Full transcript of Jim Gaffigan’s fifth Netflix original stand up special Cinco. In Cinco, Jim tackles all sorts of topics like being fat and loving it, Summer vs Winter, Siberia, Wisconsin, Getting tricked to move to the midwest, spring vs fall, Mary Had A Little Lamb, vacationing in Western Mass, hiking, SUV’s vs Trucks, TV Shows, Netflix, Cable, Flip Phones, morning people, okay costumes vs not ok costumes, Airport security, the fair, elevators, and so much more hilarious topics that is sure to make you laugh.
Aah! Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Aw, thank you. Lower your expectations. Thank you. Thank you. It would have been weird if you didn’t clap, I guess. If I walked out and you’re like, “Mm. Well, let’s see. Let’s see how fat this bastard got.” And the answer is, “Fatter.” I gave up a long time ago. Now it’s like it’s happening to someone else. “Oh, someone should do something. I feel like I’m witnessing a forest fire. I hope they can contain it. Change the channel.” This is real. This isn’t a prosthetic. I did it myself. It’s organic. I am a fat guy. There’s indications. I’ve caught myself unconsciously covering my stomach with my arm. That’s a total fat-guy move. Now I’m thin. Can’t see my belly. Fat, thin. Maybe I hope people will look at me and think, “Is he holding a baby? Oh, he’s thin and nurturing. What a fella.” I know these pants are tight. That’s a little gift for the ladies. And some of the fellas! Can’t control who I turn on at this point. These pants are tight, but after I wear them for a week, they’ll look fine. That’s my approach with clothing. Eventually the clothes go, “All right, I’ll adjust. You can get bigger pants or I could just stretch out. Whatever works for you, Jim.” By the way, this shirt, when it’s untucked, goes down to like here. It’s frightening. It’s so long. I look at it on my bed. I’m like, “Is that my shirt or a sleeping bag?” It’s huge! But then when I put it on, I’m like, “It’s a little tight. Where am I going, rollerblading?” But I don’t care. Did that sound believable? ‘Cause that’s our go-to, right? When there’s something we can’t control, we just act like we wouldn’t want it anyway. “I don’t care. Who’d wanna be thin? Who’d wanna look healthy and attractive?” Everyone. “Not me. I’d rather look like a marshmallow with a wig on.”
Oh, I have a new belt… ’cause my old belt looked like it was tortured on Game of Thrones. I don’t know what happened to it. I think it’s ’cause I don’t like to give up on the belt hole. I’m like, “We’re still good.” My poor belt was like, “I could have been a watch band for David Beckham.” But a belt for a fat guy serves a different purpose. A thin person wears a belt to hold up their pants. These pants aren’t going anywhere. A fat guy just wears a belt as a distraction. Distracting from the fact that this is all the same surface. It’s just a mini equator… separating the northern hemisphere from the southern blob. And the wider the belt, the greater the illusion. That’s just science. That’s why Santa Claus… Santa’s belt is like a conveyor belt. It’s not even holding up his pants. It’s keeping his jacket closed. And we’re leaving cookies out for that slob? Of course, Santa wears suspenders under his coat. Suspenders, the last stop for the fat guy. Because eventually the gut gets so big, the pants need to be suspended… like a bridge. The belt no longer fits across the equator. It must be buckled underneath. Instead of holding up the pants, it drags them down. ‘Cause every action has an equal opposite reaction, forcing one to choose between suspenders or a lifetime of plumber jokes. Sad.
Thank you for being here tonight, by the way. Okay. This is my fifth hour-special. I have one for each of my five children. So, hopefully, this is the last one. Yeah. It’s beautiful here. I hope you had a nice summer ’cause there’s pressure to enjoy summer. Right? I’m from the Midwest. It’s almost a panic. “Go out there. Have fun. Winter’s coming to kill us. Go! Get skin cancer now!” ‘Cause there’s an expectation of fun during summer. In winter, we discuss summer with such reverence. In January, you’d think we were talking about a family pet that passed away. “Remember summer? I miss summer. I have photos of summer. That’s when we were a happy family.” Summer’s presented as a vacation. It’s like a three-month vacation for nobody but children. And who doesn’t deserve a few months off after the rigors of kindergarten? I have five young children, during summer, they lounge around like they’ve just returned from fighting ISIS. “Third grade was a beast.” Summer vacation does kind of set up an adulthood of disappointment. That first job, you’re like, “I have to go to work in July? What is this, Russia?” There’s a strange pressure to travel during summer. “Going somewhere this summer?” “Why do I have to go somewhere?” “We lived here during the horrible weather. Now that it’s nice, we should go somewhere else.” It makes no sense. And winter is some horrible weather, right? We’re never ready for it. We’re never ready for the seasons to change. Even in October, we’re caught off guard. We’re like, “It’s getting cold. What is this, every year now?” We’re not angry. In February, people are angry about the weather. We wanna blame someone. We’re like, “It’s freezing. Obama! It’s that darn ObamaCare. No ObamaCare, it’d be 72 degrees out there.” There’s always a couple guys that don’t care about the cold, right? They’re like, “What is it, two degrees out there? That’s nothing. I went golfing. I’m wearing shorts ’cause I’m a dick.” Those are the people that go swimming outside on New Year’s Day. Don’t you secretly want them to die? Not all of them, but you watch the news like, “Not one fatality, huh?” But I should be used to it. I’m from the Midwest. All the memories of my childhood, it was always winter. It was winter when I was walking through slush past mounds of snow. When I was in high school, I saw a photograph of Siberia where Stalin would send Russian prisoners. It looked exactly like my hometown. “Is that my bike? That’s my bike!” I asked my dad, I was like, “Why do we live here? Why would you stay?” And he’s like, “Well, you know, these severe winters, they really make you appreciate summer.” It was at that point that I realized he was an alcoholic. “Oh, you’re just drunk all the time.” “It’s pretty warm for me always.” As a kid, I used to imagine people were tricked to move to the Midwest. They were on the East Coast in a covered wagon 200 years ago. Someone was like, “Whoa. Where you going?” “Oh, we’re going out West. We’re gonna go out West.” “West, huh? Have you thought of the Midwest?” “Midwest?” “Yeah. It’s like the West, but it’s closer. Tell you what. Do you like amber waves of grain?” “Uh, no. I have celiac disease.” “How about lakes? Everyone likes lakes. Lakes in the Midwest are good. In fact, there are Great Lakes. One of them’s Superior.” “Uh, I’m not going there.” But I do love the Midwest. Every Christmas, I go to Milwaukee. I love telling my friends in California that I go to Wisconsin in December. They’re like, “Oh, no, no. Don’t go there.” I’m like, “That’s where my wife’s family is from.” “You should get a new wife.” All I do in Wisconsin is eat cheese. I know it’s a cliché, but in Wisconsin it’s like they’re trying to get rid of it. “Oh, hey, you want some cheese?” “I just woke up.” “That’s a yeah, right?” Have you ever eaten so much cheese you think: “I may never use the bathroom again”? People on the East Coast think that’s weird. In the Midwest, that’s Monday. But it’s the weather. That’s why we eat the way we do, we’re just like: “Ah, it’s still winter. It’s summer, but I’m on a roll.” It’s not always winter. There’s spring. People love spring. That’s a fun day. What a lie spring is. Right? I spend the entire spring waiting for it to be spring. You’re like, “Is it spring?” “No, it’s snowing.” Next day. “Is it spring?” “No, it’s 90 degrees.” “I guess we missed those tiny white flowers.” Fall, people love fall. “It’s my favorite season.” It’s not a competition. “My favorite season that I’m voting for in America’s Next Top Season is fall.” People that love fall, they go crazy for the foliage. “The foliage! Let’s drive by the foliage. It’s so beautiful the way the leaves die. They’re so pretty right before they fall to their death.” We think it’s beautiful. It’s the leaves’ hospice. It also helps that the leaves can’t talk. If they could talk, they’d be like: “Get me chlorophyll! Why are these people driving by and smiling at me? You monsters!” We’re rather insensitive to the leaves’ tragedy. They die, they fall to the ground. We just rake them up. “Kids, you wanna jump on this pile of dead leaves? No? All right. I’ll just light them on fire.” The poor leaves, all they know is spring and summer. And then in October, they’re like, “Where is everyone going?” Early in November, you always see a couple of leaves hanging on. They’re like, “I’m gonna make it. I’m gonna make it through winter. Me and my buddy, Carl. Right, Carl? Carl?” The pine trees, they must resent the attention the leaves get. “Stupid leaves. Everyone’s driving by looking at the pretty leaves. I didn’t even bother get to know them. After a couple months, they’re dead. Come December, you’ll be climbing a ladder and sticking a star on my head.” “Why would a pine tree sound like it’s from Brooklyn? How many jokes about seasons does this guy have?”
Speaking of foliage, I have to tell you, last October, I was in western Massachusetts and they’re very proud of their foliage. They’re like, “You see our foliage?” “Uh, nice job. Good work doing nothing.” And I was with a friend and we drove by this schoolhouse, and my friend was like, “You see that schoolhouse? That’s the schoolhouse where they wrote, ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb.’” I was like, “Am I supposed to be impressed by that?” And he’s like, “Well, it is a national landmark.” And I’m like, “Are people going, ‘Come on, kids. Let’s go see where they wrote the worst song ever'”? But what I didn’t realize is that “Mary Had a Little Lamb,” in its day, was a huge hit. It was huge. It was like their “Uptown Funk.” Which makes you wonder what was going on in the 1830s. “Have you heard that song, ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb’? It’s the song of our generation. It’s so complex. It’s about this girl, Mary, who had a lamb that was little. The song explains it better. I’m not doing it justice.” My friend told me, “That song’s based on a true story.” I’m like, “Well, I hope so… ’cause that would be the worst made-up story ever.” How bad were the other songs of that era? “Johnny Has a Little Small Pox.” “We’ll All be Dead by 30.” And of course my favorite, “Why Does Everyone Smell Like Poo?” “Jim, don’t do that.”
I spent a couple weeks there, I stayed in this really nice, like, bed and breakfast. The woman that was running it, every morning she would ask me: “Are you gonna go hiking today?” And all I could think was, “Wow, this lady knows nothing about me.” Hiking not today or ever. I wouldn’t hike to escape the Nazis. Like, if I was in that movie, Sound of Music, and they’re like: “To avoid the Nazis, head over those mountains.” I would have been, “Mountains? Isn’t there a basement I could hide in? I mean, like a finished basement, you know. One with, like, a keg and an NFL season pass, know what I’m talking about?” I’ve been hiking. The first thing you notice when you go hiking is it’s a mistake. “Oh, we’re not walking anywhere in particular. There’s nothing at the end of this trail. There’s no bar or restaurant. Not even a vending machine. We’re just idiots.” There’s always a moment when you go hiking when you realize, “Oh, no. Now we have to walk back. There’s no exit through the gift shop.” I wanna like hiking. It’s like horseback riding. You wanna like it, then you get on a horse, you’re like, “That’s right. I’m not a 12-year-old girl. Get me off this poor animal.” But hiking is huge. It’s huge. There’s hiking clothing. There’s clothing for walking outside. I thought all clothing was for walking outside. There’s whole parts of the country. The entire Pacific Northwest, everyone’s dressed like there could be an impromptu hike at a moment’s notice. “Well, I’m going for a coffee, but you never know when a hike might break out. So, I’ll put on some sturdy shoes and a breathable fleece.” That joke was brought to you by Patagonia. We usually… We usually hike with a friend, right? And pretend you’re in a Viagra commercial? “How is your erectile dysfunction?” There’s always that solo hiker that looks like they just got rid of a body. “Is that guy with someone? Why is he carrying a garbage bag? Is that Dexter? Why’d you ask me to walk in the woods?” But it’s not just walking. Hiking involves an unnecessary amount of climbing. “You wanna climb up here?” No, I don’t wanna climb up there. I’m an adult. I have a driver’s license. I don’t like climbing.
I don’t like climbing into an SUV. You know that final step up, I’m always like, “Is this worth it? Why can’t you have a normal car? What are we, going on a safari? I better see a damn elephant if I’m climbing into your gas guzzler.” But once you get in an SUV, you’re always like, “Oh, yeah. Let’s invade Iraq. Out of my way.” ‘Cause everyone turns into a jerk in an SUV like, “I don’t need a blinker.” Remember 15 years ago when they were like, “Stop buying SUVs, everyone. They’re wasteful and bad for the environment.” And we were like, “Okay. I’d like to buy an SUV.” “No, I have a reason.” “I don’t care.” I don’t own an SUV. I don’t even own a car ’cause I’m a good person. No. I live in New York City and I have five kids, so I just have them carry me around. I know nothing about cars. I come from a car family. My dad loved cars. My brothers loved cars. They talk about cars. They go to car shows. My brothers pay to look at cars they will never drive. And I thought strip clubs were weird. Most of the accessories are wasted. I mean, I’ve never used cruise control. The heated seats, I always feel like I just wet myself. “Oh, this is nice. Can we swing by the emergency room? I think this is also a symptom of a stroke.” When I go home to Indiana, I always rent a car. My brother Mitch is like, “What kind of car you renting?” I’m like, “It’s blue.” “Is that four or six cylinders?” “Blue.” I do know that the most manly form of transportation is a pickup truck ’cause my brother Mike has a pickup truck and he’s a real man. And at this point, pickup truck commercials give me anxiety. They’re all like, “You can tow one ton. You can tow two tons. You can tow an aircraft carrier.” Why? Why would you need that? I only see you going to Cracker Barrel. But people that drive pickups, they wanna be associated with the work ethic. And based on that, I should drive a bread truck. I was with my brother in a plant nursery, I was like: “If I buy a small tree, can I put it in the back of your truck?” And he’s like, “No. You’ll get the bed dirty.” And I realized something. Everyone I know who owns a pickup truck is not picking anything up. It’s like walking around with a big, empty suitcase. “Are you going on a trip?” “No, but I’m the type of guy who would.” “Ram tough. Ram tough.”
Thank you to everyone who watched The Jim Gaffigan Show, by the way. I appreciate it. And if you didn’t watch, that just means you’re a jerk. But, no, but thank you if you did watch, ’cause there are so many television shows and episodes of television shows we could and should be watching. It’s amazing any of us are here right now. It’s kind of overwhelming, DVR, on-demand. Sometimes I open my Netflix, I’m like, “I don’t think I can do it. I’m not even gonna make a dent here.” And I know there’s pressure. We all feel it, ’cause we developed excuses for our friends, like we’re dealing with debt collectors. “You watch Game of Thrones?” “I’m a little behind. Give me a week. My wife had a dumb baby.” And it’s never-ending. “You finished that show? Now you have to watch this show and then–” “No, now I need to learn how to read again. I need to sound out some words and see if I can read.” Have you read a physical book lately? Not on a tablet or a laptop, an actual book? You feel like you’re Abe Lincoln. “Oh, it’s made of wood. Hope it doesn’t catch on fire. When does this have to be back at the museum?” ‘Cause we’re all binge-watching. When they first introduced the idea of binge-watching, I was like, “How pathetic. I’m just gonna watch an episode or two. I haven’t showered in a week? I’m a grandfather? I missed my own funeral?” I binge-watch shows I don’t even like. “This is pretty bad. I guess I’ll watch five more episodes.” I watched every episode of True Blood and I’m not even gay. Some of you are like, “Jim, watching True Blood doesn’t mean you’re gay.” That’s ’cause you’re gay. It’s the number one cause of gayness. My friends don’t understand. “When do you watch? You have five kids.” I ignore them. I can’t go to that recital. I’m re-watching West Wing. It’s embarrassing how I consume television. There are nights when I’ve told myself: “All right. One more season… then I’m going to bed. I mean, come on.” It’s hard to stop. You see the ending. You want the accomplishment. Right? “Oh, you ran a 10K? Yeah, I finished Mad Men. I did it. I’m a little sore, but I did it. I’m a television athlete. I’m a telathlete.” It’s strange when you get done watching an entire series. You don’t know what to do with yourself. “I haven’t been this lost since the ending of Lost. Should I go to a bar? I don’t know if I remember how to talk to people.” And starting a new show, that’s kind of like a blind date. Right? “Well, my friend said you were great. I’m free tonight, so… I think I’m ready to put myself back out there.” ‘Cause we have relationships with these television shows. You ever break up with a show? You watch a bunch of episodes and then you’re like, “It’s over. I don’t even know you anymore. I gave up the best nights of my life.” Netflix. They won’t let you forget your mistakes. They keep them in your queue. “Remember this relationship?” “I was drunk. I was on the rebound.” They’ll make suggestions, “Since you enjoyed True Blood, here’s some other gay shows.” “Maybe I would like The L Word, I don’t know.” Netflix has definitely made watching television with commercials kind of painful. Takes forever. You’re like, “What am I, growing my own food here? All right, Geico, we get it!” And it’s not just the length or the number of the commercials, it’s what the commercials say about the typical viewer of the show you’re watching. “Catheter? Why would–? Reverse mortgage? Back pain? I do have back pain. You know me so well, television show.” I watch a lot of cable news ’cause I enjoy being depressed. That’s the only reason to watch. After five minutes, they repeat the same stories. “Remember that horrible thing? Wait till we show you 20 more times. You won’t be able to sleep.” I think it’s interesting how all the cable newscasters are very attractive. They’re very attractive and they’re dressed up. I don’t know why. You know, you’re talking about a hurricane. What’s with the evening gown? But we all kind of watch like, “Thanks for showing some leg.” Cable newscasters are so attractive. When they interview a regular person, it’s visually distracting. Like, “Is that a bad guy? Or a victim? I know they’re a loser in this scenario, but…” But the newscasters, those are our town gossips. Right? That’s what newscasters are. Town gossips. “You’re not gonna believe what happened to this person you’ve never met before. Isn’t that sad? By the way, there’s some weird stuff going on in England. I have a friend, John, over there. John, why don’t you tell them about it? Thanks, John. Isn’t that horrible? By the way, it’s gonna rain tomorrow. I’m, like, 99 percent positive it’s gonna rain, and that’s sad.” Most of my friends under the age of 30 don’t even have cable. I’m like, “Where do you send your $500 a month?” It’s getting to be embarrassing to have cable. Right? “You have cable?” “I’m getting rid of it… when I die.” Technology is moving so fast. There’s times when you feel like you’re on top of it and then there’s times when you feel like that friend with the flip phone. We all have the friend or relative with the flip phone. You’re like, “Where’d you get that? Do you use that to call the past? What character were you on Breaking Bad?” But there’s definitely moments when I’m the person with a flip phone. Like, I have a landline. Some of you are like, “What’s a landline?” No one wants to admit they have a landline. It’s like discovering you’re still paying for AOL. Here’s how I justify having a landline. I’m like, “Well, I need a landline in case all the cell towers go out and then I could call no one.” Our landline will ring, our landline will ring, my wife and I, we won’t even move to answer it. “Well, it’s obviously not for us. No one we know has that number.” It’s like paying a stranger 10 bucks a month to interrupt dinner. By the way, I know nobody’s phone number. I don’t even know my own wife’s phone number. If I was arrested and allowed one call, I’d be like, “I don’t know, 911.” I do miss slamming down the landline when I was angry. You know, like, “You can go to hell.” You can’t do that with a cell phone. “You can go to hell.” Ugh. Don’t want that to fall in the toilet.
Woke up today at 7 a.m. Got out of bed around 1:30. ‘Cause I need a good reason to get out of bed, like fire. That won’t even get me out of bed. One time I was in a hotel, the fire alarm went off. I didn’t even get out of bed. I was like, “That’s a test. I’d bet my life that’s a test.” I don’t understand the morning people. “Even on my day off, I’ll get up at 6.” We should be able to hit these people. I’m jealous. Yes. Hatred. Applaud hatred. But in reality, I’m jealous. I mean, you have to understand, my role models were the grandparents in that movie Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. I remember watching that movie as a kid and seeing the scene with the grandparents in bed and thinking: “I like these people. I like what they’re all about.” They were in bed full-time. What if we did this till we die? They weren’t even watching television. They were looking at the other grandparents. “How’s your bed?” “It’s good. It’s good. It’s the same as your bed.” They were so in the bed. They lived in poverty. Their grandson got a golden ticket where he could win an entire chocolate factory and only one of the grandparents got out of bed. The other three were like, “Good luck, Charlie. You win the factory and make me a chocolate bed.” Typically, I have to get up early ’cause I have young children and they wanna experience things like life. “What are we doing today?” “Well, I was hoping to nap.” “Can we go outside?” “It’s closed.”
During the summer, I tour with my kids and we’ll do, like, a kid activity during the day and then I’ll do a show at night, and usually the kid activity’s like a zoo or a park. When we were in Erie, Pennsylvania, we went on a pirate boat ride, which was pretty authentic, ’cause when I think of Lake Erie, I think of all them pirates storming the shores of western Pennsylvania. There were like 50 kids and they were all dressed like pirates. I felt like I was at a children’s Jimmy Buffet concert. And I tell you, those kids were having the time of their lives. Kids love to dress like pirates. The murderers and rapists that pirates were. And we think it’s adorable. “It’s so cute. He looks just like one of those sociopaths who terrorized the Caribbean.” We let our kids dress like murderers. Darth Vader, that genocidal lunatic. It’s fun. The devil. It’s cute. Hitler. No. No parent wants to explain that one. “Why is your boy dressed like Hitler?” “He’s fascinated with the Third Reich. He gets it from his father. His father’s man cave is all Hitler swag.”
Summertime we went to a bunch of fairs. It’s amazing how your perspective on fairs changes. ‘Cause as a kid, you’re like, “The fair! There’s a fair!” As an adult, you’re like, “That looks dangerous. Are they cooking in that truck?” We used to go to the fair to see the biggest pig in the county. Now we go to the fair to be the biggest pig in the county. Some of that food at fairs, it’s ridiculous. Deep-fried Oreos, okay. Deep-fried Twinkies, maybe. Deep-fried butter, no. “You know how occasionally you’ll eat a stick of butter? What if we deep-fried it?” No. It’s wrong. I mean, it’s delicious… but it’s wrong. There’s no health inspector. That’s why they do that. Everything at the fair is very temporary. Meaning, when the cops come, they can leave. Some of those rides don’t look safe. I’ll just let my kids go first. No sense in us all dying. But you never wanna be judgmental at the fair. You’re always like, “You know what, I’m sure this ride’s fine. You know? I’m sure. I’m sure the guy running the ride, he’s probably a structural engineer. We don’t know. That’s probably how he lost his arm, you know?” ‘Cause inherently we’re trusting.
We’re very trusting of elevators. We’re like, “What is this, a casket on a string? Let’s hop on. I don’t know how it works, but if it shakes, we’ll giggle.” We giggle ’cause we realize no one’s driving the elevator. We’re like, “We’re all gonna die.” So, we press one of these buttons or climb through the trap door in the ceiling that leads to every Bruce Willis movie. What do we do? We also giggle ’cause there’s no talking on an elevator, right? You get on an empty elevator, you and a friend, and you’re like, “I’ll tell you later.” It’s like a den of awkwardness. You just stand there like: “Are we supposed to kiss? What are we doing?” It’s very strange. Not as awkward as a stairwell. You ever been in an abandoned stairwell by yourself and you encounter strangers coming the other way? There’s always that moment where you meet eyes, you’re like: “If you don’t rape me, I won’t rape you.” “What are you doing–?” “What am I doing in–? Are we in an episode of Law & Order?” But we volunteer for these awkward situations. Sometimes we pay to participate. Like water parks. Those are fun, but there’s always that moment you’re like: “Is this a meeting of people I don’t wanna see in swimsuits?” ‘Cause there are people walking around water parks with that confidence that they shouldn’t have. And you almost admire it. You’re like, “You go… away from me.” You try and figure it out. You’re like: “Is it the fumes from the toxic chemicals combined with the children’s urine? What gives you that swagger that would make Beyoncé blush?” But you don’t wanna be judgmental. You’re like, “You know what? They’re there for their kids. I’m here for my kids and compared to them, I look like Magic Mike.” So, God bless them. My 3-year-old didn’t get me a birthday present this year. Yeah. And I’ve known him for a couple years. So, I’m not talking to him. Presents are interesting. I don’t really need or want anything. I mean, my life is pretty chaotic. I have five kids. You know? I have friends that love stuff. I have a friend who has a drawer of watches. I have another friend who has five cars. And whenever I’m with these people, I realize, I’m just simple. All I need is a nice bed and a private jet, you know? Now, I have the bed. All I need is the jet. And it could be a used jet. I’m not a snob, you know? I mean, I don’t want a prop plane. I’m not trash. Just a regular old private jet to take a regular old guy to a regular old private island away from his kids.
You know? I’m just salt of the earth. I’m an everyman— That’s ridiculous. This year has flown by. I don’t wanna brag, but I’ve kept my New Year’s resolution. I’ve done it. I’ve had pasta every day this year. Thank you. I tell you. It wasn’t easy. It wasn’t easy. – There were some nights when I was like, “Oh, my gosh. -30. I haven’t eaten pasta. I have to wake my wife up and have her make me some.” You know? But I do it ’cause it’s about personal accountability. By the way, if you believe I would wake my wife up, you’re drunk. All right? ‘Cause I’m afraid of her, all right? But I like being married to a strong woman. I do. I’m sure there are men in the audience looking at their wives: “Honey, do you want me to clap or, you know, do you like what he’s saying? ‘Cause I’m on your side. I just don’t wanna talk about it later on.” I do like being married to a strong, decisive woman. But you know what? I’m in charge of the remote control. That’s where I draw the line, all right? I’m in charge of the remote ’cause I’m the man. I mean, she picks all the shows we watch, but I get to hold the remote. ‘Cause that’s the kind of puppet dictator that I am. Being in charge of the remote control is a no-win situation anyway. The person you’re watching with is never satisfied. They’re like, “Turn it up. I can’t hear it.” Then you turn it up and the commercial comes on. “Turn it down. What’s wrong with your hearing?” I’m always in trouble when we watch television. “Stop crinkling that bag.” Once I got in trouble for sneezing. “Why would you do that?” “I think it’s involuntary.” “Well, now I didn’t hear what that guy said.” “All right. I’ll rewind it. Oh, now it’s starting the whole episode over. Here, you should be in charge of the remote. I’m gonna go back to hiding in the bathroom. ‘Cause I’m a man!” I do love her. She can be demanding. Like, unrealistic demands. Like, she wants me to lose weight.
I have no expectation of losing weight. Some of it is, I used to have all these jokes on doughnuts, and now sometimes when I do shows out of town, people will give me boxes of doughnuts, which makes me think I gotta start doing jokes about private jets. I do a show and someone will give me a box of doughnuts, or I’ll get to my hotel room and in my hotel room there’s a box of doughnuts. And I always look at the doughnuts like, I’m not not gonna eat those. I mean, those were a gift. What would Jesus do? He’d eat the doughnuts. But it’s always a box, a dozen. A dozen doughnuts. I’m by myself. I’m typically in the city for one night. What kind of monster pig do I come across as? “How many doughnuts should we get him?” “Enough for a Baptist church. Whatever would feed an entire Little League team, that will cover that tub of turds for a couple hours.” I don’t know what to do with all the doughnuts. You know, I’ll eat two. All right, I’ll eat four. But I don’t know what to do with the rest of them. What do I, put them in my rolly luggage? I did that once. I’m not proud of it. We’ve all done things we’re not proud of. You’re like, “This is kind of pathetic, but here goes. Zip, zip, zip. Off to the airport we go.” Of course, that was the time I got the random search at the airport. I made it through the metal detector. This nice TSA guy was like, “Sorry, sir. Random search of your bag.” And I was like– What I wanted to say is, “I have drugs in my butt.” ‘Cause a cavity search at that moment seemed less humiliating… than revealing the true contents of my luggage. But I had to do it. So, the TSA guy unzipped the bag. And it was one of those flat boxes of doughnuts. You know, like Krispy Kreme. So, it took up the entire rolly bag. It looked like I was smuggling doughnuts. And the TSA guy just looked at me like, “Wow.” “They sell those here. There was a Dunkin’ Donuts two gates away.” There was such compassion in his eyes. “You got a problem.” And I couldn’t say anything. I couldn’t be like, “Those aren’t mine. Some guy gave them to me. Some guy named Al. Al Qaeda. He gave them to me.” I had to act all casual. “Those are my doughnuts. I travel with doughnuts. I’m trying to get diabetes. Why don’t you leave me alone?” And since it was a random search, the actual box of doughnuts had to be opened. And because I was wheeling through the airport, all the doughnuts were crammed and smushed to one end. It looked like I had rummaged through a Dumpster outside of a doughnut shop. “Oh, this one’s still good. Just get these rocks and sticks off here. That’s a perfectly good powdered sugar– No, actually, Ajax’s on that one.” The TSA guy just looked at me like, “You can go. It’s probably your last flight anyway.”
I travel a lot. I’m constantly going through security. Always behind that person that’s never left their house before. They always wanna ask me questions like, “Can I bring soup on the plane? It’s homemade soup.” I’m like, “You should ask them.” “For an ID, can I use a fishing license?” “You should–” “Should I take off my shoes and my pants?” “Yes, you should.” Airport security is annoying. It’s nothing compared to international travel, like going through customs and immigration. That’s so intense. They’re dressed like SWAT team members. I always get so nervous. I’m like, “Do I have heroin on me? I don’t even know what heroin looks like. But I might have accidentally packed some.” There’s that mini interview with the customs agent. “What do you plan to do in our country?” “Murder people. You got me, I wasn’t ready for your trick questions.” I always feel like an idiot when I travel internationally. Some of it is, I don’t know the metric system. It’s not like I wasn’t exposed to it. When I was growing up, they’re like, “Learn the metric system. Everyone learn the metric system. Big switch coming up.” Then ten years later, they’re like, “Never mind. It’s too hard. It’s based on tens. Let’s go buy an SUV.” So, now I can’t ask a distance when I visit another country. I’m like, “How far is that?” They’re like, “That’s 500 kilometers.” “I’m not in the Olympics. This isn’t a James Bond film. What’s it in normal speak?” I don’t speak any other languages. I have friends that speak Spanish and French and Portuguese. I don’t care. I speak English, the language Jesus spoke. At least he did in the movie I watched. I always love doing that joke. There’s always a couple faces in the audience like, “Don’t say that.” ‘Cause you travel internationally. You realize some people don’t like Americans. I mean, the Canadians like us and the Israelis like us. The Australians like Americans so much, it makes you question their judgment. You should read some of our history. But I get a kick out of what Europeans don’t like about Americans. They’re always like, “You Americans are dumb. You know nothing about Europe.” It’s not that we’re dumb. We’re just not that interested. Sorry I don’t wanna learn more about your windmill country. “He’s gonna get a wooden shoe in his ass.” First time I did that joke, the whole front row was Dutch people. And they didn’t care. They did– I don’t know. They have no emotion. It doesn’t matter. “He’s the most anti-Dutch comedian ever.” Obviously, I love traveling internationally. The only negative, too many foreigners. Right? The weird thing is, you travel around the world and you realize pretty quickly, people are the same wherever you go. Wherever you go, there are good people and there are Russians. See, the reason that’s funny is ’cause we were all raised with this bigotry towards Russians. I have a friend. He was born in Russia. He moved here when he was 3 and I still think he might be a spy. We don’t know. Best is when you’re visiting a country and someone thinks you’re a native. I was waiting for a cab in Stockholm and this Swedish lady turned to me and she was like, “Björn Borg. Björn Borg.” That’s not what she said. That’s what I heard. But I knew in that moment that once this lady found out I was American, she was gonna be disappointed. So, I just decided that I was not gonna speak any language she spoke. She was like, “Björn Borg. Björn Borg.” And I was like: She was like– And I was like– She was like, “Do you speak English?” I was like: That woman is now my wife. “It’s just like The Notebook.” “What?” Still there.
I wouldn’t mind being in shape. You know who was in really good shape was Jesus. Nothing like the topic of Jesus to take the air right out of the show. That’s what he would have wanted. “When you bring up my name, I want people to be really uncomfortable.” It’s not just the Christians. Everyone’s like, “Too soon.” “It was only 2000 years ago. Let it breathe, buddy.” But Jesus was in amazing shape, which is especially impressive, considering he could multiply bread whenever he wanted. “Boom, pretzel bread.” The Bible doesn’t specify what type of bread he multiplied. I imagine it was pretzel bread. “Boom, pretzel bread. Boom, garlic knots.” That’s why he had all those followers. “Come on, maybe he’ll make some focaccia bread.” This is how people walked in biblical times. They were really into that Beyoncé “Formation” video. Alaba– “How many Beyoncé references is he gonna have?” But who knows? Maybe Jesus could multiply the bread, but he had no control over what type of bread it was. He was like, “You want some bread? Boom, pumpernickel. I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night. Still free bread, everyone. Let me try this again. Boom, melba toast. That’s never happened before. That’s the big guy playing a trick on moi.” Of course, Jesus was multiplying the bread to illustrate a point. He was like, “I can give you bread that can feed you, but I can also give you bread that can feed your soul.” But you know everyone was like, “Yeah. I’ll just take the food bread. I prefer the food bread to the soul food bread… unless that’s what you call corn bread… ’cause I love–” “Can you make pizza? I love pizza.” I realize religion jokes make some people uncomfortable, especially the ones that are going to hell. “Don’t you dare. Get back to your regular food jokes.”
This is the point in the show where I usually think about what I’m gonna eat afterwards. I typically get a steak ’cause I’m a man. And I tell you, if eating steak is manly, it is the only manly attribute I have. I know nothing about cars. I’m not handy. I can’t fix things. Something breaks in our apartment, I just look at my wife like: “We should call someone.” I don’t even call. My wife calls. Some stranger comes over, I just kind of watch him work. I’m like: “You want some brownies or something? My wife could make us some brownies. I don’t know how to work the stove.” Sometimes I try and act like I have something more important to do. I’m like, “Yeah. I’m gonna be over here working on my diarrhea jokes… in case you wanna talk sports or steak or something.” I don’t know why steak is considered manly. I guess it hearkens back to when a man would hunt the animal. They kill the animal and then they eat the animal. But now we just eat the animal. And it’s not as if hunting a cow was ever that hard. “Today, fellas, we are gonna hunt ourselves the elusive cow. Oh, there’s one right here. All right. How do you get the milk shakes out of that thing?” But I do love steak. I order steaks from Omaha Steaks. Do you buy your meat online? That’s not a sign of a problem. Just type it in. A Styrofoam cooler shows up. The same kind of cooler they’re gonna deliver my replacement heart in. There’s always a neighbor walking by when I get a delivery, like: “Jim got another box of meat. I imagine that apartment will be free in a little bit.” Whenever I eat steak at home, I always use A.1. Steak Sauce. Everyone has that same thin bottle of A.1. that feels empty right before it floods your steak. Everyone’s had the same bottle of A.1. since 1989. I was looking at the ingredients, “Magic. Magic and prunes.” But I love steak. I love going to a steakhouse, one of those old-fashioned steakhouses. You go in there, it’s dimly lit. The waiters are no-nonsense. “You’re getting a steak, son. You want a steak, right?” “Yes, ma’am. I want a steak.” Have you been to one of those steakhouses where they show you the raw cuts of meat? They just kind of thrust them at the table. “You can get this one or this one.” And men, we’re so visual. “Throw it. Throw it in my mouth area. Me likey meaty.” They show you a vegetable like you’ve never seen one. “This is a potato.” “That’s a potato.” But vegetables in the steakhouse, they don’t come with the steak. They’re à la carte, like leg room on Southwest. They’re not even called vegetables. They’re called side dishes. ‘Cause what they do to vegetables in steakhouses, they’re no longer vegetables. “You can get our spinach that we cooked in ice cream. There’s also our house specialty, which is a baked potato stuffed with 20 sticks of butter. If you’re on a diet, we can do it with 19 sticks.” But I love steak. When I die, I wanna be buried in a steakhouse. Well, not buried. Just my casket on display. People in steakhouses, they wouldn’t even care. “What’s the deal with the casket?” “That was a comedian, his one wish–” “Yeah, I’ll have a rib eye.” “Coming right up, Mrs. Gaffigan.”
I do love steak, but it is rather barbaric. Right? I mean, we’re eating a part of a cow and I love animals. And I love animal lovers. My favorite are the people that carry around the dog in a bag. Whenever I see that, I always think, “What an adorable way to let us know you’re crazy.” ‘Cause they’re crazy. They’re carrying around an animal that can walk in a bag. They’re not going to the vet. They’re shopping. That’s okay. But if I carry around a canned ham, I’m a weirdo? It would be one thing if the dog looked happy, but the dog always has a look on his face: “Can you believe I’m sitting in a purse? I was part of Mexican royalty.” But I get it. I love dogs. And I think it’s cute when people dress their dogs up. But how do you have your dog in a jacket and walk by a homeless person? “Sorry. I’d help, but I spent all my money on a coat for my animal that’s born with a coat.” I love cats. Some people don’t like cats. Our neighbor has a cat and she lives in a studio apartment, or as I refer to it, a litter box. One time she asked me, she was like, “Can you tell I have a cat?” I was like, “No, but I can tell you have a box of turds in your apartment. I’m not sure if that’s the same question.” We all have the friend with the cat, right? In a small place. You visit them, the cat does their business. You don’t really acknowledge it. You go on with the conversation. “What do you want on your pizza?” “Bleach. Febreze. Can we open a window or knock down a wall?” “Are my eyes bleeding? How about we throw a diaper on the kitty?” But I get it, ’cause I love animals. I think being around animals, there’s a healing quality. But I also think we give animals too much credit. Like, a dog is man’s best friend? I’ve never seen a dog help someone move. Yes, horses are graceful and elegant until you see them poop standing up. Dolphins are smart. Learn English like Jesus did.
For the record, I would never eat a dolphin ’cause I don’t like fish. And I know I’ll get tweets where people will say, “Dolphins are mammals.” And those are the people I block. ‘Cause that’s how I deal with criticism. I wish I liked fish. I wish I was the person in the restaurant: “You know, I don’t go out to dinner that often, but instead of getting a delicious steak, I’ll get the fish ’cause I like disgusting food.” ‘Cause fish is disgusting. How bored are you with eating if you’re ordering the fish? You know, “Just bring me something gross. I like to waste money.” Who’s the first person to walk into a harbor and go: “Hey, whatever reeks in here, let’s eat that.” Fish don’t even like fish. That’s why they’re always frowning. They’re like: “Mmm. What’s that smell? Oh, it’s me. I’m a fish.” What’s the best compliment you can give fish? It’s to say that it’s not fishy. Isn’t fish supposed to be fishy? “Get the hamburger. It’s not burger-y.” Fishy is an indication something’s wrong. “Something fishy going on here?” “No, everything’s burger-y.” I’m Catholic. Every Friday during Lent, we eat fish, which is supposed to symbolize the suffering of Jesus on the cross. What? Which means at one point, someone was like: “How should we honor the sacrifice of Jesus?” The other guy is like, “We could fast. We could starve ourselves.” “No, that’s too easy. What if we ate fish?” The other guy was like, “I’d rather be crucified.” It’s a true story. It’s in the Bible. Fish? Some cultures, they eat fish for breakfast. “Good morning. Here’s some fish. It matches your breath.” I’m not even hungry in the morning. Granted, ’cause I ate a couple hours earlier. But fish? I was in Iceland. Went down to breakfast. At the beginning of the buffet, there was a bottle of fish oil and 12 shot glasses. They’re drinking fish for breakfast. I don’t know when you’re supposed to drink fish, but maybe not when you wake up. “Do you want the orange juice, the grapefruit juice or the fish juice?” The best news that ever happened to grapefruit juice. “Finally, I’m not the worst thing on the planet.” Fish. I was in Israel. Israel. Went down to breakfast. The entire breakfast buffet in Israel was fish, different types of disgusting fish.
I know it’s always comforting when a pale, blond guy is criticizing Israel. “This is gonna go well. Grab your iPhone.” It’s this look. It’s not easy looking like Hitler’s wet dream, all right? This is not a good look. This is not the look you want for the tour of the Holocaust Museum. I’ve been to the Holocaust Museum in D.C. I think everyone should go. I just suggest you don’t look like me. I was walking around. People were like, “He did it. That’s the guy from the photo. He’s not in Argentina. He’s right here. Get him!” Actually, I’m too pale for Hitler. Right? Hitler would have been like, “I said Aryan, not snowman. I mean, meet me halfway, people.” By the way, that’s how Hitler sounded. I’m a very pale white guy. I have yet to be the victim of any type of discrimination. I’ve been the victim of someone assuming I’d enjoy a racist joke. Have you ever had that? You’re like, “Why would you think I’d wanna hear that?” “He looks like he’d enjoy a little hatred. Maybe this bigotry will brighten his day. If anyone would have a problem with pigmentation it’d be the pale fella.” I know what I look like. I’m not saying I don’t forget. You ever forget what you look like and then you walk in front of a mirror and you’re like, “Oh, no. When did that happen?” ‘Cause during the day you’re like, “I’m Brad Pitt. I’m John Goodman?” “What’s wrong with John Goodman?”
But it’s not that bad. It’s easier to be a guy anyway. I mean, there’s sexism. But just the day-to-day life of being a woman. Honestly, it looks too hard. Just hair, what some women have to deal with, cut and color and goos and potions. What do most guys have to deal with with their hair? Not having a mullet. That’s all a guy has to do is not have a mullet. A-plus. And there are still some guys that can’t pull that off. “They’re not talking about my mullet?” “No, you’ve got a good mullet.” It’s easier to be a guy. Makeup. Some women wear makeup. Most guys don’t change their pants ’cause their belt’s in there. “Are these jeans dirty?” “Is there a belt in there? Ask me in 2019.” And I’m not saying women are doing any of these things to please or impress a man, but some of it’s self-inflicted, like the eyebrow thing. I mean, that’s on you, ladies. There’s not a person on this planet that’s going: “I’m looking for someone who’s removed 90 percent of their eyebrow hair.” I don’t even know what some of these ladies are going for. It’s like, “I wanna look constantly surprised… like I’m about to eat a baby.” But it’s a man’s world. I don’t have a joke for that. I just wanna remind the ladies. I’m kidding.
The weird thing is, if you have little kids, if you have little boys and little girls, you would never think it would ever be a man’s world ’cause if you put a 3-year-old boy next to a 3-year-old girl and you had to pick who was gonna be in charge in the future, you wouldn’t be like, “The boy, the one chewing on the table.” ‘Cause little boys are savages. I have three little boys. Each of them has head-butted me for no reason at all. “Well, we are in church. Okay.” It’s different. When you have a daughter, you have thoughts like: “Maybe I should save for med school.” When you have a son, you’re like, “There’s gonna be a few rounds of rehab. That’s okay.” I have three boys, two girls. I have enough kids, where even Mormons are like, “You should settle down.” I travel with my kids. My two youngest are 3- and 5-year-old boys. And traveling with boys that age is like transferring serial killers between prisons. We’ve seen the movie. You know it doesn’t work out. My 3-year-old, I love him, but he’s eternally in a bad mood. He always has a look on his face like he’s gonna shiv you with a crayon. Or he’s pooping. And sometimes it’s both. And our 5-year-old, he’s an escape artist. He’s the El Chapo of children. You just put him down and he runs. And then I have to pay my 12-year-old to go get him. Sometimes she can’t find him and I’m forced to stand up… and look for my own child. Sometimes I can’t find him. I mean, you always find the kid. The joke doesn’t end with, “Now I got four kids,” you know? You find the kid. They’re with a security guard. They’re always with a security guard. That’s an awkward approach ’cause I’m with my four other kids. I look like a moving diorama for birth control. Doesn’t help that I’m usually eating something. It’s hard to seem concerned about your child’s whereabouts holding a corn dog. “Oh, there he is. Now, where’s mustard?”
But that’s parenting. It’s stressful. Parenting is a sacrifice. It’s exhausting. It’s expensive. At times it feels thankless. But eventually you die. My wife hates that joke. My wife hates that joke. And in full disclosure, she does 90 percent of the work. And the 10 percent I do feels like too much. I’m getting ripped off. Ten percent of five kids. That means I’m in charge of one kid for like half a day. I’m like a single mom. That’s a joke where the audience thinks, “Maybe Jim is a dick.” My wife is amazing. Even in the most stressful moments, I will catch her looking at me with an expression that could only be described as regret. But she’s Catholic, so there’s no quitting the team. Thank you, Jesus. I’m aware my wife is out of my league. She’s very thin and attractive. I look like I had two wives and I ate one of them. She’s amazing. She’s my writing partner. We do everything together. She’s brilliant. She’s “creative… and tal…” I can’t read her handwriting. No. We’re totally equals. I mean, when we rent a car, I won’t let her drive. And that’s not sexism. I just don’t wanna die. She can drive my kids around. I don’t care about that. But if I’m in the car, uh-uh. She’s amazing. Probably the most impressive thing my wife can do is her ability to remember absolutely every horrible thing I’ve ever done. She’ll bring it up. We’ll be watching TV. She’ll be like: “Remember that time you humiliated me when we went out to dinner?” “Now I do. Must have blocked it out searching for self-esteem.” I don’t wanna misrepresent her. She’s very forgiving. It’s just the forgetting part. But we all aspire to be forgiving. Pope John Paul II forgave the guy who tried to assassinate him. I mean, granted he was the pope. He couldn’t be like, “Let’s torture this bastard.” He kind of had to forgive him. But Pope John Paul II went to the guy’s jail cell and forgave him. But then he left. It’s not like then he had to live with the guy. Like, if the pope lived with the guy, we would have seen how long that forgiveness would have lasted. “Pope, your turn to do the dishes.” “Didn’t you shoot me? I think it’s always your turn to do the dishes. Bless you, my son.” Pope, that’s a tough job. Anyone pope here? No? Pope’s a tough job. You know it’s tough ’cause the last one quit. He’s like, “I’m done. I’m out of here.” Everyone at the Vatican was like, “You’re supposed to speak for God until you die,” and the pope was like, “Uh… God told me to quit. And to eat more cheese.” Our new pope, Pope Francis, calls people on the phone. I don’t know why you’d ever believe it’s the pope. “Hello?” “It’s the pope.” “Oh, can you hold on? I have Spider-Man on the other line.” My wife loves talking on the phone and I would rather be hit by a car. I’m not saying a big car, but a Mini Cooper. I’d take that over a 20-minute conversation. She’s always like, “It seems like you’re trying to get off the phone.” “I am. I love you. I just can’t hold my arm up for this long.” I can’t believe any of us talk on the phone. There’s e-mail and text. Sometimes my phone rings, I look at it and I think: “This person better be calling to tell me their hands are chopped off.” “I just wanted to hear your voice, Daddy.” “Buy my album.” That is all for me. Thank you so much.