NICK OFFERMAN: AMERICAN HAM (2014) – Full Transcript

A live taping of Nick Offerman's one-man show at New York's historic Town Hall theater, featuring a collection of anecdotes, songs and woodworking/oral-sex techniques.

Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome America’s humorist: Mr. Nick Offerman.

Good evening. Thank you. Thank you so much. Good Christ, people. Yeah! Minor nudity was advertised. Minor nudity achieved. Drink it in. Life can be this delicious. Before I wrap it all the way up, I’d like to extend a… personal thank you to a local establishment known as Virgil’s Barbecue. The left portion is the pork ribs. The brisket’s sitting on top. Hush puppies, mac ‘n’ cheese, beans, – ridiculous jalapeño corn bread muffins. – Yeah! People often say to me… well, enough that I would remark upon it. “Nick,” they say, “where the hell did you come from? How did this occur that you are standing on the stage of the venerated Town Hall speaking to us?” And I answer them the same every time. I honestly have no fucking idea how this happened, but I’m very grateful. I’m minding my manners. And I’m reminded of some words of Thomas Jefferson, of course, who said, “I’m a great believer in luck. And I find that the harder I work, the more I have of it.” So if we’re going to talk about hard work, if we’re going to talk about luck being the moment when opportunity meets with preparation, I can’t do that without immediately thinking of my mom and dad, Ric and Cathy Offerman, two of the finest Americans you will ever hope to countenance. They did this. I don’t know that they particularly meant to do this, but, by God, they did it. They have been incredible teachers to me in my life. I’m interminably in their debt. And they’re followed closely by the ridiculous stack of curves and comedy juggernaut that is my legal property, Megan Mullally. That’s right. That’s how I feel about that lady. Some of my most beautiful acreage. Read the paperwork. Shit is mine. Despite a life full of jackassery, I’ve managed to retain some of the choice lessons from these teachers of mine. And I thought I would pass them along to you in a show that I’ve entitled American Ham: My 10 Tips for a Prosperous Life. I’m not gonna be testing you this evening on my 10 tips, but life will be giving you a pop quiz for the rest of your livelong days. So it might behoove you to mind your P’s and Q’s. End preface.

Number one: Engage in romantic love. I don’t know what I did to get so goddamn lucky to land the wife that I did. But I’m what the literati have often referred to as “A lucky son of a bitch.” But I can tell you that I intend to keep this sweet gig that I found myself, and one of the ways I do it is by indulging in romanticism. I’m a sap. My whole life I’ve been a romantic. I used to be made fun of in school. And I learned later that it was because the people making fun of me were not getting any. I knew even in school, you know. “Oh, you guys kissing in the hallway?” Yes. That’s because I can’t get a blowjob in the hallway. How’s football goin’, bro? That’s what’s up. I realized one day… I was driving to work. We had been dating, and I realized I was going to marry her. And I was pissed off because I would have liked to have been consulted in the matter. But I was not. We’re very lucky, Megan and I. We have figured out how to stay together in a business that’s really hard to stay together in. As a couple of Hollywood hotshots, people expect us to be skipping down to the Whisky a Go Go with the Sheen family and eating bath salts, or whatever they’re eating now to see shit weird. But we do not. Every time Emilio calls me, I demure, “Not tonight, bro. You guys have fun.” We stay home. We’re boring. That’s a key. It really is. We’re homebodies. We love to stay in and read books and play cards and do puzzles. We watch HGTV. We do a shitload of cocaine and then… and mainly focus on puzzling. “Honey, give me the fucking sky pieces!” Fucking love puzzles. There’s something so soothing about a field of cerulean blue when I’m using amphetamines. We make our marriage a priority. That’s key. If you want a healthy marriage… It’s like raising a shrub. You have to make it a priority. You have to water it and fertilize it and talk nice to it and caress it and nibble on its clitoris… with regularity. You gotta stick with it. That’s a horticulture term. I don’t know if we… have a lot of green thumbs in the house tonight, but… look it up. In our business, one of the things that can kill a relationship is success, ’cause one of you gets a sweet job in L.A., one of you gets a great job in New York. You get the call. Peter Jackson wants you in New Zealand for 38 months for a role called Frodo Baggins. I turned that shit down. For love. I think that kid that got it did a nice job. He was also very cute. I did, however, get to read for… Gimli the dwarf. I’m still trying to… trying to ferret the compliment out of that situation. My wife turned 50 a few years ago, which is a big birthday in a society that bases a lot of systems on the number 100. And I said, “Honey, this is a big birthday. Do you want something special? A bauble of some sort?” And she said, “No. You know, just make me one of your cards.” By the way, if you’re in a relationship, make your significant other a fucking card, please. I always make cards for Megan. I make her lots of gifts as well. Every time I’m doing it around my friends or coworkers, they always say the same thing… “Oh, thanks a lot, man. You make us look so bad. Every time you make a card, my wife points it out to me.” And I say, “Let me tell you something, Rob Lowe. I’m gonna tell you right to your face, you turn those blue-gles on anybody and you don’t have to do shit. Please just keep looking at me.” His face is magic. I say to the rest of my friends that don’t have insane blue eyes, “Go to your printer. There’s paper in there. Find the paper. Take a sheet of it. Fold it in half. Draw a heart on it. Open it up. Write ‘I love you.’ Sign your name. You will get so kissed. You will be kissed so much more voluptuously than from any bullshit you can buy at the mall.” Thank you. Here’s a bonus: Go outside and find a tiny piece of nature… a leaf, a twig, a stone, a shell, a chrysalis. Adhere it in the center of the heart… and then get stretched out because you’re going for a ride to the realm of coitus. So she said, “Make me one of your cards. Do one of your funny dances. You know what? Actually there’s something I would love for my birthday. I would love a rainbow for my birthday.” And I said, “Thank you, honey. I’m very glad I asked you.” And I made a few calls that were fruitless. NBC did not help. And I thought I was fucked until I realized an important lesson… that I could make a rainbow out of art. And so this is actually the first song I wrote. I wrote it for my wife on her 50th birthday…

The Rainbow Song. ♪ You read me my rights When you arrested me ♪ ♪ You put me on trial And gave me life ♪ ♪ But orange you glad I didn’t say “banana” ♪ ♪ When you made me your bitch And I made you my wife? ♪ ♪ “You yellow,” you yell when I ball a melon ♪ ♪ But you don’t complain when I cook up some smack ♪ ♪ We’re both agreein’ to serve our time ♪ ♪ If I drop the soap I know you’ll watch my crack ♪ ♪ Please enjoy this rainbow song ♪ ♪ And this gift of leprechaun romance ♪ ♪ Please enjoy as part of this well-balanced breakfast ♪ ♪ The Lucky Charms You will find in my pants ♪ ♪ You blew me away ♪ ♪ When you sang “Shock the Monkey” ♪ ♪ Your fingers inside me Let the games begin ♪ ♪ Indigo is a tough one to pun with ♪ ♪ But when we’re apart It’s the mood that I’m in ♪ ♪ We get along so well We could never be compared ♪ ♪ To Jesus of Nazareth and Pontius Pilate ♪ ♪ But if you’ll endure the slight of calling me “sir” ♪ ♪ I’ll be Peppermint Patty to your Violet ♪ ♪ Please let this song be a rainbow ♪ ♪ I’ve got my Cialis So I shall not fail ♪ ♪ Please don’t deny my advances ♪ ♪ For tonight you’re going to take it in the pail ♪ That’s the butt. It’s what you thought. ♪ And please let this song be a rainbow ♪ ♪ I made it for you This shit cuts like a knife ♪ ♪ Forever I’ll follow this rainbow ♪ ♪ To that 50-year-old sweet pot of gold ♪ ♪ That seems to grow foxy instead of old ♪ ♪ From which I hope to never be paroled ♪ ♪ My angel in a centerfold ♪ ♪ She plays more than Sousa upon my fife ♪ ♪ My jaw-droppingly beautiful wife ♪♪ Thank you. Thank you.

Number one: Engage in romantic love.

Number two: Say “please” and “thank you.” Good manners should be applauded. I recently landed in Milwaukee, Wisconsin to go… Thank you for your beer and sausage, not to mention your motherfucking cheese curds. Oh, boy. I was going to do a show in Milwaukee. And thanks to a U.S. air flight on an airline that shall remain nameless, that was 90 fucking minutes late, I was in a hurry. I was in a rental car. I was trying to get onto a crowded highway to get to my show, and I was on a ramp that was merging with another ramp. Folks, let’s talk about merging for a second. What the fuck? I think we all know by now you take turns. But sometimes when you’re in that side that has the advantage ’cause the other side’s trying to get in, you just can’t help it. It’s their turn, and you’re like, “No, motherfucker. No, no, no, no.” A gentleman performed this act upon me, and naturally, I was fucking incensed. You fucking kidding me? It’s merge, dude. It’s my turn. I had steam coming out my ears. And I pulled behind him, and everything changed. I realized that he was driving a salt-caked, pearlescent Chrysler 300… which is a fucking seriously badass attempt at a car… with the vanity plate “Thunder Road.” And I said, “You magnificent motherfucker. If you’re going to whip out your throbbing cudgel of a cock and bludgeon the rest of us about the face and mouth with your hot rod fuck wagon, you may have my place in line, sir. You, my friend, are living.” We are all brothers and sisters. I don’t care if you’re a librarian. I don’t care if you’re a litterbug. I don’t care if you’re a fan of celery. I don’t care if you’re that fucking guy. I don’t care how low you are. We’re all brothers and sisters on this planet. We’re all sharing this space, and we deserve the respect to treat one another with good manners. Say “please” and “thank you.” Get the door for each other. If somebody needs help with their groceries, jump up and give ’em a hand. You’ll feel so much better, you’ll blow their minds. It feels incredible. I can tell you I’ve crunched the numbers again and again. It’s a lot more fun to have eight people with one beer each than to have one dude with eight beers. It doesn’t… It sounds… incongruous… It sounds incongruous, but I’m telling you, I’ve been back and forth with this thing six ways to Sunday. I believe it was Jesus of Nazareth himself who said “love thy neighbor as thyself.” Wise words from the lamb of God.

I just want to take a moment to point something out about the Bible. We’re gonna talk a little bit about the Bible tonight, you guys. Is the Bible full of great lessons? No question. Religious writings, in general… the Bible, the Qur’an, the Tao Te Ching. Grimm’s Fairy Tales, Battlestar Galactica, the redux. These holy texts are rife… with morals and lessons of value about how to be decent to one another and how to share our space and our planet. But when Jesus said something like “love thy neighbor as thyself”… I heard that in Sunday school, and I said, “Fucking nailed it, Jesus. That… That’s why you’re the teacher, my friend. Thank you.” And I went home, and I went to my neighbor Mr. Severson, and I said, “I like it like this, Mr. Severson. I get a little… It’s a little backhand. I’ve got this cleft in my palm. You feel that?” Mr. Severson liked it as well. He was my neighbor. We got along great. Into junior high, into high school, we had a great friendship. We don’t know that’s not what Jesus meant. We don’t. My interpretation provided a loving friendship… between two peoples on neighboring lands. Talking to you, Gaza Strip. Again, I have nothing against any religion or club, especially any get-together where people are like… “You know what? We’re fucked-up monkeys.” Like, a great part of our innate being is we wanna, like, fuck each other and eat each other and kill each other, and many of those things at the same time. We want to fuck each other while we shit in each other’s mouths, some of us. The permutations are endless. But we’ve learned, with socialization, it’s not cool to just go up to people and start doing stuff like that. So we’ve established these guidelines and we have these get-togethers of like… Everybody come to the big building just once a week. Let’s just remind ourselves not to shit in our neighbor’s wife’s mouth. Unless it’s consensual, you know. Nothing is set in stone. That’s great. And here’s all I’m requesting of our religious groups in the country and world, is go to that place. Go to your club. Go to the Bible… barn where you all get together, and talk about the lessons and learn about decency and compassion and how to treat one another. Then go to your job at the Senate and don’t talk… you don’t have to talk about the Bible. Just bring the decency and compassion like that… That’s all… I want to coin a phrase, and let’s try and get this going as a catchphrase. “A separation of church and state.” Or something like that. Like, just spread it out, see if it catches on.
I really love that saying of Jesus, “love thy neighbor as thyself.” Unfortunately, he said it in the Book of Leviticus. And I think we all know by now that Leviticus is the most fucked-up book in the Old Testament. Leviticus, of course, is the book that details the punishments for menstruating women. If you like comedy, go home and curl up with Leviticus. The writers of The Onion are handed Leviticus when they show up for work the first day. As they say in Leviticus of a menstruating woman, “when her flowers be upon her, she is unclean, she must be sent away.” If she should touch any linens, those linens must be burned. If she sits in a chair, the chair is fucked. This is the Bible, you guys. What dicks who wrote this book of the Bible that were so freaked out with the simple nature of a woman’s body that they wrote it down in the Bible? The fuck? Do not fret, ladies. If you should be so filthy… there is hope in Leviticus. You may be exonerated if you bring two turtles to the priest at the temple. What the fuck is that? I’ve lost so much sleep on these turtles. What value did turtles once possess that we have no record of? I love… I love animals. I love nature. But I have torn open so many fucking turtles, looking for a pearl or… ambergris or spermaceti. I don’t… There must be something beyond their delicious meat. It’s upsetting to me. And I love to imagine these dicks that wrote the Book of Leviticus hanging out at the temple. They’ve written these guidelines. They’ve been disseminated among the people. And they’re just hanging out waiting for people to start showing up and being holy. And the leader of the dicks at one point says, “You guys, what’s with all these fucking turtles every place?” “Oh, sorry. Steve wrote that part. He just loves turtles. We don’t… I don’t know what it is with the turtles.” “Steve! Money or fucking wine, bro. We’ve been over this. You know what, Steve? You’re not writing any more of the Bible. Go… press some more olives. Shithead.” And that is the story of the lost book of Steve. Considered lower even than the Gnostics.
Leviticus is also one of the places in the Bible that tells us homosexuality is an abomination. And I quote, “if a man lies with a man as one lies with a woman, they have done what is detestable. They must be put to death.” The Bible! It fucking says that in the Bible. I disagree with that notion. I’m astonished that this never comes up. And these writers… “Hang on. Just give me one second, please. Two turtles to the temple, and she may be exonerated. Yeah. Two what, now? Excuse me? Two bros? What? Uh, they… Oh, Jesus. That is so uncool. They… And they fully love each other? Uh, yeah, kill ’em. I guess. Right, guys? What choice do we have?” And I’m very glad to be alive at a time when it’s finally evolved to the point where this issue is in the public eye and we’re finally fucking slowly turning it over. Thank God. 2013. How many decades has it been… The… How many years has it been since we shitty white people, with our hands in our pockets, were like, “You know what, you guys? No, no, no. Um, it’s cool. Everyone can ride the bus and sit wherever you want. That’s our bad. Um, it was confusing ’cause we used to capture you and own you like a commodity, so, you know… But, no, use the water fountains, all that stuff. Sorry.” That was before my lifetime. And now it’s 2013, and we’re still debating if, like, I don’t know, if we should give everybody the same stuff. Here’s the thing. It’s like two people loving each other and, with or without children, trying to build a loving, productive household and be good citizens. It sounds good, you know. They play a good game, but have you read Leviticus? So it’s great this issue is getting attention. However, I am irked by all the attention that it’s getting, all the ruckus and hubbub about same-sex marriage when all the while motherfucking vegetarians are marrying, bearing children… right on these streets. Their fucking… filthy herbivorous urchins are prancing down your sidewalks with a canvas bag full of kale. “I use one bag. I know how to pronounce ‘quinoa.'” And I am fucking pissed. They’re making a mockery of the sanctity of eating animal flesh. It shall not stand. Please. Please. They call it the Good Book. I find it a bit uneven. You know what is a good book? The motherfucking Hobbit. Or There and Back Again. That is a good fucking book. Instead of legislation founded squarely upon the Bible, I’d like to see… some laws pitched based on the writings of John Ronald Reuel Tolkien. That shit makes sense. Elrond was elected to lead the elves at Rivendell not only despite his androgynous nature but quite likely because of the magical leadership inherent in a well-appointed bisexual elf wizard. That’s the guy you want picking shit out for your community. Who do you want throwing your gala? Who do you want to hand menu selections and a color palette to? David Bowie or a fucking Mormon? What the fuck? Was Elrond in a gay marriage? We don’t know because it’s none of our goddamn business. Whatever the nature of his elvish lovemaking, which I happen to know a little something about… I can tell you this is a frighteningly accurate depiction. Their genitals are more velvety and bluish, but if there was a sheet here with a light behind it, you could not tell the difference. And they like to bring ’em in and stop, which is not quite touching, and then back out again. Fucking drives ’em crazy. That’s neither here nor there. The point is, no matter what Elrond was getting up to in the bedroom, it doesn’t matter what you do in your bedroom. You can do whatever you want, as long as you don’t hurt anybody or anybody’s property. If you’re in your bedroom, if you want to get it on with your elvish weird genitals, or if you want to take a cantaloupe and throw it in the microwave for 20, 30 seconds… Don’t go over 40. That pulpy center heats up. Let me tell you something for nothing. You want to put a 45-degree chamfer around the edge of that hole because that outer rind can really chafe. I’ve read this. I don’t know if it was Martha Stewart or… Dr. Phil. I don’t care… If that’s your thing, if you’re a melon fucker, don’t bring it in to the workplace. No matter what Elrond got up to, it did not affect his ability to perform his job like a boss. And that is to provide travelers with great directions. No matter what, the citizens of Middle-earth seemed to remain in pretty good spirits as long as they were packing Longbottom Leaf into their pipes. A lesson we could all do to pay a little attention to. And even on a long road trip to the dragon’s mountain lair, they did not forget to say “please” and “thank you.” I think you get it.

Number three: Use a handkerchief, hand kerchief or hanky. Let’s see what I’m rockin’ tonight. Field of light taupe with red roses. Weren’t expecting that, were you? Another bonus: If you want to get with a lady… of a higher quality, start throwing around the color taupe. Boom. It’s quite magical. My dad had two rules when I was a kid: wear a clean white T-shirt every day and always carry a handkerchief. I said, “Dad, you can wear a T-shirt and look like a nerd or Ron Swanson. I’m gonna show a little chest bush and look like motherfuckin’ McConaughey.” Sadly, the reality is somewhere more between Chiklis and Sizemore, weird Belushi or Galifianakis cousin. When I suggest it, they say, “I don’t want a rag full of snot in my pocket or my purse.” Nor do I. Suggesting that you have toilet paper in your home doesn’t mean I want paper full of effluvia hanging around in the house. But if you’re at a bus stop and someone has a face and hand full of snot and mucus, you’re a motherfucking superhero. Think about all the occasions that a handkerchief saves the day. The list is endless. For drying someone’s tears… If a… Fuckin’ New York, man. An old lady is crying in the gutter. Yeah! Humorous in the right context. If someone’s tears need drying, if a severed artery is in need of a tourniquet. Use it as a hot pad to change the smoking magazine on your anti-tank weapon. Poke it into your hand to make a nifty pouch for collecting pussy willows and acorns and bear’s teeth down by the fightin’ ring.

If you should find yourself in the vicinity of the Netherlands and you spot a hole in a dike, plug the hole with your hanky and go get some apple pancakes because that shit is delicious. There’s no way this is not gonna be my first hit single. ♪ Keep a handkerchief in your pocket ♪ ♪ That was my father’s rule ♪ ♪ It looked bitchin’ on my neck in Cub Scouts ♪ ♪ And it saved my bacon in school ♪ ♪ ‘Cause when I’d get whooped in a fight ♪ ♪ I’d never soil the floor ♪ ♪ I’d wrap it around my knife handle tight ♪ ♪ And even the fucking score ♪ ♪ Hankies can make you seem politer ♪ ♪ Wipe ejaculate from your chin ♪ ♪ Or when you break and enter ♪ ♪ Erase the prints from where you’ve been ♪ ♪ For gravy or mud or even menstrual blood ♪ ♪ It can protect your eyes from a spunky flood ♪ ♪ You just gotta have your hanky ♪ ♪ For wiping your tears when you wish ♪ ♪ You could still get hard after all of that wine ♪ ♪ And when you run out of toilet tissue ♪ ♪ A hanky will do just fine ♪ ♪ For a sniffle or a sneeze It’ll shoo away bees ♪ ♪ When you have to suck a dick It’s a cushion for your knees ♪ ♪ You just gotta have your hanky ♪ ♪ In love play with Justin Bieber ♪ ♪ Use your hanky as a gag ♪ ♪ Then he can play the naughty sweeper ♪ ♪ And clean your chimney with his sooty rag ♪ ♪ When your lover has been pleased it’ll wipe away the cheese ♪ ♪ And the suppuration from your venereal disease ♪ ♪ You just gotta have your hanky ♪ ♪ Dad, I always carry my hanky ♪ ♪ Thank you. Thank you. The Hanky Song.

Number four: Eat red meat.

Number five: Get a hobby. “Hobby” is an unfortunate word for something that can have such beautiful meaning in one’s life. On the plus side, it shares a root with the word “hobbit,” which could not be a more charismatic sequence of consonants and vowels. But on the downside, it’s just one of those words that sounds wrong. “Hobby.” Like “underpants.” So instead of “hobby” I choose to use the word “discipline.” Get a discipline. You may or may not know that when I’m not making an ass of myself in front of you or working as an actor, I’m making things out of wood in my shop in Los Angeles. Thank you for applauding. But I want you to take the notion of that applause and find the dozens, or hundreds, of local artisans around you that aren’t on Parks and Recreation. Go watch them make boots and stained glass and fucking soup and applaud for them and support them. Right now. Go. Good night.

Woodworking and making things with your hands is not only not nerdy, it’s fucking sexy. It you want to, like, up the delicious factor in your life, find out what you love to make. And it could be so many things… food, music. One of my best friends is a CPA, and his thing is that he… Yeah, right on. Thank you. He loves to make all the numbers right. He’s admittedly OCD. But that’s his jam. He’s like, “I love to get everybody’s fucking paperwork.” And like… You’ve seen it… You know, simple mind. Like, all these fuckin’ numbers going down the screen. And he’s like… That’s his trip, where it’s like, yes, done, boom. Whatever it is, whatever it is you love to do, that is the sexiest part of you. And it hits a button. When you see somebody making something, it just hits that nesting button of, like, “Oh, you’re fucking knitting? You want to make a fucking nest and shit? Fuck yeah.” One of the things that, I think, keeps us from doing what we love and expressing what’s great about ourselves as individuals is the amazing inventions that have taken over the world, certainly our world. These things are incredible. It’s a miracle machine, these and the computer and the Internet and all that stuff. It’s insane. It’s going to, hopefully, bring our planet together in a network quickly enough so that our children and grandchildren can save the planet from us. Please. We’re sorry. Please clean up our shit. We love you. But the thing that I don’t like about those… And I’m speaking to you as an addict here. I tried Twitter last year for a couple of weeks. It pissed me off so much. I think it feeds on this part of human nature that always thinks things could be better for us somewhere else. If you’re not experiencing ecstasy, then you’re like, “Yeah, this is okay. But, man, it’d be fucking cool if I was in Tucson right now.” It’s something that we have. It’s the human condition where it’s like, “Aw, man. Here I am at NYU. Man, it’d be fucking so cool at Stanford.” Well, now we have a window in our pocket to Stanford and Tucson and wherever the fuck else we want to be. And we can distract ourselves. We fill in the lulls in our day with nothing on these devices. You finish your transaction. Gotta do my work. I gotta do this. I gotta pay attention. That’s done. What’s going on in Tucson? Okay. Kind of boring. Oh, that’s kind of fun… Eh, next. And when you add that up… For me, after a couple of weeks, I was like, “How much time did I just fuckin’ spend idly going like this down my phone?” That’s when I used to read books. That’s when I used to talk to the people standing in front of me. And it really made me mad in New York because something I love about New York is its obviously vibrant citizenry fucking shoving, elbowing down the streets. Everybody’s living like a motherfucker. It just… Children, little old ladies. “Get the fuck outta my way.” And there’s this sense of like, “Hey, move. Move! Fuck you!” There’s a life. There’s a vibrancy. And now everyone is doing this, and so you have to go up to people and be like, “Excuse me. Fuck you. Sorry. Go ahead.” And so, what I said was I have to wean myself off of this. I eventually came back to Twitter, admittedly, but I announced I’m only going to disseminate information, I’m not going to participate socially, and it’s working. Because I made that announcement, I don’t feel like I have to like, “What did everybody say?” Because that would take up my whole day and I wouldn’t get to make shit out of wood and I wouldn’t get to write these hilarious jokes about the Bible. Here’s the thing that I’m suggesting. Instead of playing Draw Something, fucking draw something. That’s what I’m saying. Take the cleverness you apply to Words With Friends or Scrambly Town and apply it to making some kick-ass cornbread. Cornbread With Friends. Try that game. Everybody loves that fucking game.

I liken learning a new discipline to, uh, giving oral sex. The first few times you do it, you’re gonna embarrass yourself, you’re gonna ruin some raw materials, you’re gonna contract some flesh wounds. And after a few times, you start to get the hang of it. In woodworking… Everybody knows what a chisel is. It’s a long, flat piece of steel, the end of which forms a wedge-shaped tip that you sharpen to a very sharp edge, so sharp and strong that you can use it to shave wood like soap or butter. And the first time you do that correctly, you’re hooked, you’re bewitched. And everything in a wood shop is just some version of that chisel. A saw blade in a circular saw is just 36 little chisels in a machine that spins around. It’s all just a form of a chisel shaping wood. And when you realize, “I can shape this wood into anything I want to,” it’s so powerful and I know that I have a lifetime of study in front of me that will be incredibly pleasing, just like eating pussy. And furthermore, if you have one of these miracle machines called the human body, these things are insane. Have you guys seen shit like… fuckin’… Have you seen crazy, like, fuckin’… That’s just the tip of the iceberg, ladies and gentlemen. These things are insane. We all have one of these. I can shovel a fucking trench a mile long. I can build a barn. There’s all these things I can do, and then there are things much more talented people can do that are way better than that. But we all have our place. And I just feel like, if you have one of these, we’re somewhat obligated to do more with it than work out these muscles and these muscles. That’s all. I feel like it makes for a much more delicious life. And I can’t talk about tips for prosperity without talking about the joy of work, finding work that you love. It’s so sad that so much of our society says, “Man, thank God it’s Friday. Thank God five of the seven days of my life are fucking over, because I hate five-sevenths of my life. Now I’m gonna spend two-sevenths getting drunk at The Olive Garden so I don’t have to think about the upcoming five-sevenths. Thank God!” That’s so sad. Find something to do that you love, or at least something you can do that you can tolerate so that you can then have time to do what you love after work. Maybe it’s grow things in the garden or whatnot, fuck cantaloupes, whatever your thing is. It’s your business. I’m not asking questions. But, I mean, work is a privilege. You just have to find the right work. I mean, we’ve got a long life to live, and you can’t just watch videos and hang out in the pool. I’ve tried that. It’s cool for a minute, and then you’re super depressed. Like, “What, am I gonna just fuckin’ lay in the pool? I should be fucking making salad forks.” We’ve lost the notion that working outside and working at things that take muscle or things that get you dirty… We’ve come to think of those types of work as being beneath us, and that’s wrong. Those kinds of work are really noble. It’s amazing. Like… Don’t clap for me. Clap for the farmers of America. ‘Cause they’re still there. Like, there’s this huge population that we’re not really aware of ’cause they’re not on or wherever else we look. They’re not there. They’re out there, like, shouldering the burden for so much of our country. All I’m saying is that the internal combustion engine, the telephone, the hardline telephone… amazing miracles in their day. But the thing about the phone, when you hang it up on the wall, you then don’t come back every few minutes to see if it’s gonna do something cool. “No, hang on, you guys. Hang on. No, it just… I wanna see if it’s gonna refresh or… I know. I wanna come play baseball, too, but… there might be a worthy distraction. You guys go ahead.” That’s all I’m saying, is baseball is better… than waiting for that. Get your hands dirty. Make shit with your hands. Give excellent head. Get a hobby. By the way, had a little news. I’ve heard some rumblings. I just want to take a brief moment to say something to the gentlemen. If a lady says to you, “I can’t wait to get your dick in my mouth, I love to suck your dick,” she is lying to you. She’s telling you a beautiful lie. She’s giving you a generous gift. You need to reciprocate that shit. You guys, it’s a relationship. It’s absolutely equal. When you think about it, a dick… is like a thumb with a pee hole. How good can your thumb taste? You know, they’re not sitting at work, thinking, “Man, I wanna fucking get Eric’s dick in my mouth ASAP. I just love the way his dick tastes.” That’s false. They’re giving you a gift, guys. Give it back. It’s only fair. I wish this song was about eating pussy. I just wrote this. ♪ On the Internet ♪ ♪ It’s all intercept… ♪ ♪ But not every opinion is rendered… ♪ – Stop the audio. Shut it down now. – Why? Who the hell are you? I’m an intellectual property attorney, and you have stolen my client’s melody. No, but it falls under parody. Biggest misconception in the world. No, you can change all the lyrics you want, but that tune of notes belongs to the Cash estate. Your musical plagiarism is perfectly actionable. – Actionable? – It means I’m able to take action, which is what we’re doing. I’m sorry, but my hands are bound. Is “actionable” a word? “Actionable.” Yes, it’s a word. – In Cambridge, perhaps. – It’s a word. What you’re saying is talking-able. The tune of your song, I state offline, that we just interrupted is obviously recognizable as I Walk the Line by Johnny Cash. I really think Johnny Cash would enjoy my song wholeheartedly. It’s about getting off the computer and going outside and respecting life and tasting… Please. Stop saying “tasting.” I’m not interested in your blue prurient language. Oh, for example, may I draw your attention, please, to the line, quote, “my wife and I will use one another like whores.” “Whores,” Mr. Offerman. What is that poetry meant to evoke? Love or laughter? Perhaps you’re right. Maybe he would have taken pleasure in your particularly vermillion tint of smut. Maybe his family is better off without his disgusting habits of rutting and buggery, and whatever other Pink Floyd scenarios he enjoyed. Maybe Johnny Cash was a disgusting monster. Go on. You know you don’t have to hit me for it to be assault. Um… it’s a good-hearted song. It’s about tasting… Oh! Oh, here we go, Margaret. Exhibit B: Quote, “my wife and I like to suckle at each other’s tits. I jam my balls inside her so deep, it gives her the shits.” Are you enjoying this? – Are you proud of that? – It gives her the shits. You’re laughing? That’s the best lyric in the song. Hang on, sir. If you’ll just let me… Let you what? Jam parts of you into me so deeply that I, too, am forced to defecate? No! God. I… I will comply with this order. I get it. I don’t agree with it, but I will respect it. I just wanted to say that my song is about tasting… Fine. Tasting what? Pussy. A song no one will ever see in this special because it’s cut. They can probably find it on YouTube. Who are you… Don’t worry about it. – What are you doing? – Nothin’. Why are you looking over my shoulder and winking? I don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s just you and I here in my wood shop. Mr. Offerman, if you are somehow suggesting that you’re going to inform people that they can search for your songs on YouTube, I must ask you to stop. The song that I am legally prohibited from showing you is about eating pussy. Thank you. I thank you. That’s what I love about Megan. I was working on that song. I was running her through these lyrics, and she said, “That one is pretty good, but I feel like it should be dirtier, like we should be sucking on each other’s tits or something.” And I said, “I fucking love you.” And then, of course, I had to top it. And so I said, “Okay, how about this?” And I read her back about shoving my balls inside her, and she laughed so hard, she fell on the kitchen floor. And I said, “We’re gonna stay together forever. You’re all right with me, lady.”

Number six: Go outside. Remain. Ooh.

Number seven: Avoid the mirror. The mirror, avoid it. The mirror should be a maintenance tool. The mirror should be for checking to see if you have shit on your face. It is not. It has become so much more. It’s even more evil than that bitch in Snow White or that even more evil bitch in The Chronicles of Narnia, because the mirror is a conduit. You can imagine the tunnels that shoot off your mirror and connect with a network that go to all the billboards and magazine stands and advertisements. Bless you. And we’ve all been programmed for decades with this barrage of messaging, so that when you look in the mirror, you don’t just see this. You see this, but you also see what you’ve been taught to compare it to. So I see my face, and I see Keira Knightley. And you get stressed out that you don’t look like people on magazines. You get upset. It’s so sad when you see your friends. You’re like, “Why do you weigh 72 pounds? There’s bacon.” Like… And you go buy shit or pay surgeons to cut your face open and take shit out or put shit in. What the fuck? If you’re gonna spend your money, get something that works every time, like bacon. How… How bad can it be that cutting your nose off and, like, sculpting it with inorganic shit… Be like, “Oh, thank God. Phew! If you saw me before. My nose was a slightly different shape. Like… But after like thousands of dollars and a painful surgery, now it has a slightly… more of a button on it.” What’s the matter with you? Are you a human being? Then you’re beautiful. Do you have one of these? Then you’re fucking beautiful. Go out… What you’re doing is comparing an organic form, designed by nature, with an anorexic, airbrushed erotic cartoon. It’s never gonna match up. And if it does, it’s gonna be gross. If you go out in this beautiful part of the country and collect one leaf from every deciduous tree and one needle or pinecone from every conifer, take them all over to the Javits Center and lay them out in a vast array and then go through them one by one, you will not find one that’s not fucking gorgeous. There are some that are super fucked up compared to that other one, but those trees aren’t worrying about it. “Yeah, being an elm is okay, but have you seen the sycamores? They’re fucking amazing.” It’s all beautiful. Do your friends and family, do your loved ones give you affection? It’s ’cause you’re beautiful. If you’re not getting enough affection, try upping the hygiene. You’re beautiful. Just wash it. I eschew the mirror as much as possible. We have a mirror in our foyer. I keep my keys and my pocket items there. When I’m leaving the house, I get my keys, my knife, my vise grips. Good to go. And I’m out the door. Just give it a glance. If you have leaves in your hair, that should be addressed. Draw a line. Avoid the mirror.

Number eight: Maintain a relationship with Jesus Christ. If it is getting you sex. I love that pause. When I was in high school, there was a cheerleader who was also a ballerina, who was also a born-again Christian. Fucking hot. Right? So hot. I was obsessed with her. She was super smart, super funny, charisma coming out of her ears. I wanted her. The problem was she would only date you if you went whole-hog, full-on born-again Christian, which would have been insane. So I did that. “I go where? Yeah. And I cry? Okay, great.” No hesitation. “Jesus? Yeah, I fuckin’ love him. He’s my savior.” I got saved, and we started dating. And after four or five months of fellowship and prayer, togetherness, we rutted like filthy beasts. We would say, “Mom, Dad, Lynette and I are gonna go to Jesus camp in Wisconsin for three weeks.” Because we did. We went to Jesus camp. And we took part in the Jesus activities… the Jesus log roll, the Jesus potato sack race… the Jesus hammer throw. That was my event. They say one of mine is still going. On a clear night it can be sometimes seen over the upper peninsula of Michigan. “There goes that Christian boy’s hammer. 1986.” That’s what people from Michigan sound like. “Welcome to Detroit.” We would take part in all of the Jesus games with the other children. Then we would go and 69 in the woods for three hours. And we were just discovering the joys of mawing each other’s crotches. Like, “Oh, it feels like that when I fucking maw on your crotch?” Just fucking mouthing pussy and balls and taint and mud and leaves. Wisconsin mud is both clean and tasty. Just fucking rub our face in that shit. “Whoa, that feels amazing. Whah! Whoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo!” Remember those first sensations? Yah! You’re like… I’m either going to the hospital or this is amazing. Whoo hoo-hoo hoo-hoo-hoo! Then we would go sit around the campfire and sing Jesus Is the Rock and He Rolls My Blues Away with the other children. The moral of this story… is that no matter what religion or school of thought or scout troop you belong to, you should always remember that it’s just a school of thought. And I don’t like the way organizations like that can really judge and single people out and make them pariahs. If we had been found out that we were simply having a really great sex life, we would’ve been, like, cast out of our society, and I think that’s terrible. We cared about each other. We were good to each other. It was consensual. It went on for three to four years. And it was a great time. We learned to have a nice relationship. And so I think, rather than pay attention to the hard-fast rules, we should pay more attention to simply how decent we are to one another, especially if you’re getting laid. Jesus camp fever. Catch it. It’s worth it.

Number nine: Use intoxicants. Tonight I’m going to alter that to simply say: “Continue to use intoxicants.” I feel like you might be the choir in this instance. I’ve spoken a little bit tonight about the pleasures of hard work. One of the greatest pleasures of hard work is, when you’re done, you get to put on a fucking buzz. It’s a deal that we have in our country that’s an amazing deal. If you see your wastrel friend at the liquor store, like, “John, what’s up with the 12-pack?” “Sorry, man.” “Do you even have your paper route anymore?” “Sorry. I’ll put it back. I’ll just get beef jerky.” But if you see the same friend and say, “John, what’s with the 12-pack?” And he says, “I just got off a shift at the lumber mill,” you say, “Enjoy those 12 beers, John.” That’s the deal we have. It’s a great deal. I love working hard. I love it, spending a day in my shop, using my muscles, getting filthy. It’s so fun. Maybe it’s a boy thing, but I love to get dirty. Covered in sawdust, sweaty, exhausted, that first icy Corona tastes like the jizz of the Lord, ladies and gentlemen. Which I have to imagine is the most magnificent drink, that luminous pearly mead. The beverage of glory. It’s gotta be the best. When we work hard, we have earned the right to use intoxicants. If you just use intoxicants… and I’ve crunched the numbers on this one, too… you get depressed. It’s so great to strike a balance. Beer, wine, whiskey and the lesser spirits. Taken in the proper doses and used safely, intoxicants can provide some of the most beautiful and joyous moments in your life. They can certainly ignite your creativity and just be fucking really fun. Or you can use them like an asshole and ruin it for the rest of us who just wanted to get high and go outside and look at a maple leaf. Sometimes religion and intoxicants can be combined for an especially far-out trip. Some years ago, a lovely young lady exploded onto the national pop country Christian scene with her nauseating hit song, Jesus, Take the Wheel. I’m really upset about this song. This song has a terrible message. This song was hugely popular, and I don’t understand why Miss Underwood was not called out for her asinine message. This young lady is driving to Cincinnati to spend Christmas with her mom and dad. Her baby is in the backseat. She’s got a lot on her mind. She hits an icy part of the road. The car begins to skid. She throws her hands up in the air… and exhorts, “Jesus, take the wheel… because I can’t do this on my own.” You better fucking do it on your own. Your child is in the vehicle. I have nothing bad to say about prayer. Maybe pray while turning into the skid. Definitely keep your hands on the fucking wheel! So I’ve written my own version of that soulful ballad. Let’s all bow our heads for this one, please. ♪ I was haulin’ ass… ♪ ♪ Told me to come to the town hall tonight and sing you this song ♪ Whoopsy-daisy. Me again. That’s right. I also represent Carrie Underwood. She makes me wear bolo ties, bathe from head to toe in Chaps cologne, and speech it mellow like the juveniles. – Oh, Jesus. – No, no Jesus. Not for you. In regard to your laughable parody of her widely lauded song, Jesus, Take the Wheel, Miss Underwood has given me the directive to perform upon you a metaphorical basketball rejection. So please consider your shot forcibly blocked, Dr. Julius Swerving. You have been acquired by me. Are you trying to say you owned me? There is no trying up in this mug, no. You belong to me. I think the saying is “I owned you” or “You were owned.” I’m afraid you have it backwards. You are the one who has been taken possession of by me… in this milkshake yard. Okay, here’s the deal. Jesus, Take the Wheel was actually not written by Carrie Underwood. So you can’t actually stop me from playing this song. It was written by three other people… uh, Brett James, Hillary Lindsey and Gordie Sampson. I know. Will you please excuse me while I make an emergency phone call totally unrelated to this? Hi. Penelope? No, three others. Uh… Mm-hmm. Yes. Very good. Oh, dear. I regret to inform you that I now represent all three actual writer-composers. So it would appear as though I have neatly shoved the basketball downward through the goal hoop. And what is their objection to this… Please, Mr. Offerman. It is egregiously sacrilegious. In your work you claim that Lord Jesus Christ of Nazareth got so much smoke it would have made Galactus, Eater of Planets, choke. I’m familiar myself with Galactus. I asked Shale from our I.T. department, a young person, what that meant, who informs me that Galactus is a deity of fictional stripe, a denizen of the universe created by Marvel Comic Book scribes. You don’t know Galactus? Galactus is amazing. – I’m not a Scientologist. – Marvel universe? He’s enormous. He’s purple. He looks like he’s got an end table upside down on his head. He’s so big that he eats… Please don’t say “pussy.” I was going to say that he eats planets. Don’t act like it’s insane for me to say you were going to say “eating pussy.” You’ve been talking about eating pussy a lot. Well, my audience thinks it’s funny. Funny? In the song you threaten to lynch the pope. That was written before this cool new pope. Oh, my God. Do you think the cool new pope is Galactus? Galactus eats planets. The pope… The pope does not eat pussy, Mr. Offerman. – He’s pretty cool. – That’s right. He’s probably up in the Vatican with all those nuns… No, Mr. Offerman, the pope does not eat nun pussy. I’m saying he gets some nun pussy. Please tell me I did not just witness the birth of a song called Some Nun Pussy. You may well have. It’s outrageous, and my clients will not have it. Don’t worry about it. Stop looking over my shoulder, Mr. Offerman. Please stop it. One second. Anyway, Galactus, I’ll catch you later. You can check out my song on YouTube. ♪ Then Jesus ♪ ♪ Cleaned the screen ♪♪ Thank you. Let’s just review… Let’s wrap it up real quick. Engage in romantic love, which will give you many opportunities to say “please” and “thank you” and use your handkerchief. Eat red meat. Perhaps make that part of your discipline when you get a hobby. Go outside. On your way there, avoid the mirror. And maintain a relationship with Jesus Christ, preferably while using intoxicants.

All of these nine tips add up to form number ten: paddle your own canoe.

Thank you very much for having me. ♪ Siddhartha says ♪ ♪ Life is like a river ♪ ♪ The thought of watching it pass me by ♪ ♪ Causes me to shiver ♪ ♪ So I grab life by the balls ♪ ♪ I got 10 tips to deliver ♪ ♪ Get off your caboose ♪ ♪ Paddle your own canoe ♪ ♪ Take the road less traveled ♪ ♪ Says Robert Frost ♪ ♪ Keep your stone rollin’ ♪ ♪ So it don’t accumulate no moss ♪ ♪ Leave the faint of heart ♪ ♪ Sucking on your exhaust ♪ ♪ Thunder Road ♪ ♪ Live a little life ♪ ♪ And paddle your own canoe ♪ ♪ Don’t while it away ♪ ♪ Masturbating in the ditches ♪ ♪ Put your tackle away ♪ ♪ And hitch up your britches ♪ ♪ Then provision your boat ♪ ♪ With several pulled porks and witches ♪ ♪ Indulge in savory meat stuffs ♪ ♪ Paddle your own canoe ♪ ♪ Young Teddy Roosevelt ♪ ♪ Was a weak little puss ♪ ♪ But he exercised ♪ ♪ And became quite an ornery cuss ♪ ♪ Till he could whoop a bear ♪ ♪ And also Cuba without a fuss ♪ ♪ But got number 26 ♪ ♪ And paddled his own canoe ♪ ♪ You like to smoke some reefer ♪ ♪ And you like to dance ♪ ♪ The preacher tells you to keep your pecker in your pants ♪ ♪ But that preacher’d be kissing your nephew ♪ ♪ Given half the chance ♪ ♪ You should spend your Sundays ♪ ♪ Paddling your own canoe ♪ ♪ I might have mentioned ♪ ♪ Jesus Christ himself got high in my van ♪ ♪ I told him I wouldn’t go to church ♪ ♪ And he shook my hand ♪ ♪ He said, “My son, just let me run inside and use the can ♪ ♪ Number two ♪ ♪ Then let’s get some Doritos ♪ ♪ And paddle your sweet canoe” ♪ ♪ What would Jesus do? ♪ ♪ Paddle my goddamn canoe ♪♪

Thank you. Thank you.


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