[Ron White] You ever take a crap so big your pants fit better? What’s he doing? Looks like he’s trying to get the taste out of his mouth. But let me tell you something, folks. You can’t fix stupid. Now, when I have seven eighths of a gram of marijuana, I consider myself to be… out of marijuana. Tiger doesn’t get any credit for all that pussy he turned down, and that’s the number you’re looking for right there. 6:01, gets there. Is she there? No. Do I leave? No. Why? Because this dick won’t suck itself. That’s why. [cheering and applause] [country rock music] [inaudible] [inaudible] I want to start off this evening by telling you something about me you may not know. Um, I’m from a very, very small dusty town in northwest Texas, and I grew up in this little bitty house that was built by my father and my grandfather the year I was born, 1956. Now I live in Beverly Hills in a house my wife and I just built, and I was doing an interview the other day, and this guy asked me, “Has it changed you? You know, the fame and fortune and all that?” And I said, “I don’t think so,” but I kept thinking about it, and I realized it’s changed me in two ways. One, while we were building this house, my wife selected these really exotic Japanese toilets. And as you approach these toilets, the lid of the toilet automatically opens. I was mad when I first saw it. I’m like, “You’re wasting our money on this stuff?” But I got used to it after a while. And now when I approach a toilet, and the lid doesn’t automatically open, I just piss all over the top of it.

And I still eat tacos, but now I only eat the baby duck pussy lip tacos that you get at the Four Seasons in Beverly Hills on Sunday. What they do is they take these baby ducks, and they just snip the pussy lips off of ’em, and it takes, like, 35 baby ducks to make one taco, but it is fucking worth it, man. And it turns out, they’ve been snipping the pussy lips off of baby ducks in Saudi Arabia for 1,500 years and just throwing them in a river, and the cook from the Four Seasons went there and saw this amazing waste of baby duck pussy lips, and just started thinking, you know, “Fuck… Tacos!” PETA hates it. And I don’t know why, ’cause they used to sell duck tacos, nobody gave a shit. You gotta kill the duck to get the duck meat. You don’t have to kill the baby duck to get the pussy lips off of it. Sure, they bleed to death in the trash can when you throw them away, but they’re baby ducks. It’s a nickel for a hundred of ’em. Nobody gives a shit. So if you’re ever in Beverly Hills on Sunday night, go to the Four Seasons. It’s baby duck pussy lip taco night, and… get there early, because, uh, parking.

I’m 61 years old now, and I know two things to be true. One… anything has the potential to become a DUI checkpoint if you crash your car into it. And you can’t un-fuck the housekeeper. So… That’s it. That’s all I know. Governor Schwarzenegger helped me with that second one, so I didn’t have to do that one myself, so that’s good. Don’t drink and drive. That’s what they say. They also say friends don’t let friends drive drunk. Well, which one is it? Somebody’s gotta drive. I was leaving a party the other night, and this buddy of mine goes, “Hey, Ron, can you drive?” I was like, “I can drive… I can’t get pulled over.” Now, I won’t drive drunk, but I will ride with somebody that can’t blow a .08 and not fucking know it. ‘Cause .08’s not drunk. .08 is a revenue stream for the federal fucking government, is what .08 is. That ain’t drunk at all. That ain’t even kind of drunk. This is drunk. That guy can’t drive my fucking car. Now I’m not saying I’ve never driven drunk, because I’ve drank so much in my life, now on the back of my driver’s license, there’s a list of organs I need. I was in Melbourne, Florida, one time and I was driving a rental car, and I was by myself, and I’d had two drinks. I didn’t make the drinks. I don’t know how strong they were. Tasted strong. Whiskey and ice cubes. And I’m driving, and I look ahead, and there’s a sobriety checkpoint and I’m like… “Fuck…” Which is what you say when you see a sobriety checkpoint. Fuck. And I get up there and the cop goes, “Mr. White, I smell alcohol on your breath.” I said, “That’s been there since ’77, dude.” You pour that much Scotch on a tongue, it’s gonna smell like Scotch forever. There’s nothing you can do about it. We’ve tried everything that there is. He goes, “Well, I need you to blow into this breathalyzer,” and I said, “Well, here’s the bad news, Hoss. I’m not gonna do it. I’m not, and I’ll tell you why, because if that piece of shit’s calibrated wrong, I could be convicted of something I didn’t even do.” He goes, “Then I need you to do a field sobriety test.” I’m like, “Just tell me what to do.” He goes, “I want you to stand on one foot, raise the other foot–” “No, bullshit. Fuck that. I’m not doing that either. I’m not, and I’ll tell you why. That’s not a sobriety test. That’s an agility test, and I’m not very goddamn agile, all right? I’m not, and it’s not fair to me, because I’m older, I’m not in that great of shape. I may or may not be a little drunk. Fuck, I don’t know. You know what a fair drunk driving test is? Drunk driving. Get in the car. Let’s do a couple of blocks. Let me show you some skills. I’m not a 21-year-old, puking cheap tequila through my nose. I’m a 61-year-old raging alcoholic, motherfucker.” Or that’s what it said in the deposition. Here’s another fair test: darts. We go back to O’Leary’s Pub where this whole fucking thing started. If you can beat me at darts, you can take me to fucking jail, how about that? How about a sobriety contest? I got to go this year for the first time in my career to do stand-up in Europe, and I did shows in Amsterdam, Edinburgh, Scotland, and London. And when I was in Edinburgh, I realized that the Scots made me laugh harder than anybody. Not because they try to say something funny. It’s just the words they say, whatever the fuck they say just cracks me the fuck up. And I wear wild socks, and… So I’m having breakfast in this restaurant across the street from the hotel I’m staying in, by myself, and… I finish with my meal, I realize I don’t have any money. I only have the room key. I left everything in my room, and I tell the guy, “Listen, I got to go back to the hotel. I’ll get some money. I’ll come back over and pay you.” This is what he says: “Well, those don’t look like the socks of a man who would steal an egg.” Yeah, they sure the fuck don’t.

And I did these shows in London, and they don’t play my stuff on television in London. So I really had to call and promote these shows and get everybody to come out, and I called this radio station in London. This is what this DJ says to me: “Ron… Every time a celebrity calls our station, we always ask the same question: If you could have a conversation with anyone, living or dead, who would it be?” And I said… “Living.” And he tried to explain it to me. He was like, “No, what I’m saying is, if you could talk to someone, whether they…” Yeah, I fucking get it. I’m a joke writer from America. I’m all over it, dude. Trying to make this funny, sell some comedy tickets in a land where you don’t play my shit. Thanks for playing our game. And the punchline of that story is, I come back to the States, when I get back to the States, my assistant goes, “Ron, did you hear that John Mayhew died?” And I’m like, “John Mayhew… Why do I know that name?” “It’s your ex-wife’s divorce lawyer.” [laughing quietly] Oh, I hated that motherfucker. That Yale snob fucking piece of shit, fucked me out of so goddamn much money. It happened ten years before, but I still had his office number in my phone, and my wife said I was a dick for doing this, but as soon as I found out he died, I called his office, I said, “I’d like to speak to John Mayhew, please.” The lady goes, “I’m very sorry to tell you, but Mr. Mayhew passed away.” I said, “Okay,” and I called her right back and said, “I’d like to speak to John Mayhew, please.” She goes, “I just told you, Mr. Mayhew passed away.” I said,  “I know, I just like hearing you say it.” My wife’s like, “You’re a dick.” I said, “Bullshit. He’s lucky I don’t know where he’s buried. I’ll show you dick.”

I saw this on the news the other day. This befuddled me. It was a story about a town in the Middle East where, by law… by law, the women who live in this town have to wear burkas with one… eyehole. That’s it. That’s all you get. One eyehole. Not two eyeholes like those other sluts. One… [giggling] ..fucking eyehole. Just enough to keep from bumping into shit. That’s all you need. And the guys over there still think they’re hot. They’re like, “Ooh, look at that one.” Which one? They all look like fucking tents. And I think that’s why they marry so many of them. You got to unwrap a few to get the one you’re looking for… in a sight unseen situation. And if you’re all politically correct, don’t worry. I’m not busting on women from the Middle East. I know they’re perfectly content to live the way they do. They are. Oh, you can see it in their eyehole. Three weeks ago, my wife and I went to New York City, and we went to a gay wedding, and it was a man marrying a woman, [laughing] but it was the gayest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. You can get married now if you’re gay, anywhere in America, that’s fine with me. I don’t care one way or another. Get married, don’t get married. I don’t give a shit. [snorting] I don’t, really.. I’ve got tons of gay friends, most of ’em male dancers from fucking Vegas, and they’re like, “We want to get married too.” I’m like, “You’re going to fucking hate it, but…” I think the Supreme Court fucked up the best thing about being gay. “Well, I would marry ya, but I can’t! I’d give you half my shit right now, but I don’t make up the rules.” I was doing a meet and greet the other day right after a show, this young guy goes, “When my girlfriend comes back from vacation with her parents, I’m going to ask her to marry me. Do you have any advice, Mr. White?” Now, I’d just got off the ugliest phone call I’ve ever had with my wife, and it was about that house, and part of that house was gonna be a rehearsal space for her band, and while I was shooting a pilot in Vancouver, it turned into a 24-track recording studio. And I was so goddamn mad. I couldn’t fucking breathe. We had spent $100,000 on this little fucking room, and that builder, that motherfucker. I told him, “Don’t you goddamn do it. Don’t you fucking do it.” And he fucking did it! While I was in Canada shooting a fucking pilot! The motherfucker! You ever notice nobody ever dies when you wish they would? This conversation got so goddamn out of hand. The shit that should have never got said got said, it just spun into this big shit storm of fuck. I’ll tell you how the conversation ended, and then you’ll know how it went. This is how the conversation ended. She goes, “Listen, Ron. I’m not trying to be an asshole,” and I go, “Really? You’re not even trying? Well, you’re gifted.” And I told this young guy, I said, “Yeah, if I were you, I’d go to a gay bar, let somebody fuck me in the ass and make goddamn sure I’m not gay, ’cause it looks like they’re having more fun than anybody to me.” It does too, ’cause we live right next to West Hollywood. You go anywhere in West Hollywood, there’s these gigantic gay men’s clubs with these huge patios. These places are packed to the fucking rafters at 2:30 in the afternoon, seven days a week. And these guys are laughing and dancing and drinking, and they’re having a fucking blast. And you know why they’re having so much fun? ‘Cause there ain’t no goddamn women there. That’s why. That’s why. That’s why. They’re doing whatever the fuck they want to do whenever the fuck they want to do it. “I got a good idea, Tommy. Let’s do a big shot of tequila, you snort some cocaine off my dick and fuck me right up the butt.” And they march off to the bathroom and do exactly that, exactly then, and the reason they can is there’s not a woman there to go, “Well, that’s morally wrong and bathrooms aren’t near clean enough to butt-fuck in.” Oh, they beg to differ. I thought about being gay one time, and I changed my mind when it came my turn. Like, “What? I got to what? What? What? What? What?”

I’ll tell you this story. This happened last Wednesday at The Comedy Store in LA. And The Comedy Store in LA is a really pretty big place. It’s got three comedy clubs and I’d just done a 15-minute set in the OR, which is the original room, but they call it the OR. And right before I went on stage, I was in the green room of the main room, and they came over there and they said, “Ron, they need you in the OR.” I never thought anybody would fucking say that, you know? So I did my set, and I’m out in the hallway talking to Joe Rogan and this guy comes up to me, in his early 30s, I would guess, very flamboyant, very nervous. And he comes up to me and goes… [high-pitched] “Mr. White… I was always going to tell you if I ever met you that when my father was alive, you were his favorite comedian by far.” I said, “Thank you very much for telling me that, man. I appreciate that, and I’m sorry you lost your dad.” He goes, “I was in love with you and I’d see you on television, I’d pretend you were my husband and we’d go out to eat, and things like that.” I went, “Well, that’s nice of you to say, I appreciate it, very nice to meet you.” He goes, “I had a picture of you I used to masturbate to.” Which one? And it turns out I had no problem with it at all. And I’ll tell you why I didn’t have a problem with it, ’cause I thought the number of people beating off to my image was zero. Turns out it’s a solid one. I guarantee you, when I leave the house, my wife’s not dragging out a headshot, rubbing one off… “You look more like Steve Bannon every day. You’re just fucking… just… Some red lipstick on that nose, this would be hot as fuck.” I’m not gay. [laughing] Seems like I’d have something else to say after that. I’m not gay, but I have these moments. The other day I was watching Tarzan, the new Tarzan movie. The newest one that’s not very new, but it’s the newest one. And the guy that played Tarzan was a really, really handsome fella, and he was really a good-looking guy, but I was watching it, thinking, “You know, if that guy from Thor, Chris Hemsworth, was in this, this would really be a better movie, ’cause I’d just rather look at Chris Hemsworth without his shirt on.” What the fuck did you just think? I just think Chris Hemsworth’s the best-looking motherfucker. And then I was watching Godfather, I thought, “Well, if instead of that horse head, they just had Chris Hemsworth with no shirt on. Just his torso, blood coming out of it and just Chris Hemsworth kind of… I don’t want to pinch his nipples or anything. I just like to see it.” And I was watching that movie The Help, and I’m like, “I know he’s not a young negro woman, but… if he just had on an apron and no shirt…” I consider myself a gold star heterosexual. Now the reason I know this term is, I have lesbian friends too. And I know that a gold star lesbian is a woman who’s never had any dick not once ever in her life, and I’ve never had any dick not once ever in my life. And I know some guys that have had one homosexual experience or two or 10,000, doesn’t make a fuck bit of difference to me. I could not possibly care any less. I just never have. I didn’t lose my virginity until I was 18 years old, and I was in the Navy stationed in San Diego, and I lost my virginity to a prostitute in Tijuana, Mexico, who was overweight, and her teeth had no general direction or color. But she was well within my budget. Well, I got stationed at Pearl Harbor. After I’d been there for a little while, I found out there was one part of Hotel Street on Oahu that you go to, and these really cute girls that jump in your car and blow you for five dollars. Best deal I’ve ever heard of in my life to this day. And that’s about a 45-second task with me at 18 years old. I’m like, “Oh! Ooh! Ahh! I’m out of here. I gotta go.” I’m coming back twice a day every fucking day. I’m there for eight months. A little while back I was watching this documentary on transvestites, and they start talking about the transvestite scene that’s been on Hotel Street on Oahu for 55 years. Those were dudes? I let 150 dudes suck my dick? Jesus. What’s the record? You’d think you can tell a man’s mouth from a woman’s mouth, but you cannot. A tongue is a tongue, and a tooth is a fucking tooth. If it would have been a handjob, I’d have been going, “Hey, you’re a plumber, dude, get that claw off my fucking pecker.”

I ran, um… I ran for president of the United States, and I don’t think I won, because nobody’s called and I quit watching television. My platform was a little different than our president’s platform. He wants to build a wall between the US and Mexico to keep out immigrants, and I wanted to build a net between the US and Canada to keep those fucking geese out of here. I fucking hate geese. I fucking hate ’em. I got attacked by a goose when I was a kid. I never got over it. My uncle was a Baptist preacher, and I was at his little white clapboard Baptist church in a little bitty town in Texas and I was sitting– Vacation bible school. I’m on the back porch of the church, eating my little sandwich, six years old, drinking my Kool-Aid. This goose comes out of this pond like a fucking killing machine. [squawk] Bites me on the fucking leg. Steals my sandwich. Leaves me shudder-crying. [sobbing] I had nightmares about it my entire goddamn childhood. I fucking hate ’em. They’re not natural. Geese aren’t natural. They’re not. The way they cross the street right in front of fucking cars with that weird-ass confidence. “Yo, bitch, what the fuck you going to do about it?” Lock those beady eyes on you. “I got 17 friends behind me. Nobody’s moving till we get across this street.” They could have flown over the fucking street. I’m in my car, all intimidated. I’m like, “What do I even do? I can put my car in drive and roll over your ass. Nobody would give a shit.” I wouldn’t do it. Nobody in this fucking room would do it. You know why? ‘Cause we’re scared to fucking death of geese. Nobody wants to talk about it but me. And we should be afraid of geese too, and I’ll tell you why. A goose is the only animal on the planet could take a jetliner out of the fucking sky and make it land on the Hudson River. That’s what happened to that plane Sully landed on the Hudson River. Geese started flying through the engines of that jet. Radical terrorist Canadian geese! Build a net. No other animal crosses the road with this kind of fucking poise. That’s all I’m saying. No other fucking animal does this. When my dog gets out of the yard, gets in the street, he’s like, “Oh fuck! I’m in the road!” Does a Z-pattern to get across. Squirrels. Nature’s most shitty critical thinkers. “Well, I’ve been here, but I’ve never been here, and if I only–” Dead. Cats die when they touch the road. That’s all a cat has to do, is just, “Pow!” There’s so many dead cats on my street, it looks carpeted. You ever seen a dead goose anywhere in your goddamn life? Just laying there dead, ’cause it died somewhere? Fuck no, you have not. Because they rarely fucking die. I have a back-up plan to curtail the goose population in America. I’m going to open a chain of restaurants that only sells baby goose pussy lip tacos. You think you know tender… but you really don’t. Baby goose pussy lips makes wagyu beef taste like boo… boot leather. [distorted] Wagyu beef taste like boot leather. Baby goose pussy… [tripping over his tongue] …makes wagyu beef taste like boot leath… boot… All right, I’m gonna rewrite this sentence. I can… I got to get this right for the special. Baby goose pussy lips makes wagyu beef… [laughing] Okay. Okay. All right. [crowd shouting encouragement] Baby… [audience member] Come on! All right, y’all shut up. Okay. I’m ready. Baby… [crowd laughing] Shut up, you’re supposed to shut up. Baby goose pussy lips makes wagyu beef taste like boot leather. [cheering and applause] That’s pretty slick. I started this tour a while back in Las Vegas, and… while I was there, I was walking down the Strip, my wife and I, and they’re having a sex toy convention, which is one of their five biggest conventions of the year. Literally, people come from all over the world to buy stuff for their shops, and my wife said, “My friend’s having a shower. I need to get her a gag gift. Let’s go to this thing. It’ll be fun.” I’m like, “All right, let’s go.” And it was unbelievable, huge, all the big dildo companies were there, uh…. Fuck Rudders, uh… Bone Depot, Shaft Crafters. Black and Pecker, Peterbilt, Johnson & Johnson… and Johnson. So we walk up to Knob Cobblers, or whatever the fuck the name of it was. I don’t remember. We walk up to this booth that only sells dildos. That’s all they sell. And I asked the guy, I said… “How much are the dildos?” And he goes, [angrily] “They’re not dildos, they’re personal massagers.” “All right. How much is the personal massager shaped like a big black cock? ‘Cause we’re looking for a gag gift, and… if that doesn’t gag her, I don’t know what we’re going to use, ’cause… it’s gotta be something big, you tell me. A broom handle, a pool cue, a fucking plunger.” Gag, woman, gag. There were porno movies everywhere, but the porno movie that caught my eye was called Fat Midgets Fucking Fat Midgets… Two. I would have missed the boat if I was in the porno business right there. I’d have said, “Ain’t nobody gonna pay to watch fat midgets fuck fat midgets.” Bullshit, there’s a sequel. Apparently there were some unanswered questions in Fat Midgets… Fucking Fat Midgets. I picked up the DVD, looked at the cover, it looked like somebody’s trying to shove a pumpkin through a beach ball. Now I’ve got questions. And then the whole experience just started to creep me the fuck out. I just grabbed my big black dick and left. I don’t need this shit. It seemed like they would give you a sack or something.

My wife does yoga, and next to her yoga school in Beverly Hills, there’s a spa that offers treatments that I’ve never heard of. One of these treatments is a thing called anal bleaching. I’ll give you a second to get your arms around that. Now I’ve never walked in the doors of this place, and I don’t know exactly what they’re up to, but… apparently… some people… are really unhappy with the color of the old bunghole. So unhappy, they’re willing to bleach it until it becomes a more desirable color. Now I don’t know if they have a color in mind when they start, or if you just bleach it and get whatever the fuck you get. Or if there’s some paint chips and a tray of Smile Bright. You’re just spreading your ass cheeks, squatting into a tray of solution for a limited amount of time for a desired result. [inaudible] [shouting] What’s it look like now? I don’t know. I know this. I have no idea what color my asshole is. I don’t have that kind of mirror or that kind of friend. Nobody wants to be a white asshole, but everybody wants to have one all of a sudden. I don’t know what I’m supposed to tell my fucking relatives. Another service they offer at this spa… is a thing called vaginal rejuvenation. All right. Now, I think it’s a little strange that vaginal rejuvenation is fine, yet it’s illegal to roll back the odometer on your car. Vaginal rejuvenation. Rejuvenate your vagina. It was juvenated, it became un-juvenated, it needs to be rejuvenated. Bring it into the shop. Now, I don’t know what’s wrong with your vagina that makes you think it needs to be rejuvenated. I don’t know if it just looks tired or sad, or… worried about something it can’t do anything about. Well, whatever it is, I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you. I wouldn’t and I’ll tell you why. Because the most jacked-up cooch I’ve ever seen in my life is way better looking than my ball sack. Besides, if you’re at that point in a make-out session, you’re gonna do it anyway. It doesn’t matter what it fucking looks like. It’s like you were waiting in line for two hours to ride a roller coaster and it finally shows up and the seats are kinda bumpy and worn out. You’re still going to hop in that motherfucker. Yeah! ‘Cause I don’t have the answer to a lot of life’s questions. Or any. But oddly enough, I do have a suggestion for this. Ladies, if you don’t like the way the cooch is looking, before you go do something that extreme, try this. Quit trimming it… for a year. And just do a comb-over. From the big lip to the little lip, right over the clit, tuck in the meat curtains if you got ’em. Get some Brylcreem and some dippity-do and a hair dryer. And just set it and forget it… and fucking shut it down.

I understand how unnecessary that was. Somebody asked me to do this story. I’m going to do it, ’cause I’m surprised they know it, but… I support the Montreal Comedy Festival, and if you ever have a chance to go to Montreal in the summer to go to the festival, it’s the coolest fucking thing there is. I do it all the time. Montreal’s a gorgeous city, and the festivals are done in 20 venues all over the town, beautiful thing. And every year SiriusXM does a live broadcast from there. It was about three years ago, and there were six comics in an open forum, telling stories, and this is the story that I told. It’s very short. It happened a long time ago, which doesn’t fucking matter. It’s not like if I told you the story without saying that, you’d have gone, “That was very short and happened a long time ago. I wish you would have told us that up front.” I was the feature act at the Punchline Comedy Club in Sacramento, California. And traditionally in American comedy clubs, there’s three acts. There’s an opening act that makes between 100 and 200 a week for nine shows, the feature act, which is what I was, makes between 400 and 500 bucks a week for nine shows, and a headliner who can make absolutely anything depending on who they are. And traditionally during the week, these three comics would go to the mall and those two comics would watch that comic spend money. These two comics don’t have any money. These are two broke fucking fingers. So I’ve just driven from Dallas to Sacramento to make $400. That’s how much money I’ve got. So I don’t have “go out and party money”. I’ve got “go get a six-pack of beer and a frozen pizza”. Not the good frozen pizza, the other fucking frozen fucking pizza, and go back to the shitty little motel they rent us, and one night a week, I’d let myself rent a porno movie, and I’d call this date night. So I’m all set up. My beer is cold. My pizza is done. I ordered the movie. It says, “Please enjoy your feature film,” but nothing comes on the television. I’m like, “No! No, this has to fucking happen. I don’t have another eight goddamn dollars.” And I called the front desk in a panic. I said, “I ordered a movie, it said, ‘Please enjoy your feature film,’ but nothing came on the TV.” She goes, “I’ll send somebody over from Maintenance,” I’m like… Knock on the door, it’s a chick from Maintenance. “What’s the problem?” I said, “I ordered a movie, it said, ‘Please enjoy your feature film,’ but nothing came on the TV.” She goes, “What did you order?” Cast Away. She goes, “Look, it’s just on the wrong channel.” Click. What’s she doing to Wilson? She’s gonna overinflate him. And, uh… this is a story my mother told me I should do on stage. I just told her the other day.

Anyway… I was a bed-wetter, and… I was mortified by it. I mean, I wet the bed all the fucking time and I just hated myself for it. That’s the worst thing you can be as a little kid is a fucking bed-wetter. And I would never go spend the night at anybody’s house, ’cause I knew I’d wet the bed and they’d find out I was a bed-wetter, and so far nobody really knew but my mom and my dad, and it was just my biggest secret. And I was about 12 years old and I had gone three months without wetting the bed. I’m like, “I’m through it. I’m fucking over it.” So I decided to spend the night at Joe Paine’s house, who had been my friend since I was six years old. And he had bunk beds in his room, and Joe Paine’s on the top bed, Danny Davis is on the lower bed, and I’m on a sleeping bag on the floor, and I wet the fucking bed, and I’m, like, mortified. I’m like, “They’re gonna know. They’re gonna know I’m a fucking bed-wetter. My fucking life is over. They’re going to fucking know. Nothing could make this better. Unless… one of them wet the bed.” And as a 12-year-old, I make a conscious decision to piss on my friend… to make me look better. That’s what kind of person I am right there, 12 years old. You imagine how I think fucking now what I’d do to you. I’d have peed on both of them, but one of them was too fucking high and I was like, I’d piss on the wall trying to piss on that guy. I was 12. I could piss like a fucking fire hydrant. And Danny wakes up and he goes, “I had a dream. Somebody was peeing on me! And I wet the bed!” And I’m like, “Me too!” And I never told him. I always let him think he wet the fucking bed. And the way he found out he didn’t wet the bed, is he lived in Round Rock, Texas, and I hadn’t really seen him in years, and I was doing this radio station and I told that story, and he called the radio station, “You fucking pissed on me? You let me think, I went my whole life, that I’d pissed in Joe Paine’s fucking bunk bed?”

So my wife and I, we both tour extensively, and, uh… she bought us two dogs, which, you know, just makes touring easier if you… have a couple of dogs to drag with you on all those flights, and… she bought us two French Bulldogs. If you don’t know what they look like, it looks like a pug was raped by a fruit bat. She brings these dogs home, and I’m like, “What the fuck?” And she goes, “They’re watchdogs,” I’m like, “What are they gonna watch? Television?” But it turns out, they’re great watchdogs. And not because if somebody was breaking into our house, they would make a bunch of noise and scare those people away, because you couldn’t possibly wake them up. But when somebody breaks into our house now, they discover that all of our things have been chewed up and pissed on. And word of that spreads throughout the criminal community. And nobody wants our shit anymore. We don’t even want it. I’m the watchdog at our house. I’m the reluctant watchdog. I don’t sleep very well. I have sleep apnea, which keeps my wife awake. I think if it didn’t keep my wife awake, I wouldn’t know I had it. Here’s what I get at three o’clock in the morning when I have a six o’clock flight: [whispering] “Ron. Ron, wake up. Ron, wake up. Did you hear that?” Did you just wake me up to ask me if I heard something? [whispering] “Did you?” Do you think I fucking heard it? “Go see what it is.” Wake up those fucking dogs you bought. That’s the whole plan. I walk out there and get shot, her and them dogs leave out the back door, hop in the Mercedes, live the life of Riley, while I bleed to death on that fucking rug she had to have. And there’s never anybody there. I have no idea what I’d do if I walked out and somebody was there, I’d be like… [yawning] [click] Oh, hey. You were right! Call 9-1-1 or something. Don’t worry about them. They’re watchdogs. They just like to watch. If you tilt that a little bit, you can get it through that door. I know it smells like piss. It all smells like piss, dude. I’d help you move it out, but I’m bleeding. You should have the person help you move all the shit out and then shoot him. I’m also an idea man. And I am an idea man, too. This is my new idea. This is, uh… This is brilliant. It’s a dating website… and I actually saw another dating website that made me think of mine. The one I saw was called, “It’s Just Lunch,” and what they do is they just hook people up, and they have lunch, broad daylight, right in the middle of the day. [high-pitched] That’s all. Just lunch. We’re just gonna have lunch. That’s all. Just lunch. Maybe a salad and a sandwich. Maybe a half a sandwich and a soup. You know, they do that now. Probably a big glass of tea with a big slice of lemon. We’re just gonna have lunch. That’s all. Just lunch. Okay, here’s mine: Just lunch, and a blowjob. See how much funner it is to say? It’s almost like there’s a clown there. [silly voice] “Just lunch and a blowjob!” Lady in the first show goes, “What’s in it for the woman?” I’m like, “Lunch.” [high-pitched] It’s just lunch. My doctor the other day said, “Ron, you cannot gain any more weight,” and I said, “That’s what I thought.” My wife’s on my ass about me taking better care of myself. She bought me a bicycle, thinking I might ride it. It’s for sale. And if you’re looking for a bicycle, it’s a great deal. It’s got 750 yards on it. It was a demo when I bought it, had 350 yards already on it, but I put the other 400 yards on it myself. And if you’d like to buy the bicycle, just go to my house in Beverly Hills, and it’s 400 yards from there. Fuck it. I’ll walk back. I think, at 61 years old, my best fucking days are behind me, ’cause it wasn’t that long ago that I could make my wife scream and now she makes any noise at all, it’s to go, “Do you need to take a little break or…? You look like you just ate a ghost pepper.” What the fuck is that supposed to mean? I’m better at oral sex than I’ve ever been and I think it’s just because I’m older and I’m just more patient than I was when I was young, because… ’cause now I’ll lay there for hours and let you do your thing. I… I got nowhere to be. My friend told me the other day that he wouldn’t give his wife head unless she just came out of the shower, and I told him I’ll give my wife head if she just came out of the gym. ‘Cause I don’t care if she’s a little salty. In fact, if she’s too clean, I salt her. I do. I keep a salt shaker by the side of the bed. When she looks the other way, I just grab it. I think it brings out the flavor. I really do. I really do. In the summer, I keep a bowl of limes right next to the salt shaker, and I’ll just get a lime, squirt a little lime juice in there, little bit of salt, hunker down, do some pussy shots. That’s what I do. Do not try that at home. I got like 20 tweets from one guy, going, “My wife’s pussy was burning like…” No, you didn’t. You fucking idiot. No, you fucking didn’t. You went to one of my shows, you– She let you! You and her were standing in the kitchen and looked at that lime. You can’t fix stupid. [cheering and applause] [whistling] I’m on break. Sorry. Cheers, this is just special, right here. You guys are amazing. Thanks a lot. [whooping] Um… The other day, um… Jeff… Jeff Foxworthy and I were… Jeff has a special on Sirius called The Comic’s Mind, and he’d been talking to me about doing it. And we decided on a date that we would do it, and we decided to do it from the Punchline here in Atlanta in front of a live crowd, and it was really fun. And it really reminded Jeff and I of how much fun we have on stage together and how much we like to play off each other. And before the thing started, I had my tour bus up there, Jeff and I are sitting on my tour bus and this Golden Corral commercial comes on television, which is where Jeff works now. And I double snotted my own fucking television. It was so fucking funny. I’m like, “Really? Golden Corral? What kind of balls does it take to put the word ‘corral’ on the name of your fucking restaurant?” Boy, do they know that demographic! Come on down to the Golden Corral. [mooing] Welcome to our giant all-you-can-eat food trough. [mooing] We have a chocolate waterfall and a cotton candy machine. [bleating] I can’t wait till they go hog-wild and just put a sugar lick right there in the middle of the fucking room. That’s delicious. That little spot tastes like Skittles. “Get too fat at the Golden Corral, go to the Dress Barn.” That’s insensitive right there. “Get a dress the size of a fucking barn and come on back to the Golden Corral.” [mooing] They call it Golden Corral, of course, because somebody was already using the name “Ye Olde Fat Fuckery”. My cousin Ray, who I’ve talked about on stage before, he’s a real guy, he only eats at the Golden Corral because my cousin Ray only dates… huge women. That’s his deal. Always has been. He likes them big big. Not plump girls, not fat girls. Great big, old big ‘uns. Great big old, big old, big ‘uns. Big old round ‘uns, big old… muumuu and 400-plus, great big old big ‘uns. And he said that the Golden Corral’s the best place to find these people ’cause he says that’s where the really big girls like to winter. He didn’t say that. He brought one to Vegas last year, and I saw her by the swimming pool in a two-piece bathing suit, and I can’t jack the fucking memory out of my goddamn skull. Looked like somebody had stretched a rubber band over a gigantic hall of fucking… Let me try that again. [audience whooping] Looked like somebody had stretched a… Looked like somebody had stretched a rubber band over a gigantic head of cauliflower. [cheering and applause] And I was like, “Goddamn, Ray!” He said, “Well, she’s had three kids.” I’m like, “What, for lunch? Fuck, dude. You got to quit eating them babies, ma’am. Put down that ketchup and drop that toddler. Eat this baby goose pussy lip taco.”

Back in 1996, my dear friend Jeff Foxworthy became the biggest comedian that ever lived. I don’t know if you know. Jeff sold more comedy albums than Richard Pryor and Bill Cosby combined. Over 15 million albums, not including the millions and millions of Blue Collar albums you guys bought. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for that. [cheering and applause] When Jeff got big enough to take somebody with him, he took me with him, which was an amazingly gracious thing for Jeff to do for me. He always believed in my talent, but not my work ethic. And it was his goal for a lot of years to make me a famous comedian, and he truly sucks at it, ’cause it took him for fuckin’ ever. I don’t mean to seem ungrateful, but I got shit to do, Jeff. First big gig we did together was the first week in December 1996 at the MGM Grand in Vegas. And You Might Be A Redneck had been the number one-selling comedy album in the country for a year and a half. It’s still the number one-selling comedy album of all time, and, uh… Jeff had been my friend for ten years, and suddenly, kaboom, he’s the biggest comedian in the world. His face is plastered all over Vegas and we are having a fucking blast. We have an all-access pass to Las Vegas, which is way better than the no-access pass we had right before that. Well, that same year my dear friend Bill Engvall, the dancer… People ask me all the time, “Do you think you’ll ever do Dancing With The Stars?” I’m like, “Not unless something goes horribly fucking wrong.” Well, that year, Bill was touring with Reba McEntire. The same week we were at the MGM Grand, they were at Caesars Palace, and that same weekend, Larry The Cable Guy was at the International House of Pancakes in Tucson, Arizona. Just getting her done, and… He wasn’t there, but the three of us were. And I was there with a woman I couldn’t stand… eventually. Now she was beautiful, beautiful. She was beautiful. 40 years old, never been married, which makes you a little suspicious. ‘Cause usually if a woman is that beautiful at 40 and never been married, either they give horrible head or they’re completely insane. And three hours after I met this chick, I’m laying on my back going, [tightly] “This bitch is crazy.” And I was right. But I took her to Vegas. Well, Bill’s doing one show at the big Forum down at Caesars, and we’re doing three shows a night in a smaller room. So when Bill gets finished, he comes down and does a set with us and when we get done with our shows, Bill and Jeff wanna go drinking and gambling, and I want to go to a prayer meeting and a poetry reading that I’d heard about. But they keep hounding me till I say, “Yeah, fuck it, let’s go.” But I didn’t want her to go. She was trash drunk on red wine. [whispering] Charming. Charming. I said, “Let me go talk to her,” so I go up to the room. I go, “I know it’s our first night in town but I’m gonna go drinking with the boys,” and she goes, [slurring] “Fine, just leave me in a hotel room by myself?” I’m like, “You’re starting to get it.” And we go out that night, it was one of the funnest nights of my life, uh… We had been friends for ten years, so we were young comics together, and that’s what we used to talk about as young comics. We would sit around, drink, and… and talk about maybe one day, you know? Maybe one day we’ll be the big comics in Vegas, and our names will be on those big fucking signs. That’s something we dreamed about and it fucking happened. And that was the first time all three of us had our names on big signs in Vegas, and we went outside to look at it, and I was like, “Fuck, now what? Jeff? Any ideas?” Anyway, it gets to be 5:30 in the morning. We decided to break it up, and Vegas will make you horny if you let it. I go back up to the room and she’s passed out, in this negligee, and she’s fucking gorgeous. But I know if I wake her up trying to have sex with her, she’ll hit me in the face with a bucket of nickels I just spotted on the nightstand. And I don’t need a new mugshot ’cause my last one was so good. Is that Glen Campbell or Nick Nolte? No, that’s our boy Tater Salad, is who that is. [cheering] So I decide, “Well, I’ll just do it myself,” so I rummage around in the dark, find some lotion, cut to the next morning. I’m sure you’re grateful. I wake up the next morning with this shit hangover, and she’s already making coffee, and I wake up and she goes, “What’s wrong with your hand?” My hand is dark orange. Bain de Soleil sunless tanning lotion… for dark skin only, and apparently I was getting down, ’cause it was on my nipples and the inside of my thigh. Thanks for playing along. I hope you guys enjoyed it. That’s it for tonight. Thank you very much. [country rock music]

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