All language subtitles for Jo.Koy.Live.From.Seattle.2017.1080p.WEBRip.x264.AAC5.1-[YTS.MX]

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♪ Finally here
You know I'm finally here ♪

♪ Finally here
You know I'm finally here ♪

♪ I hear these people talking about
Where I been ♪

♪ I been on tour trying to work it out ♪

♪ They talking, like
"Man, you finally made it, dawg" ♪

♪ Shit, I'm working on copping
My second house ♪

♪ I remember back when
No one wanted to listen ♪

♪ Kind of funny who done came and gone ♪

♪ But I'm still here
And I ain't going nowhere ♪

♪ Nah, it's my time, homey
This where I belong ♪

♪ Truth is, I'm a savage... ♪

I'm home, you guys.

[chuckling]

Look at the diversity in this room.

Every color.

[cheers and applause]

That's what I love about Seattle.

There's, like, every color
just mixed with everybody else.

[audience laughing]

Good shit.

We've got Latinos out here.

[cheering]

Somehow you guys swam up.

"Just keep going!

I swear to God, mijo. Keep going!"

When I first moved out here--
Like, when I was living out here,

this is where the Indian casinos
started opening.

Like Muckleshoot. Remember that?
Is that still around?

-[crowd] Yeah!
-Muckleshoot?

But when an Asian says it,
it sounds more Asian than Indian.

[Asian accent]
"Muckleshoot. You want to play--

Where you play?
Muck-- Muckleshoot.

Play blackjack at Muckle-- Muckleshoot."

You go to the Indian reservation.
I've never seen any Indians.

There's more-- I don't see any.
It's just all Vietnamese people and...

Chinese people.

That's all. I want to see an Indian.
One. Just one. Give me one Indian.

I want to see Pocahontas.
Just one Pocahontas.

Just give me an Indian lady.
One Indian lady.

I swear to God, if I find her, it's over.

It's over. I want a hot Indian wife,
and I'll marry her,

and I'll have ten kids with her,

just so when I load the van,
I can go...

♪ One little, two little
Three little Indians ♪

♪ Four little, five little
Six little Indians ♪

♪ Seven little, eight little-- ♪

I love watching--
When women laugh, it's my favorite.

Because when women laugh,
they laugh hard.

They don't give a shit.

If it's funny, they're, like,
"Oh, my God. Right?

Ten Indians. And then he'll count,
like the fucking song!

Hilarious!

[sobbing]
Hilarious!"

Women will laugh--Look.
Women will laugh and cry.

Women will laugh and cry
because they're emotional creatures.

They can't give you one emotion.
"I gotta give you two!

Ha ha ha! Are you serious?
Are you happy?

Ha ha ha! Fuck! Fuck!

Seriously, stop! Fuck!"

[cries]

And they do this shit. What is that?

Because they're crying,
and that's their way of drying the tears.

Fanning tears. That's fucking water!

You can't fan water!

You don't get out of the shower and go,
"Oh, my God, that shower was amazing.

Oh, my God! I'm gonna be late!"

Women will laugh and pee.
They don't give a shit.

In public. In public!
In front of their friends.

They don't give a shit.
They'll tell their friends,

"He's funny, right?"
"I know. I just peed a little.

I swear to God."
"A little? Bitch, that's a lot."

"I don't give a fuck.
It's funny. It's funny."

And I love it when women laugh

and they threaten
that they want you to stop,

and if you don't, they're gonna pee.
They threaten you.

"Stop. No, seriously, stop!
I swear to God, I'm gonna pee!

Stop it! Oh, my God! Stop! Stop!
I'm gonna pee.

Look, look!

Seriously.

You're crazy."

This is amazing.

Look, she's crying right now!

Where's the hand? Look at her!
And then look at her crotch. Piss.

She just pissed.
You got that on tape, right?

Welcome to Hollywood, bitch.

She did exactly what I said.
She went like that, then went like that,

and she went, like, "Oh, my God.
Fucking stop! I'm about to shit!

I'm gonna shit.
You want me to shit? I'll shit."

I'm half-white, half-Filipino.
That's what I am.

Which means my dad was in the military.

That's not even a joke.

That's real shit.

A lot of soldiers were fighting
for this country.

My dad was dating.

I'm his Purple Heart.

My dad would say borderline-racist shit
to me when I was a kid.

Borderline-racist shit.
But I knew he was joking. It's my dad.

Just sitting at the dinner table, like,
"You know why I married your mom, right?"

I'm, like, "Why?"

"Because I love Chinese food."

"She's Filipino, Dad."

"Whatever.

Rice is rice."

What the fuck? "Rice is rice!"

That's so racist!

I'm not knocking what my mom had to do
to get to America.

Fuck it. That's her hustle.
That was her hustle.

God bless you, Mom.

You hooked up with a soldier
and had a kid in America.

God bless you, Mom.
She did what she had to do.

She could've hooked up with a Filipino
and had a kid in the Philippines.

You know how much a comedian makes
in the Philippines?

A chicken and flip-flops.
Fuck that. Fuck that.

I don't even like flip-flops.

My mom was the shit.

My mom and dad divorced
when I was, like, ten, 11 years old.

My mom had to raise us on her own.
She did that shit on her own.

Tough as shit. She had--

[cheers and applause]

Sometimes a little too tough.

Like, it was borderline illegal, but...

It sucked.

My mom never took us to the doctor.

My mom raised us like we were still
in the Philippines.

She tried to cure everything at home,
like a real Filipino woman.

You had to...
You had to die to go to the hospital.

Shit. My mom cured everything
with Vicks VapoRub.

Vicks VapoRub!

I should've died nine times
when I was a kid.

That's abuse! There was one time
I thought I had pneumonia.

I go, "Mom, I think I have pneumonia."

She goes, "I'll put extra Vicks
on your body, Joseph.

Just rub it everywhere, Joseph.
Rub it on the bottom of the foot,

and then put a sock on the foot,

and then the pneumonia
will come out of the foot, Joseph."

I'm just smothered in fucking Vicks.

I should've called the cops.

One time I was so sick--
I swear to God, true story--

I go, "Mom, I don't feel good.
I can't sleep. I can't sleep, Mom."

My mom took her finger
and stuck it in Vicks

and rubbed it on top of my eyelids.

On top of my eyelids!

That shit burned so bad.
I go, "Mom, it burns!

I can't open my eyes!"

My mom goes, "Well, then you can sleep.

Good night, Joseph."

She didn't give a shit.

Mean.

She never hit us. My mom never hit us.
She just scared us a lot.

She loved to curse,
and she used to flex like that.

She used to do that shit!
She brought that to America!

Anyone that does this shit,
hey, my mom started that shit.

She did it to all of us.
You know how embarrassing that is,

to get punked by a four-foot-eight
Asian woman at the fucking mall?

"Get out of the goddamn Foot Locker.
Get out of the Foot Locker!"

"I'm not even in the Foot Locker!"

I used to cry and tell my mom,
"Mom, when I have kids,

I'm never gonna do what you do to me
to my kids."

And my mom looked at me-- I swear to God--
she put her hand on my shoulder and goes,

"Joseph, promise me, okay?

Never have kids."

Shit on my dreams.
I'm telling you this:

I became a comedian,
which is totally against the grain

when you have a Filipino mom.

If you have a Filipino mom, that is not
the career choice you're supposed to have.

Filipino moms predetermine what their kids
are supposed to be when they grow up.

And you know I'm not making this shit up.

There's a lot of Filipinos in here,
right now,

that are nurses.

Today is a good day to get injured
at a show...

because there will be
a nurse in here, like...

[in Filipino accent] "Oh, my God.
Put a cold compress on the head.

Elebate the peet! Elebate--
Elebate the peet."

"What the fuck is 'elebate'?"
"Just lipt! Lipt the pucking peet!

Are you stupid?"

And I'm not-- I'm not shitting on you
for being a nurse.

That's a great job, great benefits,
good money.

I'm just saying, it wasn't your dream.

That was your Filipino mom's dream.

My mom wanted me to be a nurse.
Are you fucking kidding me?

Filipino moms shit on their kids' dreams.
And you know I'm not lying.

You know I'm not lying.
You can't have a dream.

"What are you talking about-- dream?"

I told my mom I wanted to be a comedian.
She cried. "Why?

Why do you want to be a comedian, Joseph?

All your aunties are nurses,
your cousins are nurses.

Do you see any clowns in this family?

I don't. Do you?"

Shit on my dream right there.

Just looked at me and went like this:
"Joseph, who told you you were funny?

It wasn't me."

That's fucked up.

I'm just saying--
you're a nurse, God bless you.

But you know
there are some nurses out there

that didn't follow their dreams.

There are some nurses working
at the hospital

that wish they were a Jabbawockee.

You know exactly what I'm talking about.

"Hey, follow me to the X-ray."
"I'll follow you..."

"Goddamn, that nurse can dance."

"It was always my dream.

My mother did not believe in me."

Oh, fuck.

It's either nurse or mailman.

Mailman's another strong option.

Oh, shit. My mom cried
and even suggested,

"Joseph, be a mailman.

Your uncles are mailmen.
Your cousins, they're mailmen."

My stepdad, he's white.
He's a fucking mailman!

I swear to God. I asked him,
"Fred, why'd you become a mailman?"

He's, like, "Your mama told me
to become a mailman.

She shit on my dreams."

I came home from school,

and my mom had my uncle come over
and talk to me

about getting into the post office.

That's how-- Right? It's fucked up, right?

Come home from school,
and here's my uncle.

By the way, my uncle is one of
those Filipinos that hide their accent.

He's got a thick accent,
but he likes to hide the accent

because he doesn't want anyone to think
that he has an accent.

And it just ends up sounding
like a worse accent.

He sounds like a Filipino Elvis.

And I came home, I came through the door.
He got up, he's, like...

[deep voice, thick accent]
"Joseph, let me talk to you for a second.

So, I hear you want to be a comedian?"

Like, what the fuck did you just say?

Filipino moms,
stop turning into Filipino moms.

I can guarantee you right now--
There's a ton of Filipinos in here,

but I can tell you,
I don't know any of you,

but if you met my mom,
I guarantee she looks just like your mom.

Identical fucking twins.

Just--

They're just cut from the same cloth.

I don't know what it is
about Filipino women.

They're beautiful at the age of 20,
but right when they hit 69,

they all morph
into the same Filipino woman.

Short hair, glasses.

Louis Vuitton purse.

"Where are we? Seattle? Moore Theatre?"

[chuckling]

Break that mold, man.

I told my son. I told him.
I'm breaking that mold.

I looked at my son right in the eyes,
and I go, "Joe, look, if you have a dream

and you think you want to do it
and you believe in it,

then chase that dream. It'll happen."
That's what I said.

[cheers and applause]

"As long as you continue
to follow that dream,

your dad's got your back.
I got you, bro, 100 percent."

He goes, "Oh, my God. Thanks, Dad."

I go, "What do you want to be
when you grow up?"

He goes, "I want to be an architect."

And I go, "Joe...

I've seen you draw.

You got another dream?
What the fuck are you talking about?

You ever think about nursing?
Get the fuck out of here."

I love my kid, but I understand
where my mom's coming from,

because he's at that age.

Right when he turned 12, that's when
he just stopped taking care of himself.

And that's when I stopped
taking care of him.

Because that's what you're supposed to do
when you're a parent.

Twelve? "You should know how
to brush your teeth now.

You know what to do, Joe."

But now that I ignore the fact
that he doesn't brush his teeth,

I have to fucking deal with the breath.

The breath, it comes in hot.

Hot. And he's breathy when he talks.

[breathy voice]
"Dad.

Dad.

Dad."

I'm, like, "Joe, what did I tell you to do
when you talk to me?"

"Face the wall."

"Face the wall and write it down.

Let me read what the fuck
you're trying to say to me."

Armpits. God damn it.

Armpits smell like chopped onions.

And I always get mad. I'm, like,
"Joe, why do I smell it first?

I'm over here.
You're right fucking here."

I grab the deodorant every time.
"Joe, this is all you gotta do.

Just rub it under this armpit like that.
That's all you gotta do.

Now, listen to me.
Here's the important part.

When you go to the other armpit,
I want you to go across your mouth."

Just dirty. My son is dirty. He loves it.
He thinks it's the funniest thing.

Still doesn't know how
to sneeze correctly.

Are you kidding me?

My friend had a daughter
the same time I had my son.

She's been cute her whole life.

When she would sneeze, she'd announce it.
"I gotta sneeze, Mommy.

I need a napkin."

Her mom would run over with a napkin.

"Here you go, baby.
Put your nose in the napkin."

"I gotta sneeze, Mom.
I gotta sneeze."

[soft sneeze]

It's fucking beautiful.

Glitter.

When my son sneezes, no announcement.

His face just explodes, mid-conversation.

It always happens at the restaurant.

He's, like, "Dad,
did you see how many points--"

[splat]

And then I still help him.
I grab a napkin.

"Here, wipe your face, Joe."
Because I'm a good dad.

Let me do that with my mom
when I was a kid.

Shit. At the dinner table.

"Mom, can you pass a--"
[splat]

"Are you fucking kidding me?

Are your hands broken when you sneeze?

When you sneeze,
you can't use your fucking hands?

You could not go like that?
Now there's boogers on the chicken.

You're eating all the booger chicken,
Joseph.

All of that is yours.
Enjoy boogers and chicken.

Delicious, huh?"

The whole week, I gotta eat
booger chicken sandwiches at school.

And she'd make fun of me.
"How was your sandwich?

Salty, huh?

Cover your mouth."

I'm ready for my son,

and I'm financially prepared
to take care of him for the next 15 years.

I know that. As a man, as a dad,

I know I have to take care of my son
for the next 15 years.

Why? Because he's a boy.

Boys don't leave the fucking house.
They don't leave.

How do I know that?
Because I didn't leave the house.

I didn't leave the house till I was 28.

"I ain't leaving. My mom can cook."

And I'm ready for that.

Now, if I had a daughter,
I wouldn't put a dime away.

Not a penny. Not a cent. Why?

Because girls mature quicker,
they grow up faster,

and they get the fuck out of the house!

"Don't talk to me like that, Mom!
That's bullshit! I'm a fucking woman!

Don't touch me, Dad."

Girls at 18 don't give a shit.
They're ready for the world.

And you know what I'm talking about.
Don't act like you don't.

There's women in here that left at 18.

And the reason why I know
is because I have two sisters--

Gemma and Rowena.
Both of them left at 18,

and neither one of them came back.

That's some gangster shit.

My sister Rowena was the first one to go.
Had a full-time job at Wendy's.

Swear to God. Shift supervisor.

She thought she was a fucking millionaire!

Showed me her paychecks every week.
"Look at this shit. I'm rich."

And she was ready. Got into the last fight
with my mom in the living room.

She had it. "Whatever, Mom. I'm going.
I'm getting the fuck out of here.

I'm sick of these fucking rules.
I'm old enough to take care of myself.

And you know what? Me and Brian,
we've been looking for a place,

and when we find it,
I'm fucking out of here!"

And my mom just looked at her
and goes, "Are you fucking crazy?

Get the fuck out of here right now."

And my sister didn't even flinch.
"Fine! Fuck it! I'm out of here!"

And she left. My sister left at 18
and never came back.

That's some gangster shit.

I remember that day like it was yesterday.
She was in the garage,

loading the trunk of her car
with all her shit,

and I was upstairs in my room.

And then my sister yelled up to my room,
"I love you so much, Joe!"

And I started crying.

And I looked at my mom.
I go, "She's gonna die!

She's gonna die, Mom!"

And my mom looked at me and goes,
"Well, then let her die.

You want to die with her, Joseph?"

"I don't want to die!"

And she left, and she never came back.

Then my other sister, Gemma, 18-- left.
She never came back.

My sisters are the shit. The shit!

Because I didn't leave till I was 28.

Twenty-eight! And even then
I wasn't sure I was ready to go.

I swear to God.

I remember standing at the doorway
with a garbage bag full of my clothes,

and I looked at my mom. I go,
"Mom, are you sure you want me to leave?"

And my mom goes, "Yes, Joseph. It's time.

It's time for you to be a man now, Joseph.

Now move to the garage."

And I moved to the garage
like a fucking man.

Twenty-eight.

And then I moved back in at 29.

It was cold in that garage.

I go, "Mom, there's no insulation
in the garage."

And my mom let me back in.
"Come back in here, Joseph."

That's what she always does.
I always had second, third chances.

"Come back in here, Joseph.
I was just joking.

I thought you were the comedian."

And I moved back in at 29.

And then I moved out again at 32.
But fuck it. That's what boys do.

Shit. My sisters never got
a second chance.

Once they were gone, that was it.
She didn't give a shit.

"Bye.

Don't even call me.

You think you can do it?
Oh, go. Do it.

It's cold out there, huh?"

My sisters would get into epic fights
with my mom.

Like, some of the shit they would say--
unbelievable.

I remember watching those fights
when I was a kid.

My sister Rowena, especially.
Holy shit. Every weekend.

"Mom, I'm going out with my friend.

Why do you always question me
every time I go out with my friend?"

"Yeah. Because every weekend,
it's a different guy."

"Yeah, Mom, it's called dating.
I'm dating people. I'm allowed to do that.

I don't go to school anymore.
I make my own money.

I want to go out and date and have fun.
Is that a big deal?"

"Yeah, but you go out every weekend,

just gallivanting with different people
all the time."

"They're not different people!
They're my friends!"

"Sure, they're you're friends.
They're just people out there.

You're giving your pekpek away
to everybody!

You don't even know them.
Who wants pekpek? You want pekpek?

That's a pekpek for you.
You want it? There! It's for free!"

"Pekpek" is "pussy."

There's some people that got it,

but then there's some, like,
"Is she giving chickens away?

Every weekend, she has a chicken
and she gives it away?

That's expensive."

But now they made up.
Now they're friends. Best of friends.

Seeing my mom and sister make up:
Funniest shit ever.

Just seeing my mom cry.
"I just want you to know that...

I didn't think you gave your pekpek away
to everybody."

"Well, I didn't, Mom. It's right here.
It's the same one you gave me."

Man, I get it, Mom.
God bless you. That shit is hard.

My son's 13, and it just keeps getting
harder and harder.

It's so hard.

My son is in the seventh grade.
God damn it.

I want all you new parents
to know this right now.

When you were in the seventh grade
and you weren't smart,

you're definitely not gonna be smart
when your kid gets to the seventh grade.

It's harder.

My son and I are failing Math.

It's so hard.

Now he's getting a C-minus in Math.
C-minus in Math.

In private school, that's not good.
That's failing Math.

So, of course, she brings me in
for a parent-teacher meeting.

Private school. That's what they do.

They sit you down
because they're concerned.

"Hi. [chuckles] Mr. Koy.
Mr. Koy, please sit down.

I don't want to startle you.
I want to nip this in the bud.

Just want you to know, Mr. Koy,
that your son has a C-minus in Math.

Uh-oh.

Uh-oh.

That's not good.

What are we gonna do
to solve that, Mr. Koy?

You need to help me help him.

I can do whatever I can
over here at school,

but when he gets home,
you need to crack open that book

and start working on those questions
with your son.

Let's bring that grade back up.
Let's do this as a team, Mr. Koy.

Come on!"

And I was, like,
"You know I'm a comedian, right?

And I hired you to teach my son math.

Uh-oh.

Uh-oh.

What are we gonna do to fix that?

Sounds like you owe me money."

If you have kids,
take them to public school.

That's the only--
Public school, please.

I'm paying college tuition
for my son's seventh-grade education.

And then I get a call from the principal.
"Mr. Koy, you forgot to pay your milk fee.

You forgot to pay your milk fee, Mr. Koy."

I go, "I paid the tuition.
I thought it was included in the tuition."

"No, Mr. Koy, that's separate."

I got so mad.
I was filling out that paperwork,

and I just looked at my son. I go,
"I can't believe I'm filling out paperwork

to pay for milk."

He goes,
"What are you talking about, Dad?"

I go, "When I filled out paperwork,
it was so I can get free milk.

We were poor, Joe.

We couldn't afford milk,

so my mom filled out paperwork
so we could get a free milk.

I couldn't wait to get to school
so I could actually taste calcium.

And it's delicious when it's free."

He didn't know what a free milk was,

so I had to explain to him
what a free milk looked like.

I go, "Joe, a free milk
was a carton of milk

that looked like a house from Monopoly.

And it had three simple instructions.
You pulled the right side to the right,

the left side to the left,

and then you pinched the middle
and pulled it towards your chest,

and it's supposed to make a spout.

But it never made a fucking spout.

So, you turned it to the back
and started over.

That side had too much glue.
You couldn't even open that fucking side.

So you just ripped it open in the middle.

Now you're drinking milk
out of a square box.

And when you were done with that milk,
you put soil in it and a bean,

and you grew a tree."

Yeah. Public school.

I gotta get my son to be humble.

How is my son gonna be humble
when I've been driving him to school?

His whole school career,
he's been chauffeured to school.

He's never been on a bus before.
That shit will make you humble.

Go to school on a public bus.
He doesn't even know what a public bus--

I just found out my son doesn't know
what a school bus is.

We were driving on the freeway,
and a school bus passed us,

and my son goes like this:
"Where are they going?"

"Fucking school, asshole.

Who's this dick?"

He's been going to school--
You gotta go to school on a bus.

That shit will make you humble.

Go to school on a bus with a bunch of kids
that hate their fucking life.

That was me. I hated my life.

I was the last kid on,
and I was the last kid off.

Hated that shit. Every time I got on,
there was only one seat left,

and there was always that one kid
that didn't want to share the seat.

And I'd walk up to him.

He's, like, "You better not even think
about sitting here."

And I'd go, "Where am I supposed to sit?"

"I don't fucking care."

And the bus driver doesn't give a shit.

"You'd better sit down back there."
"I don't know where to sit.

He's not gonna let me sit down.

She's getting mad.
She's not gonna go unless I sit down.

I won't even sit on the whole thing.

Just let me-- let me sit on the edge."

I had to sit on the edge
and then hold the seat across the aisle.

I went to school
looking like I took a shit on the bus.

And then he'd still fuck with me.

"Why do you smell like Vicks?"

"Because I have pneumonia."

He's got it so good.

I've got to stop spoiling him.
I spoil him too much.

It sucks.

But the reason I spoil him is because
I didn't have shit when I was a kid.

We were broke as shit.

And now that I can afford it,
I'm buying everything.

And yes, it's for him, but he doesn't know
that it's actually for us.

All that cool shit he has, I want it, too.
I want it so bad.

This Christmas pissed me off.

I go, "Joe, you want a PS4 for Christmas?"
He goes, "No."

I go, "Why the fuck not?

You're selfish, bro."

I want all that shit.
I want all those toys.

And I'm holding back, but it's hard.
It's so damn hard.

We went to the mall. This was, like,
seven months ago, eight months ago.

And the kiosk with the hoverboards.

Oh, shit. And my son got on it
like a fucking natural.

He just got on and was, like,
"Oh, my God. Dad.

Dad.

Dad!

Dad! I've got to have this, Dad.
I've got to have this."

And I just looked at him,
and this is what I said in my head.

I go, "Yes, we do."

But I was being a good dad.

I was, like, "No.
I can't buy that for you."

He goes, "Why not?"
I go, "Because you have a C-minus in Math,

and I can't reward you for that.

Bring the grade up to a B,
and I'll buy it for you."

My son goes like this:
"Are you serious right now?"

And this is what I said, I swear to God.
I went like this: "I know, right?

Why'd you fail the test, man?"

We both left that mall
just fucking crying.

I wanted that hoverboard so bad.

And then I told him,
"Joe, I'll buy you that hoverboard.

I'm gonna get you a tutor,
and she's gonna help you with your math.

You bring the grade up, it's done."

So, I get the tutor.

This is how shitty of a dad I am.
Just for one week with the tutor,

he has a quiz the following week.
Four out of five right.

Doesn't even apply to the grade.

And I just looked at him like this:
"Look at you, Einstein.

Looks like we need to go to the mall
and get something, don't we?"

And I got that hoverboard.
Oh, I fucking love that thing.

I ride it every morning.

[bleeping sounds]

"You want cereal?"

"Yes, Dad."
"I'll be right back."

[bleeping sounds]

I crashed on that hoverboard. Holy shit.

I got wood floors at my house.

This is what it sounded like
when I crashed.

Twice, because I skipped across the floor.

And this is how old I am. When I finally
landed, this is what I said.

I went, "Uhh!

Oh, fucking hip!

Oh, my fucking hip! It's broken!"

And my son doesn't give two shits
about me.

He came around the corner
and went like this: "Dad?

Where's my hoverboard?"

"Fuck you, Joe.

Fuck you."

Don't buy that hoverboard.

I don't even know why
they sell it in America.

I don't know how they got past inspection.
They're dangerous.

When the battery's dead,
it doesn't even tell you.

I swear to God, it just stops mid-ride.

And then it catapults you across
the living room at 17 miles per hour.

I'm flying through the air with
a bowl of cereal, like, "What the fuck?!

Shit!"

Thirteen. God damn it.
They grow fast, you guys.

He's at that age where he doesn't want
to kiss me anymore. It makes me so sad.

I hate it. "Have a good day at school."
He's like this: "All right."

And I...

I don't know what to do now.
Turning into a man.

I don't like the way God tells you
that your son is turning into a man.

It's too quick. I'm not even
mentally prepared for this.

I found out last year
that he's turning into a man.

It sucked. Last year--
This is when I found out.

He was in the pool, swimming,
and I'm on the outside of the pool,

just watching my son swim.
He comes out of the pool.

This is what he says to me, word-for-word,
when he comes out of the pool.

He went like this:
"This pubic hair is tickling my butt."

And when he said "pubic hair,"
he meant one pubic hair.

Just one. It's so long,
it's tickling his asshole.

And I started crying.
I go, "Why do you have a pubic hair?

Why?"

And that's it. That's it.
The pube is here.

That was last year. He's 13 now.
How many does he have now, 20?

I'm not ready for that.
No more toys anymore.

No more of the cute toys
he used to play with when he was 11, 12.

Transformers,
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles-- fuck that.

He's got a new toy.

He's got a new toy that he's gonna love
to play with a lot more.

He's probably gonna play with it
in front of the old toys.

And there's nothing I can do about it.
I'm not prepared for that. My son?

Now! This is when it starts!

Thirteen. This is when it starts.

Shit! And I'm gonna catch him.

I'm gonna catch him. It's inevitable.
I'm gonna catch my son jerking off.

Are you kidding me?
And what do I say to him when I catch him?

I don't even know what to say to him.
What do I say? "Stop doing that"?

That's fucked up. I'm still doing that!

Who the fuck am I?

"Only one guy jerks off in this house.

And since I own it,
take your little dick outside.

This is my lotion."

He's gonna get caught.
Because boys are sloppy with their work.

They're sloppy with their work,
and you know what I'm talking about.

They just--
They don't know what to fucking do.

Thirteen?

[grunts]

[grunts]

I was the creepiest. When I was 13? Shit.

Thirteen-- I could eat cereal, jerk off,

watch cartoons and look out for my mom
at the same time.

Just creepy shit.

"Aah! Shit!"

It's gross.

It's gross, but it's life. This is it.

I'm gonna catch him. Fuck.

He's gonna be so creepy.
Boys are creepy with their work.

They don't know.
The first times that they do it,

the first 20 times, nothing comes out,
ladies. You do know that, right?

It's just you and your friend at a party.

And then your friend starts to dry-heave
for no reason.

[laughing]

[grunts]

Oh, yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah.

[grunting]

Yeah!

And that's why we get caught.
Because we think that happens every time.

And it's not.

One day, something comes out,
and we don't know what to fucking do.

It catches us off guard.
We're, like...

[chuckling]
Blam!

"Aah!

No, no, no, no!

Oh, no! Oh, my God!

No, no! No!

Oh, my God!

I'm ready for church!"

You go to church with a come-print
on your chest.

I want every woman to know this right now.
We don't stop.

We don't stop, all right? I didn't stop.

Been doing it since I was a kid.
I got caught by my mom.

My mom caught me. Worst day of my life.

Worst day of my-- And I don't like
how quiet it is in this room right now.

I really don't. I don't like how
every guy is looking at me like:

"This is kind of disgusting.

I don't know what he's talking about.

How could he get caught by his mother?"

I want every guy in this room
to know this tonight.

You got caught by your mom, too.
She caught your dumb ass.

She saw it. That's a grown woman.
She knows what her teenage son is doing.

She just never said anything
to your dumb ass.

But she found it. Whatever it was
you were abusing, she found it.

She just didn't tell you about it.
She was cleaning your room.

And she was, like,
"Oh, let me get that plate.

Oh, that's not a plate.

That's a towel."

She just-- She didn't say anything to you.
My mom said something to me,

because that's the kind of
fucking mom I got.

But I thought I was bulletproof.

Sock. Genius. Sock.

Sock, hamper. Sock, hamper.

All week. Sock, hamper.

Sock, hamper.

Two-a-day Friday.
Sock, sock, hamper, hamper.

Then Sunday came around.
My mom walked into my room.

"Stop fucking your socks.

Are you kidding me right now?

You want me to clean it? Fuck you, Joseph.

That's disgusting.
I've been throwing all your socks away.

You have two pair of socks left
for the rest of the year.

You fuck those-- no more socks, Joseph.

You're gonna go to school
barefoot like that, huh?

The principal will call me.
'Joseph doesn't have any socks.'

'Yeah, because he keeps fucking them!'"

We all do it. We all do it.

Every guy in here still does it.

It's creepy. We'll move on from this,
but I just want to keep going.

We've got plenty of time to kill.

Every guy does it, though.
We haven't stopped.

We become better at it.

We don't stop because we're creeps,
ladies.

We're just creepy people.

I don't care how long
you've been with your man--

five years, ten years, five days--
it doesn't matter.

That's his shit.

I want every woman to know this:

The creepiest man in this room tonight
is the guy you came with.

I swear to God.
There's no one creepier in this room.

Don't look across the aisle
or up in the balcony.

He's sitting right fucking next to you.

That guy is a creepy, creepy fuck.

Don't give it to him for a couple days.
Watch him just, "Uhh!"

I don't care how good-looking your man is.

When we jerk off, we all look the same.

Creepy. By ourselves.

One shoe on. Always one shoe on.

Look at the toe! Look at the fucking toe!

Shirt tucked under the chin.

Shirt tucked under the chin.
Did you know that, ladies?

Did you know your man tucks the shirt
under his chin?

You want to know why?

Because he doesn't want
the bottom of the shirt to touch his dick,

because he's still gonna wear that shirt
for the rest of the day.

Creepy fucker's gonna wear
his jerk-off shirt

to the comedy show tonight.

Don't shake anyone's hand in here tonight.

I swear to God,
the diversity in this room is amazing.

I will tell you this right now.

I'm just gonna be honest with you guys.
I'm gonna put it all out there.

No one is more indirectly racist
than Filipino moms.

My sister's about to marry her fiancé.

He's dark. He's dark. Darker than you.

My sister got the darkest one.

There's black, and then there's nighttime.

Andre is nighttime.

Andre used to kill it in hide-and-seek
when he was a kid.

Didn't even have to hide.
Just closed his eyes like that.

"Where are you, Andre?"
"Right here, motherfuckers.

I win again."

You should've seen how my mom acted
when she met Andre for the first time.

When he walked into the house,
my mom went like this.

[shudders]

"Put my purse in the room.
Put my purse in the room."

I got so mad at my mom.

I took her to the kitchen.
I was, like, "Mom, are you kidding me?

Just because he's black, you want me
to put your purse in the room?

Are you kidding me right now?"

And then she got mad at me
and made me feel like the racist.

Some Filipino Jedi shit.

She just looked at me and goes,
"Oh, just because he's black, Joseph,

and I told you to put my purse
in the room,

you think your mother is a racist?

Wow, Joseph.

Wow.

Wow.

I would do that with any stranger, Joseph.

White, black, Latino, Asian.
I don't care.

If I don't know you,
put my purse in the room.

That's a Louis Vuitton."

I go, "Mom, you know what you did.
Stop right now.

You're making Andre feel
very uncomfortable."

And my mom looked at me and goes,
"I'm not making him feel uncomfortable.

You are. Bringing me into the kitchen
to talk to me.

Are you kidding me right now?

I'm doing everything to make Andre
feel comfortable.

I'm frying chicken,
I put basketball on the TV."

"Out of everything
you could've cooked tonight,

you decided to fry chicken."

"Joseph, they love chicken."

They love--

"They love chicken, Joseph."

Right when I said that,
Andre walked into the kitchen.

He's, like, "Oh, I'm sorry.

Sorry. I'm sorry.
I didn't know y'all was in the kitchen.

Quick question: Are y'all frying chicken?"

And my mom goes, "Yes, Andre.
We're-- We're frying chicken.

But if you don't like chicken, I can--

I can cook something else, if--

if you don't like chicken."

And Andre was, like,
"Oh, no, no. I love chicken.

I eat it every day."

And then he walked out of the kitchen.

And then my mom looked at me
and went like this:

[whispers]
"I told you."

That's a very racist--

Right? That's racist. Right, black guy?

That's a racist-- You want to hear
the most racist part about that story?

Andre doesn't talk like that.

I gave Andre an '80s black rapper voice
because it's funnier.

If you ever meet Andre,
he talks like this:

"Hello. My name is Andre."

I made him talk-- "I love chicken!"
Who the fuck talks like that?

I've never even met a black guy
that talks about chicken like,

[rapping]
"I love chicken, I eat it every day.

I eat that chicken in every kind of way."

[grunts]

She's getting married.
My sister's getting married. Shit.

That's good, right?
How long have you guys been together?

[woman] Eighteen years.

Eighteen years? Goddamn.

Eighteen strong years.
You got kids? Two kids?

How old are the kids. Eighteen and what?

Did you watch the baby come out?

Did you watch the baby come out?
You better, man.

You've got to watch that shit.

That's why a lot of you guys out there--

If you don't pay your child support,

I want you to start thinking
about what happened that day.

And remember,
that shit costs a lot of money.

I give my ex whatever the fuck she wants.

I saw that baby come out.
Fuck that shit.

And a lot of you women
need to be more graphic with these guys

that ain't paying their child support.

Let them hear. Stop being nice about it.

"Your daughter wants
to take ballet classes.

She needs shoes and some lessons.

Your son wants to play sports.
He needs cleats and some gear."

Fuck that. Be graphic.
"Why do I want extra money?

Because those kids ripped my pussy apart.

Ripped. Ripped.

Ripped it. Ripped."

It doesn't stay like that.

I don't want you to think it's ripped
and stays like that.

That's the cool thing about the vagina.
It comes back together.

It's fucking-- It's like a Transformer.

It's like Pussimus Prime.

It's like, "Babybots."

[grinding]

"What the fuck?!"

I saw that baby come out.
Fuck that shit.

The vagina is beautiful,
just not that day.

That day, it's its evil twin.

It's not even vagina.
It's called "va-gina."

"I am Va-gina.

I'm delivering a baby.

Push, baby.

Oh, come out of Va-gina.

Push! Oh, here comes the baby!

Oh, here comes the baby!

Oh, baby!"

My son's head was hanging out like this.

And then she coughed,
and he went back in.

I was, like, "Oh, shit!

Her pussy just ate the baby!"

I just remember my son going, "Dad!"

Dating. Dating, right?
It's rough, right? Shit.

Here's the thing about dating.
All you need is just to be secure.

Just be secure and your girl
is gonna fucking love you.

Stop being insecure.
The minute you're insecure

and start questioning her,
it fucking turns her off.

Don't question her every time she goes out
with her girlfriends.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going out with my girlfriends.
I told you that already."

"Okay, what time are you gonna be home?"

"I don't know. Maybe later.
I don't know. What the fuck?

Seriously? Do I do this shit with you
on your fucking guys' night out?"

"I'm just saying. I just want to know..."

[mumbling]

They hate that shit.
Just be secure and let her fucking go.

That turns a girl on.
Ignore her. She loves that shit.

It pisses her off,
and she loves it at the same time.

When you don't call her the whole time.
It even confuses her when she leaves.

"I'm going out with my girls."
"All right, see you."

"But are you gonna ask where--"

"No. Just go with your girls."

"All right. That's crazy."

Don't call her the whole night.
Just ignore her.

She'll be at the club, freaking out.

Just fucking dancing,
looking at her phone.

"What the fuck?"

That shit turns her on.

Because guys get mad at girls
when they go out with their girlfriends.

Stop being insecure. Fuck it.

If she goes out with her friends,
she goes out with her friends.

And the guys always get mad.
"Yeah, but every time she goes out,

guys buy her drinks,
and then she fucking takes them."

No shit! They're free, asshole.

Wouldn't you take a goddamn drink
for free?

If a girl walked up to you--
"Hey, I'd like to buy you a drink,"

you'd be, like, "What the fuck?

Can you buy my friends some?"

And if a guy is buying
your chick at the club a drink,

that means she's one of
the hottest chicks in the fucking club.

So you should proud of that shit.

And don't get mad at her
for getting free drinks.

That's her hustle. She's hot,

and she's getting free drinks
from a dude at a club.

You don't have to worry about it
because she has your back.

Every girl that has a man
and she's at a club

has her dude's back.

Swear to God.
And you know what I'm talking about.

She'll keep getting those drinks for free.
She'll get them, as many as she can.

"I'm gonna drink free all night."

And then, when that question comes:
"Do you have a boyfriend?"

"Yeah, he's at home.
His name's John. He's black. Bye!

Bye. Bye! Thank you!"

Because that's what women do.

They get your back,
and you know what I'm talking about.

Every guy's bought drinks for a girl
that had a guy, and you know it.

They drop it on you at the last second
because that's what women do.

So, don't get mad at your girl
when she goes out with these guys.

Let them go. Let them have
as many drinks as they want.

Let them fucking get tore the fuck up.

As many drinks. Let her get them.
As many drinks.

"Thank you. Thank you."

All fucking night.
She's gonna get fucked up.

And then she's gonna come home drunk,

and then she's gonna want
to suck your dick...

on his tab!

"What the fuck?

This blowjob is free?!"

Stop being insecure. Let them go.

In fact, when your girl goes out,
you go out.

Don't stay at home. Go get fucked up, too.

That's the best sex you'll ever have.
You both ignore each other all night,

you both get fucked up
with your own friends,

and then you both come home
drunk as shit.

That's the funniest shit.

And the guy's always the first one home.

"Babe!

Babe!"

Nobody's home.

Then, all of a sudden, she walks
through the door, drunk as shit.

[chuckles]

"Hi, baby."

She's limping because she has one heel on.

"Hi, baby."

"Hi, babe.

Hi, babe."

"Hi, baby.

Why didn't you text me all night?"

"I didn't know where my phone was."

It's a fucking square right here.

That turns her on.

"Your phone is right there, you stupid.

Your phone's right there, stupid.

I'm gonna fuck the shit out of you."

They're drunk and horny.
"I'm gonna fuck the shit out of you.

I swear to God.
I'm gonna fuck the shit out of you."

And then he's, like,
"I'm gonna fuck the shit out of you."

"I'm gonna fuck the shit out of you."
"I'm gonna fuck the shit out of you."

Then you guys walk towards each other,
about to fuck each other,

but it's not even cute.

It just looks like two zombies
about to fuck each other.

"I'm gonna fuck the shit out of you."

"I'm gonna fuck the shit out of you."

"I'm gonna fuck the shit out of you."

"I'm gonna fuck the shit out of you."

"I'm gonna fuck the shit out of you."

The woman always gets
to the bedroom first, completely naked.

Completely naked.
"Come on, baby. Come on.

Oh, I'm gonna fuck the shit--"

This foot completely dirty.

This one clean, completely clean.
This one-- gravel in the heel.

"Come on, baby.
I'm gonna fuck the shit out of you.

Come on."

The man's walking down the hallway,
fully clothed.

Drunk.

Taking his time.

He's kind of mad, too,
because not only is he drunk,

but his dick is more drunk.

And he doesn't know what to do,

because it's about to happen,
but he can't.

And drunk guys will talk to their dicks.
They don't give a shit.

Like, "Come on, wake up.

Come on. Why are you doing this to me?
Let's go. Why are you doing--"

And their dick is, like,
"I'm drunk, too, asshole.

What the fuck do you want me to do?"

We'll start grabbing blood from anywhere.
"Don't do this to me.

You need to give me something.
Don't do this to me."

But our dick's our best friend.
He doesn't leave us hanging.

He gives us something.
It's not much, but it's something.

It's like half-and-half.
Soft on top, hard in the middle.

And it's barely holding up. It's just
balancing on the balls like this.

"Try this. This might work.
This might work."

And we're, like,
"Are you sure you're gonna work?"

"Hurry up before I change
my fucking mind."

And we go to put him in. He's, like,
"Man, I can't fucking do this."

I love you guys. Thank you so much.

♪ Finally here
You know I'm finally here ♪

♪ Finally here
You know I'm finally here ♪

♪ I hear these people talking about
Where I been ♪

♪ I been on tour trying to work it out ♪

♪ They talking, like
"Man, you finally made it, dawg" ♪

♪ Shit, I'm working on copping
My second house ♪

♪ I remember back when
No one wanted to listen ♪

♪ Kind of funny who done came and gone ♪

♪ But I'm still here
And I ain't going nowhere ♪

♪ Nah, it's my time, homey
This where I belong ♪

♪ Truth is, I'm a savage ♪

♪ Flow cold and politely ♪

♪ But like a fat chick
Fighting with a skinny trick ♪

♪ Don't take a brother lightly ♪

♪ I know my enemies despise me... ♪

♪ You know I'm finally here ♪

♪ There's no one to fear ♪