Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the stage Ali Wong!
♪ What y’all thought Y’all wasn’t gon’ see me? ♪
♪ I’m the Osirus of this shit♪
♪ Wu-Tang is here forever, motherfuckers♪
♪ It’s like this ninety-seven ♪
♪ Aight my niggas and my niggarettes♪
♪ Let’s do it like this♪
♪ I’ma rub your ass in the moonshine♪
♪ Let’s take it back to seventy-nine♪
♪ I bomb atomically♪
♪ Socrates’ philosophies and hypotheses♪
♪ Can’t define How I be droppin’ these mockeries♪
♪ Lyrically perform armed robbery ♪
♪ Flee with the lottery Possibly they spotted me♪
♪ Battle-scarred shogun♪
♪ Explosion when my pen hits ♪
Oh, my goodness! I heard a rumor that all of the Asians in this city… Have congregated in this theater tonight. Yeah. Thank you for coming with your white boyfriends. I really… Appreciate it, from the bottom of my heart. I’m so excited to be here. I have not been performing that much at all, in the past two years, because two years ago, I gave birth to a baby girl. And when I first started to come back out to do stand-up, the other stand-up comics, they couldn’t believe it. They were like, “Oh, my God, Ali… “What are you doing here? “Didn’t you just have a baby?” I was like, “Listen… I’ve been with my baby girl since she was born, all day every day. And I love her so much. But I’m on the verge of putting her in the garbage. I need to be here to miss her, so that I don’t go to jail.”
It’s so sexist when people ask me, “Well, if you’re here, then who’s taking care of the baby?” Who the fuck do you think is taking care of the baby? The TV is taking care of the baby, okay? The windows are open, she’s got gummy vitamins on her lap, she’s fine!
I tried being a stay-at-home mom, for eight weeks. I like the stay-at-home part. Not too crazy about the mom aspect, that shit is relentless. I was stupid and naive, and I thought that being a stay-at-home mom was about chillaxing, getting to shit in your own home, Watch Wendy Williams and go out to brunch with your sassy girlfriends. I did not understand that the whole price you have to pay for staying at home is that you’ve gotta be a mom. Oh, and that’s a job. It’s a wack-ass job. You get no 401K, no co-workers. You’re just in solitary confinement all day long with this human Tamagotchi… That don’t got no reset button, so the stakes are extremely high. A toy Tamagotchi is more communicative than a human baby. Okay? Because the toy will at least tell you when it poos. With a human baby, you just have to guess and check your intuition by sniffing its ass… Twenty-six times a day. And you can’t phone it in and sniff it from afar. You really gotta flip the baby over, plant your face in the baby’s ass and give it a good yoga inhale with your mouth and everything, because the inside of your nose has been singed from all the poo-poo smelling.
That’s how I know I love my baby more than anybody else in the entire world. I told my husband “Till death do us part.” And not once have I ever… sniffed his ass… To check if he shit his pants. I’ve licked it, but I haven’t sniffed it. Because sniffing it would be disgusting! Okay? And if you haven’t licked ass yet, grow up. Grow the fuck up. And learn how to be in a long-term, committed, lasting-relationship full of love where you have to make sacrifices for the greater good. My dream, my goal for the longest time was to be a trophy wife, but then I found out that in order to be a trophy wife, you have to be a trophy. I am more of a commemorative plaque.
I joined a moms’ group in Los Angeles. Yeah, I don’t find any of these bitches particularly interesting or fun, but when you’re a new mom on maternity leave, it’s like The Walking Dead, you just gotta hook up with a crew to survive. I used to hate on other moms for the clothes that they wore. You know these fucking clothes that moms wear, all that cheesy-ass animal print and… loud metallic shiny shoes. And now I see something that’s bedazzled in rhinestones, and I’m like, “Oh… That looks nice. I think I’ma get that!” The more glitter the better, because when you’re a mom you need sparkle. To compensate for the light inside of you that has died.
A lot of young women have anxiety about giving birth. Well, let me tell you something. Giving birth ain’t nothing compared to breastfeeding! Breastfeeding is brutal. It is chronic physical torture. I thought it was supposed to be this beautiful bonding ceremony, where I would feel like I was sitting on a lily pad in a meadow and bunnies would gather at my feet while the fat Hawaiian man version of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” would play. No! It’s not like that at all! Breastfeeding is this savage ritual that just reminds you that your body is a cafeteria now! It don’t belong to you no more. When my baby girl would get hungry, she’d yank my nipple back and forth like that bear fucking up Leonardo DiCaprio in The Revenant. It’s frightening. I saw that movie, and my nipples were like, “I feel you, Leo!”
I didn’t take any classes on breastfeeding, because I assumed it was just gonna be this very easy intuitive thing where the baby sucks on your nipple like a straw, and the nurse promised me that I would have a particularly easy time, since my nipples look like fingers. You can spin DVDs on them, that’s how Command hook-like they are. But apparently, you have to get the baby to latch on at a very specific angle. You gotta tilt their head and do geometry to get them on properly. And it’s very stressful, because when they’re hungry and they’re crying, it makes your hormones spray milk all over their face and their neck, which then become very slippery and hard to grip, and then you gotta slam them on at just the right time. And every time I would do it, it was like parallel parking. I don’t know how I did it! It’s a mystery. I was never properly trained, but I just did it. I just went back and forth, and back and forth, and back and forth, until all these very concerned strangers start gathering outside of my car. Those people who gather outside of Asian women’s cars while we’re parking… Are so helpful and so racist at the same time. I’m always like, “Thank you. Thank you, but fuck you… For assuming correctly about me! I could not have done this without you!”
My mom saw me struggle with breastfeeding and she was very discouraging about it, and she was like, “Why are you breastfeeding? I raised you on formula and look how shiny your hair is.” She was like, “Are you falling for that bullshit slogan, ‘breast is best’?” I was like, “No… I do it because breast is free. Come on, Mom, you know what it is. Local, organic, free-range, farm-to-mouth milk squirting outta my titties.” It was squirting out of like 15 holes in each titty, like the Bellagio fountain, just, “Woo. Woo, woo, woo. Woo, woo, woo.” For free! My body was a food factory. I wasn’t about to let that all go to waste. If you shat juicy hamburgers… Would you ever wait in line at In-N-Out again? No, you would pop a squat over your husband’s head every morning. And tell him to open wide… Because breakfast is on the way… Animal style. Yeah, you’d be like, “I got your secret menu right here.” ♪ Work, work, work, work, work ♪
I had to stop breastfeeding after eight and a half months. I could not take it anymore. By the end, I felt like The Giving Tree. I used to not-understand what that depressing-ass book was about. And now I know it’s about breastfeeding! It’s about a mom who used to have all of these beautiful branches and apples, and then this little freeloader comes into her life, takes all of her shit, and then she just becomes a sad-ass tree stump with deflated titties! People kept on asking me, “Ali, how did you get so skinny after the baby?” She sucked the life outta me! As it turns out, breastfeeding is not free because you have to buy all of these pillows and pumps to support your breastfeeding, and then you might get a clogged duct. That’s when you get like a traffic jam kidney stone in your titty, and then you have to call a lactation consultant. A lactation consultant is a white NPR listener with dreadlocks, Named Indigo, That you have to pay $200 to rush over to your house and Roto-Rooter your titty. Indigo had me do push-ups, dipping my titty in and out of a bowl of scalding hot water, and then beat my titty like this in the interim.
This is why women need maternity leave. In every other First World country… Canada, France, Germany… Women get up to three years off paid maternity leave when they have a new baby. In the US, we get jack shit. In the US, there is zero federal policy for maternity leave. Maternity leave is not just to bond with the baby. Fuck the baby! Maternity leave is for new moms to hide and heal their demolished-ass bodies! I couldn’t go back to work topless beating my wet titty, trying to establish dominance over all my coworkers. You’d get fired! People don’t tell you about all the crazy shit that goes down when you get pregnant, when you give birth. When I was pregnant, a lot of other moms had highly recommended to me, “Ali, now you make sure at the hospital to steal a bunch of the free diapers.” “Yeah, duh, I know for the baby.” “No. For you…” “For me? What the fuck do I need diapers for?” “Oh, you’ll see…” Winter is coming.”
And indeed I did see! Nobody told me about all the crazy shit that comes out of your pussy after you give birth. You know what happens after the baby comes out? You know what else exits? Her house. Her living room, her pillows… the Bob Marley poster… All the food that went bad in her refrigerator… for months! So then you have to wear this cartoonishly large pad. That’s like the size of a toddler mattress, and it’s only held up by the strength of this mesh fishnet underwear that’s exclusively available at the hospital. You can’t get that shit on Amazon or anything, so you gotta snatch that shit every day. It’s made out of the same material that they package fancy Korean pears in. It’s very Dac Biet, okay? Number one extra large Dac Biet hospital underwear. For three months, I was walking around my house with a top knot, giant diaper, nipples bleeding. Like a defeated sumo wrestler.
I had a C-section. Yeah. Which was not the original intention, but I was having contractions for 24 hours. Yeah. And then I was like, “Cut it out.” The nurse was like, “Keep going.” I was like, “Bitch, I said cut it out. ♪ Your price is way too high You need to cut it ♪ ♪ Cut it, cut it, you need to cut it♪ The nurse was not a big hip hop fan, so… She did not appreciate that or my Dave Coulier reference. Look, a C-section is no joke, okay? It is major surgery. But it’s very fast. They put the anesthesia in your back, and then they put up this curtain so that your husband can only see your human side and not your cadaver side. And then ten minutes later, they hold the baby above the curtain like bloody Simba and it’s over. I was like, “What the fuck did I do all that pushing for when there was this perfectly good emergency exit?”
One of my best friends, God bless her, she was in labor for 72 hours. The baby’s head kept on going in and out, and in and out, and in and out. And then she still had to have an emergency C-section. Before that shit went down, my friend was the kindest, most polite, dainty lady, who would never burp in front of anybody. After that shit went down, she became the most bitter, nasty, raw-ass bitch I have ever met in my life! I went to her house to pay her a visit shortly after, she opens the door, “Look at my pussy, Ali. Look at this shit! Look at this!” No, “Hello, Ali. Welcome. Come meet my beautiful new baby.” No, just, “Come on, you look at this shit! “You look at what happened to me!” Just with the door open, in front of the entire cul-de-sac to see, “Come on!” And her pussy looked crazy! It looked cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs! When I saw it, I was like… Because her pussy straight up looked like two hanging dicks side by side. In the process of giving birth to one baby girl, my friend became two dudes. You could French braid that shit. It was like a Star Wars monster. I mean, women, we’re not accustomed to seeing each other’s pussies in the first place. It’s not like men at the urinal where you’re like, “Hey, what’s up, dude? What’s going on?” holding your dicks in your hands in front of each other. We’re never just like going to the bathroom, “What’s up, girl?” holding our pussies, just casual, “I like your manicure.” I told her that she had turned into two dudes. And she started laughing. But then she started to get also extremely upset. And she was like, “Please, do not make me laugh! Do not make me laugh!” And then with one hand, she had to grab a pillow, and press it against her C-section scar. And then with the other hand, she had to… pinch the dicks together… To make sure that… the carne asada wouldn’t fall out of the taco, and become nachos on the floor.
You see, this is why women need maternity leave! Yeah, you’d better pay our ass, too. My friend couldn’t go back to work with her meat curtains dragging on the floor like the train of a sad-ass wedding dress. You can’t litigate like that. Ain’t no Spanx gonna tuck that shit in. I told her all of that too, and she started laughing more. And, you know, she was like, she was pinching and she was pressing, and repressing the laughter and it got to be too much, and then all of this gas gurgled up in her system, and she let out this fat-ass queef that dried out my eyeballs. I was like… Oh! Ah! Oh! Eeee. Ah. Ah. Ah. Many benefits to a C-section, okay?
Catheter, I had never had a catheter in my life. A catheter is a tube that they hook up to your pee-pee hole, and you just lie there… And then all of a sudden, this bag of piss shows up next to your bed. And then this kind Filipino lady named Joyabelle Esperanza Purificacion Santo Domingo Ordonez Balasa comes in to take it out. And you’re like, “Nurse Joyabelle, whose piss that?” And she’s like, “That’s yours.” And you’re like, “Oh my God, that’s mine?” I did not even feel it go out. The catheter, it just carries it out. And I was like, “Oh my God, in my life I could have accomplished so much more had I had a catheter attached to me this entire time.”
A lot of people like to ask me, “Ali, how on Earth do you balance family and career?” Men never get asked that question… because they don’t. They just neglect the child for like 90% of the day, and that’s perfectly socially acceptable, but the standards for dads are so low that they get so much praise for doing so little. My husband occasionally changes diapers, and when people hear that, “Oh my God,” confetti everywhere! “I cannot believe that your husband changes diapers! What a doting modern father. Lucky you!” When my baby girl was first born, I would do skin-on-skin contact every day to bond with her. She shit on my chest. Where’s my confetti at? I’ll tell you how I balance family and career, real talk? I have a nanny. That’s it, that’s the answer. Yes, it’s very unlikable and unpopular to broadcast that because not everybody can afford a nanny. It’s super expensive. It’s expensive for me and my husband, so the both of us, we have to hustle, we have to work very hard to not take care of our child ourselves. I’m all about putting the oxygen mask on myself before I put it on my baby. I like that protocol. I like that philosophy very much. When the stewardess tells me to make sure to do that, I’m always like, “Yeah, I was gonna do that. I got no problem with that.”
I’m so jealous of Mexican people. Mexican culture. They don’t need no nannies, ’cause you know who takes care of the baby? The other baby! Hermana, Tía, Abuela, Sobrina, Prima, Second Prima, Bounce House… The baby is just born into childcare. I want to be Mexican in my next life. Don’t nobody have more fun than Mexicans. I used to live at Crenshaw and Pico, yes, if you don’t know, Crenshaw and Pico is this magical corner in the hood of Los Angeles where Guadalajara meets Korea… And the Mexicans and the Koreans are in constant racial warfare, and their weapons are loud music versus frowning. Mexicans know how to prioritize family and fun. They take their kids to Disneyland all the time. And now to accommodate, there is all of this Spanish at Disneyland. Every ride begins with, “Ladies and gentlemen, for your safety please keep your arms and hands inside the vehicle at all times. Damas y caballeros, por favor mantengan las manos y los Brazos dentro Del coche, and please do not smoke… Because it is gross and dangerous, okay? And employees must wash hands before returning to work. Okay, be careful. Be very careful. Cos tongue taco, son of a bitch, apple! ♪ Late at night When all the world is sleeping ♪ Yes, that’s how Mexican Disneyland has gotten, they play Selena on Pirates of the Caribbean. The Haunted Mansion is now called Dia de los Muertos! And what was formerly known as Splash Mountain is now Esplash Mountain.
Our nanny is 62 years old. Yes, I would never accept anything younger than 62 years old. If you are hiring a 25-year-old pretty young thing to be your nanny, you a dumb-ass. Do you not read People magazine? You don’t know what’s up? That’s inviting a marriage grenade into your home. When you have a newborn baby, your marriage is very weak because you’re both stressed out, you look like shit ’cause you don’t shower no more, you’re resentful of each other, whose idea was it to bring this new roommate into the world? Your marriage is very vulnerable and easy for an outsider to invade and colonize. If we had hired a 25-year-old man, who was… not ugly… Great with my daughter and said yes immediately to every chore I asked him to do with a positive attitude, Oh, you best believe that I would eat the shit out of his butthole. Every day. Every day would be an all-day nanny butthole buffet. I don’t care if his 25 year old butt cheeks got all nervous and clenched up and closed on my face like elevator doors, I would get in there and… Like Jack Nicholson in The Shining!
A lot of people also often ask me, “Ali, what on Earth do your parents think about your stand-up comedy?” Now that’s a very racilly-charged question, right? Like, what they’re really asking is, “What do your oppressive Asian parents who beat you with the SAT book until your fingers bled from playing the cello think about your butthole-licking jokes?” My older sister is an unemployed lesbian who lives on my mother’s property. So I can do whatever I want. Yeah. Whatever I want! I could take a shit on this stage right now, and my mom would be like, “You bring so much honor to our family. I am so proud of you, my golden child.”
And then a lot of people also seem to wonder, “Ali, now that you have a daughter, are you gonna tone it down?” Here’s the thing, just because you became a parent, doesn’t mean you grew up. Yeah. Broey dudes become broey dads. I’m the same piece of shit that I always was before I became a mom, now just with more responsibility, and I’m barely rising to the occasion. And I’m not ashamed, I’m not going to hide that I was very sexually active in my twenties. You know why? Because everybody knows the secret now that when a woman sleeps with a man right away, it’s not because we don’t respect ourselves, it’s because we don’t respect you. We don’t see you as marriage material. That’s why we let your dick inside so fast. By letting you in, we’re really kicking you out of our future. “Bye, Felicia, be on your merry little way.” We’re just trying to have fun, we’re not trying to trap your ass.
But… But you better be careful because when a man… When a man doesn’t sleep with you right away, oh… oh, it’s not because he respects you, it’s because he has a small dick. And he’s trying to trap you. Do not fall for that trap. I’m gonna repeat that shit to my daughter over and over and over again. Do not fall for that trap. I fell for that shit once, fell in love and into a semi long-term relationship with a man who kept on wanting to wait to have sex, and I assumed it was because he thought I was so special, and amazing, and worth waiting for… He was hiding something! Months later he finally agrees to get busy and unveils this tiny mess of a thing that wouldn’t even reach your molars. It was a black dude. Creepy, right? Like seeing a homeless Asian person, “What happened to you?” “Oh my God, who are your parents? Truly!” It was a black dude, and I told all my black friends about it, and they were like, “Where the fuck is he at? We need to assassinate him right now before he further threatens to tarnish our sacred reputation!” It was the first and last time I had ever seen an actual micropenis. And my honest first reaction when I saw it was… “Oh, my God, are you okay? What happened, did you just get hit by a bus? Did a car outside just like sideswipe your dick off, and now is your dick rolling around on the street like a severed snake head? And should we get a mason jar and just scoop it up, and bring you both to the hospital to have you sewed back together? Wait a minute. Wait a minute… Is this some sort of Princess and the Frog test? Did a witch curse you a long time ago as punishment for calling her ugly? And now if I put that in my mouth to prove that I love you, as a reward for my love, will it expand? Like one of those magic towels you pour water on?”
My life has changed dramatically in the past year, because a year ago, nobody knew who the fuck I was. And when I was warming up to tape my very first stand-up comedy special I did four shows in my hometown, San Francisco. And I was so excited, I was super pumped. And then I couldn’t sell out all the tickets, so they had to put half of them up on Groupon. I know a lot of you are having a Chinese heart attack right now. “Oh my God… You mean to tell me I could’ve seen this bitch a year ago for $10?” Look, I love Groupon, okay? But it was so depressing and demoralizing to see my face and my picture next to… whale watching tours, Teeth whitening services, and discontinued dildos on clearance. I was like, “This is sad.” And then fast forward to last year, my Netflix special Baby Cobra premiered Mother’s Day weekend. And it was crazy, nothing like that had ever happened to me before. All of a sudden scalpers were charging up to $1,000 a ticket to see me headline live. Over 300 people dressed up as me while I was pregnant in that striped dress for Halloween. And I was so happy. Until I realized that I have no interest in being famous. I don’t. All I ever wanted was more money for less effort. I just wanna collect checks in my pajamas. Play a piece of tofu in a Pixar movie or something. Yeah, come on, you see it, the tofu’s got glasses, a lot of attitude, sings some song about the joy of soy with Justin Timberlake. My arch nemesis can be a piece of beef played by Idris Elba, Named Stringer Beef or something. I’m not even that famous and already I hate it. I hate it so much. It’s a burden! Occasionally now, I will be eating at a fancy restaurant and will get recognized by both the wait staff and the chef and think to myself, “Oh, great. Now I have to tip more.”
And I do have more money now, and now I make a lot more money than my husband by like a long shot. Well, my mom is very concerned that he’s going to leave me out of intimidation. I had to explain to her that the only kind of man that would leave a woman who makes more money, is the kind of man that doesn’t like free money. “Oh, but Ali, he doesn’t feel small?” He’s too busy living large on my new salary! “Oh. Oh… Oh, but Ali, doesn’t he feel like you took something away from him?” Oh, do you mean like the pressure to provide? Which I have lifted from his shoulders. He’s chilling. He walks into work now every day two hours late like this, “Fuck you! Fuck you, fuck you, and fuck you! Fire me, I don’t give a shit. My wife’s rich, bitch. Yeah! Yeah, this job is just an eccentric hobby for me now.”
It was not supposed to go down like this. Okay? I was supposed to be him. I’m supposed to be the one chilling. He graduated from Harvard Business School. I have a BA from UCLA in Ethnic Studies. Ethnic studies is a major where you study how to blame everything on white people, it’s not supposed to yield income. Nobody, no one could have predicted this outcome. So much so, that before we got married, his family made me sign a prenup. It’s true, and now if we get divorced, their son is fucked. No more sashimi on a Tuesday! No more fancy Japanese toilet bidet where water comes out and Hello Kitty sings the song until your butthole’s fresh and clean. Go back to drinking flat water, bitch! It is said that if you earn more in the relationship, then you are the breadwinner. I think my husband’s the real breadwinner, because he won a bread machine. Being a woman and the breadwinner is not all that, okay? Because you get insecure, you do, about having too much power, so then you overcompensate in the marriage by letting the husband have a say and… And then on top of that, you know, I get very insecure as being seen as like an ice cold, workaholic mom, so then I’m the main caregiver of our daughter, too. And I’m exhausted! I’m overwhelmed!
So now when my husband and I role play, I request that he call me “a simple ho”. Because that is my greatest fantasy, to be an illiterate farm girl, With no responsibility or decision-making power. We’ll get really into it, too. He’ll be like, “You! You are nothing but a simple ho!” And I’m like, “Yeah, I’m a real dummy. I don’t know the alphabet, I don’t know how to count, I don’t know the difference between shapes and colors. I can’t be trusted to deposit checks or do anything important, for I am just a simple ho.”
Despite having more money, I keep it real, okay? I am still a Chinese-Vietnamese person, okay? Yeah. I literally watch my Netflix special on my sister-in-law’s login. To this day, I do not have my own account. After I filmed Baby Cobra, Netflix sent me a Netflix baby onesie and a basket. You know those baskets that white people like to give with the biscotti, and the cheese, and the caramel popcorn, and all the other shit that Asian people have no interest in whatsoever. I was like, “Give me an account! I don’t need this shit that I’m allergic to, give me an account!” I still buy all my shit on Craigslist, nothing in my house is new. But now, I have to go in a disguise because last week I forgot my sunglasses and my hat and I was haggling with this dude over a bike helmet. He was like, “Twenty.” I was like, “Ten.” He was like, “Okay, 17.” I was like, “Uh-uh, I see a scratch on there. Ten.” And finally he says to me, “Um, you know, I could swear, I… Aren’t you Ali Wong? Why are you haggling with me over this bike helmet? I’m a college student who, as you can see, lives in a studio apartment with roommates.” I was like… “Shame on you. We don’t all look alike! Give me that helmet. Me no speak-a the English! My name is not Ali Wong, my name is Grace Lee! I dare you to Google Image Grace Lee. Your computer will burst into flames!”
I make fun of my husband a lot, but the reality is that he is my best friend. Yes, I’m very serious. I’m very lucky to have gotten to marry my best friend, and our whole dynamic confuses my mother because it’s the inverse of what she had with my father. She was like, “Your father was not my best friend. I cannot believe how comfortable you guys are around each other. Do you fart in front of your husband?” I fart in my husband. ‘Cause we are best friends. I hope that he and I always stay together, truly, you know? ‘Cause a lot of times when comedians get successful, they inevitably get divorced from their first spouse, and then at the age of, like, 50 or 60, they like to trade up for a new one that’s, like, a third of their age. As a woman, that has zero appeal to me.
You think I wanna fuck an 18-year-old boy when I’m on the precipice of menopause? Have some nervous teenager do three pumps and then bust a nut in my old-ass pussy? No, thank you. No gracias. I don’t wanna fuck an 18-year-old boy, not now, not ever again, because they’re 18, they’re terrible in bed. Do you remember when we were all teenagers? It was horrible for teenage girls because oral sex was all one-way. As a teenage girl, you never ever got your pussy eaten, but you sucked so many dicks. You’d suck a dick under a bridge, in the bathroom, in the forest. But as a teenage girl, you never just casually got your pussy eaten behind the bleachers, “Come on, Gary. Come on… Come on, Gary. Come on. Just lie down on your back, Gary. Come on, like you’re gonna change oil. Come on, Gary!” “Did you see that wicked serve I made in that tennis match? Come on, Elliot, come on. Congratulations to me! Come on, Elliot. Come on, Elliot. Come on.” “There are no more children in this playground. Come on, Spencer. Come on! It’s dark, Spencer, come on!”
You had to, like, wait until your 20s to get your pussy eaten, and even then it was not very good because it’s very personal. Do you know how long it took me to train my husband to eat my pussy correctly? I’m not going back out into the world, find somebody new to coach all over again. It’s too much work. All of that knowledge that my husband has now, all that time I invested, all of that muscle memory lives and dies with him. You can’t store that in some sort of I-pussy cloud and then just download it to a new husband 2.0. He is bespoke to me. Irreplaceable! Yes. Look, many patient nights I wanted to fake it, okay? But I knew that it was so fundamental for the long-term that he get it right, and that lying to him would just be cheating myself. And so, I would shove his head down there and keep it down there until his face got prunie. Many nights, he’d enter 7:00 p.m. looking like a 30-year-old man, exit hours later looking like Tommy Lee Jones. You know how hard it is for a young Asian man to suddenly transform into Tommy Lee Jones? I think a big part of being good at eating pussy is that you just got to be into it, okay? Do it with gusto, with enthusiasm. It’s a privilege, so act like you know, okay? Yes! Yeah, don’t hesitate. Don’t… Like you’re some toddler being forced to eat broccoli. Get in there! And hold your own goddamn head up, too, don’t use my thigh as a tripod and just… Fall into a food coma before you finish your meal.
Lately, I have been ruminating a lot over this one time I hooked up with this dude, and in the middle of kissing, I felt the responsibility to stop and say, “Hey, I should really let you know now before we go any further that… I’m on my period.” And he was like, “Oh… Well… Then let’s make a fucking mess, Ali!” To this day, that is the most romantic thing anybody has ever said to me. I think about it when I feel down and ugly and no good. All I have to do is remember that there was once a man out there who was willing to yank out my tampon and replace it with his dick! It made me feel beautiful. Beautiful! (cheers and applause). There is nothing more empowering and truly feminist than what that man said that day. That is straight up hashtag… I’m with her.
You know, I think I used to be a much different comic before I had the baby. I used to do a lot more jokes about sucking dick and my pussy, but now… not as many jokes about… Sucking dick and my pussy because… I don’t suck dick no more. When you give birth to a baby, they hand you a diploma that says, “Congratulations, you’ve earned the right to not suck dick out of obligation anymore.” If my husband were to demand that I suck his dick, I would laugh in his face. And then I would go to sleep, and guess what? In the morning, he’s still there, ain’t no consequence. We’re handcuffed together by a baby and a mortgage. Checkmate, bitch. It’s over. You ain’t got nowhere to run. I don’t gotta suck your dick anymore, you owe me money.
And I don’t do as many jokes about my pussy anymore because my pussy… is gone. It’s gone. Physically it’s quite intact because I had the C-section, but emotionally and spiritually… Ghost in the Shell. Ghost in the Shell, it’s an Asian character being played by Scarlett Johansson! Yeah. My husband and I, we don’t fuck no more. We just jack off side-by-side while we fantasize about Puerto Rican people. I don’t have the energy to climb on top of him, clean up after sex, put that towel on the bed to absorb that post-sex wet spot. You know, that perfectly round-ass wet spot on the bed that gets all cold in the winter time. It’s like an ice fishing hole. Because it smells like penguins. And is narrated by Morgan Freeman.
All right, I’ve been Ali Wong. Have a good night, everybody. Thank you!
♪ Graphic displays melt the steel Like blacksmiths♪
♪ Black Wu jackets Queen Beez ease the guns in♪
♪ Rumblin’ patrolmen Tear gas laced the function♪
♪ Heads by the score take flight Incite a war ♪
♪ Chicks hit the floor Die hard fans demand more♪
♪ Behold the bold soldier Control the globe slowly♪
♪ Proceeds to blow Swingin’ swords like Shinobi♪
♪ Stomp grounds I pound footprints in solid rock♪
♪ Wu got it locked Performin’ live on your hottest block♪
♪ As the world turns I spread like germs ♪
♪ Bless the globe with the pestilence♪
♪ The hard-headed never learn♪
♪ It’s my testament to those burned♪
♪ Play my position in the game of life Standing firm♪
♪ On foreign land, jump the gun Out the frying pan into the fire♪
♪ Transform into the Ghostrider Or Six Pack ♪
♪ In A Streetcar Named Desire Who got my back?♪
♪ In the line of fire holding back What? ♪
♪ My peoples if you with me Where the fuck you at?♪
♪ Niggas is strapped And they trying to twist my beer cap♪
♪ It’s court adjourned For the bad seed from bad sperm♪
♪ Herb got my wig fried like a bad perm♪
♪ What the blood clot We smoke pot♪
♪ And blow spots You want to think twice, I think not ♪
♪ The Iron Lung ain’t got to tell you Where it’s coming from♪
♪ Guns of Navarone Tearing up your battle zone ♪
♪ Rip through your slums ♪
♪ I twist darts from the heart Tried and true ♪
♪ Loot my voice on the LP My team is on to slang rocks♪
♪ Certified chatterbox Vocabulary ‘Donna talking ♪
♪ Tell your story walking♪
♪ Take cover kid, what? Run for your brother, kid♪
♪ Run for your team And your six camp rhyme groupies♪
♪ So I can squeeze with the advantage And get wasted♪
♪ My deadly notes reigns supreme♪
♪ Your fort is basic compared to mine♪
♪ Domino effect, arts and crafts♪
♪ Paragraphs contain cyanide♪
♪ Take a free ride on my thought♪
♪ I got the fashion catalog For all y’all ♪
♪ To all praise to the Gods ♪
♪ The saga continues♪
♪ Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang♪