Original subtitles

[Mexican music]

Downloaded from YTS.MX

Official YIFY movies site: YTS.MX

[Mexican music continues]

[Mexican music continues]

[audience cheering]

What's up?

How you doing?

[audience cheering]

It's way more than I deserve. Thank you very much.

My name's Al. Thanks for coming out.

Appreciate it. Uh...

Let's see. Let's get started.

[audience cheering]

Doing pretty good on my New Year's resolution

so far.

I'm probably gonna make it all year.

I'm make it my whole life.

Picked an easy one.

No Chipotle.

Never going back to Chipotle 'cause it's too nice.

It's too well lit.

Everybody knows, if you want good Mexican food,

it's gotta be a little scary.

I gotta go...

Go to a roach coach

parked out in front of a mechanic shop, midnight.

That's how you get the good shit.

[audience laughs]

You gotta walk up, order fast, order scared.

All right?

"Hola, ¿cómo estás?

Ah, yeah.

Can I have three el pastor tacos,

por favor?

Get the fuck away from me!"

Check out some of their other items

while your order's coming up.

Can't do that at Chipotle.

It, uh...

"Conto questo the Deadpool DVD?"

And...

"These socks. how much for these socks?"

I also brush up on my Spanish a lot.

I have phrases you're not gonna find

in a Rosetta Stone.

All right, yes, uh... Como se dice,

"Can your pit bull please stop licking me?"

How do you say that?

This guys going to town.

I was at a taco truck right before the election.

And I overhear the guy's order in front of me.

He's just finishing up,

and this is exactly what he says. He goes,

[in Mexican accent] "Hey, bro.

In that order,

can I get no cilantro?

'Cause you heard what they're doing

to the cilantro, right?"

And the guy in the taco truck goes,

"Si, si, I know," and walks away.

Just leave me standing there going, uh...

"Excuse me, uh...

What's, what's going on with the cilantro?"

And he goes, "Oh, bro. My mom told me

not to eat any cilantro if it's from Mexico

'cause they're shitting in it.

To get back at Trump."

And I said, uh, "Well, don't get me wrong,

I'm all for a good Trump takedown, but...

a lot of collateral damage in the shit-in-the-cilantro plan

don't you think?"

It really does imply

that there's some Oceans 11 style planning taking place

in a Mexican cilantro field.

I'm not sure they're that organized.

Maybe they are.

"All right, cilantro workers gather around."

[sniffs]

"Carrots, stale celery, stay where you are."

[sniffs]

"Not sure you guys heard today...

but Donald Trump has done it again.

Not only has he called

all the people crossing the border rapists,

Not only has he kicked Univision's beloved newscaster

Jorge Ramos out of a press conference in Iowa...

Saying, 'Go back to Univision,'

in a tone that implies, 'Go back to Mexico.'

But now, he's saying he's gonna build a wall.

He's gonna have us pay for it.

It's gonna stop now, it's gonna stop here.

Let's all start brainstorming.

No idea is a bad idea, okay?

Felipe, what do you have?"

"Okay!

I say we get on the computers

and start a Kickstarter campaign...

and we raise money. Because in America,

money and power and politics, they all go together.

Their democracy is dead.

We're gonna start our own super PAC.

We are gonna spread positive messages

about Latinos entering the United States

and fight this Donald trump."

[audience cheers]

"Well...

It's a good idea. It's good, it's good.

And you guys know I don't wanna be negative.

You guys know I wanna foster open lines of communication

and give you all a voice.

But you guys gotta remember,

none of us have ever seen a computer.

And I don't know what a fucking Kickstarter is.

What... What am I kicking?

Yes, Cleto."

[in a higher tone] "Okay!"

[normal voice] It's all the same voice. I...

This guy's shorter. He's a little effeminate.

[in a higher tone] "Okay!

I say...

I say we write letters...

to the people of the United States and say,

'Dear people,

as citizens of this planet, you gotta empathize

because we're in a horrible situation,

so dire and so grave,

that we'd even send our own children

across the border,

into another country by themselves.

Eight, nine, ten years old.

You won't even send your kids to the bus.

We're there because we're hard workers.

and we want to fight for a better life

for our family, for future generations to come.

Sure, there's some bad apples.

Those are isolated cases.

We're a hardworking people,

so please remember that.'"

[in a deep voice] "Holy shit.

This is heartfelt.

And if the Monsanto pesticides that they put in the cilantro

hadn't destroyed my tear ducts...

you would have seen that I cried a little bit.

But again, guys, I don't wanna nitpick.

But you gotta remember,

none of us know how to read or write.

Putting letter-writing out of the question.

Yes, crazy Eddie?"

"Okay...

This is a little outside of the box...

But I say we shit...

in the fucking cilantro!"

[audience cheers]

"Put that in your Trump Tower, taco bald motherfucker!"

"It's passionate."

I didn't think it would happen, it happened.

It's here. I thought when he called

all the people crossing the border rapist,

I'm like, "Oh, you can't do that."

Turns out,

everybody loved it.

And, uh...

Here we are.

If you are on that side of the fence, congratulations.

Uh, but I do wanna be very clear.

When my grandfather came to the United States,

he did not rape anyone.

He did murder a guy, uh, but...

Just found this out about a year ago.

I was in Tijuana at a family reunion.

You laugh at that? [mumbles]

There were cousins, some uncles.

And my Uncle John looks at me,

everybody's just smoking cigars, drinking tequila.

My Uncle John looks at me and he goes,

"I think you're old enough to know this now."

I go, "Yeah, I'm... 45.

I'm...

old enough to know most things.

What've you got for me? If not now, when?"

He goes, "You know why your grandfather

came to the United States?"

And I just shrug and I go,

"Because... he was struggling?"

And then everybody laughed.

Evil, muppet-y laugh, and the tequila.

[imitates wheezy laugh]

I think somebody mumbled in the back,

"Somebody was struggling, it wasn't him."

And this is the story that they told.

My grandfather's in his place,

El Chante, Mexico, 1920s,

about two hours outside Guadalajara.

And he's in there,

somebody pounds on the door.

My grandfather opens the door,

guy standing there stabs him twice in the side.

Apparently, this was pre-peephole, uh, because...

I have a difficult time opening the door

for girl scouts holding my cookies,

and, uh, somebody's standing there stab-ready,

I'm gonna ask a couple questions.

Backstory there is my grandfather's in love

with this guy's wife. He wasn't taking it very well.

Decided to employ

some 1920s Guadalajaran conflict resolution.

I can...

My grandfather says, "Not here, not here.

Let's go to the outskirts of town

where all the murdering is done."

They go to the outskirts.

Guy takes out his knife.

My grandfather takes out his machete.

Machete beats knife.

Chops him in the head.

Gets the fuck out of there 'cause he knows

the guy's the nephew of a famous Mexican general.

Rides No Country For Old Men style into Texas.

Works with the Chinese building the railroad.

You're welcome.

Goes up to San Francisco, meets my grandmother,

and long story short,

that's why I'm in front of you, people,

shooting a comedy special.

[audience cheering]

Murder works out, all right?

This is the dream. This is it.

This is what they want to happen

when you're sneaking across the border into this country,

when you're working shit jobs that no one else will do

This is... This is what you're hoping for.

[audience cheers]

It's all right. I mean, it's not that great.

I like to think it's specifically this,

like a husband and wife hunched over

in some Selena strawberry field.

All right? This is all that keeps her going.

"Don't worry, Maria.

It's all gonna be okay."

This is all in Spanish. "'Cause one day...

we're gonna have a grandchild.

And that grandchild's gonna be allergic to dairy.

His arms are gonna be defined

not from lifting full buckets of water,

but from lifting kettlebells

made to simulate buckets of water.

And this boy will workout

while wearing the finest Lululemon outfit

money can buy."

"He will pick lemons?"

"No. He will pick out Lululemon.

The exact opposite of picking anything.

And he will have astigmatism so severe,

that he will never be eligible for LASIK surgery

no matter how affordable it becomes.

Or how much the technology progresses."

"I will keep working for this boy."

And here we are. This is it.

[audience cheering]

Yeah.

[audience cheering]

Half Mexican, half Sicilian.

Doesn't even sound real, right?

Sound like something.

It's like a biological weapon created in a lab.

I feel fucking crazy sometimes.

Half Mexican, half Sicilian? Oh, my god.

I have machete-to-the-head

coursing through my fucking veins.

I asked my mom on the Sicilian side

if we had any similar stories.

And she goes, "Oh, yeah, sure."

I said "Do tell!"

And she goes, "All right, there was the time

where your Uncle Skippy flipped out

and threw the turkey in the drapes."

Apparently, what happened...

is that my Uncle Skippy Tarantino...

No names made up at all to protect the guilty.

Home from the service, Thanksgiving.

He went to go carve the turkey.

Thanksgiving here, carving it.

It's dry.

And what did you do? Do you put some gravy out?

He asked me to baste it a little bit more?

No, he picked it up in a rage...

and threw it in the fucking drapes.

And everyone cried, and that was Thanksgiving.

So coursing though my veins

are fucking machete to the head, turkey to the drapes.

I know I look like Mexican Rick Moranis.

[imitates Rick] So yeah.

"Okay.

Who brought the dog?"

[audience applauding]

I feel fucking nuts.

I'm trying to get a handle on it,

I'm trying to control it.

It's tough.

I flip out! [stammers]

When provoked and poked, I lose my mind.

I'm trying not to. My dad, it was not successful.

Little five-foot-five Mexican hulk.

Loses shit constantly.

I'm not sure if anybody grew up with an intense father.

Treated every life decision like it was the last play

of the Super Bowl.

"All right, I want you to go inside.

I want you to look the guy in the eye, shake his hand,

and then say, 'I would like to buy this gum.'"

And I'm like, "Okay, will do."

We'd mess with him constantly, me and my brothers,

because we knew we could get him to overreact.

Until I stopped at the age of 25 when this happened.

I had this little Irish girlfriend

I'm dating for two-and-a-half years

that everybody in my family hated.

My brothers hated her,

Mom hated her,

Dad hated her, I hated her.

But it was my first girlfriend

so I didn't know if another one was coming,

so you held on a little bit longer.

So I called my Dad up, April Fools.

Perfect time to fuck with him.

And I said, uh...

"Hey, Dad.

Do we have a family jeweler?"

And you could just hear teeth grinding

through the phone.

And then he goes, "Yeah, we do. Why?"

I said, "Well, I was gonna buy Nicole an engagement ring,

and I was hoping you could help me buy that."

This is what he said.

"I got an idea.

How about we buy you a shotgun

and you could put it in your mouth

and blow your fucking face off?"

That's what a father said to his son...

...when he thought he was gonna propose

to his girlfriend of two-and-a-half years!

A legitimate amount of time to pass prior to engagement.

He didn't stop there, by the way.

He said, "Hey.

And for what it's worth,

I wouldn't piss in that little leprechaun's mouth

if she was lying in the desert dying of thirst."

And what do you say to that? Certainly not,

"April Fools! Ha-ha!

Gotcha!"

No.

You don't fuck with that guy again.

You hope you don't turn out like him.

I'm telling you. Everyday, it's a struggle.

I'm really trying to keep myself in check.

Especially with the kids. I don't wanna say crazy shit

to the kids

When I can't help it,

'cause you're micromanaging these little yous,

and you just want everything to be okay so much

that you lie and say all kinds of horrible things.

My wife and her friends are pissed at me right now.

They're calling me dream killer.

'Cause I told my son there was no Santa Claus.

I had to.

[audience moans]

No, not "oh." You don't know the situation.

He was gonna be 12. I can't have that!

Can't have a 12-year-old fucking going...

"Oh, he ate the cookies!

He ate the cookies."

Meanwhile, he's got a mustache and a girlfriend.

We come from murderers. I can't...

Can't dilute it that much.

He already knew that there wasn't a tooth fairy.

Because at nine years old,

he found the teeth.

Parents know what I'm talking about.

If you don't have kids yet, what happens is,

is that when your child loses their first tooth,

you're not some heartless asshole

who just chucks it in the garbage.

No, you go, "Oh, my god.

What are we going to do with this thing?"

It doesn't even look human. It's a little...

fish tooth with dried blood on the end of it.

Super gross.

And my wife goes, "Oh, I know!"

And she got a jewelry box, just a cardboard jewelry box,

and we nested the tooth in the thick tissue

of the jewelry box

and then you put it in the back of the drawer.

And then what happens

is six years, two kids later,

you're two crazy people with 20 human teeth in a box.

There's like a dime bag of hair next to that.

"Who's fucking hair is this again?"

So my son's nine,

he's looking for his stapler remover.

and he comes back, not with,

I don't know what document he's fucking working on.

Uh, but...

He comes back, not with the gopher teeth,

but with the box of teeth.

White as a ghost.

With a look that suggests

he doesn't realize they're his teeth,

which is...

"Where are the bodies, motherfuckers?

You got ten seconds or I'll call the authorities."

They're such little rats at that age.

And he looks at the box of teeth and he goes,

"These are my teeth?"

I go, "Yeah, and some of your sister's.

We accidentally mixed them up after a while.

And he goes, "There's no... There's no tooth fairy?"

"No, buddy, there's no tooth fairy.

We're the... tooth fairy."

Which, nine years old,

perfect age to have that go away.

It really is.

Because tooth number one, two, and three,

it's fun!

It's a big event for the whole family.

We get into it.

I even wrote a letter from the tooth fairy

in her handwriting, like,

"Keep up this great brushing.

We like what we're getting here."

And he's like... Ah!

Tooth number 13, 14, 15,

the thrill is gone!

I come home late from doing a set.

My wife's still up. She goes, "Thank god you're here.

He's lost another fucking tooth! They're just falling out.

Do you got any money? I don't have shit!"

"I only got ten bucks!

I'm not giving him fucking ten bucks.

What kind of precedent we gonna set with this thing?

Give him whatever you got,

he walks out the next morning, completely dejected. He's like,

"The tooth fairy gave me 63 cents!

Most of it's Canadian. I can't spend this shit!"

We're one of the only countries to do this.

You know that? Tooth fairy. Some weird, pagan ritual.

Doesn't make any sense.

You know what they do in Mexico and Spain? Anybody?

Ratón!

Tooth rat!

It's a much better system.

Think about it. You find out the tooth fairy doesn't exist,

you're disappointed.

Find out the tooth rat doesn't exist?

Huge relief.

Doesn't even sound real.

Whole thing sounds like a Yakov Smirnoff premise.

"In my country, we don't have tooth fairy,

we have tooth rat!

Climbs on your face, takes rat dick in tooth hole.

I love this country!"

That should be the name of this special.

"Rat Dick In Tooth Hole."

Yeah, hey.

It's good.

My wife only does a couple of things

that, uh, get the machete out, get me riled up.

Love her to death, but, uh,

a couple of things bug the shit out of me

that she continues to do.

Um, she divulges information about me to other people

So we'll be at, like, a dinner party.

And somebody would put out some edamame.

She'll go, "Al can't...

Al can't have any of the edamame...

'cause it makes him gassy."

Gotta have one of those pitcher's mound

mumble fights with your wife in the corner. It's like,

"Did you just fucking mouth 'gassy'

at those people?

I'm gonna eat that edamame

and they're gonna find out it makes me gassy.

Fuck. Shut the fuck up."

She did this-- We were at my son's basketball game.

And we send our kids to school

with all these normal parents, non-Hollywood people

and there was this macho dad

who trains cops.

He's a cop who trains other cops how to fight.

That's his job. And, um...

He's standing there. He has these really cool boots on.

And I go, "Hey, man.

Those are really cool boots. Who makes those?"

And before this guy can reply at all,

my wife leans in and she goes,

"Al's really into boots right now."

Just wanna look at her and go, "Shut the fuck up!"

"Al's really into boots right now."

It's true. I love jeans, too.

It's the worst.

The other thing she does is, uh, a lot of Yelp.

My wife uses Yelp way too much,

which I don't understand at all. I really don't.

We were in Kauai and I snapped

because she's got fucking Yelp out non-stop.

Like it's a divining rod, walking around, going,

"All right, there's a burger place

and Jason from Poipu gets the Lahui burger,"

and I fucking lost my shit.

So in this Kauai strip mall, I go,

"I don't wanna follow the lead of people

who have burger review time on their hands!

Put it away!"

'Cause I don't.

Not once have I had a club sandwich

and thought to fucking log it in afterwards.

I don't understand the mentality of anyone who would do this.

Unreliable narrator,

we don't know who any of these people are.

What they think is fancy,

like it's a hotel review?

You don't know, this guy could be used

to sleeping on a cot in a barn in Cedar Rapids.

He goes to the big city and everything's great.

"Oh, they're towels are only slightly crunchy.

Five stars!"

"Only a couple drops of blood on the carpet.

Five stars!

All the stars."

Five-star review of a new restaurant,

I'm not gonna go there.

'Cause you know that a mass email went out.

That's what I would do.

"Hey, everybody. I just opened up

a wood fire pizza place.

Unless you want me sleeping on your couch again,

better get Yelping."

"Here you go. Fuck it. Five stars."

One-star review, that's your revenge?

That's what you're gonna do, you gonna take the place down?

By wasting your own time.

If you had a bad experience, just walk up to the manager

at the end and go, "Hey!

This place fucking sucks.

And... the waitress is an asshole."

That's it, you're done. Five seconds.

And also, if it's food...

You're gonna eat again in four hours, dickhead.

Suck it up! Try harder next time.

If you walk away with anything, remember this.

Any three-star review you see at any point in your life,

know it's written by a crazy person

who doesn't have their life in perspective at all.

'Cause think about it. Somebody went somewhere,

did something, used something, ate something,

went home, remembers one of their 40 passwords,

then they login,

write an unsolicited five-paragraph essay

ultimately to arrive at,

"It was pretty good. Three stars."

The only thing worth reading on Yelp,

strip club reviews. All fantastic.

-[audience cheers] -Every single one of them.

Any city in America, you go to Yelp,

you type in "gentleman's club" at any city

and they're all fantastic. Every single one.

It really is true.

No one ever went through on their own accord.

Everyone say, "My coworkers decided to take me

to the landing strip by the airport in Austin, Texas.

My favorite one is The Men's Club Houston, Texas

and it's about six down last time I checked.

And this is how it starts. It says,

"First of all, let me be clear.

I only went there for the breakfast buffet."

I found the perfect thing to sum all this up.

Um, I was in Madison, Wisconsin,

and I went to a restaurant.

First of all, I went to the front desk.

I looked this kid in the eye, the concierge,

he's just some college kid,

and I go, "What's the best restaurant

within walking distance?"

And he goes, "Tornado Room."

And...

I walked right to the Tornado Room

and I ate there three nights in a row because it was great.

It's one of the best restaurants I ever been to.

Cool atmosphere, had been there forever,

looked like the Rat Pack could have been sitting off

in the corner.

Uh, great food, great service, just... It was perfect.

And I thought to myself,

"What kind of asshole wouldn't like this place?"

And his name...

is Kyle.

He is an Elite Yelper

which is a special kind of dickhead.

They're all entitled. [mumbles]

And he is, um...

[clicks tongue] Let's see.

At the time I copied this, Kyle had 684 reviews.

So I click on that number,

go down that rabbit hole,

read some of his other work,

I found a one-star review

of the United States Post Office.

Doesn't like it. He thinks they're slow.

Thanks for the heads up, Kyle.

So this is Kyle's... negative review

of the Tornado Room in Madison, Wisconsin.

Bona fide great place. This is it.

[whiny voice] "I've been to the Tornado."

That's how I'm gonna read it because...

that's how shitty all these people are.

[mumbles in a shrill voice]

"I've been to the Tornado a few times

and I've always sat in the bar area.

My friend and I headed over to the Tornado

after having a drink at The Opus.

and we were shocked to find the place

completely packed at 10:30 p.m. on a Wednesday night.

Like so packed,

we had to wait to grab a spot in the bar."

Okay.

I'm gonna stop it right there.

You seem like a nice, normal guy.

Sorta. Uh, yeah. [Al chuckles]

You go to a place that's unexpectedly packed,

a Wednesday night,

and you don't like packed places.

What do you do?

-Get out. -[Al] You go somewhere else.

You take off. You leave.

Should be over right there.

But not Kyle and his shitty friend.

They're gonna go in and have a horrible time.

[whiny voice] "Once we had our spot,

the waitress came by

with the infamous late night food menu

along with the drinks list.

I ordered a beer, my friend ordered a mixed drink.

We put in for an order of cheese curds and steak fries

and then browsed the rest of the menu."

I'm gonna stop it again.

Whenever I'm with my friends, with my family,

and I'm in an establishment,

and I see a waitress that's overwhelmed,

I look at my friends, I look at my family,

and I go, "Hey, everybody. Figure out what you want

because we're gonna see her once

then we're never gonna fucking see her again.

So figure it out."

And then my son, when he was little, he'd go,

"I don't know what I want yet!"

Okay, let's quit pretending you eat different shit!

All right?

Chicken tenders, butter pasta, quesadilla, motherfucker.

Since when are you Anthony Bourdain?

"Fine. I suppose I'll have the tenders."

"It took a while for the drinks to arrive.

I wasn't timing it, but my gut feels

that I waited around 15 to 20 minutes."

By the way, I'm not making up one word of this fucking thing.

"When she returned with the drinks,

we asked about placing the food order

to which the server responded,

'Let's hold off until your curds arrive

and then you can place the order.'

Seemed odd, but it wasn't a big deal."

Doesn't seem odd to me.

Uh, I've had an opportunity to analyze this a little bit.

And...

my theory...

is that the waitress smelled asshole

on these two guys.

She's trying to run them out, but it's just a hunch.

"The curds arrived and they were a mess.

Literally, they had been completely overcooked

so all the cheese had exploded at the breading.

The breading was also super greasy to boot!"

Now, if you're not familiar,

the extremely unhealthy people of Wisconsin have decided

that they are going to take chunks of cheese, curds,

and they're gonna bread them,

and then they're gonna deep-fry them.

And Kyle's upset that his deep-fried cheese

is greasy!

"Definitely not worth eating,

although we did peck at them a bit."

Two grown men...

pecking at curds.

"After we commented about the exploded curds,

the server said, 'I could re-fire them,

but you're looking at 20 to 25 minutes for new ones.

Ugh."

"So we ordered food,"

Dot, dot, dot.

"Mistake number three."

Now, if you're keeping track,

uh, mistake number one is that

Kyle's mother decided to carry the pregnancy to term.

And release him into our society.

Two is that they went into the crowded...

"We ordered the bacon blue cheese burger

and decided to split it."

Two dudes.

There was an extra plate involved.

"After 40 odd minutes, the burger arrived.

We cut it in half and took a bite.

Thoughts?

Bun: Far too dense, far too dry,

zero complementary flavor."

Everybody else looking for that in a bun?

Uh, because...

I'm mostly after edible patty holder!

Is what...

I have in mind.

"Burger: Way overcooked.

We asked for medium rare, it came beyond,

out beyond well done,

like dark, dark gray in the middle.

The burger was also heavily salted.

That's all we could taste.

The entire burger was so dry

that not even a healthy slathering of ketchup

could save it.

Miserable failure.

"I'm not sure who's cooking on that night,

but he certainly loved to overcook

and over-salt everything."

Yeah, three guys in the back just salting shit,

burning stuff and loving it.

This is where it gets really dramatic.

No stopping him.

"I've never left an unfinished order

of curds or burger behind..."

Dot, dot, dot...

"until last night."

Now, his mouth is the fucking last chopper

out of Nam...

if you're a curd.

[audience cheers]

But what do you do...

If you're in a situation

where you feel like you have been wronged?

Where you feel like you do need to do something.

There's plenty other ways to spend your time.

I say don't fucking write the review.

That's a waste.

But if you need to take action, yeah, go for it.

Let the machete come out.

Throw that turkey in the drapes.

This is what I did.

This is also why my wife question 13 years of marriage.

It all starts with my daughter in ballet.

When you have a little girl,

and they first go in to ballet,

it might be one of the cutest things

you've ever seen in your entire life.

A three-year-old in a tutu?

It's adorable. They put their hair back...

Put the French whore makeup on them, and so...

So now, your three-year-old looks like an extra

in a Robert Palmer video.

Then they trot their asses up on stage.

And it all goes to shit.

And the preparation. Six...

Six months of prep or that.

You buy the flowers.

You get the video. They wanna sell you the video.

All right? You go and get the good camera.

Jockey for position next to the Asian dads

with the NFL sideline shit.

Take a million photos.

Then they go up there...

and they fuck it all up.

One has horrible stage fright, just...

One next to her, opposite.

Just waving at every child...

And they're family. "Hey! It's my cousins!"

My daughter, in true Madrigal fashion,

copying off every girl next to her.

She's like, "Are we turning now? All right, all right."

Only one doing a good job...

The boy.

One lone boy for every dance recital.

Top hat, sequins bow tie, matching cummerbund.

Adding moves to it.

It's like Magic Mike for him.

Like, "Did he just fucking pour water on himself?

What the fuck."

Six years later, you're still there.

Look at my wife and go,

"What are we doing?

She doesn't have one of the little bird bodies

it takes to make it as a ballerina.

She's not good."

You gotta pull the trigger on this thing, get out of here.

Throwing good money after bad.

Parents with kids on travel teams,

you know what I'm talking about.

Sports.

Your kid's good?

That's great.

Doesn't leave the field, loves it,

practices on their own...

Fantastic.

But if your kid's like my kid...

Gotta drag him out of bed.

Doesn't wanna be there.

Shows up.

Fakes an injury halfway though.

"Are you gonna go down there?"

"No, he's fucking faking. I'm not going down there.

I can tell you he's faking."

Every weekend, driving to a different place

for a tournament,

so they can get their ass kicked by bigger kids who care more.

Rancho Cucamonga

My friends call me but they don't understand,

and they're like, "Where are you this weekend?"

"At fucking Modesto."

They're like, "Why the fuck are you in Modesto?"

"You know, somebody thinks they're a shooting guard

and I'm trying to be a good father.

That's why...

I'm in Modesto."

It was easy, though, to stop ballet, though,

after the incident.

Let me get to it.

What happened was, because of The Daily Show, um...

I was on some sitcom that got cancelled immediately

and then they offered me the job full-time.

So I went to my little family and I said,

"Hey, guys. Pretty exciting news.

Daddy got a job in New York.

Who wants to move to New York?"

And everybody goes,

"Actually, um...

What if... I'm just putting this out there.

What if, you...

commute to New York?

Killing yourself slowly over time

turning your body into the shape

of this fucking cashew airplane seat.

And we'll stay here.

What do you think about that?"

So I did that. For two-and-a-half years,

I flew back and forth across the country

and I was miserable.

Missing-- It was a great job.

but I have missed just so many things

every ten days, every eleven days,

every nine days, every seven days.

I would rush,

leave the studio.

Thursday at 6:30 p.m. run with the travel bag.

Get on the E, all sweaty with makeup still on,

fucking take it Sunday,

come back, repeat. It was horrible.

I missed a ton of shit.

I missed all my son's basketball games

when he was actually good.

Missed a lot of my daughter's ballet.

And my son...

She.. You know, my son got it.

My daughter had a difficult time understanding

and actually cried to my wife

and said, "Is Daddy gonna miss another one

of my dance recitals?"

All right, let's not "oh."

I feel bad already.

And I'll write a dollar amount

on a piece of paper, slide it to you,

and we'll see what you fucking miss. So...

[audience cheers]

It's...

It's a good gig!

So, I'm upset, my daughter's upset.

I see this interview with Warren Buffett

and he says the greatest regret he's had in his entire career

is that, uh,

he could tell you all the things he's missed of his kids

but he can't tell you what he's missed them for.

So I see that, coincidentally at the same time,

cancel the gig, book out, fly back,

only to have the dance recital moved!

It was at 12:00 p.m..

Now, it's 5:30 p.m. on a Sunday.

I already booked a return flight, 4:30.

I scrambled to change it, but you know how

the airlines have the perfect algorithm to fuck you

in an emergency situation?

So the ticket that cost me $400 now cost me $1200 to change.

And I'm freaking out.

I'm looking at this redeye that cost a fortune

and I'm gonna pull the trigger when my wife comes in

and she volunteers. She goes,

"You know, there is a dress rehearsal on Saturday.

You might be able to go to that."

I go, "Yeah!

Why didn't you fucking tell me there's a dress rehearsal

on Saturday?

I'm freaking out over here. That's what I'll do.

It's the perfect compromise.

She goes, "Well...

I didn't tell you because the dance teacher's

a little crazy."

I go, "Honey.

"It's like warning me water's wet.

No shit. She's a dance teacher.

They're all fucking nuts.

Every single one I've met is the same washed up,

[stammers] like older lady in a tutu.

She looks like a third runner-up

in a Mrs. Roper Look-Alike contest.

She's missing a huge chardonnay, a cigarette,

and some poorly applied lipstick.

[in a shrill voice] "All right, line it up."

[mumbles]

So I show up on Saturday.

Send my daughter off to the changing room.

Asked to speak to the head lady there,

Ms. Diane.

Ms. Diane's Dance Studio.

And I say, "Hey, Ms. Diane. How you doing?

Got a little bit of a situation.

My name's Al. I flew back from New York to see this.

You moved the time,

and I've missed four of these in a row.

My daughter's really sad about this.

I was hoping I could watch the dress rehearsal

if that's okay."

She goes, "I'm sorry, it's our policy.

You can't watch the dress rehearsal."

And I said, "Well...

You're Ms. Diane of Ms. Diane's Dance Studio."

"If anybody's gonna wave the policy

considering my situation,

I think I'm talking to the right lady, huh?"

And I said, "Why is there this policy?"

And she points at me.

And she says, "We don't want you

to watch the little girls change."

And I go, "What?"

"That's crazy. Well, let me be very clear.

I...

don't wanna watch any little girls change. I...

just wanna watch my daughter, clothed,

on the dance floor

for the three minutes she's gonna be up there

and I...

Really, how good of a job you've done

training these chicks if they're gonna drop trou

day before the show?

What are we paying for here, huh?

And I didn't even see her, but there was...

Apparently, there was a dance mom on my left

sitting down on the couch...

and I just saw the arm come up and a finger.

And this lady goes,

"I don't want you to watch my daughter change!"

And little Mexican hulk that lives inside me...

started to wake up.

And he said, "What'd you say, puta?"

"Mind your own fucking business."

I didn't say any of that.

What I did say is, "I'm sorry, ma'am.

Um...

Maybe you didn't hear. I was... I was telling Ms. Diane.

and when I was talking to her, I was telling her

that my daughter's really sad about this,

and I flew from New York."

I go on the whole spiel again...

when out of the corner of my eye...

I watch a guy, creepy middle-aged guy,

walk into the performance space.

I go, "Wait a second.

Who's that guy? How come he can go in?"

She goes, "That's the lighting guy."

And I said, "Ladies...

If there's anyone we need to be concerned with...

definitely the lighting guy, you see?

No offense."

And Ms. Diane says, and she goes,

"How dare you? He's a professional."

And I snapped.

Here comes the machete.

Turkey in the drapes.

'Cause if you have anger issues, you know it just comes.

There's no controlling you.

So I said, "Really?

The lighting guy taking a dance recital gig

on the weekend in Pasadena is a fucking professional?

You gotta be fucking kidding me!

You see this fucking guy? He's a mess!"

And I did say those three fuckings.

Not noticing...

that there were three little butterflies..

walking below me, going...

"Ooh!"

I did it. I fucked up.

I wanted to get in so bad,

anger got the best of me.

Ms. Diane says, "Sir, your language.

You need to step outside."

So on the way outside,

I decided to blow the whole fucking thing up.

I'm standing outside

with these three old ladies in tutus

and I said, "Ladies, before you say anything,

let me say this. My daughter's super sad about this.

I'm sad about this. I feel guilty.

Really feel upset putting myself in the position

where I had to miss all this stuff.

But you guys have this policy that doesn't make any sense,

considering that there's another guy in there

who looks like fucking John Wayne Gacy

of lighting guys.

Not even a father, not even a parent you trust over me.

It's crazy.

[stammering]

You didn't check his background, Diane.

No, you didn't.

You have to have power.

You have to have rules in place, I guess,

because you guys made a shitty career choice

that led to you standing in a parking lot

wearing a fucking tutu!

So let me leave you with this. Fuck you! Fuck you!

And Ms. Diane, fuck you!

I'm not sure if you've ever told an old lady to fuck off

right to her face.

But you gotta try it. It's fantastic.

They don't see it coming. Everyone's so nice to them.

They go baby bird immediately. They go...

[imitates a baby bird]

Gotta try it.

They said, "You need to leave!"

Now, they want me to leave the premises.

I got crazy. I go, "I'm not going anywhere."

Then I called my wife.

Left out some details.

I said, "You're right! They're not letting us in here.

What are you gonna do about this?

She goes, "We're gonna write

the nastiest Yelp review.

[audience cheering]

I said, "You're not paying attention

to my act at all, are you?"

I said, "I'm gonna ask you a very simple question.

Are we ever coming back here again?"

She goes, "Absolutely not."

I said, "That's all I need to know."

And I hung up.

And I'm sure she went, "No, no, no!"

She knows.

Now I'm pacing around this parking lot

as hot as I can get.

Just super pissed.

And I know what...

I really don't know what motivated me to do this,

but I got on Twitter.

I'm not big on Twitter.

I took the app off my phone.

I think it's a distraction

from anything you wanna do and accomplish.

But please follow me. It's @almadrigal.

Just my name.

So you can help me. Situations like this.

Because I tweet.

I think this is what Twitter,

I think this is what the internet was built for.

I tweet these words.

"Does anyone have any good revenge tactics?"

And it was like an asshole beacon shot up.

[imitates an alarm]

[imitates an alarm]

Every sophomoric dick...

who followed me on Twitter at that time

got an instinct...

to look at their phones...

and start replying with some of the most horrible shit

you could even think to do to a little girl's dance studio.

Lot of upper deckers. Um...

If you don't know what that is, don't ask!

Stay pure. It means you're classy.

But then one came in that I recognized and I said,

"You know what? I'm gonna do this.

Fuck them watch the little girls change."

So I went across the street to a supermarket...

and I bought three or four dollars worth

of bay shrimp.

You know, the little tiny shrimp you might see

in a shrimp cocktail.

Gets you about 40 shrimp.

I put them in my pocket.

And I walked back into that dance studio lobby

like everything was okay.

But it wasn't okay.

'Cause I waited for everyone to go in to the performance...

Dress rehearsal.

And I shrimped the shit of that place.

[audience cheering]

If you're still not following,

I hid shrimp everywhere.

I was like Bubba from Forrest Gump

but with revenge.

Under the ornament shrimp, behind the couch shrimp.

Window sill shrimp, picture frame shrimp.

Microwave shrimp.

Shrimp, shrimp, shrimp.

[audience cheering]

Still feel good about it.

Then I called my wife up.

Checked in.

Little of the Sicilian came out.

I said, "Hey, you know that thing we talked about?

It's done."

Then right out of Ray Donovan, she goes,

"What did you do? What did you do?"

I said, "I shrimped this place and I shrimped it fucking good."

"Fuck them watch the little girls change."

She goes, "What does that mean?"

"Never mind. Less you know, the better."

Then there a big, long pause.

And she goes,

"Who are you?"

Like a crazy person in Batman voice, I go,

"I'm the guy who gets shit done!"

Now...

That'd be a good place to end...

but it's not where the story ended.

'Cause don't forget, my wife and two kids

had to go to that recital the next day.

I went to the airport laughing like a crazy person.

My wife went two hours early.

She went in there...

on a shrimp recon mission.

She had a little sandwich bag in her purse.

She was gonna collect all the evidence

'cause she thought I was an obvious suspect

in this shrimp thing.

She was right.

She can't find them all so she calls me up.

She's walking around, whispering, going...

"Tell me where you hid the shrimp.

Tell me where you hid the fucking shrimp, asshole."

And I'm seriously laughing maniacally

like a Bond villain that's going,

"It's too late! You're never gonna find them!

They're everywhere! Ha-ha-ha!"

And I said, "What's going on? What's happening?"

She goes, "Everyone's walking around

with their hands over their mouths.

no one knows where it's coming from."

'Cause I'm not sure if you've ever cooked seafood,

if you ever cooked shellfish or...

Gotta take out the trash immediately afterwards

or it reeks up your whole life, right?

I was telling this story...

and, uh, it was down in San Diego.

People come up to me after the shows.

And sometimes,

they volunteer their own seafood revenge stories.

I'm not the only person to do this.

So this kid comes up and he goes, "Hey, dude!

Fucking shrimp story, bro?

Listen to this, dude!

I used to work at a Vons, bro.

And me and my buddy, we hated the manager.

He was a total dick.

So one day, a forklift,

he rammed into the back wall

by the loading dock in the store.

So we got, like, a sea bass from the seafood department.

And then we got a broom

and then we pushed it into the hole, bro.

And then, the next day, dude,

they fixed the fucking hole, yeah.

And then, like, two days went by,

and then it started smelling,

then it started smelling more

and then customers started to complain.

And then the manager put a fucking cone out

for some reason.

And then, two weeks later, bro...

they closed the fucking Vons, dude.

For good."

[audience cheers]

They shut down the whole fucking Vans!

It's that point I asked my wife. I go, "What does it smell like?"

And this is exactly what she said.

This is why I love my wife.

This is a quote.

I met my soul mate.

This is how I know how.

Because she said,

"I can't even fucking describe it!

It smells like 50 horse vaginas

are surrounding my face and I can't get away from it.

No one can get away from it!"

I love her so much.

[audience cheering, applauding]

Hello, sweetie.

Then you could tell she started to tear up again a little bit.

She goes, "Tell me one more time.

Why did you do this?

Why?"

I said, "Honey, you wanted Yelp reviews.

Tomorrow, there's gonna be 20 Yelp reviews.

Saying that lady is batshit crazy,

and her ballet studio smells like 50 horse vaginas.

Don't fuck with the Madrigals."

All right, thank you very much, everyone!

[audience cheering]

[cheering continues]

[cheering continues]

[upbeat music]

[upbeat music continues]

[upbeat music continues]