goes… *Exhales* I’m like… and he goes, “wow!” And I’m like, “really, ‘wow’? Is it full-blown AIDS?” Like, “why is ‘wow’?” And he goes, “you weigh 245.” And I go like, “yeah, like, I knew that shit.” And he goes, “you weighed 230 last time you were here.” Not exactly what I would call weight loss.” I’m like, “are we at a fucking roast or something?” Like, “what are you doing?” Then he says, “you know you’re the fattest patient I’ve seen all day.” And I go, “it’s 9:30 in the morning.” And he goes, “still.” He’s like, “you know, we ran your blood work.” It turns out your muscle enzymes are through the roof.” And I go, “yeah, man, like, I’m super strong.” Like, how is that a problem?” And he goes, “they’re off the charts.” I’m like, “even better.” I’m probably your strongest patient, man.” And he goes, “I don’t think you understand muscle enzymes.” And I go, “that’s true. I don’t know what they are.” And he goes, “well, the only way you could have them this high” “would be, like, ‘a, ‘ if you were an Olympic athlete, which, clearly you’re not.” I’m like, “dude, what is the deal, man?” And he goes, “the other way would be if you were a cocaine addict.” And I go, “I don’t do coke.” And he goes, “I’m your doctor. You don’t have to lie to me.” And I go, “I’m not lying.” And he goes, “I can’t treat you if you’re not gonna be honest.” And I go, “hey, man, aren’t cokeheads skinny?” Isn’t that, like, part of the deal?” And he goes, “usually, yeah.” The nurse comes in. She takes my chart out of his hands, and she goes, “oh, my God.” “His muscle enzymes are so high. Maybe he runs marathons.” And my doctor goes, “look at him.” So at this point, I go, “this was a lot of fun. “Thank you for having me today. I’m gonna leave now,” and he goes, “all right.” Then he goes, “ho… hold on a second. Do you have a ring on your finger?” And I go, “yeah.” And he goes, “you’re married?” And I go, “yeah,” and he goes, “to a guy?” And I go, “no.” And he goes, “oh. I thought you were gay.” And I go, “why?” And he goes, “I don’t know.” I’m like, “all right, dude.” And he goes, “hey, I’m just kidding.” And I go, “that’s fine.” He goes, “but check it out.” And he takes my chart, and he shows it to me, and he had written “gay?” On my medical chart. The thing that gets sent to other doctors has his inside… *Chuckles* “Maybe he sucks cock” joke written on it. I went home. I told my wife. She’s like, “oh, my god, what are you gonna do?” And I was like, “what do you mean?” And she goes, “I mean, are you ever gonna go back there?” I’m like, “are you out of your mind? “That’s the funniest fucking doctor in the world. Of course I’m going back there.” I have, like, Don Rickles as my primary care physician. That’s amazing. I’m faking injuries to go back to this guy. “You know you’re a piece of shit.” I’m like, “I know.” He’s fucking amazing. |
Tom Segura | So I’m super frustrated. I tried to do the right thing, right? I forget about the wallet. A year goes by. A year, a calendar year. I go back to D.C. I go in town, I call a friend, we go to a restaurant, just a random restaurant. We sit down, and the waiter comes up to take our order, and I go, “Justin?” And he goes, “how do you know my name?” And I go, “dude, I have your wallet.” And he goes, “oh, do you have it on you?” I go, “no, I don’t fucking walk around with your wallet.” “I don’t go, ‘I got my wallet, and I got Justin’s wallet. Now, I’m ready to go out.’ No, you fucking psycho.” And he goes, “do you want to hear about today’s specials?” And I go, “do you want to acknowledge that this is an amazing moment in both of our lives?” And he goes, “what do you mean?” “What do I mean? “I found your wallet in a cab in D.C. a year ago. “I don’t know how many cabs are here, but I think it’s a lot. “I got told no 100 times by 100 people trying to find you. “My hotel room used to look like an episode of NCIS. “There was pins and charts connecting shit to each other. “I spoke to your father, who’s not a fan. “I don’t know if you knew that or not. “I come to a restaurant at random, “I get seated in your section, “and I recognize you from your I.D. “That’s burned into my memory. You don’t think that’s fucking amazing?” And he goes, “we have a prime rib special. We also have a penne pasta.” I can’t eat. I’m like, “what the fuck?” He comes by, I go, “look, I don’t want to make a big thing here, “but I do remember that I have your wallet in my bag… “my bag in my hotel room. If you want to come by, I will give you your wallet.” And he goes, “okay.” I go back to the hotel. I hear a knock at the door. And now, I’m expecting him to lose his shit. I think the situation merits freaking the fuck out. I think he was playing it cool, and now he’s gonna be like, “I didn’t want to say this earlier. We should open a surf shop in Maui together, you know?” Or, like, “this is my newborn son. I want you to have him,” like that shit. So I hear a knock at the door. I open the door, I’m like, “hey.” And he goes, “hey, you got my wallet?” And I go, “yeah,” and I give it to him, and he goes, “cool.” And he turns around, and he walks away. No. It is not cool. So I open the door, and I see him about to get on the elevator. I go, “hey, Justin!” And he goes, “yeah.” And I go, “your dad’s right… you’re a fucking asshole”, and you’re never gonna amount to anything,” and I shut the fucking door.
You fucked up, Justin. You could’ve been here, man. |
George Carlin | I love words. I thank you for hearing my words.
I want to tell you something about words that I think is important.
They’re my work, they’re my play, they’re my passion.
Words are all we have, really. We have thoughts but thoughts are fluid, y’know like, woo woo woo woo, POP! Then we assign a word to a thought and we’re stuck with that word for that thought, so be careful with words.
I like to think that yeah, the same words that hurt can heal, it’s a matter of how you pick them.
There are some people that aren’t into all the words.
There are some that would have you not use certain words.
Yeah, there are 400,000 words in the English language and there are 7 of them that you can’t say on television. What a ratio that is!
399,993 to 7. They must really be bad. They’d have to be outrageous to be separated from a group that large.
All of you over here, you 7, baaad words!
That’s what they told us they were, remember? “That’s a bad word!” No bad words, bad thoughts, bad intentions, and words!
You know the 7, don’t you, that you can’t say on television?
“Shit, piss, fuck, cunt, cocksucker, motherfucker, and tits.”
Those are the heavy seven. Those are the ones that’ll infect your soul, curve your spine, and keep the country from winning the war.
“Shit, piss, fuck, cunt, cocksucker, motherfucker, and tits,” wow!
And “tits” doesn’t even belong on the list, y’know? Man!
That’s such a friendly sounding word.
It sounds like a nickname, right? “Hey, Tits, come here, man. Hey! Hey Tits, meet Toots. Toots, Tits. Tits, Toots.”
It sounds like a snack, doesn’t it? Yes, I know, it is a snack. But I don’t mean your sexist snack! I mean New Nabisco Tits!, and new Cheese Tits, Corn Tits, Pizza Tits, Sesame Tits, Onion Tits, Tater Tits. “Betcha Can’t Eat Just One!”
That’s true. I usually switch off.
But I mean, that word does not belong on the list. Actually none of the words belong on the list, but you can understand why some of them are there.
I’m not completely insensitive to people’s feelings. I can understand why some of those words got on the list, like cocksucker and motherfucker. Those are heavyweight words. There’s a lot going on there. Besides the literal translation and the emotional feeling. I mean, they’re just busy words. There’s a lot of syllables to contend with.
And those Ks, those are aggressive sounds. They just jump out at you like “coCKsuCKer, motherfuCKer. coCKsuCKer, motherfuCKer.”
It’s like an assault on you. So I can dig that. We mentioned shit earlier, and 2 of the other 4-letter Anglo-Saxon words are piss and cunt, which go together of course. A little accidental humor there. The reason that piss and cunt are on the list is because a long time ago, there were certain ladies that said “Those are the two I am not going to say. I don’t mind fuck and shit but ‘P’ and ‘C’ are out.” Which led to such stupid sentences as “Okay you fuckers, I’m going to tinkle now.”
And, of course, the word fuck. I don’t really, well that’s more accidental humor, I don’t wanna get into that now because I think it takes too long. But I do mean that. I think the word fuck is a very important word. It’s the beginning of life, yet it is a word we use to hurt one another quite often. People much wiser than I am have said, “I’d rather have my son watch a film with two people making love than two people trying to kill one another.” I, of course, can agree. It is a great sentence. I wish I knew who said it first. I agree with that but I like to take it a step further. I’d like to substitute the word Fuck for the word Kill in all of those movie cliches we grew up with.
“Okay, Sheriff, we’re gonna fuck you now, but we’re gonna fuck you slow.”
So maybe next year I’ll have a whole fuckin’ ramp on the N word.
I hope so. Those are the 7 you can never say on television, under any circumstances. You just cannot say them ever ever ever. Not even clinically. You cannot weave them in on the panel with Doc, and Ed, and Johnny. I mean, it is just impossible. Forget those 7. They’re out.
But there are some 2-way words, those double-meaning words. Remember the ones you giggled at in sixth grade? “…And the cock crowed three times.” “Hey, the cock crowed 3 times. Ha ha ha ha. Hey, it’s in the Bible. Ha ha ha ha.” There are some 2-way words, like it’s okay for Curt Gowdy to say “Roberto Clemente has 2 balls on him,” but he can’t say, “I think he hurt his balls on that play, Tony. Don’t you? He’s holding them. He must’ve hurt them, by God.” And the other 2-way word that goes with that one is prick. It’s okay if it happens to your finger. You can prick your finger but don’t finger your prick. No, no.
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George Carlin | Now this next thing is about names, that’s all, names. Names are an interest of mine, not a hobby, hobbies cost money, interests are free. This is just about names. Did you ever notice how they name Singles Bars? Singles Bars all have the same cutsy little one-word names that end in ‘s’. Scamps, Tramps, Chaps, Rumours, Cahoots, Cheers, Chances, Mingles, Risks, Gambits, Notions, hey, if I had a Singles Bar, you know what I’d call it? Nipples and Dicks! A little truth in advertising! The Sperm Club! Snatch o’ Rama! The Crotch-e-teria! Frankie’s Fuckery! Café Vagina! Open All Night! Well I’m an old fashioned guy. I’m old fashioned because I believe the name on the outside of a place ought to let you know what’s going on on the inside. Here would be a good name for a gay restaurant, “The Mouthful”, huh? Come on, that’s clever shit, that’s a double pun goddammit, you didn’t think of it! Besides, you don’t have to eat there if you don’t want to. No, no, just go in, have a cocktail… or a high-ball. Here’s another name I don’t care for, TGI Fridays, you know these cutsy-ass little places? TGI Fridays! Hghhh. That whole “TGIF” thing was cute for about an hour… and that was 65 years ago when someone first said it on the radio, not cute anymore, time to start bombing these locations! TGI Fridays, if I had a place like that, you know what I’d call it? HSIOW… Holy Shit, It’s Only Wednesday. I think people would drink a lot more liquor if they thought it was Wednesday all the time. Well I’m just looking for a little honesty in these names. A little honesty, that’s not asking a lot. I’m thinking of opening up a motel and calling it “The Sleep n’ Fuck”. Wouldn’t that be a good honest name for a motel? Who needs this shady “Pines” bullshit? “The Sleep n’ Fuck” motel; get me one of them big neon signs, “Sleep… Fuck… Sleep n’ Fuck!” You put it right at the Jersey entrance to the Holland tunnel you know? Actually “Fuck n’ Sleep” would be a little more accurate wouldn’t it? Best name for a motel would be “The Fuck n’ Smoke n’ Sleep n’ Roll Over and Get Out of Bed and Wash Your Crotch and Grab a Bite, Two Cans of Mr. Pip and Go Home and Fuck a Whole Lot More” cause that’s all they have left in those soda machines on Sunday night, Mr. Pip and Diet Chaster Orange… and that yellow can of Canada Dry Tonic Water that nobody wants! And speaking of naming things, am I the only person in this country who’s laughing when these commercials come on television for “Snapper Lawn Mowers”? Isn’t there anyone else in this fading Republic who knows what a snapper is? A snapper is a pussy okay? That’s what it means, “snapper” means “pussy”. It’s derived from an older, more specific term, “Snappin’ Pussy”… which describes a particular type of pussy, one with good quick muscular control, kind of an elasticity in the vaginal wall that can grab a hold of you and give you a decent hump, you know what I’m talking about. A snappin’ pussy! But now, now “snapper” means any kind of pussy and they’ve named a lawn mower company after it! Now I have seen a few snappers in my day, never seen one that’ll cut grass! No, no, maybe do a little edging, a little edging along the driveway after a party, that’s all you can hope for. But you know, “weed whacker”, you can understand!
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George Carlin | What we have now is a completely neurotic population obsessed with security and safety and crime and drugs and cleanliness and hygiene and germs… there’s another thing… germs. Where did this sudden fear of germs come from in this country? Have you noticed this? The media, constantly running stories about all the latest infections – salmonella, e-coli, hanta virus, bird flu – and Americans, they panic easily so now everybody’s running around, scrubbing this and spraying that and overcooking their food and repeatedly washing their hands, trying to avoid all contact with germs. It’s ridiculous and it goes to ridiculous lengths. In prisons, before they give you a lethal injection, they swab your arm with alcohol! It’s true! Yeah! Well, they don’t want you to get an infection! And you could see their point; wouldn’t want some guy to go to hell and be sick! It would take a lot of the sportsmanship out of the whole execution. Fear of germs… why these fucking pussies! You can’t even get a decent hamburger anymore! They cook the shit out of everything now cause everybody’s afraid of food poisoning! Hey, where’s your sense of adventure? Take a fucking chance will you? You know how many people die in this country from food poisoning every year? 9000… that’s all; it’s a minor risk! Take a fucking chance… bunch of goddamn pussies! Besides, what do you think you have an immune system for? It’s for killing germs! But it needs practice… it needs germs to practice on. So listen! If you kill all the germs around you, and live a completely sterile life, then when germs do come along, you’re not gonna be prepared. And never mind ordinary germs, what are you gonna do when some super virus comes along that turns your vital organs into liquid shit? I’ll tell you what you’re gonna do… you’re gonna get sick, you’re gonna die, and you’re gonna deserve it cause you’re fucking weak and you got a fucking weak immune system!
Let me tell you a true story about immunization okay? When I was a little boy in New York City in the 1940s, we swam in the Hudson River and it was filled with raw sewage okay? We swam in raw sewage! You know… to cool off! And at that time, the big fear was polio; thousands of kids died from polio every year but you know something? In my neighbourhood, no one ever got polio! No one! Ever! You know why? Cause we swam in raw sewage! It strengthened our immune systems! The polio never had a prayer; we were tempered in raw shit! So personally, I never take any special precautions against germs. I don’t shy away from people that sneeze and cough, I don’t wipe off the telephone, I don’t cover the toilet seat, and if I drop food on the floor, I pick it up and eat it! Yes I do. Even if I’m at a sidewalk café! In Calcutta! The poor section! On New Year’s morning during a soccer riot! And you know something? In spite of all that so-called risky behaviour, I never get infections, I don’t get them, I don’t get colds, I don’t get flu, I don’t get headaches, I don’t get upset stomach, you know why? Cause I got a good strong immune system and it gets a lot of practice. My immune system is equipped with the biological equivalent of fully automatic military assault rifles with night vision and laser scopes, and we have recently acquired phosphorous grenades, cluster bombs, and anti-personnel fragmentation mines. So when my white blood cells are on patrol recon ordering my blood stream seeking out strangers and other undesirables, if they see any, ANY suspicious looking germs of any kind, they don’t fuck around! They whip out their weapons; they wax the motherfucker and deposit the unlucky fellow directly into my colon! Into my colon! There’s no nonsense, there’s no Miranda warning, there’s none of that “three strikes and you’re out” shit, first defense, BAM… into the colon you go! And speaking of my colon, I want you to know I don’t automatically wash my hands every time I go to the bathroom okay? Can you deal with that? Sometimes I do, sometimes I don’t. You know when I wash my hands? When I shit on them! That’s the only time. And you know how often that happens? Tops, TOPS, 2-3 times a week tops! Maybe a little more frequently over the holidays, you know what I mean? And I’ll tell you something else my well-scrubbed friends… you don’t need to always need to shower every day, did you know that? It’s overkill, unless you work out or work outdoors, or for some reason come in intimate contact with huge amounts of filth and garbage every day, you don’t always need to shower. All you really need to do is to wash the four key areas; armpits, asshole, crotch, and teeth. Got that? Armpits, asshole, crotch, and teeth. In fact, you can save yourself a whole lot of time if you simply use the same brush on all four areas!
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George Carlin | When it comes to bullshit, big-time, major league bullshit, you have to stand in awe of the all-time champion of false promises and exaggerated claims, religion. No contest. No contest. Religion. Religion easily has the greatest bullshit story ever told. Think about it. Religion has actually convinced people that there’s an invisible man living in the sky who watches everything you do, every minute of every day. And the invisible man has a special list of ten things he does not want you to do. And if you do any of these ten things, he has a special place, full of fire and smoke and burning and torture and anguish, where he will send you to live and suffer and burn and choke and scream and cry forever and ever ’til the end of time!
But He loves you. He loves you, and He needs money! He always needs money! He’s all-powerful, all-perfect, all-knowing, and all-wise, somehow just can’t handle money! Religion takes in billions of dollars, they pay no taxes, and they always need a little more. Now, you talk about a good bullshit story. Holy Shit!
But I want you to know something, this is sincere, I want you to know, when it comes to believing in God, I really tried. I really, really tried. I tried to believe that there is a God, who created each of us in His own image and likeness, loves us very much, and keeps a close eye on things. I really tried to believe that, but I gotta tell you, the longer you live, the more you look around, the more you realize, something is fucked up.
Something is wrong here. War, disease, death, destruction, hunger, filth, poverty, torture, crime, corruption, and the Ice Capades. Something is definitely wrong. This is not good work. If this is the best God can do, I am not impressed. Results like these do not belong on the résumé of a Supreme Being. This is the kind of shit you’d expect from an office temp with a bad attitude. And just between you and me, in any decently-run universe, this guy would’ve been out on his all-powerful ass a long time ago. And by the way, I say “this guy”, because I firmly believe, looking at these results, that if there is a God, it has to be a man.
No woman could or would ever fuck things up like this. So, if there is a God, I think most reasonable people might agree that he’s at least incompetent, and maybe, just maybe, doesn’t give a shit. Doesn’t give a shit, which I admire in a person, and which would explain a lot of these bad results.
So rather than be just another mindless religious robot, mindlessly and aimlessly and blindly believing that all of this is in the hands of some spooky incompetent father figure who doesn’t give a shit, I decided to look around for something else to worship. Something I could really count on.
And immediately, I thought of the sun. Happened like that. Overnight I became a sun-worshipper. Well, not overnight, you can’t see the sun at night. But first thing the next morning, I became a sun-worshipper. Several reasons. First of all, I can see the sun, okay? Unlike some other gods I could mention, I can actually see the sun. I’m big on that. If I can see something, I don’t know, it kind of helps the credibility along, you know? So everyday I can see the sun, as it gives me everything I need; heat, light, food, flowers in the park, reflections on the lake, an occasional skin cancer, but hey. At least there are no crucifixions, and we’re not setting people on fire simply because they don’t agree with us.
Sun worship is fairly simple. There’s no mystery, no miracles, no pageantry, no one asks for money, there are no songs to learn, and we don’t have a special building where we all gather once a week to compare clothing. And the best thing about the sun, it never tells me I’m unworthy. Doesn’t tell me I’m a bad person who needs to be saved. Hasn’t said an unkind word. Treats me fine. So, I worship the sun. But, I don’t pray to the sun. Know why? I wouldn’t presume on our friendship. It’s not polite.
I’ve often thought people treat God rather rudely, don’t you? Asking trillions and trillions of prayers every day. Asking and pleading and begging for favors. Do this, gimme that, I need a new car, I want a better job. And most of this praying takes place on Sunday His day off. It’s not nice. And it’s no way to treat a friend.
But people do pray, and they pray for a lot of different things, you know, your sister needs an operation on her crotch, your brother was arrested for defecating in a mall. But most of all, you’d really like to fuck that hot little redhead down at the convenience store. You know, the one with the eyepatch and the clubfoot? Can you pray for that? I think you’d have to. And I say, fine. Pray for anything you want. Pray for anything, but what about the Divine Plan?
Remember that? The Divine Plan. Long time ago, God made a Divine Plan. Gave it a lot of thought, decided it was a good plan, put it into practice. And for billions and billions of years, the Divine Plan has been doing just fine. Now, you come along, and pray for something. Well suppose the thing you want isn’t in God’s Divine Plan? What do you want Him to do? Change His plan? Just for you? Doesn’t it seem a little arrogant? It’s a Divine Plan. What’s the use of being God if every run-down shmuck with a two-dollar prayerbook can come along and fuck up Your Plan?
And here’s something else, another problem you might have: Suppose your prayers aren’t answered. What do you say? “Well, it’s God’s will.” “Thy Will Be Done.” Fine, but if it’s God’s will, and He’s going to do what He wants to anyway, why the fuck bother praying in the first place? Seems like a big waste of time to me! Couldn’t you just skip the praying part and go right to His Will? It’s all very confusing.
So to get around a lot of this, I decided to worship the sun. But, as I said, I don’t pray to the sun. You know who I pray to? Joe Pesci. Two reasons: First of all, I think he’s a good actor, okay? To me, that counts. Second, he looks like a guy who can get things done. Joe Pesci doesn’t fuck around. In fact, Joe Pesci came through on a couple of things that God was having trouble with.
For years I asked God to do something about my noisy neighbor with the barking dog, Joe Pesci straightened that cocksucker out with one visit. It’s amazing what you can accomplish with a simple baseball bat.
So I’ve been praying to Joe for about a year now. And I noticed something. I noticed that all the prayers I used to offer to God, and all the prayers I now offer to Joe Pesci, are being answered at about the same 50% rate. Half the time I get what I want, half the time I don’t. Same as God, 50-50. Same as the four-leaf clover and the horseshoe, the wishing well and the rabbit’s foot, same as the Mojo Man, same as the Voodoo Lady who tells you your fortune by squeezing the goat’s testicles, it’s all the same: 50-50. So just pick your superstition, sit back, make a wish, and enjoy yourself.
And for those of you who look to The Bible for moral lessons and literary qualities, I might suggest a couple of other stories for you. You might want to look at the Three Little Pigs, that’s a good one. Has a nice happy ending, I’m sure you’ll like that. Then there’s Little Red Riding Hood, although it does have that X-rated part where the Big Bad Wolf actually eats the grandmother. Which I didn’t care for, by the way. And finally, I’ve always drawn a great deal of moral comfort from Humpty Dumpty. The part I like the best? “All the king’s horses and all the king’s men couldn’t put Humpty Dumpty back together again.” That’s because there is no Humpty Dumpty, and there is no God. None, not one, no God, never was.
In fact, I’m gonna put it this way. If there is a God, may he strike this audience dead! See? Nothing happened. Nothing happened? Everybody’s okay? All right, tell you what, I’ll raise the stakes a little bit. If there is a God, may he strike me dead. See? Nothing happened, oh, wait, I’ve got a little cramp in my leg. And my balls hurt. Plus, I’m blind. I’m blind, oh, now I’m okay again, must have been Joe Pesci, huh? God Bless Joe Pesci.
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George Carlin | Humans do some really interesting things. Like besides killing ourselves, we also kill each other. Murder. And we’re the only ones who do that, by the way. We’re the only species on earth that deliberately kills members of our own species for personal gain or pleasure, sometimes it’s just fun. We’re also the only species that deliberately kills members of another species for personal gain or pleasure. That’s what hunters do. They kill for pleasure. That’s us. Human beings. Interesting folks. Murderers. Here’s an interesting form of murder we’ve come up with. Assassination. You know what’s interesting about assassination? Well, not only does it change those popularity polls in a big fucking hurry but it is also interesting to notice who it is we assassinate. Did you ever notice who it is? Stop to think who it is we kill? It’s always people who’ve told us to live together in harmony and try to love one another. Jesus, Gandhi, Lincoln, John Kennedy, Bobby Kennedy, Martin Luther King, Medgar Evers, Malcolm X, John Lennon. They all said, try to live together peacefully. BAM! Right in the fucking head. Apparently, we’re not ready for that. Yeah, that’s difficult behavior for us. We’re too busy sitting around trying to think up ways to kill each other. Here’s one we came up with, it’s efficient, too. Genocide. You know, killing large numbers of people simply because they don’t look like you, they don’t talk like you and they don’t have the same kind of hats you do. You ever notice that at any time you see two groups of people who really hate each other, chances are good they’re wearing different kind of hats. Keep an eye on that. It might be important.
But any time there’s genocide, there are always mass graves. Right? Every time we kill some dictator and go marching through his country, we always find mass graves. Thousands and thousands of dead bodies of people the dictator killed. And everybody over here gets horrified. “Oh, mass graves, mass graves oh.” Well shit, what’s the guy suppose to do with a couple thousand people he just killed? Dig separate holes? Fuck that shit. It’s labor intensive. Get real. The whole idea of killing a large number of people at one time and one place is convenience. Efficiency. Thrown ’em in the fucking hole. Look at it this way, at least the dictator had the decency to throw a little dirt on them. Give the guy some credit. The dictator’s a busy man. He’s got a lot on his mind. Like trying to figure out who’s planning to kill *him*. So he can pick them up, put them in prison and *torture* them. There’s another one of our interesting, heart-warming behaviors we come up with somewhere along the way- TORTURING each other.
You want to hear a really cool torture that the Romans invented? They also used it as a form of capital punishment. It’s *really* creative. They would take the guy in question, stuff him in a burlap sack, seal the sack up real tight and throw it in the river. But, and here’s the creative part, inside the sack with the guy, they would put a dog, a monkey and a snake. Okay? A dog, a monkey and a snake. That’s fucking creative. Imagine being inside a burlap sack under water, in the dark, sitting next to a drowning monkey. Think he’d be moving around a little bit? The dog would be going ape shit. We know that. And the snake? Well, he’d probably be getting curious about what all the activity was inside the sack. He might do anything. Whatever he did, it would probably involve venom and his teeth. You know what you’d be doing? You’d be praying to God that the snake bit the monkey and the dog ate the snake. Praying.
Yeah, then… Then it would be just you and the dog, man and his best friend drowning together. Maybe before you die, you can teach him a few tricks. Roll over and play dead wouldn’t be too difficult, would it? Just a thought, just a playful thought.
By the way, I assume you’re noticing that all these activities I’m mentioning, murder, torture, genocide, these are all things human beings do. Not animals, those creatures we feel superior to. This is us.
Here’s another one of our spiritually uplifting activities. We don’t do this one much anymore, but it use to be really big. Human sacrifice. I miss that. The Aztecs loved human sacrifice and they were good at it. Well, they got a lot of practice. For instance, right around the year 1500, the Aztecs sacrificed 80,000 people in one ceremony. Okay? 80,000 people in one ceremony. You know what the occasion was? They were opening a new temple. Nothing like religion for a little entertainment, huh? Especially that old time religion. You know how the Aztecs went about their sacrificing? Here’s how they did it. They would do it right out in public. Right in front of everybody. Big town. Beautiful city square. 20, 30,000 people looking on. They would take the guy, lay him on an alter, cut his chest open, pull his heart out, hold it up in the air while it was still beating. Got that? Cut his chest open, pull his heart out and hold it up in the air while it was still beating. You know what you call that? Theater. That is fucking theater. And although the procedure may have been a little too crude to be considered the first bypass surgery, it could easily be seen as an early form of organ donor program. The Aztecs, human beings just like us. Not too long ago, 500 years. Columbus had already landed. This is just south of here. Mexico. And by the way, those hearts didn’t go to waste. Did not go to waste. Because right after the ceremonies, the royal family, naturally, would enjoy another one of our amusing activities, cannibalism. Imagine that. Chowing down on another human being. You got to be all out of beef jerky, man. You got to be really fucking hungry. But it happens, doesn’t it? It still happens to this day. A bunch of people stranded in the wilderness, run out of Pop-Tarts, you got to eat something. Might as well be Steve. And how do you decide who to eat first? How do you decide who’s first on the barbecue rack? Do you pick on the little guy because he’s skinny and he can’t fight back? Or do you all gang up on the body builder because he’s got a lot of steaks and chops on him? These are things human beings have to consider.
One more of these charming diversions of ours, necrophilia. Now there’s a hobby for you. Fucking a corpse. It takes a special kind of guy. Don’t you think? But it happens, it happens. More than you might think. It happens among humans. Animals don’t do that. Animals don’t fuck their dead. A rat will do a lot of gross things, but he will not fuck a dead rat. It wouldn’t even occur to him. Only a human being would think to fuck someone who just died. We got to be the most interesting critters on the planet. And then we wonder why a UFO doesn’t just land and say, hello. You know the best thing about necrophilia? You don’t have to bring flowers. Yeah, usually they’re already there. Isn’t that nice? It’s nice. It’s convenient.
Human beings will do anything. Anything. I am convinced. That’s why when all those beheadings started in Iraq, it didn’t bother me. I took it right in stride. A lot of people here were horrified. “Oh, beheadings, beheadings.” What are you fucking surprised? It’s just one more form of extreme human behavior. Besides, who cares about some mercenary civilian contractor from Oklahoma who gets his head cut off? Fuck him. Fuck him. Hey, Jack, you don’t want to get your head cut off? Stay the fuck in Oklahoma. Stay the fuck in Oklahoma. They ain’t cutting off heads in Oklahoma. As far as I know. But I do know this, you strap on a gun and go strutting around some other man’s country, you better be ready for some action, Jack. You better be ready for some action. People are touchy about that sort of thing. And let me ask you this while I have you good, clean Americans here. This is a moral question, not rhetorical. I’m looking for the answer. What is the moral difference between cutting off one guy’s head or two or three or five or ten and dropping a big bomb on a hospital and killing a whole bunch of sick kids? Has anybody in authority given you an explanation of the difference? I have not gotten an email on this. No one will talk to me. I haven’t gotten a postcard, not a fucking instant message, nothin’. Now, in case you’re wondering why I have a certain interest and fascination, let’s call it, with torture and beheadings and all of these things I’ve mentioned is because each of these items reminds me in life, every time one of them occurs, it reminds me over and over again what beasts we human beings really are, you know? When you get right down to it, when you get right down to it, human beings are nothing more than ordinary jungle beasts. Savages. No different from the Cro-Magnon people who lived 25,000 years ago in the Plasticine Forest eating grubs off of rotten logs. No different. Our DNA hasn’t changed substantially in 100,000 years. We’re still operating out of the lower brain. The reptilian brain. Fight or flight. Kill or be killed. Now, we like to think we’ve evolved and advanced because we can build a computer, fly an airplane, travel underwater. We can write a sonnet, paint a painting, compose an opera. But you know something? We’re barely out of the jungle on this planet. Barely out of the fucking jungle. What we are is semi-civilized beasts with baseball caps and automatic weapons.
And this civilization of ours that we’re so proud of, this civilization with its so-called civilized behavior, you ever stop and realize how fragile all this is? How fragile the whole structure, how easily it can all just break right down, just break right down. It wouldn’t take much. It’ll probably happen in less than two years. It wouldn’t take much to throw us right back into barbaric times. All you’d have to do would be eliminate electricity. That’s all. But completely. Eliminate electricity. So, no electricity, no lights. You’re back to candles and lanterns. Campfires and bonfires. Batteries couldn’t be recharged. Generators couldn’t be refueled because fuel is pumped electrically. So is water, by the way. So no lights, no fuel, no water, no computers. And computers run everything. And among the many things computers run that operate on electricity are all of the security systems in all of our jails and prisons and nut houses. So suddenly without electricity, all across America the gates and cell doors of penitentiaries and mental institutions would fly open and out would come all of our old friends. The ones who’ve been away, at camp. Serial killers, mass murderers, felony rapists, armed robbers, car jackers, home invaders, thieves, burglars, kidnappers, sadists, pedophiles, sexual predators, pimps, pushers, pornographers, speed freaks, crack heads, sick junkies. All the ethnic street gangs. Blacks, Spanish and Asian gangs, Japanese Yakuza, Russian Mafia, Neo-Nazis, white supremacists, Sicilian hit man, Italian mobsters, Jamaican and Colombian drug gangs. And those are just the ones we caught. Lets not forget their counter-parts still on the outside right now waiting to hook up with their prison buddies so they can start a new organization, The American Federation of Sociopaths. Just what the country needs. Another special interest group. Eight to ten million of them there would be. Counting all the parolees and all the probationers and the ones who’ve never been caught. Eight to ten million bitter, angry, violent, sexually hyperactive alpha males with nothing to do. No hobbies. No medication. No scruples. Just a bunch of bad guys looking for a good time. Maybe dropping by your house. “Hi. Hope we’re not intruding. Got any beer? Oh, good. Well, I got about 1400 really thirsty guys here. How about women? Got any women? Oh, just your wife, huh? Well, I think we can make that work. Now boys, there’s a lady here. So I want you to mind your manners and wait your turn.” Police wouldn’t help you. They’d be gone at the first sign of trouble. They’d be home protecting their own families. So would the Army and the National Guard. You’d be alone. You’d be on your own. You’d be S.O.L. And J.W.F. Shit out of luck and jolly well fucked. Shit out of luck and jolly well fucked. After a couple of years of living like that, beheadings would be the least of your problems. People would be lining up to be beheaded.
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George Carlin | Now something else a lot of you are aware of. Those of you with illegal cable hook-ups will be aware of the fact that one of the things I like to do on my show is complain you know. It’s kind of a motif for me complaining. And of course. This weird culture we live in leaves you no shortage of things to complain about. So this next piece of material like some good ideas is fairly simple. It’s just a list of people who ought to be killed starting with these people who read self help books. Why do so many people need help? Life is not that complicated. You get up go to work you eat three meals you take one good shit and you go back to bed. What’s the fucking mystery? And the part I really don’t understand. If you’re looking for self-help why would you read a book written by somebody else? That’s not self-help that’s help. There’s no such thing as self help. If you did it yourself you didn’t need help. You did it yourself. Try to pay attention to the language we’ve all agreed on. And a similar. A similar mystery to me motivation books.
Motivation seminars. Why would anyone need to be motivated by someone else? I say if you lack motivation. A seminar isn’t going to help you. What you really need is to be smashed in the head or times with a golf club. That’ll fucking motivate you. Or else it’ll at least get you up and moving around the room you know locate your socks shit like that. Get the day rolling. Motivation is bullshit. If you ask me this country could use a little less motivation. The people who are motivated are the ones who were causing all the trouble. Stock swindlers. Serial killers. Child molesters, Christian conservatives. These people are highly motivated, highly motivated. And anyway I think motivation is overrated. You show me some lazy prick who’s lying around all day watching game shows and stroking his penis and I’ll show you someone who’s not causing any fucking trouble.
Here’s another pack of low-grade morons who ought to be locked into portable toilets and set on fire. These people with bumper stickers that say we are the proud parents of an honor student at Franklin School. Or the Midvale Academy or whatever other innocent sounding name has been assigned to the indoctrination center where their child has been sent to be stripped of his individuality and turned into an obedient soul, dead conformist member of the American consumer culture. Proud parents what kind of empty people need to validate themselves through the achievements of their children? How would you like to have to live with a couple of these misfits? How’s that science project coming along Justin? Fuck you dad. You simple-minded prick. Mind your own business and pass the Cheerios. Here’s a bumper sticker I’d like to see. We are the proud parents of a child whose self esteem is sufficient that he doesn’t need us promoting his minor scholastic achievements on the back of our car. Or we are the proud parents of a child who has resisted his teacher’s attempts to break his spirit and bend him to the will of his corporate masters. Just be a nice little for a change. Here’s something realistic. We have a daughter in public school who hasn’t been knocked up yet. We have a son in public school who hasn’t shot any of his classmates yet. But he does sell drugs to your honor student. Plus, he knocked up your daughter. Then there are the people who aren’t too proud of their children. We are the embarrassed parents of a cross-eyed little nitwit who at the age of not only continues to wet the bed but also shits on the school bus. Something like that on the back of the car might give the child a little more incentive you know, get him to try a little harder next semester.
Here are some more parents who ought to be beaten with heavy clubs and left bleeding in the moonlight. These are the ones who carry their babies around in these backpacks or front packs or slings or whatever these devices are called. That are apparently designed to leave the parents’ hands free to sort through high end merchandise and reach for their platinum credit cards. Because it’s always these upscale, yuppie looking Greenpeace environmentally conscious assholes who have them on. I say hey Mr. And Mrs. Natural Fibers. I say hey Mr. And Mrs. Natural Fibers. It’s not camping equipment it’s a baby. Touch the little prick now and then. He’ll thank you for it someday. These are the same people who sort their garbage jog with their dogs and listen to Steely Dan. You just like to take them out deep in the forest and disembowel them with a wooden cooking spoon.
Here are some more people who ought to be smashed across the face repeatedly with a piece of heavy mining equipment These grown men, grown men who refer to their fathers as my daddy. You know yeah. You hear a lot of this stupid shit in the South these rebel assholes. My daddy my daddy my daddy. Well you know what my daddy used to say. My daddy used to say blah. Blah. Blah. Blah. Oh. He did. Did he? Well. Wasn’t that fucking enlightening. My daddy used to say fuck your daddy. Fuck your daddy in his wrinkled. Rusted rural country asshole. Grow up Billy Joe Carl Bob Danny Frank, you’re not six any more. More like 9.
Here’s another unfortunate pack of mutants who ought to be penciled in for a sudden visit from the angel of death these guys these guys who can’t tell you about a phone call they had without giving you this shit the fucking pinky and the thumb. Like they attended Mime college, studied under Marcel Marceau. So I call her up you know and I’m talking to her. And she fucking hangs up on me so I hang up on her. And she calls me back. I fucking hang up again. I say hey Bruno thanks for the visual aid. But we all understand the concept of the telephone. You hold it in your hand you talk into it. Excuse me. Bruno. Incoming call. Oh hey it’s for you.
Here’s another bunch of puss-headed telephone cretins. These self-important techno dicks who walk around with these hands free telephone headsets and ear pieces. Mr. Self Important doesn’t want to be too far from the phone in case Henry Kissinger calls. He’s got the Dalai Lama on line 2. I say hey Spaceman as long as your hands are free. Reach over here and fondle my balls would you please?
And answering machines starting with these people who think it’s cute to let their children record the outgoing message you know? And you can’t understand a word of it. Because the kid’s a fucking imbecile. Hi my name is Stacey I’m 5 years old, my mommy and daddy aren’t home but I’m galalgablallamabla. Beep. Here’s my message Stacey. I’m coming over to your house with a big knife. And I’m going to kill mommy and daddy. Then I’m going to peel off their skin and make a funny hat. After that I’m going to take out my huge ding dong and stick it right in your dooooooo.
These are the same parents who at Christmas time send you pictures of their children. Pictures you didn’t ask for and you don’t want. But it is fun throwing the pictures away isn’t it? I don’t even look at the fucking Christmas card. Who’s this? Luanne is this year. Fuck Luanne. I give a shit how old she is. Does she have any tits yet? Send me a picture of Luanne’s tits. Then I know I’m going to have a happy New Year too. Then just to compound your holiday pleasure, they enclose a family newsletter. Just what you’re hoping for, news about people you can barely fucking remember. We’re so proud of Brad he’s been accepted into dental school. Yeah in the Philippines after four tries. Fuck Brad and everybody who looks like Brad. Judging from his picture I think he’s jerking off too much. Keep him away from Luanne.
Here’s another bunch of genetic defectives who have been turned loose on answering machines. These guys who cannot resist the urge to put music on their outgoing message. You know some guy spends $8 in Radio Shack and suddenly he’s a fucking record producer. And because he’s busy in the basement jacking off his dog I have to listen to substandard music. And it’s always rotten music you know. It’s either new age that pointless meandering zombie noise played by pseudo spiritual lunatics who think wind chimes are a musical instrument. Or else it’s soft rock. Soft rock. That lame ass weak non threatening suburban white boy junk played by bands like Men Without Testicles. Oh. And folks. On these answering machines do me a favor. Would you please. When you record your outgoing message don’t bother telling me you can’t come to the phone. I understand that. Apparently that’s why we have these machines. And don’t tell me leave my name and number somehow. I figured that out. And if you work in an office. Never mind that stuff. I’m away from my desk. If you had to take a shit say so. Just say hi this is Mary Louise I had the Mexican Jalapeno bean chile dip and I washed it down with a gallon of gin. I’ll be in and out all day.
There are some more people who ought to be strapped into chairs and beaten with hammers. People who wear visors. Let me ask you something. What the fuck is the point in wearing half a hat? Either get a hat or don’t. No one’s interested in the top of your head. Go back to the store and tell them to give you the rest of the hat. They cheated you. Better still. Get yourself one of them little Jewish hats and sew it to your visor. Then you got yourself a full-fledged fucking hat my friend.
Here are some more musical vermin whose mothers we wish had medical plans that included abortion. These singers, these singers who think they’re so special they only need one name: Bono, Sting, Jewel, Tiffany, Prince. What a crock of shit. Get a fucking last name would you please. I got a nice two-word name for you: pretentious cocksucker. How do you like that? Bono, Sting. It’s not bad enough the music sucks. But with no last name. You can’t find out where they live to throw a fucking bomb through their window. It’s frustrating.
Here are some more people who deserve an inoperable tumor at the base of their spines. These guys who fly around the world in a fucking balloon. You know. What is this 1850? Get a fucking airline ticket will you please? When is the media going to realize no one’s interested in some rich trouser stain who’s so bored he’s got to fly around in a balloon all day. I hope the next guy gets hit by lightning. And flies around in little fart circles. And lands in a sewage treatment pond and sinks with the rest of the turds. Mr. Lighter than Air.
Here is another pack of jackoffs who ought to be strangled in front of their children. People who pay for inexpensive items with a credit card. You know. Folks. Take my word for this Raisinettes is not a major purchase. Get some fucking cash together. No one should be paying a bank percent interest on Tic Tacs. And you’re holding up the fucking line too some dorky looking prick with a fanny pack waiting to be approved for a bag of Cheese Doodles. I need this like I need an infected scrotum. Get some fucking money. Next guy ahead of me online pays for Newsweek with a credit card is getting stabbed in the eyes.
And I’m getting really sick of guys named Todd. You know it’s just a goofy fucking name okay. Hi what’s your name? Todd. I’m Todd. And this is Blake. And Blair and Blane and Brent. Where are all these goofy fucking boys’ names coming from? Taylor, Tyler, Jordan, Flynn. These are not real names. Do you want to hear a real name? Eddie. Eddie is a real name. Whatever happened to Eddie? He was here a minute ago. Joey and Jackie and Johnnie and Phil. Bobbie and Tommy and Danny and Bill, what happened? Todd. And Cody and Dylan and Cameron and Tucker. Hi. Tucker. I’m Todd. Hi. Todd. I’m Tucker. Fuck Tucker. Tucker sucks. And fuck Tucker’s friend Kyle. There’s another soft name for a boy Kyle. Soft names make soft people. I’ll bet you anything that ten times out of ten Nicky, Vinnie and Tony will beat the shit out of Todd, Kyle and Tucker. Thank you very much.
Here are some more people with missing chromosomes who ought to be thrown screaming from a helicopter. Gun enthusiasts, you know? I’m a gun enthusiast. Oh yeah well I’m a blowjob enthusiast. Want to see me shoot? Cock this. And I’ll discharge a load for you. And I’m not against guns. I’m not one of those mindless Hollywood cocksuckers. I’m not against guns, I’m not against bullets, I’m not even against people shooting each other. Shit shooting somebody is part of the American dream. I don’t care who it is. Parents, teachers, kids… fuck them. Let them get shot. Doesn’t bother me. But speaking of mindless Hollywood cocksuckers, before Charlton Heston became President of these dickless lunatics in the NRA, they had a different guy. He’s still one of their major spokesmen. His name is Wayne La Pierre. What kind of a name for a gun nut is Wayne La Pierre? Doesn’t it sound a little fruity to you? Hi, I’m Wayne, I’m a gun person. Bang-bang. You know what this prick’s name ought to be? Biff Webster. Spud Crowley, a man’s name. Chuck Steak.
Here are some more men who ought to be strapped to a gurney and castrated with fishing knives. White guys who shave their heads completely bald. They’re so ashamed they lost 11 hairs they’re going to try to turn into some kind of masculine statement. I say hey you goofy looking baldy headed fuck, looks good on black guys, on you it’s ugly, repulsive and disgusting. You want to be bald. Do what I did. Wait a while. Meantime, there’s no excuse for running around looking like a freshly circumcised dick.
And just to wind up this little group of complaints finally this is a group of social criminals. These people in the space program. Nassholes. I call them. In case you haven’t heard. The latest disaster for the rest of the universe is that the United States is going to go to Mars. Okay, aw yeah. We’re going to go to Mars. And then of course. We’re going to colonize deep space with our microwave hot dogs and plastic vomit fake dog shit and cinnamon dental floss and lemon scented toilet paper and sneakers with lights in the heels and all these other impressive things we’ve done down here. Let me ask you this, let me ask you this. What are we going to tell the intergalactic council of ministers the first time one of our teenage mothers throws her newborn baby into a dumpster huh? How we going to explain that to the space people? How we going to let them know that our Ambassador was only late for the meeting because his breakfast was cold and he had to spend half an hour punching his wife around in the kitchen. What are they going to think when they find out – it’s just a local custom – that over 80 million women in the third world have had their clitorises forcibly removed in order to reduce their sexual pleasure so they won’t cheat on their husbands. Can’t you just sense how eager the rest of the universe is for us to show up? Can’t you see them out there?
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George Carlin | I’m a fan of Westerns. I don’t like just any Western though; I like the ones that involve Indians. I like the Indian movies because they’re predictable. You know what the big scene is going to be, right? It’s going to be the attack the Indians Finally make on the cowboys. You wait for it to happen for an hour and a half. You can see the clowns standing on the hill. Finally, “Yeeahhh!” It’s over.
Now they show us, for 90 minutes, how the cowboys get ready for this attack. “Pull the wagons around the circle, gel them old ladies up there, load up the weapons, tab their petticoats, give ’em a bang, get ’em the salt bags and sand bags and (double-talk) out a here!” It’s a big hassle.
But they never show us how the Indians prepare. And it’s their attack, right?
Well, the Indians were good fighters. Just because they started in Massachusetts and wound up defending Santa Monica doesn’t mean they were bad.
They were good fighters. And if they were, they must have been well organized. They must have had a way to divide their manpower. They couldn’t have been as chaotic as it looks in the movies with one old chief, “Many moon come chakta” and a lot of guys running around naked. There had to be intermediate authority. There must have been Indian sergeants. No army can make it without that tough, veteran, battle-hardened sergeant, and the Indians were no exception.
*now speaking with a lower class New Jersey or New York workman’s accent, as if he were a modern U.S. Army non-commissioned officer*
All right, all the tall guys over by the trees. Fat guys down behind the rocks. You with the beads, out of line, come on! Well, there’s one in every village.
All right, knock off the horseplay! Come on, knock off the horseplay. You guys over there playin’ with the horse, will you knock it off?
Now youse have all been given a piece of birch bark and a feather dipped in eagle’s blood. We want youse to write on the birch bark with the feather, in the upper right-hand comer. That’s the upper right-hand corner. Dat’s your arrow hand. You write your name, last name first, first name last. If your name is Running Bear, you write Bear, Running. You got a middle initial please include that, such as Wolf, Howling, W.
A lot of you guys have been askin’ me about promotion. You’d like to make Brave, Second Class. Get another scar up on your arm. Well, I’m happy to say the results of your early tests have come tru. Youse are doin’ beautifully. Burning settlers’ homes, everybody passed. Imitating a coyote, everybody passed. Sneaking quietly through the woods. Everybody passed except Limping Ox. However, Limping Ox is being fitted with a pair of corrective moccasins, and he’ll be up and dancing in no time at all.
Now there are two other areas on which you will be tested: running down the hill and yelling like a nut; and leaping off the cliff—which is considered to be the tougher of the two.
A lot of fellas like to save leaping off the cliff for last.
Couple other announcements for you here. The fertility rites have been called off due to the recent cold wave. (Horse-laugh) There’ll be a rain dance Friday night, weather permitting.
Got a great band: Leapin’ Lizard and the All-Stars.
They’ll be playing all your favorite tunes, “Pass That Peace Pipe,” “Indian Love Call,” “Sweet Sioux,” all them tunes you’ve come to know and love through these many moons.
Okay, one other thing. There’s another item that goes on your clothing list. And that is your loirn cloth. Now that goes down on your list as one each, cloth, loirn-type.
That there is your loirn cloth. You’ll want to get to know, and love, your loirn cloth. Someday it may save your life.
There’ll be a massacre tonight at 9 o’clock.
We’ll meet down by the bonfire, dance around a little bit, and move out. This will be the fourth straight night we’ve attacked the fort. However, tonight it will not be as easy. Tonight there will be soldiers in the fort.
Happy to say I’ll be leading the massacre. I’ll be running down front. You’ll see me. I’m the one that’s on fire.
And the uniform of the day, it’s a formal massacre. You want your class-A summer loirn cloth, two green stripes over the eye, no feather, arms are blue, legs are red, chest is optional.
You might throw a little yellow on the bellies.
What? No, you can’t put any purple on your eyelids. Is that the guy with the beads? Get outta line, would you please, now!
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George Carlin | I assume, is still safe to drink in New York huh? Actually, I gotta be fair with you; I’m only setting you up a little bit. It’s just… it’s not a trick question but it’s just a set-up cause I don’t really care about the water, to tell you the truth, I just love to hear the answer to that question. I ask that question everywhere I go. Everywhere I go, I say: “How’s the water?”… Haven’t got a positive answer yet… not one. Last year, I was in 40 states, 100 cities. Not one audience was able to say to me: “Yes, enjoy some of our fine local water! It is pure and it is good!” Of course, I know a lot of people don’t talk that way anymore but nobody trusts the local water supply. Nobody! And that amuses me, I like that, I admit I’m a bit perverted but it amuses me that no one can really trust the water anymore and the thing I like about it the most is: it means the system is beginning to collapse and everything is slowly breaking down.
I enjoy chaos and disorder – not just because they help me professionally – they’re also my hobby. You see, I’m an entropy fan. When I first heard of entropy in high school science, I was attracted to it immediately. When they told me that in nature, all systems are breaking down, I thought: “What a good thing! What a good thing! Perhaps I can make some small contribution in this area myself.” And of course, it’s not just in nature, in this country, the whole social structure… just beginning to collapse, you watch; just beginning now to come apart at the edges and the seams and the thing I like about that is that it means it makes the news on television more interesting, makes the television news more exciting, makes it more fun. I watch television news for one thing and one thing only: entertainment! That’s all I want from the news: entertainment! You know my favourite thing on television? Bad news! Bad news and disasters and accidents and catastrophes. I wanna see some explosions and fires! I wanna see shit blowing up and bodies flying around! I’m not interested in the budget; I don’t care about tax negotiations; I don’t wanna know what country the fucking Pope is in! But you show me a hospital that’s on fire and people on crutches are jumping off the roof and I’M A HAPPY GUY!!! I’M A HAPPY GUY!!! I’M A HAPPY GUY!!! I wanna see a paint factory blowing up! I wanna see an oil refinery explode! I wanna see a tornado hit a church on Sunday! I wanna see people— I wanna know there’s some guy running through the K-Mart with an automatic weapon firing at the clerks! I wanna see thousands of people in the street killing policemen! I wanna hear about a nuclear meltdown! I wanna know the stock market dropped 2000 points in one day! I wanna see people under pressure! Sirens, flames, smoke, bodies, graves being filled, parents weeping… exciting shit! My kind of TV! I just want some entertainment! It’s just the kind of guy I am! It’s the kind of guy I am! You know what I love the most? When big chunks of concrete and fiery wood are falling out the sky and people are running around trying to get out of the way!
Exciting shit! That’s why I watch auto-racing. That’s the only reason I watch auto-racing: I’m waiting for some ACCIDENTS man!!! I wanna see some cars on fire! I don’t care about a bunch of redneck jackoffs driving 500 miles in a circle! 500 miles in a circle? Children can do that for Christ sakes! Doesn’t impress me! I wanna see some schmuck with his hair on fire running around punching his own head trying to put it out! I wanna see the pits explode! I wanna see a car doing a 200mph cartwheel! Hey, where else besides auto-racing am I gonna see a 23 car collision and not be in the son of a bitch?! And if a car flies out of control, lands in the stands and kills 50 spectators, FINE, FUCK ‘EM!!! Serves ‘em right; they paid to get in, let ‘em take their chances with everybody else! Just means more fun for me! More fun for me!
Hey, at least I admit it. At least I admit it. Most people won’t admit to those feelings. Most people see something like that on television, they’ll say: “Oh isn’t that awful? Isn’t that too bad?” Pbbt! Lying asshole! Lying assholes! You love it and you KNOW it! EXPLOSIONS ARE FUN!!! And hey, the closer the explosion is to your house, the more fun it is! Did you ever notice that? Sometimes, you have the TV on and you’re working around the house, some guy comes on television and says: “6,000 people were killed in an explosion today…” You say: “Where?! Where?!” He says: “…in Pakistan.” You say: “Aww fuck Pakistan! Too far away to be any fun!” But if he says it happened in your hometown, you’ll say: “WHOA!!! HOT SHIT!!! COME ON DAVE; LET’S GO LOOK AT THE BODIES!!! LET’S GO LOOK AT THE BODIES!!!” I love bad news! I love bad news! Hey, the more bad news there is, the faster this system collapses. Fine by me! Fine by me! Don’t bother my ass! Don’t bother my ass none! I’m glad the water sucks. I’m glad it sucks. You know what I do about it? I drink it! Unless… unless it really smells, if it really smells a lot like sulphur, then I might buy a soda. But it’s gotta be a soda loaded with chemical additives! I like a lot of chemical additives in the things I eat and drink!
See, I’m not one of these people who’s worried about everything. You got people like this around you? Countries full of them now: people walking around all day long, every minute of the day, worried… about everything! Worried about the air; worried about the water; worried about the soil; worried about insecticides, pesticides, food additives, carcinogens; worried about radon gas; worried about asbestos; worried about saving endangered species. Let me tell you about endangered species all right? Saving endangered species is just one more arrogant attempt by humans to control nature. It’s arrogant meddling; it’s what got us in trouble in the first place. Doesn’t anybody understand that? Interfering with nature. Over 90% – over, WAY over – 90% of all the species that have ever lived on this planet, ever lived, are gone! Pwwt! They’re extinct! We didn’t kill them all, they just disappeared. That’s what nature does. They disappear these days at the rate of 25 a day and I mean regardless of our behaviour. Irrespective of how we act on this planet, 25 species that were here today will be gone tomorrow. Let them go gracefully. Leave nature alone. Haven’t we done enough?
We’re so self-important, so self-important. Everybody’s gonna save something now: “Save the trees! Save the bees! Save the whales! Save those snails!” and the greatest arrogance of all: “Save the planet!” What?! Are these fucking people kidding me?! Save the planet?! We don’t even know how to take care of ourselves yet! We haven’t learned how to care for one another and we’re gonna save the fucking planet?! I’m getting tired of that shit! I’m getting tired of that shit! I’m tired of fucking Earth Day! I’m tired of these self-righteous environmentalists; these white, bourgeois liberals who think the only thing wrong with this country is there aren’t enough bicycle paths! People trying to make the world safe for their Volvo’s! Besides, environmentalists don’t give a shit about the planet. They don’t care about the planet; not in the abstract they don’t. You know what they’re interested in? A clean place to live; their own habitat. They’re worried that someday in the future, they might be personally inconvenienced. Narrow, unenlightened self-interest doesn’t impress me.
Besides, there is nothing wrong with the planet… nothing wrong with the planet. The planet is fine… the people are fucked! Difference! The planet is fine! Compared to the people, THE PLANET IS DOING GREAT: Been here four and a half billion years! Do you ever think about the arithmetic? The planet has been here four and a half billion years, we’ve been here what? 100,000? Maybe 200,000? And we’ve only been engaged in heavy industry for a little over 200 years. 200 years versus four and a half billion and we have the conceit to think that somehow, we’re a threat? That somehow, we’re going to put in jeopardy this beautiful little blue-green ball that’s just a-floatin’ around the sun? The planet has been through a lot worse than us. Been through all kinds of things worse than us: been through earthquakes, volcanoes, plate tectonics, continental drifts, solar flares, sunspots, magnetic storms, the magnetic reversal of the poles, hundreds of thousands of years of bombardment by comets and asteroids and meteors, worldwide floods, tidal waves, worldwide fires, erosion, cosmic rays, recurring ice ages, and we think some plastic bags and aluminum cans are going to make a difference?
The planet isn’t going anywhere… we are! We’re going away! Pack your shit folks! We’re going away and we won’t leave much of a trace either, thank God for that… maybe a little styrofoam… maybe… little styrofoam. The planet will be here, we’ll be long gone; just another failed mutation; just another closed-end biological mistake; an evolutionary cul-de-sac. The planet will shake us off like a bad case of fleas, a surface nuisance. You wanna know how the planet’s doing? Ask those people in Pompeii who are frozen into position from volcanic ash how the planet’s doing. Wanna know if the planet’s all right? Ask those people in Mexico City or Armenia or a hundred other places buried under thousands of tons of earthquake rubble if they feel like a threat to the planet this week. How about those people in Kilauea, Hawaii who build their homes right next to an active volcano and then wonder why they have lava in the living room?
The planet will be here for a long, long, LONG time after we’re gone and it will heal itself, it will cleanse itself cause that’s what it does. It’s a self-correcting system. The air and the water will recover, the earth will be renewed, and if it’s true that plastic is not degradable, well, the planet will simply incorporate plastic into a new paradigm: The Earth plus Plastic. The Earth doesn’t share our prejudice towards plastic. Plastic came out of the Earth! The Earth probably sees plastic as just another one of its children. Could be the only reason the Earth allowed us to be spawned from it in the first place: it wanted plastic for itself, didn’t know how to make it, needed us. Could be the answer to our age-old philosophical question: “Why are we here?” PLASTIC!!! ASSHOLES!!!
So the plastic is here, our job is done, we can be phased out now, and I think that’s really started already, don’t you? I mean, to be fair, the planet probably sees us as a mild threat; something to be dealt with, and I’m sure the planet will defend itself in the manner of a large organism. Like a beehive or an ant colony can muster a defence, I’m sure the planet will think of something. What would you do if you were the planet trying to defend against this pesky, troublesome species? Let’s see… what might… hmm… viruses! Viruses might be good. They seem vulnerable to viruses. And uh… viruses are tricky; always mutating and forming new strains whenever a vaccine is developed. Perhaps this first virus could be one that-that compromises the immune system of these creatures. Perhaps a human immunodeficiency virus making them vulnerable to all sorts of other diseases and infections that might come along and maybe it could be spread sexually, making them a little reluctant to engage in the act of reproduction.
Well that’s a poetic note and it’s a start and I can dream can I? See, I don’t worry about the little things… bees, trees, whales, snails. I think we’re part of a greater wisdom that we won’t ever understand, a higher order. Call it what you want. You know what I call it? The big electron… the big electron. *imitates electronic hum* It doesn’t punish, it doesn’t reward, it doesn’t judge at all. It just is and so are we… for a little while…
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George Carlin | Why, why, why, why is it that most of the people who are against abortion are people you wouldn’t want to fuck in the first place, huh? Boy, these conservatives are really something, aren’t they? They’re all in favor of the unborn. They will do anything for the unborn. But once you’re born, you’re on your own. Pro-life conservatives are obsessed with the fetus from conception to nine months. After that, they don’t want to know about you. They don’t want to hear from you. No nothing. No neonatal care, no day care, no head start, no school lunch, no food stamps, no welfare, no nothing. If you’re preborn, you’re fine; if you’re preschool, you’re fucked.
Conservatives don’t give a shit about you until you reach “military age”. Then they think you are just fine. Just what they’ve been looking for. Conservatives want live babies so they can raise them to be dead soldiers. Pro-life… pro-life… These people aren’t pro-life, they’re killing doctors! What kind of pro-life is that? What, they’ll do anything they can to save a fetus but if it grows up to be a doctor they just might have to kill it. They’re not pro-life. You know what they are? They’re anti-woman. Simple as it gets, anti-woman. They don’t like them. They don’t like women. They believe a woman’s primary role is to function as a brood mare for the state.
Pro-life… You don’t see many of these white anti-abortion women volunteering to have any black fetuses transplanted into their uteruses, do you? No, you don’t see them adopting a whole lot of crack babies, do you? No, that might be something Christ would do. And, you won’t see a lot of these pro-life people dousing themselves in kerosene and lighting themselves on fire. You know, morally committed religious people in South Vietnam knew how to stage a goddamn demonstration, didn’t they?! They knew how to put on a fucking protest. Light yourself on FIRE!! C’mon, you moral crusaders, let’s see a little smoke. To match that fire in your belly.
Here’s another question I have: how come when it’s us, it’s an abortion, and when it’s a chicken, it’s an omelette? Are we so much better than chickens all of a sudden? When did this happen, that we passed chickens in goodness? Name six ways we’re better than chickens… See, nobody can do it! You know why? ‘Cuz chickens are decent people. You don’t see chickens hanging around in drug gangs, do you? No, you don’t see a chicken strapping some guy to a chair and hooking up his nuts to a car battery, do you? When’s the last chicken you heard about came home from work and beat the shit out of his hen, huh? Doesn’t happen. ‘Cuz chickens are decent people.
But let’s get back to this abortion shit. Now, is a fetus a human being? This seems to be the central question. Well, if a fetus is a human being, how come the census doesn’t count them? If a fetus is a human being, how come when there’s a miscarriage they don’t have a funeral? If a fetus is a human being, how come people say “we have two children and one on the way” instead of saying “we have three children?” People say life begins at conception, I say life began about a billion years ago and it’s a continuous process. Continuous, just keeps rolling along. Rolling, rolling, rolling along.
And say you know something? Listen, you can go back further than that. What about the carbon atoms? Hah? Human life could not exist without carbon. So is it just possible that maybe we shouldn’t be burning all this coal? Just looking for a little consistency here in these anti-abortion arguments. See the really hardcore people will tell you life begins at fertilization. Fertilization, when the sperm fertilizes the egg. Which is usually a few moments after the man says “Gee, honey, I was going to pull out but the phone rang and it startled me.” Fertilization.
But even after the egg is fertilized, it’s still six or seven days before it reaches the uterus and pregnancy begins, and not every egg makes it that far. Eighty percent of a woman’s fertilized eggs are rinsed and flushed out of her body once a month during those delightful few days she has. They wind up on sanitary napkins, and yet they are fertilized eggs. So basically what these anti-abortion people are telling us is that any woman who’s had more than more than one period is a serial killer! Consistency. Consistency. Hey, hey, if they really want to get serious, what about all the sperm that are wasted when the state executes a condemned man, one of these pro-life guys who’s watching cums in his pants, huh? Here’s a guy standing over there with his jockey shorts full of little Vinnies and Debbies, and nobody’s saying a word to the guy. Not every ejaculation deserves a name.
Now, speaking of consistency, Catholics, which I was until I reached the age of reason, Catholics and other Christians are against abortions, and they’re against homosexuals. Well who has less abortions than homosexuals?! Leave these fucking people alone, for Christ sake! Here is an entire class of people guaranteed never to have an abortion! And the Catholics and Christians are just tossing them aside! You’d think they’d make natural allies. Go look for consistency in religion. And speaking of my friends the Catholics, when John Cardinal O’Connor of New York and some of these other Cardinals and Bishops have experienced their first pregnancies and their first labor pains and they’ve raised a couple of children on minimum wage, then I’ll be glad to hear what they have to say about abortion. I’m sure it’ll be interesting. Enlightening, too. But, in the meantime what they ought to be doing is telling these priests who took a vow of chastity to keep their hands off the altar boys! Keep your hands to yourself, Father! You know? When Jesus said “Suffer the little children come unto me”, that’s not what he was talking about!
So you know what I tell these anti-abortion people? I say “Hey. Hey. If you think a fetus is more important that a woman, try getting a fetus to wash the shit stains out of your underwear. For no pay and no pension.” I tell them “Think of an abortion as term limits. That’s all it is. Biological term limits.
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George Carlin | Now a lot of these company names and product names are influenced by marketing and advertising people and this next thing is about advertising. By the way, if you should have any cognitive dissonance about the fact that I do commercials for 10-10-220 and still attack advertising up here, well, you’re just gonna have to figure that shit out on your own okay? Now this is called “Advertising Lullaby”, keeping in mind of course that the whole purpose of advertising is to lull you to sleep.
Quality, value, styles, service, selection, convenience, economy savings, performance, experience, hospitality, low rates, friendly service, name brands, easy terms, affordable prices, money-back guarantee, free installation.
Free admission, free appraisal, free alterations, free delivery, free estimates, free home trial, and free parking.
No cash? No problem. No kidding, no fuss, no muss, no risk, no obligation, no red tape, no down payment, no entry fee, no hidden charges, no purchase necessary, no one will call on you, no payments of interest till September.
Limited time only though so act now, order today, send no money, offer good while supplies last, two to a customer, each item sold separately, batteries not included, mileage may vary, all sales are final, allow 6 weeks for delivery, some items not available, some assembly required, some restrictions may apply
Come on in for a free demonstration and a free consultation with our friendly professional staff. Our experienced and knowledgeable sales representatives will help you make a selection that’s just right for you and just right for your budget and say, don’t forget to pick up your free gift, a classic, deluxe, custom, designer, luxury, prestige, high quality, premium select, gourmet pocket pencil sharpener… yours for the asking, no purchase necessary, it’s our way of saying “thank you”.
And if you act now, we’ll include an extra added, free, complementary, bonus gift, a classic, deluxe, custom, designer, luxury, prestige, high quality, premium select, gourmet combination key ring, magnifying glass, and garden hose, in a genuine, imitation, leather-style, carrying case with authentic vinyl trim… yours for the asking, no purchase necessary, it’s our way of saying “thank you”.
Actually, it’s our way of saying “bend over just a little bit farther so we can stick this big advertising dick up your ass a little bit deeper! Pbbt! You miserable, no-good, fucking consumer asshole!”
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A very small sampling of snippets of comedy routines by George Carlin and Tom Segura.
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