WWW.MY-SUBS.COM
Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome...
Bert Kreischer.
Oh.
Yes.
Yeah, lower your expectations, Philly.
We're just getting drunk and telling secrets.
Secret time.
When I get out of the shower,
I dry my asshole on the bed. Bam! Secret time.
Sometimes when I wipe my ass, I spit on the toilet paper.
It's called an Alabama Wet Wipe. Secret time.
When my wife has an orgasm, she looks like Elvis.
Secret time.
I love my wife. Er...
Sometimes, when my wife's blowing me,
I feel like she's gagging for the wrong reason.
Down there trying to hold it together
like a rookie in a hot dog eating contest.
Staring into my belly like a woman lost in the desert, just...
Listening to me going in and out of sleep apnea through it.
Slower.
I'm really big, huh?
She's a good mom.
Couldn't give a hand job to save her life.
Seriously, if someone broke into our house,
lined up our family on the couch, he's like,
"I'm gonna kill every motherfucker in here
unless one of you can give me a semi tolerable...
Like on a scale of one to ten, like a three kind of earthy hand job..."
I'd still be like, "Honey, I got this.
Stop crying, girls. We're gonna be just fine.
Keep your hands in your pocket, LeeAnn."
Last hand job I got from her, October 7th 2017.
I remember it. I was sober that month.
Getting a sober hand job is a lot like getting molested at camp.
I wanted to have sex.
I started to go, "Let's bang one out," she's like, "I don't want to have sex."
I was like, "All right, I'll just take a blow job."
Apparently that's an upsell.
I didn't realize that, "Oh, you don't like the Volkswagen, try the BMW."
So we settled on a Kia. That's a hand job in the afternoon.
The second it started,
I was like, "I immediately regret this decision."
Sun is filling the room.
I'm laying on the bed.
She's sitting next to me, criss cross applesauce,
fully dressed, with a smile, like it's her first time rolling dice.
I'm like, "Stop staring at me."
She's like, "Huh?"
I go, "We're making eye contact. You're staring into my soul. It hurts."
She's like, "What should I look at? At it?"
I go, "Dab for all I fucking care."
She is a good mom. I'm a shit dad.
I don't hit 'em, you know, and stuff but...
I'm a shit dad.
Do you remember when you were a kid,
and you'd hear your parents talking about really bad parents,
like, "Oh, my gosh.
Amy Stevens' mom was drunk dropping her off at school the other day,"
and you were like, "How does that happen?"
Then you become a parent, you're like, "I know how that happens."
I've definitely been there.
Stop drinking at three, wake up at seven for drop-off.
Get in the car, you're like, "Whoa...
Who wants to take Uber today, huh?
We can get donuts if we don't tell Mom about it."
This is how bad of a parent I am.
I went to a parent-teacher conference, stayed out until four in the morning.
Conference starts at 7:30 in the morning.
I wake up, I'm like, "Oh, fuck."
I make a cup of coffee, I grab two Diet Cokes,
go to the conference,
kill the coffee before the conference even starts,
sit down for the conference, crack my Diet Coke,
take a sip, and realize I have a Coors Light.
That is a game-time decision, gentlemen.
The second I felt the beer touch my tongue...
That's like a finger in your ass in an orgy.
What kind of man are you?
Do you pull away from it or do you push back into it?
Yeah, I pushed back into it and I killed that fucking Coors Light.
Reached into my pocket and prayed I had another Coors Light.
Who the fuck wants a Diet Coke if you just had a Coors Light?
I don't hit 'em.
That's the only thing I can say. We live in LA.
So when they misbehave, we put them in the corner and urinate on them.
Just kidding. Someone's gonna take that fucking for real.
They're like, "You really piss on your fucking kids?"
I don't hit 'em.
I got hit. Not a lot.
I got spanked a couple times and all I know is you do not want...
Man, spanking sucks. You grew up in Philly.
You know. You still get hit.
I remember the first time I ever got spanked.
My sister's fourth birthday party. I was six.
They're singing "Happy Birthday," she goes to blow out the candles,
and I'm like, "And kiss the cake! Boom!"
Dude, it killed so hard.
The clown was laughing.
He was like, "Doh, this kid's got chops."
It killed so hard that my dad's like, "Yo, I gotta talk to you in the garage."
I was like, "If you're gonna high-five me, we should probably do it out there.
She's a little worked up."
We get into the garage, he's like, "Pull your pants down."
I was like, "Hold on, slow down for a second.
We both agreed this was funny,
but I wouldn't go sucking my dick over it."
And then he spanked me.
Spanked me, and then said, "Pull your pants up. Let's go back in."
I was like, "I don't feel like partying anymore."
He never got my personality. Still doesn't get my personality.
Like even today as men,
I called him up the other morning, early in the morning LA time.
He's in Florida. He goes, "What are you doing awake?"
I said, "I had a bad dream."
It's silent, and he just goes, "Whoa, you still dream?"
I go, "Yeah, I dream. You don't dream?"
He goes, "No, I don't dream. I'm a fucking man!
I go to sleep, 'cause I'm tired from working all day,
and I sleep, 'cause I have to work the next day.
What are you dreaming about? Ponies and shit?"
I was like, "Yeah, sometimes."
He goes, "I'd love to have your job.
All you gotta do is get drunk and fucking tell secrets.
Secret time! My dad hit me when I was a kid. Secret time.
Secret time:
one time, my dad shit his pants at a Banana Republic."
That's true. That's actually true.
A hundred percent true, swear to God.
The day after Thanksgiving. Black Friday. Or Brown Friday, as we call it.
We go to Banana Republic. I grab a sweater and a jacket.
The sweater's for him. I get in line and go, "Yo, watch my kids."
"All right," then he comes back without my kids.
"Where are my kids?" He's like, "Fuck your kids.
We got a problem."
I was like, "What?"
He goes, "I think I'm gonna shit my pants. What do I do?"
I was like, "Stop making eye contact with me, stranger."
And then he shit his pants.
And I saw it happen in his eyes.
Just, "Oh! I shit my pants!"
He makes a beeline out of B-Reps,
my mom and my wife come up and they're like, "Where is Dad?"
I was like, "Dad just shit his pants."
My mom jumped on it like a soldier. She was like,
"Someone get him a new pair of khakis. 38/30. I'll go find him."
I was like, "Does this happen a lot?"
He does not find me funny.
I've only made him laugh one time.
One time seven Christmases ago.
I was in D.C. I call my wife up and go, "Yo, what do you want for Christmas?"
My wife's like, "Pajamas."
Pajamas.
She meant pajamas. I heard pajamas.
She meant a pair of pajamas. Start there, Bert.
I heard the plural, so I bought her seven pairs of pajamas...
...and individually wrapped them, she had a lot of shit to open.
And I sat back going, "Done, son!
Bitch wants pajamas, bitch got pajamas!"
All Christmas, I'm like, "Yo, open my gift!"
She's like, "I'll get to it. I'm working with the girls."
My dad sitting next to me like, "You must've killed it this year, buddy."
I was like, "You'll see."
Finally...
end of Christmas, she gets to my present.
I've been talking about this present all Christmas.
Whole family gathers around.
She opens the first pair.
Pulls them out and just goes, "Oh, pajamas."
And immediately, I think, "Fuck."
If that's her reaction to pajamas number one...
I can't imagine it's going to build.
My dad's drinking whiskey and eggnog,
and just goes, "Who the fuck buys someone pajamas?"
She opens the second pair, pulls them out,
and goes, "Oh. More pajamas."
My dad looks at the five unwrapped gifts, quickly does the math,
and goes, "You're a fucking idiot."
By pajamas number five,
he's going Flipper on me, just...
Pajama number six, the whole family's around her,
going, "Come on, pajamas!"
Pajamas number seven, they are pissing themselves,
thinking, "How could this get funnier?" What they do not know is,
I've also bought my mom and sisters pajamas.
You should have seen this man when my mom pulled her gift out from me,
and he was like, "Oh, it's motherfucking pajamas!"
I have made this man so angry in life.
One time...
whole family was driving from Tampa to Philadelphia.
Like, I'm ten years old, or whenever spitballs were big.
I'm sitting in the back of the station wagon,
and I have a brilliant idea.
I go, "I wonder...
if I could shoot a spitball from where I'm sitting
to the inside of his glasses...
...while he's driving 80 miles per hour...
I bet he'll appreciate how good my aim is."
I'm like, "Yeah, this is a great idea."
I line it up, I take the shot...
...and I miss entirely.
And instead of going on the inside of his glasses,
it goes directly in his ear canal.
And he goes full JFK,
just, "Son of a fucking bitch!
Oh, God!"
My mom's like, "What's going on?"
He's like, "Something entered my head! Oh!
I think I'm having a stroke, Maggie!"
Pulls the car over,
fishes it out, and is like, "How the fuck...
would a piece of paper get in my fucking ear?
Is there a window?" Turns around,
I'm so shocked I missed, I still have the straw in my mouth, like...
He goes, "Did you do this?"
"I was trying to get it on the inside of your glasses."
He's like, "Why?"
"Wanted to show you how good my aim is."
He looks at me without breaking a smile and goes,
"Hey, buddy, your aim fucking sucks."
One time, I'm like five years old.
I'm eating breakfast in his bed, and I finished my milk.
I look at him and go, "Hey, big guy, refill on the milk."
He rolls his eyes...
goes in the refrigerator, pulls out some milk,
comes into his bedroom, leans over his bed starts to pour,
and I go, "Hey!"
And he pours milk on his bed, and goes, "Why the fuck would you do that?"
I looked at him and I go, "It's comedy."
He told me I should start hitting my kids.
Yeah, my kids are dumb as fuck.
I love them. They're my children.
I love them with all my heart, but man, they are legit mouth-breathers.
Two very different types of stupid.
My oldest just found out there's no Santa Claus.
Yeah, she's 13.
To put that in perspective,
kids in her class are finger fucking and hitting vape pens.
She's leaving out milk and cookies, clicking her heels together.
She asked me about Santa this last Christmas, and I panicked.
Because I believe, and I could be wrong, but I believe there's a correlation
in when you stop believing in Santa and when you start sucking dicks.
No? No.
Do you believe in Santa?
Oh! Do you suck dicks?
Oh, shit!
Case in point, son!
So I'm just trying to get a little lead time.
She's like, "Dad, what's the story on Santa?"
I start panicking, my wife's next to me, I'm like, "Er... You mean Santa?"
She's like, "Yeah, Santa."
I go, "You mean Jesus's brother, Santa?"
She was like, "Whoa, Jesus and Santa were brothers?"
I was like, "Fuck yeah!
And when the Jews came after Jesus,
Santa was like, 'Fuck that, ' and he bounced.
He went to the North Pole and hung out with midgets,
and then one day,
his reindeer said 'Santa, I don't wanna freak you out,
but the Jews killed your brother.' He said, 'Fuck, I'm killing all the Jews!'
He goes, 'We can't. There's too many.'
He says, 'You're right. I'm talking crazy.
On my brother's birthday,
every kid that didn't kill my brother gets a gift.'
That's how we got Santa."
My wife is like, "What the fuck did you just tell her?"
"The story of Old Saint Nick. Isn't that how you remember it?"
This kid...
I guarantee you,
I'll get a phone call one night from her, like, "Uh-oh Dad,
I think I accidentally joined a cult."
She's the kid, when you drop her off for college,
my wife will give her life advice,
and I'll give her the real life advice to save her life.
"All right, here's the deal.
Whatever your mom said's fine, but this is your dad talking now.
When it comes to drugs, just take half.
Yeah, wait two hours. See if you like it.
Take the other half.
If your boyfriend wants to blindfold you during sex,
that means his roommate's going to fuck you. Don't do it."
Yeah, that's what that means, ladies.
There's a lot of girls going, "I think I gotta up my number."
My youngest is scary stupid.
Like...
I took her grocery shopping one day, right?
We get in the store, and she's like, "Can I push the cart?"
I go, "Yeah, but please be careful where you're pushing it. Pay attention."
She goes, "Sure thing, Dad."
Forty-five seconds later,
she clips a dude in the heels hard as shit.
He goes, "Son of a...!" I go, "I am so sorry, sir."
I go, "Ila, what did I just tell you?" She was like, "Sorry."
Frozen food section, she clips a lady in the heels.
"Oh my God!" I'm like, "Ma'am, I apologize.
Ila, baby! You gotta watch where you're going!"
"Sorry."
Over in the meat section, clips another dude in the heels.
"Motherfucker!" I go, "What is wrong with you?"
And she goes, "I like the look on their faces.
Let's do one more, Dad. I'll show ya."
I'm like, "Fuck, let's do that black guy." I will never say that again.
This kid is weird. Keeps her deodorant in the refrigerator.
Yeah, name on the cap and on the base, as to not confuse it
with all the fucking deodorants in the refrigerator.
I said to my wife, "What's her deodorant doing in there?"
She goes, "Well, you know Ila." I go, "No, apparently, I don't."
Then one morning I'm making coffee. Seven in the morning, Ila comes in,
opens refrigerator door on the DL, right?
Takes her deodorant out.
Takes the top off,
swipes her finger across it,
rubs it above her lip, cap on, in the door, shuts it,
I'm like, "What the fuck was that?"
She just turns around and goes, "Mind your own business,"
and walks away.
You cannot smoke weed around this kid. She'll fuck your day up.
One night,
all the family goes to sleep at 10:00, I'm like, "Fuck it, I'm gonna be healthy.
I'll eat an edible," right?
Eat an edible...
about an hour later, I realize I have over-served myself.
I don't know if you've ever been there when your brain takes over
and starts having independent inquiries within itself
that you're not in control of. You just hear, "Hey, I got a question.
Am I supposed to remind you to breathe?" And you're like, "Huh?
Are we not breathing right now?"
"No, dawg, we're not breathing at all.
And I can't remember what muscle starts the swallow."
I'm like...
Go into my bedroom, go to my wife, "I think I'm fucking dying.
I don't know how to breathe and I can't swallow.
I'm gonna need a blowjob, stat."
She's like, "How about a hand job?" I was like, "Hard pass.
I'm gonna die. I'm gonna die right next to you.
I'll be cool."
So I lay there, dying silently.
Two in the morning, I'm still awake, my door opens.
It's my daughter, Ila. Not who I want to talk to.
By the way, I'm certain there are some women in here
that are getting defensive of her. "Bert, she's not stupid.
She sounds quirky. She's a fun little kid."
Oh! Let me tell you this little ditty, okay?
I go to her softball practice one day.
Now, you gotta remember, I live in LA.
I don't live in Philly like you guys. We do things differently out there.
The coach is practicing without a ball.
He doesn't want to introduce failure this early in the season.
No!
Hey.
Hold on!
Someone's gotta make the snowflakes, people.
He's got them out there, no ball. Are you fucking kidding me?
- No ball, all in position. - "All right, ladies...
Runners on first and second!
Ground ball to Lily."
Lily Fromkin, the third base, fields it perfectly.
Stands on third, throws it to second,
She catches it, throws it to first, "Triple play, girls! Bring it in!"
By the way, I'm on the sides going, "First triple play I've ever seen."
Then the other part of me is like, "Where's the fucking ball?"
That's when one of the moms tells me, "Coach doesn't wanna introduce failure."
I'm like, "Are you fucking kidding me?"
My daughter's in center field.
Coach is like, "All right, bases loaded.
Fly ball to Ila!"
And I watch my daughter...
immediately start backing up, then look over her head and start running.
Who fails in their own imagination?
Everyone's cheering her on, I'm like, "There's no fucking ball!"
Then I watch her throw her glove, like, "Fuck it," and walk away.
I called my wife immediately.
I go, "You are never going to believe what your moron daughter just did."
And we laughed hysterically for a minute,
and then my wife stops, she goes, "Yo, don't make fun of her for this."
I go, "Are you being serious?"
She goes, "No, this is her beautiful little brain.
I don't want to break it."
I go, "I think it's broken.
I just watched her not catch nothing."
She said, "But if you make fun of her,
it'll shame her, and that's not what we want.
That's what your dad did. That's why you drink."
I got to drive home with the kid.
We're on the 405, she's staring out the window like Spicoli.
We're not talking at all.
Finally, I'm like, "Fuck it." "Yo, Ila,
what happened with that fly ball?"
She doesn't even look at me. Just stares out the window, smirks,
and goes, "Yep, Coach really got a hold of that one."
This is the brain
of the child walking into my room at two in the morning
when I'm higher than senator socks.
It's the best I could do, people.
I wrote this so many different ways...
"I'm higher than a woodpecker's dick in a redwood.
I'm higher than astronaut pussy." That's progressive, right?
"I'm higher than..." I even got so high to try to write it from that angle,
but all I could come up with was,
"I'm higher than a whale," 'cause...
I thought, "There's got to be times when a whale's at the top of the ocean, like,
'Oh, I'm high as shit right now.
Oh fuck, I'm so high!
I'm higher than senator socks.'"
Anyway, my point is, it's two in the morning,
she opens the door, I'm higher than Moby Dick.
She sees I'm awake, walks up next to my bed and goes...
"Hey, Dad.
You believe in time travel?"
By the way, it's two in the morning.
I'm high as shit, and I really do believe in time travel.
Part of me's like, "This is a perfect time to have this conversation!"
"Yes, baby. Why?"
She goes, "Is it possible...
that I could come back from the future to tell myself a secret?"
I'm like...
"This is how it starts!"
I go, "Yes baby, why?"
She goes, "That's all I needed to know. Good night," and leaves!
Leaves! Leaves me spiraling...
certain that there's a 30-year-old version of my daughter in her bedroom going,
"What did he say?
Good to see you again, Ila. I told you so.
Listen, we got a busy night. Dad's gonna die.
He's had too much marijuana.
We're gonna save his life.
First, I need you to get your deodorant and put in the refrigerator.
Time travel smells like shit. We're going to rub it under our noses."
Secret time.
Yeah!
The reason she rubs under her nose is because...
she can't trust that you'll wear deodorant.
So don't worry about deodorant, guys. Ila's got you covered.
"Why do you keep it in the refrigerator?" She goes, "Ah, it's refreshing."
And then one morning, I put mine in there before my shower,
and came out and, deodorant, not antiperspirant, deodorant.
And then got out and put it on, I was like, "This feels fucking awesome."
Put it back in the refrigerator. She sees.
She goes, "Yo. Big guy. Name on the cap and on the base.
Let's not get them confused."
You ever look at your family as a team?
And go, "Wow, we suck dick as a team.
I thought we'd be stronger than this."
We went zip-lining, the whole family went zip-lining,
and we get there and I start looking at other families sizing us up,
going, "Shit, those parents look like they do CrossFit."
Then I look at me and my wife, and go, "We look like crossing guards,"
and then you start beating your wife up in your head.
Not out loud, just in your head.
You're like, "What the fuck you wearing water shoes for?
We're going zip-lining. Where's the water?
With socks! Who wears water shoes and socks?
I'm on TV, bitch! Step up your fucking game."
My kids look homeless.
And they don't listen to any of the instructions,
because apparently the first rule of zip-lining at this place we went was,
"When in doubt, spread 'em out."
Now, everyone else heard that as instruction.
My daughters hear it and start laughing their brand new tits off.
Georgia's like, "Yo, they wanna see our va-jays?"
I'm like, "No, that's not what this is."
Ila's like, "You gotta know me a while before you see my va-jay."
I'm like, "Who have you shown your va-jay to?"
Georgia's like, "That's our new catch phrase.
When in doubt, spread them out!" I'm like, "No, it's not.
I am not sending you to the high school,
the old 'When in doubt spread 'em out, ' girls."
This is how little my children were paying attention.
When you go zip-lining, you clip in.
That's how you stay safe. You clip in.
Once you clip in, you can't fall out of the trees,
but that's your spot for the whole day.
Ila is paying such little attention,
she clips into the middle of a Vietnamese family.
I see her walk up the stairs with them, and I'm like, "Yo, Tigerlily,
where the fuck are you going?"
She was like, "Oh, I don't know these people."
I was like, "No shit."
Enjoy your afternoon with the Tats!
They get up to the top, the two Vietnamese parents go,
then one of their kids, then it's Ila's turn.
Guide looks at her, like, "Uh...
Are you ready to go?"
She goes, "Where?"
He's like, "zip-lining." She's like, "What's zip-lining?"
He's like, "Is she serious?"
My wife's like, "She hasn't been listening at all."
He's like, "Young lady, do you know what to do?"
And she goes, "Oh, yeah. When in doubt, spread 'em out."
Jumps, and is hauling ass through the tree line like a hawk in heat, just...
They're on the other side, like, "Slow down!"
She's like, "No! Coming in hot, bitches!"
Hits the bumpers, goes up into the rigging,
and racks her va-jay...
and it gets real, just...
Treetop to treetop, like Tarzan's having an orgasm.
There's nothing we can do. No one speaks English over there.
We gotta wait for Pikachu to go.
Asian kid gets up, he kills it.
Asians always kill it.
He's slowing himself down with one hand.
He's got the other hand free. He caught a dove.
He sticks it, then my oldest, Georgia, gets up.
Looks over the edge and goes...
"Oh, I'm not doing this."
I go, "Yeah, you are."
She goes, "No, it's too high. Can you have them lower it, Daddy?"
I go, "You want them to lower a tree, Johnny Appleseed?
You're dumber than your fucking sister.
No, they're not lowering the tree, Georgia. This is what we signed up for."
She goes, "But I don't wanna go."
I go, "But there's 30 people behind us and you're clipped in front of them.
You have to go.
This is an analogy for life.
Sometimes in life, you'll make a decision,
and you gotta stick with it.
I clipped into your mom 14 years ago.
Take a look at that outfit.
You think I want to be here with Napoleon Dynamite?
No, so man up, Rambo.
Your sister's embedded in Charlie, and we need to extract her."
The guide looks at me, he goes, "I can just push her."
I go, "Oh, fucking push her."
He pushes her, she goes, she racks her va-jay...
Then, my wife gets up.
Now, in all fairness,
my wife has seen two chicks take it to the puss.
So she slows herself down so much,
she doesn't even make it to the other side.
my wife, 250 feet in the sky,
socks, water shoes, Target jean shorts,
muffin-topping out of her harness, trying to kick her body...
...in the momentum. My daughters are holding their vaginas like two POWs.
And I have a moment of clarity
where I realize, "This is my SEAL Team Six.
Wow, this is how the Kreischers handle adversity."
The guy that's this yoked out 24-year-old,
he's like, "Don't worry, I'll go get her,"
slides out to her like a mountaineering pimp.
Spins her so they're facing each other,
wraps what my wife's already deemed as "his aggressive calves" around her hips...
and then proceeds to shimmy fuck her...
all the way back to us.
She wraps her legs around him and is smiling ear to fucking ear!
Looks at the group and goes, "Ladies, when in doubt spread 'em out!"
She's a good mom.
One time...
One time, I was going down on my wife,
and I thought, "I wonder if I wrap my lips around her entirely and just go, "Ho!
Hi-ho!"
That would work, right?
Don't ever try to do something you saw on a porn in your bedroom.
I did this move, I've seen it 100 times.
Where you, like, hit it from the side, you know?
And I'm doing it, and all of a sudden, my wife looks at me,
she goes, "Are you trying to show this to someone?"
I'm like, "Oh, they only do this for the camera angle."
Once I saw a porn, it was girl on girl. That's the holy grail, right?
What they're doing, is they're... Why am I licking my hand?
Anyway...
They're down there, and they're tapping on the top of the key.
You know what I'm talking about? Up at the three pointers?
Like they're looking for U-boats, just...
So I see this sober, try it drunk, big mistake.
Four Tito's in, I go down on my wife,
I'm like, "Shit, I got that move." I hear that voice in my head, though.
"Slap that bitch in the pussy, son!"
Ping!
She's moaning. It must be working.
Survey says, "Ping!"
She told all our friends.
We got these four families we hang out with.
We call ourselves "The Campers."
It's the Grusons, the Fromkins, the Hayslips and the Kreischers.
Should call ourselves the Nazis, with those names.
It's fun, you can... Like, we're all shitty parents...
...so no one calls each other on their shit.
One time, we're in Palm Springs, right? All four families. Oh, it's perfect.
All the kids are the same age. They're running around on the fairway.
All the parents are up by the condo having white wine,
so we feel skinny.
And then all of a sudden, my oldest, Georgia, comes marching up the hill
with a bee in her bonnet, like, "Mom, Dad...
Ila's cursing."
And you can see my wife's had a couple glasses of wine, she's like, "A-ha."
I go, "Don't worry. I'll parent this."
I go, "Hey, Georgia, how about not being such a fucking snitch?
That's your little sister down there. You need to team up with her.
You need to have her back. You should be supporting her.
You should be cursing with her, like, 'Fuck it, suck it, ' you know?
Light a homeless guy on fire. Whatever kids do."
She looks at all the parents like,
"No one's going to stop this horrible parenting right now?"
But my wife's had two glasses of wine,
and she's like, "Yeah, Take the stick out of your ass, bitch!"
Georgia looks at all of us, like, "Okay, I guess I'm sorry?
I apologize.
I just thought you guys would want to know she's saying the N-word,"
and we're like, "Holy shit!"
All of us are like... And I get in front of them, like,
"Hold on, maybe she's singing it. She's probably just singing it."
Like, you can sing it. You totally can.
If you buy the album, you can definitely sing it.
You can't sing it if you're doing yard work,
like, "Oh, I'm the hardest working..." Right?
So...
So we go down and we get down there,
I'm like, "What the fuck is going on down here?"
And Lily Fromkin stands up,
she goes, "Max, Carter, and Ila are all saying the N-word."
I'm like, "What, are you recruiting people, Ila?"
I go, "Baby, you cannot say that word."
She goes, "Calm down, Dad. I can say it."
I go, "No, you fucking can't."
She goes, "Actually, Dad, I can.
The teacher said you can say it if you are one."
And all the parents like, "You can't!" I go, "Actually I think that is the rule.
I just don't know how that applies to you and two Jewish kids."
And she stands up, looks me in the eyes, and goes, "Dad...
I'm a nerd, Max is a nerd, and Carter is a nerd,"
and we're like, "Oh, you think the N-word's nerd?"
And all the kids are like, "Yeah, what do you think it is?"
And we're like, "Oh, it's nerd.
My nerds! It's nerd."
And we laughed hysterically
at just how innocent our kids are, they don't even know the N-word.
How great a parent are we?
I put that shit on Facebook!
Of course, the whole night, anytime a black guy walked by,
I was like, "Nerd alert."
The next day,
we're in the Lazy River, me, Eric Gruson, and Stephen Fromkin,
and we're floating behind moms that are younger and hotter than our wives.
Just letting them know the tiger's still got claws.
Georgia comes kicking up on an inner tube,
she's like, "Dad! Ila's cursing again,"
I go, "Baby, I thought we talked about this."
She goes, "Well, I thought you'd wanna know she's saying the C-word,"
and these women are like, "Oh, my God!"
I go, "Wait, ladies. We've been through this.
Georgia, what's the C-word?"
She's like, "Cunt!"
Nailed it!
That is definitely the C-word. Hasn't changed, has it, ladies?
Whew!
That'll wake you up, huh?
I was laughing so hard,
I couldn't parent the situation.
And we're in a Lazy River. These ladies have to keep up with us.
So by the time we get to Ila,
who's still saying it at the top of her lungs,
like she's auditioning for a Guy Ritchie movie.
Like she just worked with Chelsea Handler.
Anyway...
She's not on Netflix anymore. We're fine.
By the time we get to Ila,
who's still saying it at the top of her lungs,
"Ila, you gotta stop saying that word."
She's like, "Why?"
I go, "It's a horrible word." She goes, "What's it mean?"
I go, "You don't even know what it means?"
She's like, "No, I heard someone say it, and it's a fun word to say."
Me, Eric and Steven are like, "You got that right."
She goes, "Dad, what's it mean?" I'm like, "Huh... Well...
let's go ask Eric's wife. She's one. She'll tell you."
She is, too. I swear to God.
She is. Don't worry, I cleared this with her.
The second I said that, Eric's like, "If you tell that on stage,
I would definitely run that by Lynn."
So that night at dinner, I tell the story
and say, "Lynn, I want to tell that on stage,
but the end of it..." Lynn Gruson is her name if you wanna google her.
I go, "At the end of it, I call you the C-word.
Would that bother you?"
She was like, "No, why would it?"
And everyone at the table's like, "Uh..."
She goes, "It's a joke, right?"
I was like, "Yeah.
Yeah, it's a joke."
I leaned over her husband. I was like, "I feel like the kid from The Sixth Sense.
She doesn't know, does she?"
Here's the amazing part about that night,
is we got into a conversation with our wives,
and my wife said that the C-word is the N-word for women,
and I was like, "You're wrong."
I go, "Slut's the N-word for women."
She goes, "No, don't tell me what my N-word is. It's C-word."
I go, "So you're telling me you'd rather be called a slut than a cunt,"
and she went, "Yeah."
She goes, "'Cause I know I'm not a slut," and I was like, "Okay...
...then by your math, you definitely are a cunt?"
And I learned a very valuable lesson that night.
If you call your wife a cunt in public,
no matter how hard she tries to stop it, she immediately becomes one.
She was like, "What did you just call me?"
I was like, "It's happening right now.
You guys see this? This is happening."
But here's the disconnect, is that men find that sexy.
Like, men definitely find...
Every man in here is like, "I'm with a little hint of cunt."
I think it's hot.
There's nothing sexier as a man, than to watch your chick flex her cunt.
When you're not in the cross hairs, if you know what I mean.
Like when a contractor talks down to her 'cause she's a woman,
"You wouldn't know anything about that, ma'am."
And you're like, "Oh, bro, you just summoned the cunt.
This isn't like Candyman. You just got to say it once."
"Hey! Look! Come here, please!
A cunt-o here, now!
Look! Cunt-o!
Cunt-o."
I got to be honest with you.
I'm all for this whole conversation that we're having with men and women,
and women talking up and men listening,
'cause I never listened before.
I never listen, and now I listen,
but sometimes, my family gangs up on me.
Like the other night, we're at dinner,
and Georgia says, "You're a misogynist."
I'm like, "No, I'm not."
LeeAnn's like, "Actually, we were talking about it. You are."
I go, "Excuse me?"
And then Georgia says, "We don't like the way you talk to Alexa."
"Are you kidding me right now?"
She goes, "We just think if it was a man, you'd treat it with more respect."
I said, "It's not a man or a woman. It's a cylinder I bought,
and I'll throw it in the fucking pool."
And then one night, I get into a fight with Alexa.
It's my fault. I'm drunk, right?
I'm really drunk, and I'm calling her Siri for like, two hours.
"Turn on the fucking pool lights!" And then I realize, I'm like, "Alexa!"
And the one in the bedroom turns on,
"Bitch, shut up! I'm not talking to you!
Alexa, clean the shit out of your ears and turn on the fucking pool lights!"
My wife comes in. She's like, "Who are you yelling at?"
I was like, "No one. Isn't that right, Alexa?"
Alexa's like, "Yeah, I fell.
He's a good man, LeeAnn.
It's my fault. The pool lights are on, Bert."
If you think about it, though,
if Alexa was a man, if Alexa was a black man's voice,
you'd treat it with more respect.
Dude, let's talk about black people. Here we go.
Don't worry. We're gonna be fine.
I love black people.
I like black people more than anyone in here.
'Cause I have had an opportunity to do something
that none of you white people will ever get,
and that is make a room of 400 black people laugh.
My favorite thing in the world
is making a black guy laugh in public
when he doesn't expect it and doesn't know I'm a comedian.
I made a black guy laugh so hard on the plane I thought I'd killed him.
We're sitting on the tarmac before takeoff.
We're both drinking double Jacks on the rocks.
I was thinking, "We're gonna run out of Jack."
I carry four in my bag at all times. Secret time.
On the screen in front of us, little factoids are popping up.
Little travel factoids like,
"Dutch people are the tallest in the world and Dutch women average over 5'7"."
Me and him are taking in the information. We're not talking,
but we're both looking at the information, like, "Huh..."
He's like, "Oh."
Next factoid comes up:
"The average annual rainfall in Phoenix is eight inches."
I touch him on the arm, I go, "That may not seem like a lot to you...
...but they got two inches on me, big guy."
He was taking a sip, and spit whiskey out of his nose.
And then started choking and I was like, "Oh shit, I killed him."
He pulls his shit together, grabs me by the arm,
and he goes, "Do that the whole flight."
I was like, "You're sitting next to the right guy."
Any time he took a sip, I'd just lean over and go,
"How does someone become an abortion doctor? Huh?
Is there really someone in med school thinking,
'Well, I want to work with kids but...
I wanna meet chicks who fuck, you know?'"
Whiskey out the nose.
Take a sip, "Hey, do you think on 9/11,
someone at corporate 7-Eleven was like, 'That was close.
Missed that by two months.
That could have been bad for the brand considering our employees...'
Hashtag, inside job."
I remember the first time I made black people laugh.
I was 13 years old.
I want to Rollie Massimino basketball camp at Villanova.
Yep.
This was one of the camps back in the 80s
where they'd recruit inner city kids to come play,
and then the Big East coaches would scout them,
or if you were white,
your dad could pay $5,000, and you could go.
It's called "white privilege".
Here's the important thing about white privilege.
Not every white guy has it. Like, he definitely didn't have it.
Nor did he, or him with the chest tattoo, or...
Not a lot of white privilege in Philly, I've noticed.
If you ever want to experience what it's like to have white privilege,
to be a white male in America, very simple:
Rent a jet ski.
You don't need a license,
instructions, a resume, recommendations.
You just get on and fucking kill it.
And if you fuck up and fall, you don't get hurt.
You're like, "My dad will get me a job in the bank!"
So, first day of basketball camp,
I go up for a rebound, very first game, and I get knocked unconscious.
Apparently white privilege doesn't go hard in the mother fucking paint.
Get taken to Bryn Mawr General, throw up on my dick,
it's a long story.
Come back to camp the next day,
and Coach Massimino pulls me aside.
He goes, "You can't play. You got a concussion last night.
I'm gonna make you sit out between these two young men."
6'7 ", 6'5", both black dudes.
He goes, "They got caught smoking marijuana last night.
So you sit in between them,
and if they start screwing around, you stop it."
I was like, "Bro, you got the wrong guy for the job.
I threw up on my dick last night."
But here's what happened.
Is because he sat me in between them,
everyone at camp thought I got caught smoking weed with them.
As if two inner city teenagers, 16, 17 years old,
woke up in the middle of the night,
and one was like...
"Pssst!
Ray-Ray.
You wanna get high?"
"Hell yeah, I wanna get high.
You got weed?"
"You know I got weed. You got a lighter?" "You know I got a lighter.
You wanna wake up this little white kid?"
"Ray-Ray, you know my three favorite things in the world
is basketball, weed, and white kids.
Yo, white boy." "Hey, white boy."
"White boy...
White boy, you wanna get high?"
I was like, "You know I wanna get high."
So by proxy, everyone thought I was cool.
- "By proxy"? Yeah. - Yes.
I do that with words a lot, where I don't know the meaning,
but it sounds right.
My wife's doing that with the word "bukkake" right now.
"Ah, I got so bukkaked at the Ford dealership."
I was like, "Really?
Remind me to drop the truck off next time."
So by proxy, I was all of a sudden cool as shit.
Now, middle of camp,
a guy by the name of Ralph Sampson shows up.
For those of you who don't know, Ralph Sampson was 7'4".
He was the center for the Houston Rockets,
who had played at the University of Virginia.
All-star, all-pro.
Just a badass black dude, 7'4".
Shows up in camp, and he's like, "Gentlemen...
today, I'm here to give you a speech."
We all jump on the gym floor and sit down.
He's like, "I'm going to give you a speech about discipline
and how to achieve your goals.
Now, first up,
who in here parties?"
I thought we were all gonna put our hands up.
But that is not what happened.
I put my hand up, and Ralph Sampson looks at me,
and he goes, "How do you party?"
Valid question for a 13-year-old.
I thought he wanted an answer,
So I said, "I party hardy."
Ralph Sampson's like, "What did you say?"
I thought he didn't hear me.
So I articulated and said it louder,
which sounds like I'm barking down a grown man.
"I said, 'I party hardy!'"
No one's laughing, but 6'7 " and 6'5" are shaking like the dude from Get Out.
Just...
Ralph Sampson's pissed.
He's supposed to give an hour-long speech,
and he just lost the room 13 seconds in
to a 13-year-old who parties hardy, and apparently isn't afraid of giants.
He walks through the sea of kids,
stepping over seven children at a time.
Stands over me to intimidate me, and he goes, "How do you party hardy?"
Once again, I thought he wanted an answer.
So I look past his dick and said...
"With both hands."
Now black dudes are losing their minds silently.
They're touching each other, going, "Oh, shit!
He says he parties hardy with both hands!
To Ralph Sampson!"
"Hell yeah! We call him Double Dribble."
Ralph Sampson is irate.
He stands up me, 6'7 ", and 6'5", and marches us to the front of the camp.
Then he takes basketballs and shoves them behind our legs,
buckling our knees, and says, "Hold them there."
So now we're holding basketballs behind our legs.
He puts our arms out, and he puts basketballs on our fingertips.
And he goes, "You're gonna stand like that for my whole speech
until you realize partying is no way to live your life,"
and he proceeds to give his speech. Look...
you don't have to pay for the camp. I'll tell you what the speech was.
Ralph Sampson never learned how to swim.
I know what you're thinking. Don't think it.
One summer,
Ralph Sampson's mom got him swim lessons,
and that summer, Ralph made a decision that changed the direction of his life.
He decided that summer,
"If I don't mess around with the other stuff that isn't important in my life,
like partying and chasing girls
and hanging out with the guys and swimming,
then I can achieve my dream, which is playing in the NBA."
So he didn't learn how to swim,
and that, ladies and gentlemen,
is in Ralph's opinion, how he got to the NBA.
By the way, nowhere in this horseshit speech
did he ever slide in, "Oh, and I also grew to the freakish height of 7'4",
'cause I have a pituitary problem."
Even at 13 years old,
I'm calling bullshit on the speech, going,
"Who the fuck needs to learn how to swim when you're 7'4"?
Stand up anywhere in the pool,
you're still 14 inches out of the water."
"Polo."
And then, in the middle of his speech, he focuses in on me,
the obvious swimmer of the three of us.
And he jumps on me. He goes, "You think you'll ever have a beer again?"
I was just caught off guard, and I was like, "Probably."
He's like, "What?" I go, "If I mow the yard or something."
He's like, "What?" I go, "If I mow the yard,
I might want a beer. I don't know, man."
He looks at 6'7", he goes, "You think you'll ever smoke weed again?"
6'7 " looks at me like, " You mother...
Probably."
Ralph's like, "What?" He goes, "If I mow the yard or something."
Now the room is teetering.
The fuse has been lit, but the bomb hasn't gone off yet,
and Ralph steps back, looks at the three of us,
and goes, "Have you boys learned anything?"
6'7 " and 6'5" look at me.
I look at Ralph, and I go, "You can't swim."
Boom.
Thank you so much, Philadelphia!
When I was 22, I got involved with the Russian Mafia.
Here's how it happened.
Thank you so much, Philadelphia!
Have a great night!