Hannah Gadsby: Douglas (2020) – Transcript

In her second Netflix special "Douglas", Hannah Gadsby explores how autism affects her thinking — and takes a little more time to pick on the patriarchy
Hannah Gadsby: Douglas (2020)

The following is the transcript of Hannah Gadbsy: Douglas. In her second Netflix special, named after her dog, Gadsby explores how autism affects her thinking — and takes a little more time to pick on the patriarchy

♪ Douglas Douglass, apple tree ♪
♪ Have a wife, now let her be ♪
♪ Give me, give me what you got ♪
♪ I’m gonna make you what you’re not ♪
♪ Douglas Douglass, prickly pear ♪
♪ Have a wife, but I don’t care ♪
♪ Give me, give me all your soul… ♪

Thank you. Thank you so much. Hello. Look at this! Look at this. That… That is a dog made entirely out of crayons. I don’t need that. I’m part of the problem now. That’s my gold toilet. I had no plans to make it in America. This was not on my agenda. And then what happened though is I wrote a show called Nanette, right, that… Well, then… That’s clear, isn’t it? That’s why you’re here. You’re not here because of my back catalog of prior, are you? Which does beg the question, if you’re here because of Nanette… why? Like, don’t get me wrong, it was a good show. Solid bit of work. I’m quite fond. But it was a particular show of a very particular flavor. And if that is what has brought… What the fuck are you expecting from this show? Because I’m sorry, if it’s more trauma, I… I am fresh out. Had I known just how wildly popular trauma was going to be in the context of comedy, I might have budgeted my shit a bit better. Honestly. I could have built quite the career out of it. At least a trilogy. But I went and put all my trauma eggs into one basket like a fucking idiot, and now here we are. You want more?

Just out of curiosity, by round of applause, who has not seen Nanette? Even less of an idea why the fuck you’re here. I mean, welcome. Good on you, taking a punt. And– And don’t worry, it’s fine. This show does not depend on you having seen Nanette. I’m not that kind of confident, but… We’ll see what happens. But other than trauma, you know, I have no way of telling what people are expecting from this show. Right? But what I’ve decided is possible is for me to just tell you. And that’s what’s gonna happen. That’s how I’m going to meet your expectations. By adjusting them for you now. So they are exactly what you’re gonna get. Then I’ll meet them and you’ll go, “She’s very good.” And, yes, I am, but I cheat.

So that’s what’s gonna happen before the show even begins, right? I’m going to give you a very detailed, blow-by-blow description of exactly how the show is going to unfold. Now this setting of expectations does go on a bit. I’ve had to cut the actual show in order to fit it in, but… I believe it’s worth it, you know? Like, to be able to meet your expectations, it’s my job. And let’s face it, this is my difficult second album, that is also my tenth and some people’s first. You know, it’s a lot of pressure. So let’s set your expectations. When the show begins… When the show actually begins… This is not it. Don’t panic. When it begins, I’m gonna kick things off with a bit of observational comedy. Right? A bit of, you know, “Have you ever noticed… What’s up with that?” That shit. That’s what I’m starting with. And look, it’s not very good, I’m gonna be perfectly honest with you, because I’m not very observant. Typically speaking… vague as fuck, right? Now, fair warning, my observations will be about Americans, which is, broadly speaking, you lot. Right? So… And– And, sorry, but making fun of Americans is still technically punching up, although that window is closing. Um… It is. And so… I’m just making hay, you know. ‘Cause I can’t speak Russian, so I’ve really gotta… get it in while I can. I don’t know. I should just also warn you, during the bit where I make fun of Americans… your feelings will smart, because I will be making fun of you there. I just need you to expect that, right? I will be taking the absolute piss, as we say back home, not that you care. And so you’ll be sitting there, just going, “Oh.” And fair enough. I don’t want to deny your feelings. Have them, please. Let them run through you, definitely. But what I would suggest, strongly, is that you do not invest in those feelings. Don’t let them get a grip on you, because what this show is, if anything, is a romantic comedy. So it’s just, to that end, important that we get off to a shaky start. So that’s all… Just don’t invest. Feel, but don’t invest. Just go with me. Trust me. Don’t trust me. Don’t trust that person. Um… Anyway… That bit, right? So that’s how it’s gonna start. Bit of observational comedy. Then what I’m going to do is I am going to tell you a story about a curious incident that took place in the dog park in the daytime. Oh. Now, it’s a fun story. It’s a fun story. And throughout that story, I will touch on, with consent, most of the major themes of the show, so watch out for those. And it will also include a fair dose of what I call a gentle and very good-natured needling of the patriarchy. So that is in there. So it’s very important… It’s very important that you expect that, because it is there, and if that’s not your thing… leave. I’ve given you plenty of warning. Just go. Off you pop, man-flakes. Out you go. Go on with you. Now, after that story, I’m gonna tell another story. What? Look at me go. I know. Classic. The second story is about a misdiagnosis I received, and I’m gonna blame that misdiagnosis squarely on misogyny, because it’s true. Now, after… After that… That’s just the needle. If that hurts, get out while you can still walk. Now… at the end of that story, I’m going to do a bit of what I call “hate baiting.” It’s where I bait my haters. It’s a very complex idea. Now the way that I’ll do that is I will just say a thing. And I will make no fucking effort to make it funny. I’ll just say it and leave it there. I don’t care. Now, I would strongly recommend that you do not… You do not take the bait. Do not take the bait. It’s not for you. It’s bad for you. You’ll be all Frothy McFroth Face. Like, just leave it there.

Then what I’m gonna do is I’m gonna move into the joke section, which is jokes, right? That’s why I call it the joke section. It’s just joke after joke. It’s really… It’s classic. Now, if in that bit, you find yourself offended by anything I say in the joke section, please just remember they are just jokes. Even if you find yourself surrounded by people who are laughing at something you find objectionable… just remember the golden rule of comedy, which is, if you’re in a minority, you do not matter. You don’t. Don’t blame me. I didn’t write the rules of comedy. Men did. Blame them. I do. It’s cathartic. Now… There we are. The joke section works to really ramp the show up, in tone, in pace, and also in my needling of the patriarchy. By that stage, the needle will have become a jousting stick. Uh… Yep. And then, with said jousting stick, I’m going to set about tearing my haters a new asshole. Yep. Quick as you like. Brand-spanking new. And the way that I’ll do that is by doing exactly what my haters accuse me of doing, which is lecturing you. So in the middle of the show, I’m giving a big, old lecture. The twist? It’s funny. It’s fucking funny. Right? Which is exactly what my haters accuse me of not being. So that’s gonna send them on a bit of a loop. May kill them. Fingers crossed. Now, at this stage, you’re probably wondering, and rightly so, why would I focus on my haters? Why would I do that? That is self-indulgent. Yes. And, yes, I have read all of Taylor Swift’s work. I am aware of the great sage of our age. I do understand that haters are just gonna hate, hate, hate, hate. Hate. Hate, hate, hate, hate, hate, hate. And she’s not wrong. They are repetitive. So why wouldn’t I… Why wouldn’t I follow her lead and just shake it off? Why wouldn’t I do that? Just shake, shake, shake… It’s one reason. That is one reason. The other reason is because I’m not convinced our friend Tay Tay… has been a victim of an actual hate crime. And I have. So, naturally, the way that we deal with online hate is going to differ. Personally, I like to snack on it. Yep. Nom, nom, nom. This body doesn’t just happen. I am a real hate patootie.

Now, after I’ve dealt with my haters there, sent them on their little fugue spiral, what I’ll do then is change gears dramatically in the show, and I will do that by telling you that I have autism. And I’m going to tell you in such a way that it’s gonna sound like a big reveal. But it just… it really shouldn’t come as a surprise. I’ve just told you. And… And also because everything in the show up until that point works as a big sequence of red flags that I have autism. Honestly, I have Hansel and Greteled the fuck out of it. It is all there. But because I’ve spoiled my own surprise there, in order to make it a big reveal again, I have to rely on staging and lighting tricks to bring it in so you go, “Oh, it’s a big reveal.” So the lights are gonna come in, I’m gonna sit on this stool here, and it’s gonna be, “Right, now…” And– And it’s not going to work, because you’re not fucking idiots. And then, after that bit, I’m gonna do a tiny bit of gear about the anti-vax movement. Listen to yourselves. Listen to yourselves. This is… You’re not unusual. Right, I’ve toured this show around the world and I can report that no audience anywhere has known how to collectively respond to just the mention… of the anti-vax movement. Pretty much, you just say “anti-vax” and people are like, “Ha, ha, no!” So that’s gonna be fun. Now, my anti-vax material is different in tone to the rest of the show. At the end of it, you’ll sit there and go, “Ooh. Well, she just needed to get that off her chest.” And it’s true, I do. And I will. But here’s the thing. I’ve never met a joke… that I haven’t wanted to call back. I’ve never met a joke… G’day. I’ve never meta… Meta joke. That’s a pun. Catch up. Right?

Now, this is a very pun-heavy show. You need to expect a lot of puns. And you also need to expect one Louis C.K. joke. Listen to that. He is like the anti-vax of comedy, isn’t he? Now, I only have one joke. That wasn’t it, by the way. The show hasn’t started. We’re still in the prelude. The one joke… It’s very good. I only need one. It’s a good… It’s a good joke. It was a day off, pens down, have a biscuit, the day I wrote that joke. Fucking good joke. I am so solid, my Louis C.K. joke, it’s a mic drop moment. And I will drop the mic. Doesn’t matter how you respond, I will drop… the mic. Except I won’t drop the mic, because you don’t know this yet, but you do, I have autism and I find loud noises quite distressing. So what I’ll do instead is I’ll just place the fucker directly on the ground there. Just pop it down now. Now, that will take away from the theatrics of the moment, absolutely, but let’s not be ableist about this. The interesting thing about the Louis C.K. joke is that it happens very late in the show, so late you will have forgotten that I told you to expect a Louis C.K. joke, which means I’ve just added an extra layer of mirth to your laugh cake. Yep, because when you laugh at it… and you will. It’s very good. As you’re laughing at it, you will remember that I told you to expect a Louis C.K. joke and realize you’d forgotten. Which means you’ll laugh like this. “Ha, ha– Oh!” Which means I’ve just added a third layer. Because when you realize, you’ll go, “That’s exactly what she said she’d do!” – So you’ll laugh, “Ha, ha– Oh! Hey!” – laughter] It’s once, twice, three times a lady can do that, you see. Hey? Oh. In the right hands, of course. In the right hands. And you only need hands. Who knew? Most women. Now… After the anti-vax material, what I’m going to do is I’m going to try and let you in on my experience of autism. And I’ll do that by telling a story about, uh, my relationship to a penguin that may or may not be inside a box. Uh… I can’t promise you it’ll make more sense then either. And then I’ll finish the show out with another lecture. What? Another lecture? Who knew? I did. Now you do. That is what is going on here. Now, I will admit, the– the last part of the show there, I will be much more likable than I am in the beginning. Borderline adorable. Now, you’re probably wondering why wouldn’t I start with my best foot forward, adorable guns a-blazing? Why wouldn’t I do that? Why would I start off being a bit unlikable? Because this is a show about autism. And people with autism rarely make a good first impression. And most people tend to write us off because of that.

So this is a show that rewards people who persevere. Who go beyond their discomfort just to see what’s on the other side of the spectrum. For those people, this show does work like a romantic comedy. Theoretically, ’cause theories are sexy. Now, that’s it. That’s the show. That’s everything you can expect. Expectations have been set. So the show starts now. Have you ever noticed… how Americans… are not stupid? What’s up with that? You’re not stupid. I was so disappointed to discover that. Because I had been led to believe, by you… that you are as dumb as bricks. And then I meet you all, and then you’re not. I mean, you’ve got your quota, as have we all, but you’re not… Do you know what you are? You’re culturally confident. Good on you, I say. Good on you. And you know who else had that skill set? The ancient Romans. And things worked out well for them… for a bit. Don’t invest. It’s all right. Hold true. You’re all right. You’re all right, America. Hang in there. Invest a little.

Now, I think it’s your confidence that makes you stupid. Bear with me. Don’t invest. Honestly, I do, because confidence… Confidence makes you stupid, and I’m very confident in that opinion. Because you’re so confident in your American-inity that you hang onto things just ’cause it’s American and it must be right, right? You hang onto things just ’cause it’s American, even if the thing you cling to is proof of literal stupidity. And I’ll give you an example. I only need one. Now, we fossil fuel… We fossil fuel our cars with the same stuff you do, in Australia, right? We fossil fuel it with petroleum. Now, “petroleum” is very heavy of the syllable. We don’t have time. We’re busy people. We don’t have time for syllables. “LOL.” You know, this is where we’re at. So we’ve wisely shortened “petroleum” here and there, right? In Australia, we’ve shortened “petroleum” to “petrol.” Now, I’m not bragging. That’s not… Like, we’ve just stopped talking. That is all that has happened there. We’re just like, “Petrol.” You have dug a lot deeper into the hat of imagination for your shortening of “petroleum,” because you’ve shortened it to “gas.” Now, the interesting thing about petroleum is that it is a liquid. And the interesting thing about gas, by its very fucking definition… is that it is not a liquid! But you guys would rather gaslight science, or flood it. I don’t know how the thinking happens in your head! But you will not change, ’cause you’re like, “It’s right, ’cause we thought of it and we’re Americans.” But it’s not right. It is dumb in the face!

When I first started touring here, I was told I should Americanize my language. To which I responded, “Fuck off. Americanise is not spelled with a ‘Z, ‘ fuckers.” Honestly, Americans are like the straight, white man of cultures. You say, “To-may-to,” that’s all you care about. Like, fuck off. I will not bow to your confidence. I will not say, “Sweater.” I will be saying, “Jumper,” and you can cope. I’m not suggesting that “jumper” makes sense. “Jumper” makes fuck all sense. But what it does do is it sounds fun. “I’m gonna put on a jumper.” “Oh, mate, you’re gonna have a good day. Off you pop.” But you guys, you put on a sweater. “Yeah, this is the top I wear to soak up the wet of my body. Mmm.”

Biscuit. Biscuit. Deal with it. I call someone a dick biscuit later in the show, and when I say… ‘Cause I’m mature. And when… I say, “Biscuit,” I mean what you call a cookie. And not what you call a biscuit, which is what I call a rogue scone. That is a scone what forgot its manners. It is out of control. But I will not say, “Dick cookie.” I will not. I refuse, ’cause it doesn’t work. When you call someone a dick biscuit, it means we don’t want to like them. And “dick biscuit” does that. It sounds like they’re in Slytherin. Dick Biscuit. Dick cookie? Yeah, it’s all right. It’s like Ravenclaw. No one really knows what’s up with them, but they seem all right. They seem fine. And I’ve decided that Dr. Cock Biscotti… Hufflepuff. That is definitely Hufflepuff. Dr. Cock Biscotti. And I’ve put no thought into Gryffindor whatsoever, ’cause fuck ’em. They are like the straight, white man of Hogwarts. “What about Hermione?” She’s probably a terf. Fuck her. Punching up. I mean, I have made some concessions for you. I’m not a monster. Like, I’ll say, “Waldo.” Where’s Waldo? I’ve always known him as Wally, but, look, it’s not that hard. “Waldo.” Did it. So the trick is there. If you find Waldo, you’ve found Wally. It’s the same guy. And I’ve happily taken on a lot of your wordage. There’s a lot about your language I like, America. Like “arugula.” Yes, please. We call that stuff “rocket.” Fuck off, rocket. I want arugula. It sounds like a clown car horn. Yes, please. Arugula! And aluminum. Mm-hmm. Yes. We have the same word, but we say, “Alu-min-ium.” Why would you say, “Aluminium,” when you can flirt it? “Al-u-minum.” “Stop it, America.” And, “Y’all?” Oh, yes, please! “Thanks all y’all for y’all. I’m taking y’all. I love y’all.” Because “y’all” is the best, most inclusive second-person, plural pronoun in the English-speaking world. Thank you, the South. What an ally. I’m in two minds about “fanny.” Just the word. ‘Cause, here, “fanny” is your butt. Your rear end, your backside, your bum. In Australia, “fanny” refers specifically to the lady front bum, to use inclusive language. I don’t know. And when I first heard that everyone in America has a fanny, I thought, “Cool. Cool, cool, cool. I’m going to the Isle of Lesbos. Giddy up.” That’s just a joke. It doesn’t belong there. Must have snuck out of the joke section. Apologies there. No, I’ve known about the fanny discrepancy for a very long time. I will never forget the day I discovered “fanny” meant a different thing here than it does back home. I was at school, I was reading a book. It was an American book. Untranslated. I’ve always had a bit of a gift for the languages. Now, it was just a random children’s book about four kids on an adventure and part of their adventure… Apparently these four children slid down a hill. On their fannies. And I lost an afternoon. I lost an afternoon trying to make that work in my mind’s eye, because that is not how you go down a hill! If you go down a hill like that, that is not a decision. You’ve tripped. And what are the chances of four children synchronized-tripping… and it not rating a mention from the narrator? Fuck all. So why would you choose to go down like that? It’s not aerodynamic, and I don’t care how you identify, that is vulnerable. And which way do you go? Head first? Feet first? Well, neither are aerodynamic. And what the fuck do you do with your knees?

I should probably tell you what “Douglas” means. ‘Cause it means a very different thing here than it does back home. In Australia, a Douglas is slang for a kangaroo’s uterus. It’s fucking not. Like, why would we have slang for that? For fuck’s sake. Australians are not even that Australian. Come on. It was just my dog’s name. I’ve named this show after my dog. His name’s Douglas. Um… It’s weird that that’s the thing you clap, but cool. “Well done, you named your dog and then your show after the same… You’re not so weird anymore.” Um… Douglas is my first dog. Douglas is my first dog. As an adult. I had lots of dogs when I was growing up. Our family went through them a bit. We lived on a busy road. – Um… – Oh… All right. That’s where you’re at. Look, it just… really paints a picture of a time and a place. Look… Douglas is fine. I don’t live on a busy road anymore. I take good care of the boy. I take him to the dog park. And anyone who goes to a dog park on the regular knows that no good conversation is ever had… at a dog park. They are just festivals of small talk, and that is not my natural habitat. You don’t know why yet, but you do. Now, I want to tell you a story about a terrible conversation I had at the dog park once. This bloke just walks up to me. I mean, he had a dog. He wasn’t just being creepy. He had context. I want to tell you this. It’s not pertinent to the story, but I want you to know. His dog had shoes on. And his dog did not want to have shoes on. He was doing that, like… And it was a whippet situation, and they’re shaky at the best of times. We don’t know why. Are they cold? Are they nervous? But it was like just… It was a lot. Now, it’s not important to the story, but it was a lot in my periphery, so I just want you to know. Added stress. Now, this was my, uh, friend’s icebreaker. We’d never met. This was his icebreaker. He said, “Did you know… it takes less muscles to smile than frown?” The men in the audience are sitting there going, “Oh, you’ve experienced an isolated incident.” And the women are sitting there going, “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” And non-binary folk are like, “Is that a hard day for you? Is it?” Now, as far as icebreakers go, it’s a fucking shit one. Basically what he’s saying is, “Your face is wrong. Can you change it?” Like, honestly. And even if I gave him the benefit of the doubt, right, and truly believed that energy consumption was his chief concern… That he was just looking at me, going, “If only she knew. She could live her best life. She could get so much more out of her day if only she knew.” Like, even if I believed that, the thing is, I was neither smiling nor frowning. My face was neutral, which takes fuck all muscles. Now, I am aware that my neutral face is not particularly chipper. Like, I do look like someone stabbed a potato with a spoon upside down. Honestly, like… No muscles. Neutral. Now, I have resting bitch face. That’s what it’s called. That’s what it’s colloquially known as. Resting bitch face. Only women have resting bitch face. Men simply have very important thoughts you’d best not interrupt them having. Honestly, no one has ever gone up to a man while he’s a stranger and gone, “Cheer up, love. It may never happen.” No! As far as icebreakers go, that was a bit shit. Do you know how I responded? I started frowning. I started using muscles I’d had no intention of using just moments earlier. But he thought it went very well, so he stepped the conversation up another notch, and he said, “What is your dog’s name?” Classic. And I responded by saying, “Doug.” ‘Cause he’s only Douglas when he’s in trouble, I discovered. Now, when I said, “Doug,” this man’s response was a little much. He’s basically… I said, “Doug,” and he’s gone… “Good one.” And I said… “It’s not.” I don’t know why. I think I was still in Frown Land. I’ve just gone, “It’s not a good name.” And he said, “It is.” So I said, “It’s not.”

So let’s just… This is what’s happening. I’m having an argument with a stranger in the dog park about whether or not my dog’s name is good, and I’m not on the side you’d assume I’d be on. And his dog had shoes on. We had more important things to talk about. Instead, we’re going, “It’s a bad name.” “It’s a good name.” Eventually, he’s like, “Look. It’s a good name, because Doug… Dogs dig. Doug.” Now it was a singularly humiliating moment as a professional comedian to have my own joke, that I hadn’t even thought of, explained back to me. As if I had thought of it, but just forgot. Like, I didn’t notice. I’d had Doug for over a year. Hadn’t fucking clocked that his name was a pun. Humiliated. So I did what any reasonable, mature person would do. I lied. I said, “No. I’ve– His name’s Douglas. And I named him after the Pouch of Douglas, I will have you know.” And he said, “What is the Pouch of Douglas?” And it’s a fair question, because the Pouch of Douglas is an obscure situation. So I explained. I said, “The Pouch of Douglas is a bit of potential space that exists, and it’s situated between the anal cavity… and the uterus in the female, biological sex reproductive environment.” At the dog park! And this guy did not blink. He’s just frozen. And he started frowning. And… he was suddenly working very hard. And I took that look of fear mingled with vague repulsion and mistook it for genuine curiosity. And I thought, “This man wants to know more.” So I explained, “It’s neither front, nor back. It’s right in the middle. It’s in fanny neutral territory. We’ll call it fanny Switzerland. And it doesn’t have its own entrance,” I said, as if that made it all better. “Like, you can’t… You can’t just get to it. Although, if you were to stick your thumb up the bum and your finger up the relevant vagine… and clap… that bit in there… that’s your Pouch of Douglas. In there.” At the dog park! ‘Cause it’s not an actual thing. It’s just… It’s a crawl space for emergencies. The best… The best way I can explain it is this. You’ve got a suitcase and you want to open the suitcase. You take the zip all the way around the suitcase, but when you go to open the suitcase, it does not open, because you have not used the zip zip. You’ve used the funny zip, which does go all the way around the suitcase, but it doesn’t fucking open. It just mocks you. So when you go to open the suitcase, it just does that… And now, you have not opened the suitcase. But what you’ve done is you’ve created a bit of extra space in there, and you can’t see it, and you can’t access it. But you know it’s there. That is the Pouch of Douglas. Thank you. I’m delighted. I’m delighted you enjoyed my explanation of the Pouch of Douglas, because my friend at the dog park did not. I just still can’t get over that there’s something inside of me, in a very particular part of my body… called the Pouch of Douglas. It’s fucking weird, borderline not okay. But it is also a reminder that we do live in a world where everything has been named by men. Everything. Everything. And that was named after a man. Dr. James Douglas, who was an 18th century Scottish man midwife. What an uncomfortable collection of demographics that is. Like, do not headline your LinkedIn with that. That is a mistake. It was named after Dr. James Douglas, because apparently he found it first. What a day. What a day he must have been having. Just rummaging around a lady cadaver. Rummage, rummage. Hobbies were different then. He must have just found her funny zip, and then saw it sitting there, all void, no name. At which point, Dr. James Douglas must have thought, “Well, this is it. This is my shot at legacy.” Honestly, it just never ceases to amaze me how little men have to do in order to be remembered. He found a “not thing” and called dibs. We would live in a very different world if women had participated in the naming of things. Like, do you fellows honestly believe you’d have balls if women had been at that meeting? No. ‘Cause here’s the thing. Women don’t think of your testicles as a sport or a game. You like to play with them. That is your bag and your bag alone. Cool story. But how would you like it if we’d have given you “Karen’s handful?” How the fuck would you like that? Just having an olde woman with a grip around your tenderloins all fucking day. How would you like that? I’m so sorry. I’m clearly not an expert. What is this? I am sorry. I think, in my mind’s eye, Karen is a marionette. Just… “What do balls…?”

I had to see a doctor… Uh, this is a while ago. Um… ‘Cause I had some issues with my Douglas environment, very broadly speaking. Um… And my regular doctor was away, so I was seeing her replacement. Uh, now, the replacement doctor was not a doctor I would ever have chosen for myself. We weren’t a good match. We didn’t get along from the get-go. He was a fucking arrogant asshole. I mean, he was a qualified doctor as well. Yes, absolutely. But that is a Venn diagram with a lot of crossover. We’re going to call him Dr. Dick Biscuit. Okay, there it is. Now, Dr. Dick Biscuit decided, after running no tests, that the solution to my Douglas malaise… was that I should go on the pill. The pill. There’s more proof men have named all the things. “The pill.” That’s a bit fucking vague, isn’t it? “Most things you prescribe, Doctor, could be called a pill.” He’s like, “Yes, but this is the pill. The pill.” It sounds like there’s just a giant pill in the town square we all scurry out and nibble on, “Mmm, it’s Monday.” “What does it do?” “Witchcraft. Shut up. Call it a pill.” I said to Dr. Dick Biscuit, “Look, I don’t want to take the pill. I’ve been on the pill before and the pill tends to give me suicidal ideation.” You thought I was all out of trauma. Now, Dr. Dick Biscuit didn’t enjoy me bringing that to the table. The table being a consultation about my body. He’s like, “No. No, thank you very much.” And do you know what he did? He shushed me. He said, “You will do well to listen to me.” It was our first fight. And I did what I always do in a bit of conflict. I made a joke. This was my joke. I said, “Instead of going on the pill, how about I have a hysterectomy?” Yep, you get it. I don’t know why he didn’t get it. As far as jokes go, that’s a classic. I can’t… think of a context where that wouldn’t be a joke. Like, on what planet would I have control over my own body? Not this one. So clearly, it’s a joke. And also, it should have been clear, because I used jokey words. I didn’t use formal terminology. I did not say, “Hysterectomy.” What I said was, “Why don’t we just whip out the whole kit and caboodle?” Then, if that wasn’t clear enough I was joking, I followed it up with, “Besides, I’ve heard decluttering is in fashion, Doctor. And this does not spark joy.”

Thank you. I’m delighted. I’m delighted you enjoyed that joke. Because Dr. Dick Biscuit did not. He did not get my joke. And so, I did not get his humanity. And things just escalated from there, and he just began shouting at me. Right? And when he just fully laid into me, at which point I began to cry, and then Dr. Dick Biscuit took my distress as proof… his diagnosis was correct. Clearly, I was hormonal. Classic cop-out, Dick Biscuit. Fuck me. Men calling women hormonal. Pretty much it’s the number one hobby of mankind of all time. Like, a man is allowed to call a woman hormonal just whenever a woman says or does something a man failed to predict. That’s it. It’s like, “I wasn’t expecting that, so, clearly, you’re just a clusterfuck of internalized chaos you make up to be a bitch.” Like, men call women hormonal as if men don’t have hormones. That’s the bit that shits me. Because newsflash, fellas, you’ve got hormones. And sometimes you get testy. Yeah, you do. Sometimes Karen gives it a bit of a squeeze… and you get upset. And fair enough, you’re only human. Happens to the best of us. Look, I’ve been known to want to nibble a bit of dark chocolate on a full moon. I don’t know. Witchcraft. But I’ve never had to punch a door. So we all have our things, fellas. Like, honestly, what do you think “boys will be boys” means… if men are so good at neutralizing their hormones? Like, it’s not the convenient alibi for sexual assault that so many people are so desperate for it to mean. Know what “boys will be boys” means? It means we are not preparing our boys for the real world. It means we know. We know that boys are at the mercy of their hormones. We’re just culturally incapable of holding them accountable for their actions, so we hold women accountable. Stop it! It’s bait, you fucking idiots. It’s bait. Leave it! It’s not for you. It’s not a rally. Fuck. Every time I do that, I feel like I’ve got to walk around the bait. Look, I don’t need my hormones to be unreasonable. I would just love men to know that. Like, I don’t need… I can just be unreasonable ’cause I don’t wanna. I have plenty of what I call “puffer fish moments.” Right? You know puffer fish? Those fish that get startled and go, “Oh, this is a solution.” It’s not. That’s what happens. I get filled with this impotent fury and I can’t do anything about whatever it is I’m angry about, because I’m just like… “If you eat me, I’ll fuck you up, but otherwise I’m just over here.” And it’s only little things that’ll set the puffer fish off. Little things. Not the big picture. Little things, like the paleo diet. Don’t even look sideways at me with that shit. Because my response is out of control. It’s disproportionate. Someone will just innocently say, “I’m on the paleo,” and I’ll go, “Are you? First of all, I don’t care. Two, your breath stinks. Eat some fucking fiber, for fuck’s sake. Three, we don’t know what they ate. We have no clue what paleolithic humans actually ate. But we are dead certain they didn’t eat cauliflower popcorn, you prick!” And, you see, it doesn’t matter where on my cycle I am. Same rage. Where’s Waldo? is another one. Fuck him. Because why is Waldo? Why? Why? Why have we wasted so many hours out of the lives of generations of children looking for that prick? Because you look and look, and looking is an investment. You’re caring, and then you start to worry. “I hope he’s okay.” And then you find him and nothing is ever the matter. Ever! He’s only ever on holiday, having quite a nice time of it. Fuck you, Waldo! He should have to find himself, like the rest of us have to. Honestly. If you want to see a children’s book illustration of white male privilege, it is that guy. Because here is a man who makes no effort. No effort to help himself, yet fully expects everybody on Earth to give a shit about his whereabouts at all times. Just change your ugly fucking jumper, mate. To be honest, that one does fluctuate depending on the moon and the tides. But ultimately, what a waste of my emotional resources.

I also waste them on the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Big issue. It’s Donatello. I’ll tell you why. Now, if you didn’t know, the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles are a street gang, and, weirdly, that is not my issue. It’s a comic book, television, film franchise and the target demographic for it is pretty much young boys. Now, the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles have names. They are Michelangelo, Leonardo, Raphael, and Donatello. They are named after Renaissance artists. Because nothing says frescoes like nunchucks. Am I right? I’m not right. Now, the interesting thing about the Renaissance, what we popularly understand as the Renaissance is the Italian High Renaissance, and that was a very short art movement. Twenty years, over. It went from 1500 to 1520. Done. Now, Michelangelo, Leonardo, Raphael, all at the height of their artistic prowess during those 20 years. Donatello, oh, no. Oh, no, no, no, no. He was dead. Dead by 1465. He does not belong in their street gang! He’s dead! Do you know who belongs in that street gang? Titian. By rights, it should be Titian. Do you know why Titian… Do you know why Titian is not in that street gang? Because the target demographic of that television show could not handle a name that begins with “tit” because of their fucking hormones. We are not preparing our boys for the real world. Or history, which they wrote. Weird. And they’re tortoises. They are not turtles! They are tortoises. Tortoises are the clomp, clomps. Turtles are the flip, flips. Now, I understand… I understand that they’re mutants. I get it. But they are using nunchucks. This means they need to have some terrestrial dexterity experience, and this is not enough! We are not preparing our boys for the real world. What if they went to the Galapagos? Fucked.

My most recent puffer fish… was during a conversation with this bloke who was trying to tell me that golf is not a sport… because it doesn’t put stress on your cardiovascular system. Isn’t that not interesting? Doesn’t matter how you spin it. Dull. And it gets worse, because he kept talking. He said, “If you’re participating in something and it doesn’t put stress on your cardiovascular system, you’re not participating in a sport. You’re merely playing a game.” And that conversation made me so fucking angry, it felt like a sport. Now, I hope nobody’s in here, just going, “Finally, oh. Someone here to defend golf’s honor.” That is not what’s happening here. In fact, I hope golf is sad. I hope golf is all sooky la la, ’cause I fucking hate golf with all the reasonable rage I can muster. What a monumental waste of land, time, and water. For fuck’s sake. Honestly. Men who have families and play golf are cunts. You don’t have time, fellas. You’ve got a family. Not a spare six hours to just waltz around a park with your mates while your womenfolk do unpaid labor! Grow up! There’s more proof men have named all the things. What’s the worst thing you can call someone? Cunt. It’s a reference to female genitalia, and I won’t have it. When I use the C-word, I mean it. I mean it to be the worst thing you can call someone, but I don’t associate it with my own biology or anybody’s biology. Do you know what I see in my mind’s eye when I use the C-word? A literal golfer. Just a rich, white chump in chinos and one glove. What a cunt. Honestly, it cannot be a coincidence that they’re called cunt-ry clubs.

Come on. I’ll tell you what, my… my last show, Nanette, gave a lot of people the puffer fish. Like, pfff, you know you’ve made it. And I say people, but it was only men. Hashtag “not all men.” Okay? Of course, it’s not all men. It’s never been all men. Generally speaking, it’s really only the men who use that hashtag. They’re the ones. You know, men, pronounced “me.” You know, they’re the ones who go out of their way to let me know that Nanette was not comedy. “Because it didn’t make me laugh every step of the way.” First of all, good. If that show made you laugh all the way through, what the fuck is wrong with you? Secondly, yes, I turned the laugh tap off myself. It was a decision. I stand by it. It’s not like I got halfway through and thought, “Fuck, I’m out of jokes. I’ll tell a sad story. I hope anyone won’t notice.” I know better than anyone that what I did with Nanette was not technically comedy. But I’m also not a fucking idiot. I wanted that show to have an audience, and a broad audience, and if that meant I had to trick people… by calling it comedy… that’s technically a joke. But I have to say… I have to say, a bad joke made so many men so viscerally angry I’m surprised nobody accused me of writing a sport, honestly. It… Look, first of all, it doesn’t bother me. Right? This doesn’t bother me. Look, look. I’ve still got the loud stick. I don’t feel threatened. In fact, I-I like the hate. Death threats aside, it’s fun. Nom, nom, nom. Right? But the thing is, whenever I have a puffer fish… I always work under the assumption – that the problem is mostly me, right? – If I’m like… It just doesn’t seem like a good place to start a dialog. I have never written a letter to Donatello or Waldo. Like, no point. One’s dead and one’s never home. But still, I just… Wouldn’t occur to me. But to this day, I still get men sliding into my DMs to let me know, in all caps, that they’ve never heard of me. It’s a riddle. How do they know? Look, I can’t experience the humiliation I know they’re so desperate for me to feel because I can’t help but feel worried for them. Because that’s a tough life. If new things are so painful… Ow. They… That’s a learning difficulty. Imagine school for someone like that. Long division. “I’ve never fucking heard of it!”

I got accused of doing all sorts of nefarious things in lieu of comedy. I really did. Like a monologue. What a monster, if true. A glorified TED Talk. Uh-oh. A one-woman show. A lecture. A fucking lecture. Can you believe that one? The cheek of that one. A lecture. Nanette was not a fucking lecture. It wasn’t a monologue either. It wasn’t like I was sitting on a stool like a stunned mullet in a spotlight. It wasn’t a fucking monologue. And a glorified TED Talk? Why do they need glorifying? They are fine. And a one-woman show? No shit, Sherlock! And it wasn’t a fucking lecture. You want a lecture? I’ll give you a fucking lecture. This is a lecture! Now, there is some debate… as to when the High Renaissance actually began. Some put it at 1490, while others argue it began in 1500. Either way, Donatello was fucking dead. Back in the 16th century, Karen had very, very cold hands. Give them a rub, Kaz. Come on. Now, this is Raphael’s School of Athens. This is where Raphael has so kindly painted all the men who named all of the things. Now… strictly speaking, these are not Raphael’s contemporaries, although he has used their likeness. But basically, these are the ancient Greeks, and, by the time Raphael painted this, all the Greeks were dead. Not all the Greeks. I am so sorry. There are still a lot of Greeks alive and thriving in the world today. Hello and welcome. No, just the ancient Greeks. They are all dead. They lived on a busy road. It was built by the ancient Romans. Now, who have we got here? We’ve got Pythagoras. He’s busy naming all the triangles. That’s acute one. You’ve got Socrates here. He took a bit of a tumble. Classic Socrates. Good with the thoughts, shit with the walk. Get up, mate. Arugula.

Now, what were the women doing while all the men were doing the very important naming of all the things? From my research, what I gather, women were generally standing around in groups of three, naked, just waiting for men to name all of the things. You can see it happening with this central figure. She’s saying, “What have you got in your hand there, Karen?” “Oh, just a couple of bits and bobs.” Women were just holding things. Just waiting, hoping it wasn’t poisonous. Waiting for men to name the things. This was painted before beds were named. You can see women desperately trying to make the beds, just flinging the linen into the trees willy-nilly. Just going, “Oh, I don’t know. Mm, let’s just build a fort. We’ll make it a fancy fort. Yay, we finished the fort!” Dancing naked in groups of three in the forest is the number one hobby of women of all time. And don’t we just love it. Isn’t that the safest thing you’ve ever heard of? Oh, we love it. Now, this might just look like a footloose, fancy-free frolic in the forest on a bank holiday, no drama. But let me draw your attention to this group here. That is too tight for fun times alone. It suggests tension. What has happened? Has someone mentioned the paleo? No. What has happened is this central figure here has realized that this bit of cloth, this waft of gauze, this potential fort, if you will… has made its way so far up her clacker… So far up her clacker, it has both fannies covered. And she is upset.

Now, it’s worth pointing out, at this juncture, that this is not a photograph. This is not an accidental photograph… taken of an unfortunate moment. Awkward. No, what this is, is a painting. Which makes this… a decision! It’s a decision that a man made and spent time on. “Ah…” I have autism. It’s a tiny monologue. I was very late diagnosed. Only four years ago. Diagnosed four years ago. But I-I self-diagnosed first, which is a great way to approach any specialist. Ooh, they love it. Oh. They say, “Tell me more about what you think.” Um… But the only reason I even thought to self-diagnose was because people kept telling me. It was usually after a show. People would just come up to me and say, “I think you have autism.” To be fair to every single person that’s ever done that to me in my life, I think they were all on the spectrum. Because that’s how we roll. Pretty much, it’s like, “I have a piece of information you seem to be missing. You may or may not be ready to hear this information, but I’ll tell you, because knowledge is power, ignorance is a cage. and feelings can be dealt with. I bid you good day.” My issue was I didn’t understand enough about autism to understand how I could have autism. Because what we popularly understand autism to be is just something that only affects young boys that like maths a lot. And, to this day, neither of those things apply to me. So people would tell me, “I think you have autism.” I’m like, “I don’t understand how you got that.” I mean, sure I’ve been vaccinated, but other than that… Oh, hey! Oh. Here it is. Oh. Strap yourselves in. Of all the toxic myths about autism, that’s got to be right up the top. Not least because we know… that vaccinations do not cause autism. Do you know what causes autism? No. You fucking don’t. And if… If you honestly think you do, your confidence is making you stupid.

Now, I also know that there’s nothing I can say that can change an anti-vaxxer’s mind. I know that, because that’s not how closed minds work. They don’t work. They’re closed for business. Right? So… like, to open a closed mind, it has to be an inside job. So I know there’s nothing I can do that’ll change an anti-vaxxer’s mind. I’m gonna have a go anyway. Gonna have a go. Because my theory is, by accusing them of having a closed mind, they’ll be reactive and go, “No, I don’t,” and I’ll get in. And there will be anti-vaxxers in this room. Absolutely. Do not identify yourselves. Do not. That is not what’s happening here. You are outnumbered. And I know you like to willfully manipulate statistics, but this is even beyond you. And also… And there will be anti-vaxxers in this room, make no mistake, because my core demographic is rich, white, entitled women, and that is a Venn diagram with a lot of crossover. But if you are an anti-vaxxer, I can guarantee you, you will not like this next bit. But if you’ve been laughing the whole way through the show and you suddenly stop now, everyone will know. So if that’s not what you want to happen… just do a bit of this. You will not be enjoying it. Just do a bit of that. All right, anti-vaxxers. Let’s pretend you’re right. You’re not. Pretending is not science, but let’s… Let’s im– Let’s pretend you’re right, that vaccinations cause autism. They don’t. Now what? Because, as somebody who exists on the autism spectrum, let me say this to you. I’m happy to take one for the team. And I’m not suggesting that autism is easy. It isn’t. It is difficult. And I will not and cannot deny that. But as difficult as this life is, it’s nice to have a life, and it’s particularly nice to have that life in a world without… polio! Polio is bad! And that is a fact, not a feeling. And I would much prefer to have autism than be a sociopath like you. Let me explain. ‘Cause if you honestly think that your child, your only, single child, is more important than all the other children collectively, you’re not playing for the team. And if you don’t want to play for the team, why the fuck are you even having children? Get a pet rock and delete your fucking blog! Got that off my chest. Now, I do know that once this is streaming, that little bit… is opening me up to a whole world of a hate campaign from the anti-vax movement. Because, make no mistake, they are coordinated. They are not random. They are a cult. And I’ve only been… I’ve only been telling this material one room at a time, and the hate is already trickling in, and it is targeted, and it is venomous. But it doesn’t bother me. Don’t worry about it. Like, I snack on it. “Mmm, nom, nom, nom.” It’s really… It’s fine. You have worked out why I do that, yeah? Why I snack on hate? You’ve worked it out? It’s how you build up immunity. It’s called micro-dosing. Yeah. Your hate is my vaccine. What are you gonna do? I’ve already got autism. I have what’s called high-functioning autism, which is a terrible name for what I have, because it gives the impression that I function highly. I do not.

To give you an idea of what it feels like to be on the spectrum, basically, it feels like being the only sober person in a room full of drunks. Or the other way around. Basically, everyone is operating on a wavelength you can’t quite key into. To give you a visual… This woman… is on the spectrum. That is… the story of my fucking life. Honestly. “Oh, it was a funeral same place, same time last week. Why didn’t I get the memo? Why are they kissing? I don’t like the sound.” I never get the memo. I never do. I’ve always missed the memo. I remember going from being the teacher’s pet to bring the teacher’s nemesis in one lesson. And until I was diagnosed, I never understood what had happened. The lesson was on prepositions, so strap yourselves in for this story. Now, I do like my teacher. She was a good teacher. I liked the way she explained things, but we lost each other this way. This is how she began the lesson. She said, “Imagine a box.” And I could do that. I was gifted to a point. Visual thinker. Good box, solid. Three-dimensional, nothing fancy, but there. And then she said, “A preposition is a word that explains your relationship to the box.” And that’s when my thinking just fell apart, because I thought, “I’m related to a box?” Then she said, “Now, you can be behind the box. Does anybody know what the preposition is there?” No, they didn’t, but I had a question. I said, “Am I made of box?” Now, let me bring you into my thinking there. I thought if I was related to a box, we must share DNA, and it made more sense in my head that I would be made of box than the box would be made of me. But my teacher was not privy to that gifted train of thought circling my head there. So she was a bit thrown, and she said, “No, Hannah, you’re not made of box. I’m surprised you had to ask that. So, okay, you can be in front of the box then. Does anybody know what the preposition is there?” No, they didn’t. But I had another question. I said, “Does the box have a name?” I thought if I had a name, I could work out how we were related. Maybe we were cousins. And she said, “No, it’s a box. Boxes don’t have names, Hannah. What boxes do you know have names?” And I started listing breakfast cereals. She’s like, “All right, okay. You can be beside the box. Does anybody know what the preposition is there?” No, they didn’t. But I had another question. I don’t remember my thinking behind this question, but I remember asking it, because when I did, everybody laughed and I had no idea why. But I remembered really liking the feeling. Uh-oh. This was the question. I said, “Am I allowed to eat the box?” Of course, yes, everybody is laughing, except me and the teacher. Looking back, I don’t know why the fuck she wasn’t laughing. As far as jokes go, that’s a classic. A baby dyke just asked if she was allowed to eat the box. She didn’t think it was funny. She was like, “Okay. All right. Okay. Calm down. Okay, we might be on the wrong track. How about we imagine something else in relation to the box then? Okay? How about a penguin? Now, the penguin can be inside the box. Does anybody know what the preposition is there?” No, they didn’t, but I had some fucking questions about the penguin. I said, “What is the penguin made of?” And that was the question that broke my teacher. You know you’ve broken a teacher when a teacher who never swears swears bad. So I went, “What’s the penguin made of?” And she’s like, “Penguin? I mean… It’s made of fucking penguin!” And as far as answers go, that’s… mwah.” Like, that is watertight. That is a stunning answer. You can’t logic out of that answer. That is a good answer. At that point, I thought, “I might be on the wrong track.”

But I had other questions pressing, but I thought, “Now doesn’t seem the time. She seems upset.” So what I thought is, “I might hang on to my question.” That’s what I thought, and that was my mistake. I should have asked my question then while we were in the thick of it… or not at all. Because I did the worst possible thing. I waited until she felt safe. Then I asked my question. But I waited so long, it wasn’t even the same lesson. It was much later in the day, in silent reading. I waited so long, it wasn’t even a question anymore. It was more of a theory, and that made it worse. I said, “What if… the penguin ate the box? Wouldn’t then you say the penguin’s a little bit made of box?” She’s like, “Get out.” And that was the first, but not the last time, I was sent out for reasons I had no idea why. Because the thing is, I was genuinely engaged in that lesson. Like, I really– I really wanted to know what a preposition was. I wasn’t sitting there going, “Prepositions? I’ve never fucking heard of them!” But as she explained to me later, she said, “You were being deliberately obtuse.” I’m like, “But I’m not a triangle.” I did not learn what a preposition was that day. Look, I understand what they are now. I’m all over it. And I also understand, if the penguin ate the box… the penguin would be around the box. Honestly, the day I was formally diagnosed with autism was a very good day. Because it felt like I’d been handed the keys to the city of me. Because I was able to make sense of so many things that had only ever been confusing to me. Like why I could be so intelligent but struggle to leave any proof. Why I can’t fill in forms. Why… Wh– Why I felt such a profound sense of isolation my entire life, despite trying so hard to be part of the team. And that is a big thing about being on the spectrum. It is lonely. I find it very difficult to connect to others, because my brain takes me to places where nobody else lives. And you can’t just start talking to people about the Pouch of Douglas at the dog park. People do not like it. And I tried more than once. But I’m not here to collect your pity. I’m here to disrupt your confidence. Because, clearly, I’ve worked out a way to share my thinking. Haven’t I? Like, you can call this whatever the fuck you need to call this. A monologue. A lecture. You say “Tomato,” I say, “Ketchup, busy road.” Let me dumb it down for you. What this show is is a metaphorical preposition that explains the relationship between what you think you think you see me think… and what I’m genuinely able to think. Because I like the way that I think. If the world is right and I’m right in it, I can find my funny zip and my thinking expands. There is beauty in the way that I think. I don’t think outside the box. But, as it turns out, if I ask nicely, yes, I am allowed to eat the box. Oh, look. Sponsored by McDonald’s. Can you see him? Can you see him? What a cunt. Now, this is Saint Bernard. That’s Saint Bernard, that’s the Virgin Mary, that’s the baby JC, and that is a tiny lion. Now, can you see the main action that’s going on in this picture? Can you see what’s happening? The Virgin Mary… is lactating on his fucking face. G’day. Now, this guy’s going, “You know, look, I’m– I’m usually the weirdest thing in a picture. I’m a tiny lion.” But he’s not though, because the Virgin Mary is lactating on his fucking face.

Now, this picture tells the story of how Bernard became Saint Bernard. One day, he was regular old Bernard. And then he had a vision. And in that vision, the Virgin Mary appeared to him… and lactated on his fucking face. Now, I’m not judging the bloke. We’ve all had the dreams. We’ve all had them, where we wake up and go, “I did not know that about myself.” It’s fine. What’s weird though is he did not wake up and go, “I might file that under ‘Secret.'” No, that’s not what he did. He woke up and said, “I’d better tell the fellas.” And then the fellas have a meeting and go, “This is amazing. We’d better call this one a saint.” He’s a saint now, ’cause… What? Sorry? What? He’s a saint ’cause what? He had a wet dream? And now he’s a fucking saint? He witnessed the miracle of lactation and now he’s a saint? He made it about himself, and now he’s a fuck… This is a low bar. This is proof men have named all the things and rigged the fucking game. This is not enough. Let’s talk about a meritocracy. Now, this is Saint Cecilia. She had to learn the fucking cello! What did Bernie do? “Ahh!” It is not enough. Isn’t it weird that the cello has been invented, but not the music stand? Why are they still relying on small, naked babies? This is my favorite painting. This is The Duchess of Alba by the great Spanish artist Goya. I love it because she would have paid a pretty penny for this portrait, and she paid that pretty penny just so she could tell people for centuries to come… that she’s got shoes on. “I’ve got shoes on! I’ve got shoes on! Y’all, I got shoes on!” That is what I imagine the whippet was saying in the dog park. “I got shoes on!” Women getting stuck to rocks is the number two hobby of ladies of all time. All time. This is under… This one’s made of rock. They are just getting stuck. Look, what is happening here? Like just… Like, what? That is a salty, salty body of water. Like, she’s not swimming. She’s just skating across the surface on her fanny. What do you do with your knees? Cat’s had a stroke. This guy went, “Thank God you’re in the nude. I’m painting a landscape.” That’s a big baby. That is a chunker. She would have had to pull the ripcord on the Pouch of Douglas to fit that. This is the Venus of Willendorf. She predates ancient Greek beauty ideals. Do you know when this was carved? Paleolithic times. I’m on the paleo, motherfuckers. I am on the paleo. This man is in Slytherin. This man is in Hufflepuff. Look, he’s a famoso doctor. “I’m Dr. Cock Biscotti. I wear two hats.” This is Karen, everybody. Here she is. There’s Kaz. There she is, picking her basketful of handfuls. Good on you, Kaz. Still on the vine. Keeps them fresher for longer. Why this decision? That is a decision! That baby could be on the box. He could be beside the box. He could be a fucking penguin! Why? That is a decision! It’s also the first known portrait of Louis C.K.

♪ Douglas Douglass, apple tree ♪
♪ Have a wife, now let her be ♪
♪ Give me, give me what you got ♪
♪ I’m gonna make you what you’re not ♪
♪ Douglas Douglass, prickly pear ♪
♪ Have a wife, but I don’t care ♪
♪ Give me, give me all your soul ♪
♪ I’m gonna dip you in my bowl ♪
♪ Long way down ♪ ♪ It’s a long way down ♪ ♪ It’s a long way down ♪ ♪ And he knows ♪ ♪ Douglas Douglass, sticky pine ♪ ♪ Have a wife, and that’s just fine ♪ ♪ Give me, give me what I need ♪ ♪ You know I gots to plant your seed ♪


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