[Quirky rock music]
All right. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you very much. Thank you for coming out here. Okay, okay. All right. Okay, I didn’t cure anything. Jesus Christ. Fuckin’ lifetime achievement award out here.
Pro Swine Flu
I…I have been on the road for the last five months. I don’t know, man. I’m just really thinking the worst of people. I really am. You should see some of the animals—some of the animals I see. Like, I was in the airport the other day, right? I’m sitting there waiting for my flight to take my life and watching this—watching this lady. She’s eating egg McMuffins, like, plural, and just threw, like, three of them right down her throat like a pelican. Just, like, right down her gullet. And when she was done, she wiped her face with the bag. Ahh, with the bag, not even like a gentleman. Like, “oh, I’ll just do the corners,” and, “ahhhh.” Then she just kind of straight-razor shaved. Just an absolute animal.
I saw this other dude. He was so out of shape, he was, like, trying to itch his back, and he couldn’t reach it, so he walked up to a support pole that was holding up an entire floor of the airport and just walks up, and he just starts, like, rubbing up against it like a grizzly bear. Just sitting there. Just a fuckin’ animal.
Dude, I am so pro-swine flu, it’s, like, ridiculous. I want it. We need a plague. I’m telling you, we need a plague. It’s got to happen, and don’t be afraid. It’s only gonna—it’s only gonna kill the weak, you know? Seriously, put on a sweater. Take some vitamins. You’re gonna be fine. Just… You’ve got to let mother nature do her thing, man. She keeps trying to help us out, and we won’t let her do it. Keeps trying to thin the herd, and every single time, we’re like, “oh, go down and get your vaccination.” Why? Why? So egg McMuffin lady can breed with the back fat guy, you know?
It’s got to happen. You’ve got to let her do it. Seriously, plague, it’s like nature’s forest fire, you know? Just let it burn out all the dead wood.
No, I swear to God. We’re the only—we’re the only species that saves the weak. We really are. Lions don’t do that shit, you know? A lion gets a little thorn in his paw, and everybody’s, “slow down. Do you have an ear infection? How are you feeling? Is everything all right? Do you need some penicillin?” and it’s like, “fuck him.” That’s why there’s no traffic on the Serengeti. There’s not a bunch of lions just standing there in gridlock like, “what the fuck is going on up there? Dude, go. Just fuckin’ go.” An hour later, you get up there. There’s some hyena licking his balls. Like, “oh, that was the big holdup, right? Like you never saw that before. Oh, by all means, slow down and look at it.”
Being a Mother
So… I’ve got a girlfriend, man. I watch a lot of TV with her, you know? I just annoy the hell out of her. She loves watching the Oprah Winfrey show, and I love, like, watching her watch the Oprah Winfrey show. And I wait for Oprah to say something stupid, and the second she does, I just take it out on my girl, because I’m an asshole. No, it’s what I do.
No, we were watching it the other day, you know. Oprah’s on there. She’s interviewing some clam, you know, and… she’s giving her this big, ridiculous intro, like, “she’s done this. She’s done that. She’s done this. And she does the most difficult job on the planet. She’s a mother.” And continues on, and immediately, I just look at my girlfriend like… You know. Like, “really? Being a mother is the most difficult job on the planet? Oh, yeah, all those mothers who die every year from black lung from inhaling all that coal dust.”
Dude, women are just constantly patting themselves on the back about how difficult their lives are, and no one corrects them, ’cause they want to fuck ’em. No, that’s what it is. So there’s just this tornado of, like, misinformation. “I have the most difficult job on the planet.” What would you rather be doing, drilling to the center of the earth, shaking hands with the Devil, every time there’s a rumble in the ground, you’re waiting for the whole thing to collapse down on top of you so they can write that folk song about you, you know? Or would you rather be up in the sunshine running around with a couple of toddlers that you can send to bed anytime you want on some sort of trumped-up charges, right? Because you want to have a drink and watch The Price is Right. You know what I mean? I couldn’t believe it.
“It’s the most difficult job on the planet.” Oh, yeah? I thought roofing in the middle of July as a redhead—I thought that that was difficult, but these mothers are bending over at the waist putting DVDs into DVD players. I don’t know how they do it. I don’t know how they do it. Dude, any job that you can do in your pajamas is not a difficult job, all right? Give me a break. Jesus Christ, you’re 35 years old playing hide-and-go-seek. You’re living the dream. You’re living the dream. No time card, no taxes. You’re off the fuckin’ grid. Making Popsicle stick houses. I mean…
“It’s the most difficult job on the planet.” Oprah’s not even a mother. How the fuck would she know? Unbelievable.
Granted, neither am I, but I, you know, I think it kind of balances itself out.
Make My Sandwich
Don’t Wanna Be That Guy
I’m halfway through my life at this age, you know, and I’ve been an angry son of a bitch, and I’ve got to turn this around, man. I’m embarrassed with my—I don’t wanna be that guy. You die as the angry guy. That’s the worst dude to die as, because then people have got to try to think of happy shit to say about you at your funeral. They’re just sitting there like, “he, uh… you know, he always paid his bills on time, you know. You’ve got to give him that, you know. God damn it, you gave this guy a bill, he paid it. This guy was a bill-paying son of a bitch, ironed his shirts. I—I got nothing. I don’t know what else to say about the guy. He’s just…”
No… No, I noticed—you know when I knew I had an anger problem was when—just, like, little random things. Like, I went to this place another time. I’m on the road, and I’m ordering food, and I was done ordering the food, and the guy behind the counter asked me if I wanted a cookie, right? And all of a sudden, I just had this unbelievable urge just to blast this guy right in the face. I’m not trying to be paranoid, but my brain was just sitting there going like, “dude, what kind of a man asks another man if he wants a cookie? This guy thinks you’re soft or something.” “Oh, you want a cookie, huh? You want a cookie there, cupcake?” Who the fuck is he? He doesn’t fuckin’ know you like that. And you know what the sad thing was, was I wanted a cookie. I would have loved one, sitting there with a big glass of milk like a four-year-old. Who doesn’t love a cookie, you know? But I say it. I say I want a cookie. You don’t fuck. I say it. I say I want a cookie. I bring it up, and if you bring it up, you do it subtle. You don’t just yell it across the restaurant. “You want a cookie, you pussy, pussy, pussy?”
Yeah, so that’s when I realized I’ve got a… anybody else’s thoughts just wake them up in the middle of the night? You just wake up. “Oh, you know, I don’t think I’m gonna make it,” you know? No, you know, my big move— actually, I’m a lot happier than I used to be, man. I fuck around a lot when I’m up here, but I’m definitely a lot more happier. My big move, you know, I decided I wasn’t gonna go home for the holidays. That was a big thing. I had to. There you go, one guy right there. Yeah, I had to. I don’t know what age you decided not to, but I went home at 39 not married, no kids, and I was just like, “there is no way I am going home at 40. There’s no way. There’s no way.” People aren’t even, like, asking questions. They just look at you weird. Just like, “so you’re just…” “you’re just gonna tell jokes, you know? Talk about disease and wish it on people and make fun of people who like cake. Is that what you’re gonna do? You don’t want to live in a cul-de-sac and have a couple of kids and gradually resent everyone and then take your own life? You don’t want to do that?”
Yeah. No, dude, I would love to be married. Like, in my head, it all makes sense. Like, I—you know? I don’t know what happened, but it just—it scares me. When I see married guys, I just get, like, nervous, man, that I’m just gonna be, like, that stereotypical married guy, you know? Just, like, a shell of my former self. You know, every weekend up on that silver ladder just scooping shit out of the gutters. My neighbor coming over, you know. “Hey, Bill, how’s it going?” “Oh, you know, pretty good, pretty good. Yeah, Susie keeps getting bigger, you know. I’ve been wearing this shirt for 11 years. I don’t know what happened to my dreams, you know. I just like coming up here ’cause it’s quiet. Yeah, I just stand up here and think about what might have been. Yeah.”
My neighbor’s not even listening to me. He’s all excited about some garden hose he bought at Brookstone. He’s convinced it was designed by NASA. “Actually, it’s got two nozzles, one for the hot and one for the cold.” Really? Is it long enough to go around both our necks and the chimney so we can tandem jump off of this? That’s all I really care about you and your little garden hose.
Now, I know I just sort of mentioned killing myself there. I don’t want to freak you out, all right, because I did that joke when I was down in the BIBLE BELT, and I was down south, and this girl took me really seriously. She came up to me at the end of the show, and she’s like, “you’re not really thinking about doing something like that, are you? You’re not really…” and I was like, “No, no, no. I’m just joking. I’m just joking.” She goes, “good, ’cause, you know, you can’t go to heaven if you do something like that.” And I was just like, “yeah, you know, I really don’t give a shit, you know?” It’s not that I don’t. I just like freaking out people that are that religious, that have a whole little checklist. “Shit if you do this, you go here, and if you do that…” How do you know that? You don’t know that. Shut up, you know? I think it’s a very normal thought. I think it’s a very normal thought to think about killing yourself, you know? I do.
You know what’s weird? Anytime I think about killing myself, it’s never over anything big. It’s always little things. Little things make me want to take myself out. It’s bizarre. Like, if my girlfriend broke up with me, I’m not gonna lie to you. I would be devastated, devastated. I’d be laying on the ground crying in the fetal position for, like, three days, you know. But, you know, by the fourth day, you know, I’d rub one out, you know, start putting the pieces back together. I know what I’ve got to do, join a gym, lie to myself that I’m gonna get the six-pack back. I know what I’ve got to do, all right?
But little things. I thought about killing myself, like, a year ago on Thanksgiving. And you know why it was? It was because I said i was gonna make a pie. That little statement made me think about taking myself out. This is how it works. This is basically the deal, right? My girlfriend’s an angel. She absolutely loves the holidays, so it was, like, two weeks before Thanksgiving, so she’s all excited. She’s like, “oh, my God. Thanksgiving’s coming up.” I’m sitting there trying to watch the game. “Thanksgiving. What are you gonna do for Thanksgiving,” right? And I started freaking out. Like, I didn’t think I had to do anything for Thanksgiving, you know? I just thought I had to, you know, not get drunk and be belligerent around your friends. I thought I was fine. She’s like, “no, I’m gonna make a turkey. I’m gonna make stuffing. What are you gonna do?” So I panicked. I’m like, “I’ll fuckin’ make a pie.”
I don’t know how to make a pie. I was just trying to make her go away, you know? You ever do that? You just agree with them thinking it will make them leave? Like, “awesome, what you said, high five, fuck off,” and you go back to watching the game. Yeah.
No, but it totally worked. It totally worked, because she walked away completely excited. She was, like, you know, ran away all excited, and I totally forgot about it, right? Two weeks later, Thanksgiving comes up, right? She just wakes up. She’s like, “oh, my God. It’s Thanksgiving. It’s Thanksgiving. You’re gonna make that pie, right? You said you were gonna make a pie.” I was like, “fuck.” I’ve got to make a pie. I’ve got to go to the grocery store. I’ve got to buy some flour. Then I just started thinking, “man, what if I just slammed my head right through this plate glass window and just bled out right down the side of the house, you know? I wouldn’t have to make the pie.”
So it’s not even like I’m suicidal. It’s more like I’m, like, lazy. You know what I mean? Like, whenever I know the next four hours of my life is gonna suck, I think about it. “God, I’ve got to pay my taxes. There’s a long line at the bank,” and then a bus is coming by. “What if I just dove headfirst right into those double back tires?”
Anybody else? You ever think about shit like that? You know what gets me? Ceiling fans. Somebody’s telling me some stuff I don’t want to do. “You’re gonna need two forms of I.D. We need your birth certificate.” And a ceiling fan’s behind the head. I’ll be, “I’ll get right on that.” Doing, doing, doing.
What Are You, A Fag?
So anyway, so I decided not to go home for the holidays. That’s what I’m really trying to tell you here. No, I did. I kind of came to this epiphany. I’m like, “man, I’m 41 years old. My dad had five kids by the time he was my age. I’ve got to get on with my life here.” So I was, like, going, “you know what? I’m not working Thanksgiving. I’m not working Christmas. I’m not working New Year’s.” and it was, like, the middle of October, and I was like, “wait a minute. What about Halloween?” Then my brain was like, “you know what? Fuck this. I’m getting a pumpkin,” right? That’s how angry my brain is. I can’t be just like, “you know what? Hey, let’s get a pumpkin.” It’s got to be, “you know what? Fuck this. Let’s get a pumpkin.” That’s what I started thinking. I’m carving that shit. I’m handing out candy to the kids. I’m meeting them at the door. Hey, what are you supposed to be, huh? Oh, yeah? Full-size snickers, bam. Who does that? Who does that? Nobody, nobody. I will break your fuckin’ bag with my candy, huh? AC/DC pumpkin. You ever seen that before? You haven’t right? You tell all your friends where you seen that shit. What are you, leaned to one side? That’s heavy. Here’s another candy bar. You’ll be like dumbbells, walk right down the stairs. This is how much of a maniac I am.
Do you know—this is all true. It took me four trips to go to the supermarket to finally be able to buy this goddamned pumpkin, because every time I would walk in there to get it, I’d be thinking all these happy thoughts. “This is a great thing. I’m embracing the holidays. It’s gonna bring me and my girlfriend together. This is a very loving thing to do.” And I reach out and grab it, and all I hear in the back of my head is, “what are you, a fag?” And then immediately, I had to turn around and walk out.
All right, let me explain that joke to functional people in the crowd, let me explain this. All right… This is how it works with guys. Any time you do anything remotely sensitive, heartwarming, anything that’s gonna make you more of a loving, caring individual, immediately, all your guy friends suggest that maybe, just maybe, you want to suck a dick.
Oh, it’s brutal. Even if you do something smart, right, like it’s raining out. “He’s got an umbrella. What a fag. Oh, my God. What, are you afraid of the water? Put your shoulders up, you fuckin’ homo. Jesus Christ. What, did you pull that thing out of your ass?”
Oh, it’s brutal. It doesn’t even have to make sense. “You carved a pumpkin? What do you do next, carve some guys ass with your cock? What a fag. What, are you gonna blow a scarecrow? Dude, get away from me with your gay little pumpkin.”
Oh, it’s brutal. “Dude, what are you, a fag” is the reason why guys drop at 55 out of fuckin’ nowhere. It’s literally from five decades of just suppressing the urge to, like, hug a puppy, admit a baby’s cute, say you want a cookie. You’ve just got to keep pushing it down like, “fuck them. I’m not sucking dick. I’m not sucking dick.” all right?
Yeah. No, no, no, no, and then one day—one day, you’re in a Denny’s, and they forget to put bananas in your pancakes. You just have, like, an aneurism, and your head slams off that sticky table, and the last thing you hear before it all goes black is your friends go, “he got bananas in his pancakes. What a fag. Oh, my God. It wasn’t sweet enough with the syrup, you fairy? Hey, bring another one over whole and shove it up his ass, right? Yeah, ’cause it looks like a dick, right? It looks like a dick. Yeah, I thought it, and then I said it. I’m awesome. Yeah.”
Oh, it’s a horrible, horrible way to live your life. You can’t—you’re just dying every day. Just every dumb thing that you can do as a guy, any stupid thing that’s gonna shorten your life makes you more of a man. Fuckin’ zero degrees out. You don’t have a coat on. “Dude, you cold?” You can’t admit it. “No, I’m not cold. Dude, I’m not cold. I’m just thinking of something I really agree with,” you know.
No. I’m trying to let go of this ball of hate in my chest. That’s why I don’t have any kids. I don’t. I think it’s irresponsible to be a complete maniac, not work on yourself, and then just have a kid, and then just start downloading all your fucked-up thoughts onto their pristine little hard drive, you know? You send them off to school with your little—your little manifestos. They’re freaking out other kids at school. “Two plus two, Timmy. What did you get?” “Daddy keeps cash in the walls, because he doesn’t trust banks.”
Yeah. No, it’s embarrassing to know this little about yourself at my age, man. I’ve got to get beyond— like, do you know how I finally ended up getting that pumpkin? You know how I did it? I actually had to bring my girlfriend down to the supermarket, and I had to walk her by the pumpkins, because I knew the second I did it, she was gonna freak out, and she did. The second she saw them, she was just like, “oh, my God, a pumpkin. Halloween’s coming up. We should get a pumpkin. Oh, my God, let’s get a pumpkin.” She starts doing, like, this little pumpkin dance, and I had this unbelievable urge just to take her head and just fuckin’ mush it right into the pumpkins and really hold it there for a second, like, feel the panic in the back of her head as the air bubbles became, like, less and less frequent as she sat there contemplating, “is this how it’s gonna end, pumpkin seeds up my nose? I always envisioned being surrounded by loved ones looking back on achievements. It’s so orange.”
No, I resented her. I resented the fact she gets to be a fag. She does. She gets to see pumpkins. “Oh, my God.” Right? Sees a little puppy. “It’s so cute.” Cries at sad movies. I’ve got to hold on to all of that shit, slowly dying inside. Go out to go see a sad movie, comes to the sad part. What do I do? She’s crying. I’ve got to think of some funny shit. “Ah, what if somebody kicks Sean Penn in the balls right now? Ah-ha-ha.” I start laughing. And then they get mad at you. “how could you laugh during a time like this?” because I’m not fuckin’ allowed.
That’s right. Thank you, sir. I like how you’re turning this into a town meeting, this guy down here. “that’s right. That’s exactly it. I always wanted to cry when I was watching lifetime, but, you know, I was never allowed to.”
I got a dog recently, everybody. That’s, like, the big thing. Yes, I did. I’m psyched. I went down to the pound. I got one of those free dogs, free dog. That’s how I say it too. I don’t say, “I rescued a dog.” I hate when people say that stuff. They say, “she’s a rescue. I rescued her.” Really? Did you pull her out of a burning building?” “Did you jump in a river with your wing tips still on with no concern for your own safety, or did you just go down to the pound and get a free dog, you cheap fuck? Isn’t that what you did?”
I actually—I did not want to get a rescue dog. I did not want to do that. My girl was all about it. She was like, “we should rescue a dog. Do you want to rescue a dog?” I’m like, “no, no, I don’t.” She’s like, “why not? I go, “because i think a lot of the dogs down at the pound might be a little fucked in the head. You ever thought about that?” Dude, the shelter is not a pet store. That is like shawshank for a golden retriever. Why don’t we just go down to the prison and rescue an inmate and just roll the dice that maybe the guy was wrongly convicted? Are you out of your mind? Fuck that. I want a brand-new 2009 bulldog, all right? I don’t want some 1995 half-a-labrador with part of its ear chewed off, you know? I’ve got to put together its backstory. Every time I go to use the toaster, it starts freaking out, because his last owner hung him from the ceiling fan every time the jets didn’t cover the over, you know? Dude, that’s an animal, man. That thing can kill you.
Dude, a rabid squirrel, how fast a squirrel is. If I was walking home at night minding my own business, but all of a sudden, some squirrel starting running at me, by the time I process like, “is that a rat? Is that mechanical?” that dude would be up my leg taking chunks out of the side of my head. I’d have to tell that story for the rest of my life in a bar. “Dude, what happened to the side of your head?” “A fuckin’ squirrel, all right? Christ, you don’t think I’m sensitive?”
No, I’m not trying to say all those dogs are bad down there, but what if I accidentally get one of those cujos or old yellers, right? I’m telling you, they love dogs down there so much, you’ve got to watch out what they tell you. I was down there. There was this one dog. This thing was staring at me so goddamned hard, maniac-looking dog. I’m like, “what’s up with this dog?” she was just like, “oh, he was chained to pallette in a junkyard his entire life.” And I’m like, “does it have any issues?” she’s like, “he’s a little aggressive.” It’s like, “well, were you gonna tell me that shit? Were you just gonna thrown it in my hatchback and let me figure it out on the ride home?” The thing’s pulling out a sharpened toothbrush to stick in my neck.
No, that’s what I’m saying. What if I accidentally get one of those crazy dogs, I get up at 2:00 in the morning to take a leak, and that is the exact moment its previous owner used to come home shit-faced, beat the crap out of the dog? I have no idea what I’m setting off. I’m sitting there shuffling along in my slippers, tying my robe. Meanwhile, the dog’s getting all amped up like, “fuck this shit, man. I promised myself I wouldn’t let this happen again. It’s time to man-up. Let’s do this on three. One, two, three.” Augh! It comes flying at me. I’m gonna be laying in the ground in a pool of my own blood. What are they gonna do with the dog? They’re gonna take him right back down to the pound like some sort of repeat offender. You’re gonna see him on the news in, like, shackles, like, shuffling along. “We knew you’d be back.” “Yeah, get me a milk-bone. Go fuck yourself.” You’re gonna wheel him in like Hannibal Lecter with that lamp shade around his neck. “Ahh, ahh, ah-ah-ah-ahh.”
Yeah, so we have, like, this stalemate, you know. I wanted the brand-new bulldog, you know, and she kept seeing that Sarah McLaughlin commercial, getting all sad, you know? Oh, they ought to get sued for false advertisement in that thing. I swear to God. They handpicked those dogs, the cutest little fuzzy… “I just want to play frisbee,” those cute little, innocent little Dr. Seuss-looking dogs. Where are the pit bulls? Where are the rottweilers? Where are those maniacs you see lifting weights down at the shelter? they’ve got the saddest-looking dogs ever, and she’s whining over the top of them. In the arms of an angel Whoo-whoo-whooo, boo-boo-boo Those dogs are looking all sad at the camera. “My last owner wasn’t a nice person.” The most ridiculous bandages, like they were in Saving Private Ryan, that Three Stooges rabbit ear. “I have a toothache.” Did Shemp own that dog? What happened? I love that when it’s all wrapped up like a mummy. It’s like, how? What, did it get hit by a cannonball during a civil war reenactment? Did a tyrannosaurus pick it up? “Ahh-ahh-ahh, poof,” spit it out.
My favorite one is that one-eyed pug. Oh, there’s a great dog. Yeah, bring that over to the kids. I’m sure that won’t freak them out at all. “Mommy, did you get us a dog?” “Arrgh, arrgh.” “Just let him sniff you. Just let him sniff you. Do not approach him from the right. Do not approach him from the right. Just let him sniff you. Come around. It becomes an entirely different animal when you do that. Just know you come from—come from the left. His name is Pooky. We’re gonna call him Pooky now.”
So she was into that. I wanted to get the bulldog. That was my thing. I was, like, I wanted to get the bulldog, but then i started researching on the bulldogs. They’ve got all these health problems, man. From day one, they can’t even breathe. They come out into the world. It’s like they’ve been working with asbestos their entire life, you know? It’s unbelievable. They can’t even breathe. You’ve got to have them sleeping upright in this lazy-boy rubbing Vicks vaporub on their chest. They’ve got, like, sleep apnea. They die nine times every night. Why don’t I just rescue a retired offensive lineman while I’m at it? “Yeah, this is Jim Jeffcoat. We’re gonna call him Larry for the rest of his life for some stupid reason.”
Didn’t know what to do, so we were at a stalemate, so my girl did what most females do. They just figure, “I know it’s good for him. I know it’s gonna make him happy. I’m gonna make a major decision without him, and then he’s gonna deal with it.” Yeah, that’s how i got a dog. I got a dog when i was on the road. I was on the road, and I just had a message on my machine. It was just, “boop,” and it was her, and she’s just like, “um, okay, um, I did something, um, kind of involves both of us, but I think you’re gonna love it. Just give me a call. Okay, bye.” Now, does that sound like, “I just signed you up for a 12- to 15-year commitment”? That doesn’t sound like that, right? That sounds like, “I bought a new outfit, and I’m gonna drag you to some awful restaurant during a play-off game,” right?
That’s what it felt like, so I’m ready for that argument. She tells me she went out, and she got a dog. Now, half of me isn’t upset, you know, ’cause, “you got a rescue dog?” “Yeah, we have it for a week, and, you know, if you want to keep it, you can.” So I go, “let me see it,” so we started Skypeing, and she pans around. You know what she got? She got a pit bull. I swear to god. She got—I’m like, “you got a pit bull. Are you out of your fuckin’ mind? You got a pit bull?” she goes, “it’s not a pit bull. It’s a mix.” Mixed with what, another pit bull? Look at that thing. It looks like it’s been doing pull-ups its entire life.” It’s front paws were still taped up. It’s, like, shadowboxing in the background. It’s been p90xin’. It’s a pit bull. Jesus Christ. And she says, like, “no, he’s sweet.” She said, “no, she’s adorable,” and all this stuff.
Oh, this is the worst part. I wasn’t getting home for three days, you know, and she’s all wrapped up in this dog, you know, and I’m like, “I don’t get home for three days. What happens when I get home on Monday and you have to go to work?” She goes, “well, I just figured I’d drive to work, and you could just come home to the apartment and meet the dog that way.” I’m like, “are you out of your mind? I’m not coming home to that. That dog is bonding with you. It thinks you guys live there. I’m gonna come walking in and have my calf ripped off because I’m trying to show my name on the phone bill? No, it’s not going down like that.” So she’s like, “well, what do I do?” “I’ll tell you what you do. You take that hell hound, you put it in the goddamned car, drive it to work. Park in the shade. Do whatever you’ve got to do. I’m coming home to a safe house, and then you drive home with the dog. Call me when you’re a half-mile away. I’ll meet you and Cujo down in the driveway. We will all walk in together. I will be in the front to show that I am the pack leader, because I watched half an episode of the dog whisperer, and I think that that’s what you’re supposed to do, I think. I don’t know.
Oh, it’s all true, right? So I go down to the driveway, and I see the dog. It’s a beautiful dog. It’s literally, like, walking like a marine or some shit like it’s sneaking into something. And I’m like, “okay, here we go,” turning my back on a pit bull that I don’t even know that turns out they didn’t get it to shelter. They found it by the L.A. River. It lived by the L.A. River for two weeks, and my girl’s response to that was like, “isn’t that sad?” “No, it’s fuckin’ scary.” “Why is it scary?” “Well, obviously, it got enough protein, so it wasn’t eating berries out there. That thing was choking out coyotes, you know, breaking the necks of squirrels. I don’t know what it was doing, but it definitely was—you brought a murderer into the house. Why don’t you just rescue an alligator while you’re at it just to add to the excitement?”
So we get the dog in the damn house, and it’s exactly what I thought was gonna happen. The dog’s sitting there looking at her, and then it’s looking at me and then looking at her like, “who the hell’s the new guy,” right? The new guy is the guy paying the fuckin’ rent, and I was getting no respect, so I was just like, right there, I was just like, “I know what she’s doing. I know what she’s doing. She’s bringing this dog home, because she thinks I’m gonna fall for it, and then we’ll just have the dog.” And it’s just, like, I love animals, okay, but I’m not gonna live with one that can fuckin’ kill me, you know? Rescue a chihuahua, so when it flips out because i grabbed the remote too quickly, I can flick it off the goddamned table or something, you know?
So that’s what I was doing. We got it for a week. We got it for a week, and then we make our decision, so I just shut down emotionally. I was like, “fuck this dog.” The first two days, I didn’t give a shit, you know. The dog’s sitting there looking at me, you know, and I was just like, Jesus Christ, right, you know? Then on Wednesday, I don’t know what happened. I started to like it a little bit, you know? No, I was watching TV, you know. I always talk to myself. I’m always home alone. I feel like a maniac. I finally had somebody to bounce my ideas off. It was kind of nice, sitting there on TV, “you believe these goddamned bankers steal a trillion dollars, and they get a bonus—and they get a bonus?” The dog’s sitting there looking at me, you know. But I’m fighting it. “God damn it. I think I like this dog a little bit,” you know? It’s making me want to work out, you know? I asked it a question. “How do you get these muscles? What do you do for these, a wheel crank? What are you doing?”
And then by Thursday, you know, I’m getting out in the air. I’m walking the dog, and I’m like, “god damn it. I think I love this dog. This is fuckin’…” You know, I don’t know if you ever walked a pit bull. You owe to your life at some point in your life to walk a pit bull down the street. I’m telling you, it’s the greatest experience ever. People just get the fuck out of the way. It’s unreal. Three, four blocks away, they see me coming. They just immediately cross the street. It’s tremendous. I don’t know why black people complain about that. I love having the whole side of the street to myself. It’s great. I feel like a king. Oh, it’s awesome. It’s the greatest thing ever. Pit bulls are the shit. It’s like a gun you can pet. It’s the only way to describe it. It’s awesome. They make you want to p90x or something. Just get in better shape.
So then by Friday—I mean, by Friday, the dog was literally messing up my relationship. My poor girl is sitting on the couch by herself. I’m sitting there spooning with the dog. “Oh, this dog is awesome. This dog is awesome. Watch me get her leg going. Watch me get her leg going.” I don’t know what happened. In four days, I went from “fuck this dog,” to, “oh, my god. This thing is gonna die someday. How am I emotionally gonna be able to deal with it?” Oh, I love it, absolutely. I carry it around like a baby. Oh, it’s the greatest thing ever. You come home. It’s shaking his tail. It’s all excited, like, “dude, you’re fuckin’ awesome,” you know? It’s like, “dude, you have no idea how much I need that,” you know?
It’s tremendous, and you can’t appreciate how awesome a dog is as a kid. You can only do it as an adult. As a kid, there’s, like, no frame of reference. It’s, like, you’re a kid. Your whole life is awesome. It’s awesome, right? You ever think about being a kid? You had no money. You had no I.D., no cell phone, no nothing, no keys to the house. You just ran outside into the woods. You weren’t scared of nothing. I challenge you to do that as an adult, all your I.D., all your credit cards, just run out of the house, no phone, turn the corner, where you can’t see your house and not have a full-on panic attack, like, “oh, my god. What if something happens to me? I’ll get locked up. No one will know who I am. What if I twist my ankle?”
Your whole life is awesome as a kid, right? You show up, no money. You just get stuff, real cheese, movie tickets, right? Why wouldn’t a dog be awesome? Everything is awesome. It’s not till you’re an adult that you appreciate it, right? Your dreams start dying. Somebody cheats on you, right? Bankers fuck up up your 401 (k), you know, and then you come home, and that dog’s looking at you like, “dude, you’re awesome,” and it’s like, “no, dude, you—you are fuckin’ awesome. You are the shit.”
No, it’s the greatest thing ever, absolutely. No, it’s unreal. It’s unreal. But poor girlfriend. She’s sitting there going, “Jesus Christ, you love the dog more than you love me.” I was like, “well, sweetie, you’re not at the back door shaking your ass every time I come home.” It’s a really a tough—no matter what time, 4:00 in the morning drunk. The dog doesn’t give a shit. “Hey, that’s awesome. Whoo.”
Old Man Face
And I’m 41 years old, and if I’m lucky, you know what I realized? I’m halfway through my shit right now. I’m halfway through my life, so, you know, I’m getting nervous, you know, about dying, you know, just growing old, man. I was never really nervous about till I got to this age, and, you know—you know what it was? I went to my grandmother’s 100-year birthday party, and I quickly realized that women age a lot better towards the end, you know? Guys, we hang with them in the beginning, because we’re young, and then in the middle, they’re having kids, so we kind of pass them, but that end, that last third, we’re like the stock market. We just—we just go right down to the ground. It’s brutal.
I went to this party. All the old ladies there were unbelievably sharp. They were still playing cards. They were right there. But some of the old dudes, man, they were brutal, you know? You ever see a guy, like, so old, he has, like, that permanent look of horror on his face? You know what I mean? A couple of guys walked in. They looked okay. “How ya doin’?” Then there’s always that one guy that just comes walking in just like… dude, even when they’re sitting down meeting people. “And this is my grandson Bill.” It’s like, “dude, how much pain are you in that you constantly have a look on your face like that shit from the Ring just crawled out of your TV set?” Dude, that’s got to be— you’re, like, so old, like, everything hurts. You’re just standing up. You’re like, “Ahh, my feet.” You go to lean on something. “Ahh, my arm.” Even, like, blinking, like, air hurts. “Hee-aaaaahh.”
Dude, fuckin’ kill me. Kill me if I ever end up like that. Dude, I’ll fuckin’ kill myself. I’ll rock myself down a flight of stairs. I’ll lean back, hit my head on a sink, whatever I’ve got to do. I told you, I already think about killing myself twice a week at this age. There is no fuckin’ way I’m going out like that. At the end of my life, I’m walking around… And everyone else has that panicked, “oh, fuck. Is it going down?” Look on their face. I don’t know how you do it. How do you wake up every morning brushing your teeth? How do fight the urge to not just jam that toothbrush right down your throat?
I’ll tell you what kills me, was, only the old guys had that look on their face. None of the old ladies did. Some of the old ladies had a look of, like, mild disappointment, you know? Just sitting there like… you know, like they always wanted to go to Europe, but they never got around to it. But only the old guys had, like, that… dude, it was almost like they wanted to tell you a secret. Like, “where’s the gold?” “can you remember the combination?”
What is that? Somebody said it’s, like, a mild form of dementia or it’s, you know? You know what I think it’s from? I think it’s from being married for 60 years, getting nagged every day, and never once looking at your wife being like, “you know what? How about you shut the fuck up? How about that? Hey, I got it. You’re not happy. Well, then fuckin’ leave.”
Is it that, or do they, like, wear you down? I think they wear you down, because I know as a young man, I had a lot more spring in my step. Young guys, your girl gives you shit, you know, you can go for a drive. “Where’s this relationship going? This feels weird. We need to talk.” “Hey, fuck you, lady.” You get in the car and go for a drive, punch the ceiling a couple times. You scream out the window, “bitch,” you know? You get it out. You get it out before your face gets all twisted up. Get it out. Ah, I’m back to me. Yeah, yeah, all right.
Then what happens? What happens? You stay in the relationship. You stay in the relationship, right? You get married. 15 years later, you’ve got a couple of kids. You’ve got a little gut going, all right? She starts in on you with that whole laundry list of stuff you’ve got to do because you’re married. “Susie has ballet practice. It gets over at 2:00. Make sure you’re there at 2:00. You were there at 2:02 the other day, and she was very upset. No, you were. You were. I actually documented the record on my Facebook page and…” and you want to give her an uppercut. You want to give her an uppercut. No, it’s a natural thought. It’s a natural thought. But you don’t. You never lead with an uppercut. You set it up with the jab. You get inside. You come right up through the cleavage. You rock that head back. You send her right across the linoleum, take that dirty pistol out. You lay it next to her, wipe off the door handle.
No, I’m fuckin’ with you. No, you don’t do that. No, you don’t. You never hit a woman. You should never hit a woman. You’re gonna get caught. You’re gonna go to jail. You’re gonna get raped. It’s awful, you know. You don’t do that, right? But what do you do now? What are you gonna do now, right? You’re married, right? You can’t yell, ’cause your kids are there. You can’t go for a drive. You don’t have a cool car anymore. You’ve got, like, some caravan with those sticky children of the corn handprints all over the windshield. So what do you do? You go down in the basement, and you just do that, like, whisper yelling. Fuck this. Fuck this.
And then I think just one day, you’re just too old. You’re just too old. You’re tired. You’ve been married, like, 60 years. Your body’s breaking down. You blew your knee out at the “y” playing pickup ball, like, 30 years earlier in the 50-and-older league, you know, and you just want to watch the game, and she comes in that one last time, right, just to annoy you. Just picking on you. “And you were always mean to my mother, and I always resented you for it. Why couldn’t you have been more like your brother,” right? And you start to—”you know what? Fuck this. I’m not listening to this,” right? And you go to get up, and that’s when it hits you that they day before was the last day you had the quad strength to get up and out of your favorite chair, and that’s when the panic sets in. You’re like, “oh, shit. Dude, I can’t get up. Oh, my god. I’ve got to listen to this for the rest of my life.”
No, that’s what it is. That’s what it is. No, a lot of people don’t realize those old guys are actually trying to escape. That’s what they’re doing. Like, “is she looking? Am I gonna make it? Avenge meee!!!”
Listen, I’m out of time. You guys were awesome. Thank you so, so much for coming out. I really appreciate it. Thank you.