All language subtitles for Al.Madrigal.Shrimpin.Aint.Easy.2017.720p.WEBRip.x264.AAC-[YTS.MX].en

[Mexican music]

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[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]