AL MADRIGAL: WHY IS THE RABBIT CRYING? (2013) – Full Transcript

2017-09-30T19:05:54-07:00 September 30th, 2017|Categories: AL MADRIGAL, COMEDY|Tags: |
  • Al Madrigal: Why is the Rabbit Crying? (2013)

[dog barks] [FisherGreen’s Sisters Brothers plays] II – Ladies and gentlemen, please give a warm welcome to Mr. Al Madrigal. [cheers and applause] II – What is happening? How you guys doing? Thanks for coming out. I really appreciate it. Hey. My name’s Al. I’ll tell you guys about myself. I live in Los Angeles, and near my house in Los Angeles is a waterfall that I love to take the wife and the kids- and we got some dogs. We take them up there. But it’s also near a sketchy neighborhood, so there’s a lot of gang members that hang out at the waterfall. It’s like somebody took an Ansel Adams photo and then put a Cypress Hill video inside it. And at first, I got to tell ya, it’s scary ’cause you don’t really- you don’t expect to see gang members at the waterfall. And we actually witnessed this. This is a conversation that we overheard right when we got up there for the first time. We saw a gang member run up to another gang member with something in his hand. I was like, “Oh, my God. “My family is gonna watch somebody get stabbed creek-side.” The guy runs up and goes, “Hey. Check it out. It’s a tree frog, homes.” Happened. Then the other guy says, “How you know it’s a tree frog, bro?” “I found it by a tree, stupid.” And everyone in my family at the same moment went, “Best waterfall ever.” It’s nature-loving cholos. This is fantastic. And it is fantastic. I find myself watching the gang members appreciate nature more than I’m appreciating the nature. I like to imagine that they’re all up there on an organized retreat to get away from gang life, like a field trip that they signed up for to come together as a unit. They’re up there doing trust exercises. Like, “I’m gonna fall back. You gonna catch me, bro?” “I always catch you. I always catch you.” I also like to imagine that they’re up there to take care of the forest. This brown beret, conservation corps. A Smokey the Cholo, if you will. They graffitied the waterfall, which sucks. And it’s not nice graffiti either, because there’s good graffiti and then there’s bad graffiti. Like, it’s not some tasteful mural that’s been done to remember one of their fallen homeboys that died of Lyme disease. Airbrushed, “R.l.P. Carlos. There’s no ticks in heaven.” Just says, “Chucho.” And you’re giving me a funny look. They didn’t graffiti the actual waterfall. It’s like the dumbest gang members ever. “It’s not working.” No. So it just sort of proves that anytime you take a gang member out of their element and you put them anywhere, it’s automatically going to be funny. Cholos in space. Hilarious. “Hey, Houston. You got a problem, bro.” Sorry.

Which leads me to my favorite character that I’ve met of all time. Cholo soccer dad. They’re everywhere. I didn’t-l had no idea. So we’re down in Los Angeles, and we take my son to his first practice of Mighty Mites football, five- and six-year-olds playing flag football. It’s adorable. When out of the corner of my eye- I’m there with the whole family- I see a Cholo coming straight for us. Everybody close your eyes and imagine your scariest Mexican gang member. That guy’s walking right for us. Now I’m using “cholo” a lot, and I’m not sure if anyone’s traveling or from out of town. A cholo is a Latino gentleman that you may have seen with white socks pulled all the way up, plaid shorts to meet the white socks, white T-shirt oversized, very similar to a Catholic schoolgirls uniform. It’s a lot scarier. I’m not sure if you’ve seen the movie Training Day with Denzel Washington. That’s cholo-heavy, all right? If you ever watch the Prison Channel, AKA Nat-Geo, there’s a lot of cholos in that. Think you’re going to tune in and see some pygmy titty. No, it’s MS-13 shanking people by the handball court. Maybe some neck tattoos, gold chain. I’m not sure if anybody wants to stand up and make this easier. Shaved head, mustache. See yourself a cholo. You’re not cholo-y. You’re, like, cholo adjacent. You’re like- I’m sure you’re friends with some cholos, but with a V-neck T-shirt like that, I’m not too worried. So… [laughs] He’s got a Caesar. I’m sure you know some, but I’m not-l don’t feel threatened. Anyway, guy’s coming right at us.
Now, me and my wife have been together for about 12 years at this point, married almost about that long. Oh, yeah. Please, don’t clap. Don’t clap for her ass. Me and my wife are in sync. I know everything about this woman. I know her favorite everything. When we go to Target, we don’t shop. We run plays. Right? She knows exactly what I’m thinking, and she is right. I do think everyone in her family lacks ambition and will be a drain on us financially at some point. We have eye signals for stuff, hand signals for stuff. It’s incredible. For example, if my wife has too much to drink at a party, I don’t have to say anything. She starts yapping too much, I get to just go like this. Doo, doo, doo. Three little, discreet leg squeezes under the table. She knows that means, “Put a sock in it, drunkie. “Time for you to wrap it up. “Somebody didn’t have “dinner like I suggested. “Now you’re spouting off at the mouth, “divulging all the family secrets. You need to pipe down, or we got to go.” And she’s cool with it. That’s the best part. She’s like, “Was I talking too much? Thank you.” And it works for me.
So I rub the back of my wife’s thumb. She knows that means, “Cholo, 3:00. Look alive.” He’s coming right at us, like I said. Lot of neck tattoos. I’m trying to decipher ’em on the fly. But I didn’t watch Prison Break or Oz. They all mean something, right? So I’m going, “Why is the rabbit crying? “What does that mean? He did something to a rabbit.” Me and my wife held each other for a little bit, thinking, “Okay, we had a good run, baby. Now we’re going to die.” The guy comes up. Turns out he’s our son’s coach. No shit. He goes, “Hey, everybody. My name’s Coach Frankie. But you can call me Rascal.” “See, honey? We’re not going to die. Coach Rascals here. It’s gonna be fine.” He then presents us with a snack list. When your child is in any sport, the team mom, or in this case, a very scary Mexican gang member, has prepared a document to determine what family is responsible for snack on any given game day. He’s laid his out perfectly in Microsoft Word tables. He left-justified all of his text. He didn’t go with a gothic-y cholo font like you’d expect him to. He used Arial, like we all should. He centered his header, he imported some clip art, and he was very proud of it, so we found ourselves-he- “I wrote a snack list.” “Check it out, my snack list.” So me and my wife found ourselves in that great couple moment where you’re holding hands trying not to laugh at somebody right in front of you, doing the Morse code hand squeeze, going, “Cholo made a snack list. Cholo made a snack list. “Don’t laugh at the cholo. Don’t laugh at the cholo. “Oh, my God. Cholo made a snack list. So proud of it.” Now, if you’re a young couple doing this for the first time, this snack thing, and you have kids in any sport, you want to go at the beginning of the season when expectations are low. You bring some Teddy Grahams, some Capri Suns, fruit, you brown bag it. Wanna go the extra mile? Freeze a Go-Gurt. They fucking love that. What happens is you wait too long, then in the middle of the season, some asshole with disposable income brings Happy Meals, ruins it for the rest of the families yet to go. Then by the end of the season, you’re forced to bring pizza, a DJ, and a stripper. And everybody’s still complaining. They’re like, “Are these songs fast to you? She seems older.” So he’s made a snack list. He’s also the worst coach ever, but you can’t do anything about it. He’s so intimidating. He actually said this to the kids. They’re five and six years old. When they get the football, they run in the wrong direction, they tackle each other. If there’s a dog, they chase the dog. They’re idiots. And he says- this is a quote, “You guys got to pay attention, or you’re gonna have bad dreams.” Which is not in the John Wooden coaching pyramid, I think. Leaving all the parents on the sideline going, “Did he just fucking say that? “Because I have a hard enough time “getting that guy to sleep as it is. I don’t need Coach Rascal giving him cholo night terrors.” Then my wife gives me one of these. You know this? You should know, yeah. A hand squeeze with a squint and a head nod, which means, “Get in there, asshole, and say something. Time for you to man up, or I’m gonna say something.” And there’s a counter-move to that. I squeezed her hand even a little bit harder, looked her in the eyes and said, “We’re not saying shit. “You let Coach Rascal conduct his business, “or we’re gonna find out why the rabbit’s crying, and I don’t wanna find out why the rabbit’s crying.” I don’t wanna find out. – Whoo! [cheers and applause]

Not sure if anyone’s done this. Over the age of 35, I hurt my neck sleeping. You ever do that? I was dreaming of falling down the steps. Now, as a man, you have very few massage options. Option number one, I could trade one with my wife. Three minutes in, she’s gonna complain her hand is tired. Then I’m gonna owe her one. It’s a bad deal. Number two, the chair. You ever go to the mall? The uniformed Chinese guys want you to get in a chair, sit ass-out, Potsie-style, put your face in the doughnut that’s seen a thousand other faces. I’m a germaphobe. I’m gonna put it in there. It’s disgusting. Not to mention, it’s all open air. I got some fat kid eating a piece of Sbarro right next to me. It’s not relaxing. It’s not gonna work. Option number three, fancy place. Spa, real spa. I don’t have that kind of time. I don’t need to spend four hours in some cucumber water utopian environment. I don’t have the time. I want Jiffy Lube of neck fixing. I don’t want to go to some relaxation room where you got some menopausal hippie lady walking around with an open robe, some car crash of a vagina hanging out, you know, to give somebody a last look before they retire it for good. It’s gross. I don’t have the time or the stomach. Brings me to option number four. Strip mall massage. You guys know what I’m talking about. Huh? You especially know what I’m talking about. You know the strip mall too. A bunch of shitty businesses that got together to become roommates. Always a Quiznds, nail salon… Liberty Tax. They con some poor Mexican-American teenager to dress up like the Statue of Liberty out front. [cheers and applause] Be ashamed of themselves. Laundromat, cigarette wholesaler, karate studio… Thai massage. Every one of the businesses is owned by somebody of a different ethnicity. It’s like a giant stucco American dream catcher. So I got the neck I can barely move. I got a big show to do that night. You guys see how much movement l do onstage. It’s important for me to get that worked out. So I go to the Thai massage, first appointment of the day. You don’t want to show up at the end of a long shift because those places are shady, right? How do you know if it’s one of the shady places? First of all, it’s in the strip mall. And secondly, if it’s got the same hours as a Jack in the Box… it’s probably a Jack in the Box. So… I go in, first appointment. Nice Asian lady gives me the neck massage part, 40 bucks. I don’t know if it was Thai, but she gave it to me. Feels better. Now it’s time for her to ask me if I want the extra part. But she can’t say in the words she wants to because it’s illegal. So she whispers these words in my ear, “Do you want me to make banana cry?” Uh… [laughter applause] “No, I don’t want you to make banana cry. “But can you ask me again? Because that’s fucking hilarious.” I was thinking, “What did banana do to you?” Banana feels bad enough being in here in the first place. What a family-friendly way to ask somebody if they want a strip mall hand job. It’s not something you ever expect to hear. It’s something you expect to read from the transcripts of when Mr. Rogers is brought up on charges. The banana part we all get, right? The banana part we get. Crying, though? Rarely when I cry do all my tears shoot out at one time. “I’m so sad! I’m so sad! “I’m so sad. I’m so sorry. For your loss. I’m so sorry for your loss.” Crinkle up a sock. – Whoo! – “I’m so sorry.” ls anybody lonely out there? Clap if you’re lonely. Anybody want to admit it? [scattered applause] That’s a pretty good, solid clap. Because loneliness is underrated. You don’t realize what you have. Lonely people make the mistake of crying themselves to sleep at night. They go, “Oh, I wish I had a companion, someone to watch Criminal Minds with.” [blubbers] You don’t realize what you got. I love going on the road. I don’t want to tell my family this, but I love to go on the road and go on a nice, king-size bed, spread out. Because at home, any parent can tell you, you got some sweaty, little fucker, gets up at 2:00 in the morning ’cause they’re not properly sleep trained. So you wake up startled, you hear this pitter-patter of feet, shadow. You’re like, “What the fuck is that, Chucky?” My wife won’t let me have a gun in the house, so I got a marble egg in a tube sock. I’m like, “Who’s there? Identify yourself.” Hammer stashed under the couch for this imaginary fight sequence that’s never gonna go down. And you’re too tired to put up a fight, so you let him in bed with you. And an hour later, you wake up clipped on- they’re clipped on like the koala bear on your fourth grade pencil. Like, “Get the fuck off me.” And why are they so sweaty? Are they on drugs? Are they taking mollies down by the preschool, or is that just what happens when you properly hydrate yourself? And then I got to wake up at 6:30 in the morning every single morning, no matter what I’ve done the night before. You get to sleep in till whenever because nobody loves you, and I got to wake up at 6:30 every single morning because I have a cute, little girl or guy that comes inside of my bed and goes, “Daddy, wake up. Daddy, wake up. Daddy, wake up. Daddy, wake up. Apple Juice. Apple Juice. Apple Juice. Apple juice.” That’s not an alarm clock you can hit. There’s no snooze on a three-year-old. Then I got to go to a bouncy house party every Saturday or Sunday. You know what that is? Inflatable castle on some dickheads front lawn. All kinds of kids in there jumping around like coked-up young Republicans at a John Boehner warehouse party. “Aaah!” And I’m not sure what happens when my kids get in there, but something switches, and they start trying to take other kids out at any opportunity. It’s forearm shivers for everybody. It’s like an illegal cage fight for them. It’s like, “Welcome to the Octagon. Two babies enter, one baby leave.” Vietnamese baby starts smoking cigarettes and gambling outside, screaming, “Take him out! Take him out!” Little baby throws a rooster in just to make it interesting. But luckily, a bouncy house is like an alternate universe where pain doesn’t exist. They’re so happy to be in there. I saw the same little, shitty kid who’d cry if you looked at him funny, little sensitive boy, come shooting out of the bouncy house. He hit one of the bumps the wrong way and then came firing through the Velcro straps, circus cannon style. Just shoo! Mangles his ass on the driveway. And all the other dads are like, “Holy shit. Try not to react, so he doesn’t realize how jacked up he is.” And then, I swear to you, he just rose up, popped his shoulder back in like Mel Gibson in Lethal Weapon, mumbled some shit about whores and Jews, and went back into the bouncy house, jumping around. [cheers and applause] I have no privacy. You have privacy. You don’t realize, but, yes. It’s great. I have people tracking me at all times. I really do. I can’t go to the bathroom without people following me into the bathroom. It’s constant. A year ago, this really happened. My daughter’s 2 1/2 years old, and all I want to do- how I really want to unwind is that I want to go to the back bathroom, I want to sit there for 20 minutes until my leg goes numb with the sports page. It’s your body’s sign of, “Okay, that’s enough.” I’m gonna sit there and look at some stats, and that’s it. In peace. But I’m not allowed because they’ll find me. This happened. I had to Swiff. I pretended I was Swiffing to throw ’em off my trail. I was going to do some Swiffing, and then when no one was looking, I grabbed the sports page, and I snuck back into the back bathroom. And I went back there, and I sat down. 20 seconds in, my daughter with the sippy cup comes busting open the door like SWAT. She just stands there and then looks back like, “I found him. He’s over here. “He tried to throw us off with the Swiffer, but I got it. Another case solved.” Then she did something- she just stayed. She just stood there like this. ‘Cause she knew I couldn’t do anything about it. She’s very smart. And I go, “Get out of here. What are you doing? “This is Daddy’s privacy. “His private time in the bathroom. “Get out of here. This is gross. Get out of here.” And I’m not sure if anyone’s got a little girl, but they’re all kind of creepy. Look at something. Then I called for help. I go, “Honey! Honey! Honey- “Krystyn. Krystyn! Please help me! She won’t leave!” And there was no answer. So my daughter looked at me like, “No one can hear your cries. Just me and you.” Then, I’ll be honest, I tried to hit her with the paper a little bit. Nothing hard. Just a couple little, gentle swats, but she immediately contorted her body to stay an inch away like, “Ha, ha, ha.” And worked her ass around me, came around the side of me, and then got a quick look at my butt crack. And her first words in the bathroom are, “Hey, Daddy’s got a ‘gina.” Immediately I go from trying to get her out of the bathroom to defending my manhood to this two-year-old. “What are you talking about? Daddy doesn’t have a ‘gina. “Daddy’s a man. Get out of here. “Daddy’s a ‘gina-less man. “You get out of here. He’s a-‘gina. “Doing man stuff in the bathroom, “reading the sports page. Get out of here.” Finally I hit her with the paper pretty good. And in the scuffle, a towel fell, and then the door stayed open. I got her out. And she knew she got to me because she took an opportunity. She walked around and just in the crack of the door, you saw two little eyes appear with a Disney Princesses sippy cup. She just looked at me and started going, “Daddy’s got a ‘gina. Daddy’s got a ‘gina. “Daddy got a ‘gina. Daddy got a ‘gina. Daddy’s got a ‘gina.” Leaving me mumbling in the bathroom going, “Daddy doesn’t have a ‘gina. Daddy’s a man. “Get out of here. Daddy’s a ‘gina-less man.” And she must have left at some point because my wife popped her head in and goes, “What the fuck are you talking about? Daddy- I thought you were Swiffing.” “Where the hell were you? Daddy’s a man.” “Daddy’s a man.” [cheers and applause] They want to watch so much TV. And I don’t allow that much TV, which makes them want to watch it more. They can’t get enough of it. I’m trying to micromanage what they watch too. They watch the worst crap. It’s amazing how quickly a kid can take over your DirecTV controller, start DVRing their own shit. You’re like, “What is all this crap?” They watch- this is crazy. They watched Animal Planet, first of all. They watch that idiot the Turtle-man, Call of the Wildman. You see that show? You love him? Yeah. Yi-yi-yi-yi-yi-yi! If you don’t know this, it’s a guy in Kentucky that if you have a possum on your property that won’t go away, him and his buddy will come over and they’ll fight it, and then you don’t have to give him any money. You can just pay him in an apple fritter, and he’s thrilled. “It was a good day today. “We fought a possum, and he gave me an apple fritter, and I was, ‘Whoo-hoo!”‘ And my kids think it’s great, and they love the guy. I don’t like it at all. I don’t want my kids growing up thinking “turtle fighter compensated in doughnuts” is a viable career option. Is that wrong? Is that micromanaging? They also watch House Hunters International, which I hate. Don’t-no. You love that show? I hate it. It’s the worst dialogue of any-it’s like, “Yeah, I could really see myself showering in here.” Yeah, ’cause it’s a bathroom, lady, it’s a bathroom. My kids argue about it. That’s the worst thing. It’s like a three-year-old going, “Pick the second one. Pick the second one. “It’s got granite counter-tops and an open floor plan.” The fuck? They watch- and this is my bad. I recorded a show that I shouldn’t have recorded. It’s-l recorded Hardcore Pawn. You see that show? [audience members cheer] No, that is the worst show on television. Of course, cholo adjacent likes it. It really is bad. It’s the most racist show. The description for that show, if you clicked on info, should read, “Man in Detroit takes advantage of black people.” That should be the show. That’s the show. There’s a lot of racist stuff on TV that we’re not even looking at. First of all, we had some stuff grandfathered in that we’re surrounded by. Black people should be upset about Uncle Ben still being on the market, Cream of Wheat guy. We’re still pouring syrup out of slave head and Aunt Jemima. Let’s retire her ass. We’ll name it something else. It’ll be fine. But then for the Golden Corral people to come in and think they can just introduce racist ads to the market is not fucking cool. You guys know what I’m talking about? First of all, Golden Corral is a chain of bad buffet restaurants where- first of all, it’s named Corral. Have some respect for yourself. “Here, go and feed on them- they feed the animals. Here we go.” It’s like cut-up hot dogs. I don’t care if it’s golden. I’m not eating there. But the commercial put me over the top. If you don’t know the ad, it’s a white couple and a black couple on a double date. Have you seen it? No. And so the white lady is really annoying. She turns around to the black couple and goes, “We’re going to have such a great time at dinner. “We’re gonna go to a seafood restaurant, “and Chef Jason’s gonna be there, and then we’re gonna share a $20 appetizer.” And the black people hear, “$20 dollar appetizer,” and they look at each other like, “Fuck that shit.” And then they throw themselves out of the moving vehicle, risking their lives to- roll, dust their asses off, and show up at cheap-ass Golden Corral where they can eat all-you-can-eat tilapia, which in culinary circles is known as the rat of the sea. It’s not a well-thought-of fish. There’s so many questions. First of all, just like Facebook is lowering the value of what it means to have a friend, Golden Corral is lowering the standard severely for what it takes to jump out of a moving vehicle. It used to be brakes, all right’? Pump the brakes. “Aah!” You throw yourself out and barrel roll. Bomb about to detonate. Cliff. You throw yourself out, you climb up. “Ah, he’s still alive.” Maybe it’s a kidnapping, right? And that’s a possibility. Maybe these white people are so desperate to have black friends that they’ve taken these black people and kept ’em in their basement, and they haven’t fed ’em at all. And their first eating opportunity was Golden Corral, and they’re like, “Let’s go for it. Go! Go!” I don’t think that’s the case. My son said this, “Why didn’t they stop?” That’s an awkward moment as a parent where you’re like, “I don’t know. “I don’t know why they didn’t stop. “Why didn’t Golden Corral just put “a brake sound effect in there for us, like the white people gave a shit?” There should be brakes, and then the white people should run into Golden Corral after the black people and go, “What the fuck? “If you wanted to eat here, you could have just told us. “We were trying to take you someplace nice. “I didn’t know you wanted cotton candy as a dessert option. “What, are you gonna eat it with a knife and fork? I don’t understand.” But because of TV, they’ve started talking back, and I know this for a fact because I just did all the investigative work in the house. My son said, at six years old, “That’s how I roll.” I’ve never said that in my entire life. My wife has never said that. That’s one of the reasons I married her. My son says that. I said, “Where’d you hear that, buddy?” Turns out these two little douche bags from the Disney Channel, Zack and Cody, Suite Life on Deck. Two little twins who live on a cruise ship for some reason. I watch a couple episodes. They call, like, 13-year-old girls “baby,” stuff like that. Got the controller- never thought I’d be this guy- and I blocked it ’cause that’s how I roll. Shut it down. [cheers and applause] I really never thought I’d be the guy that’s gonna, “You wanna- I’m gonna shut it down.” But I did it. Then my daughter- I tell her- my adorable 3 1/2-year-old daughter, I tell her to do something, and she sticks her ass out at me and says, “Talk to the booty ’cause the hand’s off duty.” And I look at my wife like, “What the fuck is this?” Block another show. Then the last straw before I gave up-my son. We taught my son how to make his bed. He does shoddy work, but that’s not the point. So I say, “No more TV. You’ve got to go make your bed.” And he walks off all pissed off, and he turns back around and goes, “Watch out, Dad, or we’re gonna beat you when you’re old.” And I just went straight for the controller. I was like, “Okay, you want to play with me, huh? “You want me to block another show? “What show is that? What show is that?” And he got nervous. He knew he was busted. And he admitted, “it wasn’t a show. I just made it up.” And then immediately as a comedian, I got so proud because… it’s funny, it’s a legitimate threat, it implies he’s been keeping track of all this stuff, and he’s gonna take it out on me when I’m old and unable to defend myself in a retirement community somewhere asleep at night. And him and his sister are going to pop up out of nowhere, Full Metal Jacket my ass, like, “Aah!” [wails] “Remember Zack and Cody, motherfucker?” [wails] – Whoo! [cheers and applause] – I just got to watch what I say to the kids. You see, my wife has a master’s in education. She’s a reading and writing specialist. She’s read all the parenting books. And then she leaves, and it all goes out the window, and I say horrible things to the children. I was getting the kids ready because I was gonna go over to a comedian’s house for a barbecue. We all hang out. But she’s gone. So I get the little girl ready, but I make the mistake of sending my son to get himself ready. Any parent knows that’s a crapshoot. He’s gonna come out wearing a cape and a bathing suit like, “Let’s do this.” No. But sure enough, he comes out, but instead of the cape and the bathing suit, he got into the bottom of his drawers and closet. So he got old pants. He had floods, holes in both knees, old T-shirt. Two years old, so it doesn’t fit him anymore. There’s skin showing. So he comes out looking like this effeminate European drifter. “Hello, father. I’m ready for the barbecue. “I hope they have those little smokies there, and I will suck on them.” Like, it’s hard not to laugh. “No, you can’t wear that. What are you doing? Why don’t you wear the good clothes?” Then he got upset because he put a lot of thought into his ensemble. He goes, “Aw, these are my favorite pants. “I’m gonna wear ’em. I just found ’em. “You said get ready. “This is my favorite T-shirt, and I got ready. I’m gonna wear it.” And here’s me saying something stupid. I go, “Dude, you’re gonna be embarrassed.” And without missing a beat, he just steps to me a little bit. He goes, “I’m not gonna be embarrassed. They’re your friends.” [cheers and applause] Yeah, that’s pretty good. Sol made him wear the outfit, and it turns out we were both embarrassed. Taught a six-year-old shame, and I never told my wife about it. I do it all the time. l get- It just comes out. I say this horrible crap. l can’t- It’s what my dad did and his dad did before him. You know, it’s just a long history of saying terrible shit to kids, I’m sure. He said this to me, and it really, legitimately pissed me off. So I was trying- it was hard not to react. But he said, “Dad, when are we going to get the big house?” [audience groans] And I wanted to- we live in this little, 1,300-square-foot house in Los Angeles. It’s nothing much, and I paid way too much for it, so that just hit me, like, that he’s not happy with this, and we’re lucky to be affording anything. And so when he says, “Dad, when are we going to get the big house?” It took everything I could not to fucking grab him and shake him and say, “Do you know how much money I spend on your sister and you, “you son of a bitch? You are the big house. You are the big house!” That’s what I was feeling, but you can’t do that because you get arrested. So instead, here’s me saying something stupid. I go, “Dude, “lam very proud of this little house. “And I bought it with my own money doing a job that I love, “and very few people can say that. “And the people with the big house get their money through inheritance.” And then he goes, “What’s inheritance?” And I go, “Shit. “Okay, um… “That is when Grandma and Grandpa pass away, “and then they give you a bunch of money, “and then you can buy stuff you wouldn’t normally be able to afford otherwise, like a big house.” And not only did I do a shitty job of explaining inheritance, but what I really did is put us on Nana and Papa deathwatch. Now my mom comes over and so much as coughs, he’s like, “Fuck, yeah. Here comes the big house. She’s about to go. I want a pool.” He’s leaving his skateboard out. “Die, bitch.” [scattered applause]

You don’t have to clap every time I take a drink. I really am just thirsty. [cheers and applause] You guys are a great crowd. This is nice. [cheers and applause] Are you having a good time? You sure? [audience cheers] No, I know you guys are, but there’s some people who are like, “Meh.” Does it feel weird that you’re up front like this? Are you- Okay. All right, well, try to look like you’re fucking- just because the theater is called Moody doesn’t mean you fucking have to be. All right.
I do have some advice. I think we all need somebody five years ahead of us to give us a little bit of advice, and this is weird stuff that you’re probably not going to hear anywhere else. But first of all, if you have a little kid and you go- don’t give anybody your phone number at the park. And it sounds like something you would never do. Why would-like, that’s where the hobos exchange information. But what happens when you have a baby is you go to the park, and your kid starts playing with another kid, and then they get along, and then some weird mom comes over and goes, “Hey, how you doing? “My name’s Gloria, and the kids seem to be getting along. Can I give our number?” And then you start hanging out with those people. And then your wife goes over to their house for a play-date because the kids get along and it’s a proximity thing. And then the wife comes home and says, “Hey, her husband Bob seems pretty cool. You should start hanging outwith Bob.” Now I’m hanging out with fucking Bob. I don’t wanna hang out with Bob. I wanna hang out with my friends, people that I think are cool. Right?
I took over the play-dates at one point ’cause I just couldn’t take it anymore. And see, I don’t care if my little kid matches up with the other kid. I just wanna hang out with cool people. My little kid- my kid hated this other kid. And we were at a play-date one time. He comes running up and goes, [panting] “Scotty bit me.” And I said, “Come here. “Let me explain this whole thing to you. “See, Scotty’s daddy has box seats at the Staples Center. “And Scotty’s mommy is a former Hawaiian Tropic model “and likes to wear tight-fitting clothing and high heels. “So you better work it out “cause we’re staying friends with Scotty. “And I don’t care if he’s a cannibal, you make it happen. Daddy needs this.” [cheers and applause]

You don’t have to breastfeed, ladies. Don’t. I don’t encourage you to do that ’cause- See, what happens when you breastfeed and you’re pregnant, the boobs are fantastic. They’re bigger, they’re faster, they’re stronger. But as a husband, you can’t touch ’em because they’re too sensitive. And then by the time you’re ready to get in there, you’re not left with the original product that you started with in the first place. It’s purely selfish. See, my wife had a nice “B” going, nothing crazy. But then, that’s when you get to a “C” or a I get excited. “Oh, this is awesome.” But you can’t touch ’em because they’re too sensitive. And then they go down again. And then the process repeats itself. The second kid really does a number on them. So now, what was a nice now one looks like a man’s wallet, and the other one looks like a leather satchel you might see at a Renaissance fair after it was dropped by a falcon at a high altitude. Now I got all kinds of little hairy guys coming up to me going, “Sire, is that the satchel that holds the one ring?” “No, it’s my wife’s titties, Frodo. You and your buddies better back the fuck up.” It’s solid advice, I think.

I can’t stand people who are married without kids, always rubbing their disposable income and their travel plans in your face. They always come up and say horrible shit like, “You know, we’re thinking about buying a second place in France.” Oh, that’s great. The closest I’ll come to a place in France is I might buy a crepe at a food court, and one of my kids will drop it inside of three seconds, and we’ll all cry. That’s my place in France. They also say, “We just really like our life the way it is.” Basically saying, “We’ve seen you, and we’ll take a pass.” I’m finally comfortable with “sir.” I’m not sure if anyone’s there yet. No. No, you’re not a sir. You’re not a sir. You may be. Are you a sir yet? How old are you? – As. – as? You’re approaching it. Right, because if somebody calls you sir, you’re like, “No, man. “My name’s Jason. I’m not a sir.” Sorry, that’s my impression of you. “No, man. I’m- Does Steve still work here? I’m his buddy.” But with me- I don’t know what happens. There’s-at a point in a man’s life, “Mix-a-Lot” becomes “Sir Mix-a-Lot,” you know what I mean? It’s like it switches. Somebody drops a “sir,” and then you can’t help but think, “Hey, where the fuck’s my ‘sir’? “I got a ‘sir’ coming over here. “I just dropped a shitload of money in this place. I think I got a ‘sir’ coming.”

I’m fine with people cleaning up after me. I just am cool. Because when we first had a cleaning lady come over to the house, it was like I was cleaning up before the cleaning lady gets there. “Cleaning lady’s coming. “Come on, let’s get straightened up. “Don’t want her to think we’re complete assholes. Come on.” I was over at a guy’s house in L.A. They had a chef. We were making fun of him when we were walking in. “Can you believe this fucking douche bag’s got a chef?” Me and my wife left that party going, “We need a chef as soon as possible.” I had a cleaning lady in college. No shit. I really did. It wasn’t my cleaning lady. It was-l had a rich druggie roommate in college freshman year. It was roommate lotto. It was like a Rodney Dangerfield Back to School situation that I just stumbled into. Moved off campus, luxury apartment, beer on tap. It was awesome. And one of the craziest things happened to me in my entire life, I think. We had a cleaning lady come every single Monday. Her name was Leonicia. We called her Liam Neeson. We thought that was hilarious. Who knew it would still be relevant from Darkman to the Taken 2? You know, this guy’s cranking out the movies. So Liam Neeson is down in the laundry room. 50-year-old Guatemalan woman, the Bible in her purse, nicest lady you ever met, downstairs and doing laundry. Druggie roommate’s not home, but druggie roommate girlfriend is. Nobody knows this character better than Austin, I’ll tell you that. Because I’ve been walking around. This baked, freshly showered but still a little dirty Rosanna Arquette look-alike, eating Grape Nuts, cackling at the television, going, “Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.” She’s on the couch like she always is. We get a knock at the door. It’s Super Mario. The super from the building whose name was Mario. It’s the easiest nicknaming anyone’s ever done. Overalls, plumbing equipment, mustache. We’d be playing Nintendo, going, “He’s right there. This is so crazy.” So Super Mario knocks on the door and says, “Hey, man. Liam Neeson is down-” He was in on the nickname too. “Liam Neeson is down in the laundry room acting crazy, mumbling something about chocolates.” That’s when druggie roommate girlfriend Rosanna Arquette goes, “U h-oh. What about chocolates?” Turns out that they had a bowl of mushroom-infused chocolates on their dresser. So psychedelic mushrooms injected into the heart of, like, See’s candy wrapped in foil, like you’d see in somebody’s cubicle. Reese’s peanut butter cups, the miniatures. Like, “Go ahead. Take one.” Well, she did. She’s on two, tripping her balls off in a laundry room. I’m the only one capable of helping out, so I go down there, investigate. Look in the laundry room. Sure enough, 50-year-old Guatemalan woman holding a sock, laughing at the dryers. “Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!” Holy shit. This is happening. Okay. I say, “Leonicia, are you all right? Everything okay? Es bueno?” “Mr. Al, ha, ha, ha, ha. “I haven’t eaten anything all day except the chocolates. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!” Holy shit. Okay. So I gather her laundry and some lint animals she’s created, and I bring it upstairs. Rosanna Arquette, no help at all in this situation. First words out of her mouth, she goes, “Liam Neeson. You should go dancing.” “Come here for a second. Can I talk to you? “First of all, she doesn’t know her nickname is Liam Neeson. “Secondly, no one’s doing any dancing. “We’re lucky we don’t go to jail here. “This is a serious situation. “If you don’t have anything useful to suggest, you need to shut the fuck up.” So now I’ve got to explain to this woman that she’s on drugs for the first time in her entire life. I’m third-generation Mexican from San Francisco. I’m assimilation mission: accomplished. All right? But I’m working on speaking some better Spanish. My Spanish is shit, but I got CD’s and some tapes. You know, I’m listening, and I got something- program on the Internet that I’m doing. No Rosetta Stone will ever prepare you to tell a 50-year-old Guatemalan woman with laminated letters from the Corinthians in her purse that she’s about to take a solo trip to ‘shroomtown. But I do my best. And one of the side effects of listening to this many lessons is that I can’t help but sound like the guy in the tapes. So I say, “Leonicia, escuche. Los chocolates son drogas.“ [laughter applause] “Los chocolates son drogas?“ ”S I. Los chocolates son drogas.“ She reacts the same way you’d expect a 50-year-old Latina woman to act when she has found out she has taken mushrooms for the very first time in her entire life. She freaks the fuck out. “I don’t do the drogas! I don’t do the drogas! No drogas! No drogas!“ I think partially upset because she’s having a pretty good time on the drogas. You should have seen her in this laundry room. It was amazing. Calm her down, rub her back. Oprah’s on. Bring her a water. Rosanna Arquette fucks me up again. She goes, “You should get her a beer.” Before I can say anything, Liam Neeson pops her head up and says, “Yes, I would like a beer.” Oh, shit. Now she wants to party. And I say, “Sorry, ladies. “I just went to the refrigerator and got the water. “And while we have mushroom-infused chocolates on the menu today, we do not have any beers at the moment,” forgetting that she is a referral from other people in the apartment building. She holds up a big-ass set of keys and says, “I know who has beer.” Within seconds, I’m off on this mushroom-infused, Scooby-Doo, Goldilocks quest with these two idiots, looking for brewskis in other people’s apartments. She really does take us right to the beer in this old guy’s place. You know, an old guy you’d see in an apartment building you never talk to. You see him at the mailboxes, and you’re like, “Oh, there’s that fucking guy.” Right? I’m in his place, and she’s wanting to dish now on all of his stuff. She wants to tell me all about him. She says these words. She goes, “He has antique dolls on his bed, and sometimes when I’m cleaning, they look at me.” And I was like, “Well, fucking don’t go in there now.” That’s the last thing you want to see on mushrooms is some porcelain antique dolls. It really is number one on the things you don’t want to see on mushrooms. Second being taxidermied wolves, and number three, if you’re a Guatemalan lady doing mushrooms for the first time, a mirror. “Look at my face.” So we get the beers. We go back to my place. She never came back that day. I don’t know what happened to her. I do know that she had to go to a hair appointment over her pastor’s wife’s hair salon. She must have been fucking crazy. And I’m pretty sure that’s the title of a Tyler Perry movie. But she did leave us with this. We were holding hands at one moment right before she left. And she said, “Mr. Al, on Sunday, I was reading “the Bible to the children, and now I’m on the drogas.” [laughter applause] I was like, “Yeah, that’s pretty much how it fucking happens. “You got to watch out. Watch out for that stuff. Bad news.” [cheers and applause]

I do hate my neighbors. I’ve invested way too much in this little house. Bought it at the worst possible time. I live across the street from blue tarp guy. You ever see that house? Where it rained and they couldn’t afford to fix their roof, so they put a blue tarp over the problem area. Class it up with some bricks. It’s like somebody threw a 99¢ poncho on their house. It makes me crazy. I mean, because I find myself now scrutinizing all of his purchases, thinking he should be saving up for his roof. So you’ll see me looking through my blinds going, “Are those fucking new Adidas? That son of a bitch. Fix your roof, asshole.” Finally I snapped on him. He came over. He was like, “Hey, man. You see Smurfs on Blu-ray?” I’m like, “Did you fucking see Smurfs on Blu-ray? “Fix your roof, dickhead. “Save up. The only thing blue “you should be worried about is on your roof. Fix it.” It’s made me a crazy person. Really, this house is making me a lunatic. Because I’m worried about my property value and all the neighbors with the weeds, and it’s- it’s horrible.

I recently figured out how to combat everyone. And I’m going to pass on this advice to you. I was on the subway in New York, underground, between 14th and 23rd on an “F” train. And for those two stops, you get a cell phone signal. So I had looked at my phone. In about three minutes, I’m desperate to take a look. Whip it out. “Select a wireless network” comes up, the box. The wireless network that’s available to me on the subway underground is “lick_my_ass.” It’s amazing. It’s changed my life. Because it used to be if you wanted somebody to anonymously tell you to lick their ass, you had to go to a truck stop restroom and see “lick my ass” etched into the side of the toilet paper dispenser. A trucker worked on it overtime. There’s a little hairy ass with a tongue next to it. It’s a piece of art. Now with technology, you can send the signal of “lick my ass” by creating a mobile hotspot on your device to everyone in a two-block radius. Lick my ass. Lick my ass. Lick my ass. It’s an untraceable crime. I’m not going to walk around in a subway car going, “Lick my ass? Lick my ass? Lick my ass?” No. It’s genius. Why aren’t we all doing this? Do you have wireless at your house? You have a wireless network? What’s your wireless network called? – “AT&T. ” – “AT&T. ” “AT&T.” This fucking stupid lady. I’m sorry, but you got to change it. It’s a missed opportunity. We all live near creepy people. Don’t we? People you suspect of doing weird things. You’re like, “There’s that fucking guy again.” Just change your network name when you go home. Change it from “AT&T” to “I see what you do.” “They’re onto us!” I changed mine right away when I got home. I have one in the front and one in the back because I have this little detached garage where I have my office. And so in the front, my network name is now, “How many cars do two people need?” And my one in the back is, “Awful lot of vodka bottles in your recycling.” Just saying. I want to change and do this. This is what I’m gonna do. This is my new plan. I am going to get- $125 a month- I’m going to get a wireless tower in my backyard. I’m going to send out a signal to everybody in my entire neighborhood and provide free wireless for everyone. ” Ow! – Right? It’s gonna be open. It’s gonna be strong. There’s no boxes you have to click, nothing. But I’m gonna call that network, “Hulk Hogan’s nut sack,” just so I can make a large group of people think about Hulk Hogan’s disgusting nut sack. I’ve never seen it. I didn’t see the tape, but I assume that it’s gross. One’s bigger than the other. It’s like the tan-orange. Not-it’s like orangey-tan, but like a tan you’d see on a Nerf ball after it had been left out in the sun and chewed by a squirrel a little bit. And sun and rain, and sun and rain elements on a Nerf ball. You know what I’m talking about. That orange. It’s got long, blond hairs hanging off of it. They’re highlighted. It says, “Brother One,” and, “Brother Two.” That’s what his nut sack looks like in my mind. And you see what I did to you people. I made you all think about Hulk Hogan’s disgusting nut sack, and I can do that to a large group of people on a regular basis. And then what I’m gonna do is I’m gonna let it go for four hours strong. Just run it. And I’m gonna shut it down for 15 minutes. I’m gonna turn it back on, and then I’m gonna turn it off. Just so people in coffee shops in my neighborhood are gonna be going, “Excuse me, are you on Hulk Hogan’s nut sack? “Because I just got dropped by Hulk Hogan’s nut sack, and it’s usually such a strong signal.” I have something that I do right now. I do this. I send my daughter out on Halloween, which is coming up. And you can do this too if you have little kids. I have her communicate messages to the neighbors. So my daughter, at 3 1/2, she’ll say anything I want her to. And she goes up as Tinker Bell, dressed super cute, walks up to the door and says, “Trick or treat.” And they give her the candy. She says, “Thank you very much. When are you gonna do something about your fence?” And walks away. [applause] And I’m just at the bottom of the steps eating some Nerds. “That’s right.” That’s nice. – Whoo! [cheers and applause]

It’s an exciting time to be Latino. I got to tell you that. – [screams] [applause] – Latinos are everywhere. It’s pretty exciting. I mean, look. Eventually we will start voting and making a difference, but for now, I’ll just settle with us being everywhere. We really are. I went with my dad. We were in New York. He was visiting me at a show, and we were there at, like, a New York deli, restaurant, big diner thing. And my dad, he orders the enchiladas. I go, “What are you doing ordering the enchiladas? “You should get a Reuben, a pastrami, or matzo ball soup. What are you doing?” He goes, “Well, on my way to the bathroom, “I couldn’t help but pop my head in the kitchen. I feel pretty good about my order of the enchiladas.” He was right. They were delicious. There’s day laborers everywhere. I take advantage of that all the time. Have you guys ever done that, by round of applause? Anybody ever pick up a day laborer? You done that? [sparse applause] See, you guys haven’t done it? Don’t be intimidated by this. It’s easy to do. You wanna go to Home Depot. You also wanna go in the morning. You wanna get yourself a first-round draft pick. You don’t wanna show up in the afternoon when the “C” team’s out there. One-eye guy- “No, gracias. I prefer dos ojos on my day laborer, por favor.” So I show up in the morning. 30, 40 guys out there. I decide I’m gonna mess with ’em with my bad Spanish, try to make ’em laugh. So I roll down the window, and I say, “Quien es mas fuerte? Who’s the strongest?” And instead of laughing, they all started spontaneously flexing. So it turned into day laborer Mr. Olympia. “Hector. Hector es mas fuerte.“ Now I got to pick one. I just need one guy. So it becomes this weird Bachelor rose ceremony where I got to select my fella. And it really does become this day laborer dating game show. It’s like, “Contestant Number One. …He.s 5.2..’ but don’t let that fool ya. “He can strap a refrigerator on his back “like a 12-year-old puts on a summer school backpack. “Meet Enrique! [cheers and applause] “Contestant Number Two. “Not only does he praise the Lord Jesus, “his name’s Jesus! [cheers and applause] “Now let’s do some question and answer, shall we? “Contestant Number One, “do you feel that the regulatory reform “passed by Congress known as Dodd-Frank was too constricting, “or do you think that it was not restraining enough in banks known as ‘too big to fail’?” “I can do the plumbing.” “He can do the plumbing. “That was Enrique. Contestant Number Two, same question.” “Okay. “Well, first of all, the fact that any legislation “could get passed by this do-nothing Congress “is shocking in itself. “Secondly, it seems like every single month, “there’s a new CEO that’s retiring “with a golden parachute or an investment banker “that is bilking his clients out of millions of dollars. “Now, can we blame our government officials “for trying to curtail what is obviously “a major problem, or can we claim this “as a positive step in the right direction? “In conclusion, I’d like to add that I can also do the plumbing.” [cheers and applause] So me and Jesus go driving off, and it’s awkward. It’s first-date awkward. We want to be talking to each other, but we’re not. My Spanish is horrible. You’ve heard some of it. His English is nonexistent. Let’s be honest, he didn’t say any of that shit. So we’re driving 20 minutes in the car. I’m going from Home Depot to go to lkea to get one of the kitchens. You ever go to lkea, and you see the fully done kitchens? You’re like, “This is affordable, and it’s nice.” Don’t do it. If you have a difficult time assembling the bookcase, don’t ante up to the kitchen. Stakes are high. Even Jesus knew when he saw the building. He goes, Ikea es e! diablo. ” [laughter scattered applause] So we’re driving. No conversation is being had. You can tell we’re fun guys, but we’re just not talking. We need a miracle to bond over. That miracle happens. Spot an African-American woman at a bus stop with humongous boobs. Real nice ones, racism-ending boobs. Jesus sees the boobs. I see the boobs. Jesus turns to me and takes a chance. Says, “Amigo, te gusta chichis negra?” [laughter] Translation, “Hey, friend. You like black tits?” Oh, I know this. “Si, si. Me gusta chichis negra, Jesus, me gusta.“ Friendship forms. At that moment, I realize I have more in common with this day laborer than my two brothers and my wife. And we held on to that for the rest of the day. It was amazing what it did for our relationship. I’m not sure if anyone’s assembled a large amount of Ikea stuff at one time, but it’s one of the most horrible things I’ve ever done in my entire life. I was so frustrated at one point, I was ready to drive back to Ikea, kidnap anybody in a yellow and blue polo, take them hostage, do like this Baghdad-style videotape with an Allen wrench to their temple, saying, “Either this shit gets assembled “and aligned properly, or this guy gets it. “And throw in some of those meatballs ’cause Jesus is starving.” And no matter how frustrated I got- Shit would break as we were making it. If you don’t have a buddy to hold it in the right place- it’s made of press-board and glue. And my wife was on my back, and my contractor was on my back. And here I am fixing up this house that my son doesn’t even want in the first place. I’m in this neighborhood with this blue tarp guy. I don’t know if I’m gonna get my money back on this thing. I’m near a cholo waterfall. What am I doing? And I walked away at my ultimate moment of frustration, just not knowing how this job was going to get done, a tear brewing up from my eye. And I just- I didn’t know what to do. But my new friend Jesus knew exactly what to say. He stopped me, and he goes, “Amigo… Chichis negra.“ “Ah, right. Oh, you’re right. That totally works.” All right, thank you very much, everybody. [cheers and applause] [FisherGreen’s Sisters Brothers plays] II – I Put your hands together I I Stomp your feet on the floor I II I We’re gonna try it again I I Like they did before I II I Open up your mind I I Turn off that radio I II Ain’t sellin’ nothin’ here I I Just sharing a little bit of soul I II I Come on sisters, brothers I I We owe this to each other I I Yeah, come on brothers, sisters I I Sit back let that music hit ya I II I Let me see ya I I Let me let me see ya shake it loose I II I Don’t worry what that toots I I Thinkin’ next to you I II I Drop it like it’s hot I I Right down on the floor I II I When you think you’ve had enough I I Get up and get you some more I II I Put your hands together I I Stomp your feet on the floor I II I We’re gonna try it again like they did before I

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