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Lucho! Don't you have a show today?

A NETFLIX COMEDY SPECIAL

EXIT

-I love you, Lucho. -Great, Lucho.

I love you!

No you don't.

Yes!

You love the person you think I am.

It’s a projection you generated, based on the person you see on the stage.

But you don't really know me. You don't love me.

You don't love me. If you knew me, I'm a very grumpy person.

I like to sleep late, I'm very competitive, I get very violent

when I play any kind of game.

I would never fall in love with someone who yells "I love you" to any idiot

who goes on stage.

It's a lie. I love you.

-Hi! -Hi!

Ever since I was a kid, I don't know if the same thing happens to you...

if I'm eating something

and it falls on the floor...

I don't pick it up and eat it.

But I don't throw it away either.

I blow on it...

and then I eat it.

As if blowing gave me some kind of benefit.

I imagine the larva holding on to the cookie filling.

"Go ahead! Blow on me, asshole!

What do you think you have? Lysol in your lungs, you idiot?

Go ahead!"

It's really there.

Of course, you only see the cookie,

but if you do a zoom on it there's a larva insulting you.

Larvae are bad-tempered.

There's the five-second rule.

-Do you know that rule? -Yes.

For those who don't, I'll explain. The five-second rule says

that if food falls on the floor and stays on the floor

less than five seconds, it's for the mouth...

More than five seconds, it's death.

Instant death depending on the clock. I don't know how they got it so precise.

It's as if the larvae can't skip that YouTube ad. Did you see it?

The meat falls on the floor and it's like...

"Go ahead."

Where do they get such a tiny watch?

It's very funny.

But this technique is not perfect. It depends what falls on the floor.

The other day

some raviolis fell on the floor.

On the rug.

You see the larva there because it's full of dirt, covered with lint,

and the blowing doesn't neutralize the...

the "larva-tude" of that degree.

I have to throw it out.

But I don't want to stand up because I'm eating.

I say: "I'll leave it on one side of the plate and keep on eating,

and then I'll throw it out."

I keep on eating, I watch TV...

-"Why are you whistling? Are you eating?" -Leave me alone.

In a while I notice that the ravioli isn't there.

You notice that cold sweat Is running down your back.

Like when you're shitting in a public toilet and a drop of water hits your anus.

A little bit went in.

You think about the years ahead of you.

Your life and the life of everyone who used that toilet,

because now you share DNA with that "toilet" community.

You think about your life, Carlos' life, Gustavo's life, and Viviana's life.

Why did Viviana go into the men's bathroom?

To screw up my life. That's all. I really don't like people.

I don't like people.

I try to like people. I have to be funny,

because I work at being funny.

With individuals, it's all OK.

My problem is with people.

I don't like people. I'm envious, but I don't like women

who pick a grape and eat it in the fruit seller's sight

without asking permission.

I'm like: "She's stealing. She's messing with him."

How big does the fruit have to be to consider

that old lady to have committed a crime?

I think that the older the old lady, the larger the fruit.

Assume that an older woman can grab a pineapple to taste.

She scratches her gums, but she keeps chewing, proudly.

Does anyone here study design?

I don't like you.

I don't like design students I've heard too many of them

say they're designers.

Hold on, hold on.

Patience, little friend.

You're on the right path but you're not there yet. Patience.

I haven't heard a medical student call himself a doctor.

It would be disrespectful.

Patience.

You're on the right path but you're not there yet.

I haven't heard anyone studying to be a music teacher

call himself a pedophile.

Patience.

You're on the right path.

But you're not there yet.

First you have to get your degree,

and take your résumé to a kindergarten.

Are you really laughing about pedophilia?

You see why I don't like people.

I don't like people... Notice that your parents

can't talk about anything related to the world of computers

without doing this with their hands.

They need to do it. It's an intrinsic part of information technology for them.

It's beyond them not to do it.

"I was googling some things."

No.

"Nothing. I was goo..."

"I was watching some videos on YouTube."

Besides, the typing has to last as long as the phrase.

"I was watching some videos on YouTube."

"The videos were super good."

"I sent you an e-mail."

He pushes it through cyberspace so that it reaches its destination faster.

"I sent an e-mail to you and your sister."

My old man makes old-fashioned gestures.

"I'll call you later," he tells me. "I'll call you later."

It's not a telephone call. You're making chocolate milk in your ear.

I don't like people who are too positive.

You can't always be fine. You need differences in your life,

ups and downs, to have a life. If not, it's boring.

Some people say: "No, everything's fine."

"The other day I parked my car in front of my house.

Someone threw a brick at it. A brick through the windshield.

They stripped it, and took everything out of the glove compartment, the stereo.

Now I can't listen to music in the car.

But on the positive side, I have a brick.

Can you believe my luck?

They left it there. I kept it a couple days,

but no one came to claim it. So I have it. What do you say?

If one stereo is stolen after another,

I'll finish building the room in the back.

They say the best investments are bricks and travel.

I'm spending all my money on travel because I work

outside of the city.

Five buses to get there and six buses back.

I could take five buses back and walk 15 blocks,

but I think we all need a bit of luxury in life."

I don't like

Argentineans

when they live in another country.

Because Argentineans in Argentina are sociable, well-liked, good hosts.

But Argentineans abroad

feel the imperious need

for everyone around them to know

that they're Argentinean.

As if there were some sort of pride. You were born here.

It could have been any other country. But there's a need.

You realize they're Argentineans from the way they move.

From the way they talk. They twirl the language around...

like a lasso thrower in Che Malambo.

Seriously, idiot? Do you really need to drink yerba mate at the stadium?

You really need to?

I understand.

I understand it's a great beverage, but it's the least practical

in the history of mankind for drinking in public.

It's unhandy. Having to carry all that from the hotel, boil the water.

No, heat the water because if it boils...

I don't know what's happening.

Carry all that, bring the yerba mate because they don't sell it there.

They'd better not confuse it with weed on the plane because they'll screw you.

Carry all that, feel like drinking it, put it all together

while you look around you because you traveled for a reason, shit.

"No, Argentina rocks."

First, dude, most people are thinking you're Uruguayan.

And second, I think it's clear

with your shorts from Racing and shirt from Redondos, dude.

As you like it.

I don't like them. You know when...

when you're at a mall or in the subway

and there's an escalator.

And to the side is

a stairway.

Mr. Architect, I notice...

a certain level of redundancy. Could it be?

I don't like it because they make me think at that hour in the morning.

I don't feel like making decisions. "Oh, what will my future be?"

"Shall I move exactly the same distance, completely at rest

or while getting tired? What a complicated situation."

Obviously we all choose the escalator, because it's effortless.

But there's always some idiot,

some fitness king,

who chooses the healthy version just to shove in your face

all the bad decisions you made in your life.

He's all self-satisfied and looks at you like...

Cool. Like: "Look at the sedentary bums

who don't do exercise."

What do I care, idiot.

You're not in a triathlon. You're climbing five steps.

Do you want us to have a party? Look, here's Catherine Fulop

from underground line B. You don't want to miss her.

"Your envy is the motor of my progress."

What do I care, idiot?

Are you healthier?

I'm shining my shoes with the little brush on the side.

I can see my reflection in my loafers, idiot. Did you get here earlier?

I beat the system. I outsmarted capitalism.

And I didn't pay a cent.

I don't like it in the subway car or in an elevator

when people try to go in before the ones getting off.

It's an example that's inbe...

It's like a mixture of invincible and imbecile. It's like...

"Invincibly imbecile."

The impenetrability of matter is a myth.

They're rejecting civics and physics

in a single movement. It's marvelous.

The other day I was at a cookout and...

I sat beside...

I don't know who it was, the grandfather or uncle of the person doing the cookout.

He was one of those people who insist that everything used to be better.

-Do you know anyone like that? -Yes.

"No, kid, we used to much better off. You don't realize it because you're young,

but we used to..."

Who are you, sir? Why are you talking to me? I'm eating potato salad

and you're scaring me. What's going on?

"No, kid, I just wanted to tell you that we used to be better off before."

-Before when? -"Before."

"Always before now."

An extra degree of specificity would improve

this horrible conversation that we're having against my will.

"Whenever, kid, any moment in history that you want.

Choose any point.

The Romans, say. The Romans lived better than we do now."

"Yes, kid, the Romans did whatever they wanted.

They wrapped up in a sheet.

That was their clothing, just like that.

If they wanted to fight with tigers, they fought with tigers.

They ate grapes from up here. They did what they wanted in life."

But...

You can do all of that today.

Wrap up in the sheet however you want.

Jump the fence at the zoo and confront a tiger.

You'll see your Roman dream come true.

Eat a grape however you like. Get them from your wife,

who doesn't pay for them, and eat them however you like, sir.

No, no.

"You're mistaken. The Romans lived much better.

The Romans lived better."

What are you saying? The Roman with the best life

lived worse than today's low class.

They didn't have electricity, or natural gas, or drinking water,

very little Netflix content, not much broadband. They lived badly.

The Roman with the best life, the richest Roman,

the Caesar, the Roman emperor, walked around

in thin sandals made of stupid sheepskin,

with hurting feet, covered in blisters.

Today's Caesar, Brian's cousin...

has high-heeled shoes.

Flashing lights, air chambers. That's better.

"No, kid, no. The Romans had a better life."

Sir.

A Roman's life expectancy was an average of 25 years.

Yours is now 136 years, more or less.

Only 25. You had to be heroic to live at that time.

If you were born as a Roman. soon after they'd give you a sword.

"Go on and fight with your cousin." So you'd have a sword fight with him,

and practice fighting until you were about 13 and got married

with a girl. No matter how pretty and stacked she was,

soap hadn't been invented...

It was bad for both.

You'd have children, maybe,

about 12.

At age 14, off to war. The Romans spent all their time at war.

"Go ahead and conquer. Shit, go ahead."

Maybe you'd get out of the war and end up alive.

At age 24, they'd send you home to be with your family.

Your children would be bigger, your wife stinkier than ever...

And you'd have a typical Roman life.

You'd get up early, and empty out the bucket

where the whole family would shit.

"How are you, ma'am?

Yes, luckily the little one is eating better.

Thanks to Zeus."

You'd go back in to turn on the water to wash your hands: no water.

You'd turn on the burner to cook something: no gas.

You had nowhere to plug in the microwave.

You'd say: "I'm going to look for a Betty Crocker recipe for something raw."

Betty Crocker wasn't born yet.

You say: "Well, I'll start dying then."

Seriously, sir. Are you saying that you would tolerate any of that?

Of everything I said, the only thing you did

was play swords with your cousin. You know what I'm talking about, sir.

"No, kid, no. We used to be better off."

You used to be better off because you weren't old yet.

"No, kid, don't tell me that. Young people are worthless.

Young people are worthless."

Your youth is lost.

"No, kid. Do you know what I was reading the other day?

That machines are on the way and they're going to steal all of our jobs.

What do you say about that?"

No...

It's going to be a gradual process.

It's not going to be a blender that appears from one day to the next

and gets your job at the call center. Don't worry.

"Hello.

Who is this?

I don't know who it is, Estela. You talk because I'm screwed."

It would be strange to have a blender as a fellow employee.

You know about the year-end raffles at offices

to keep the employees happy.

The blender's lucky and wins the trip to Brazil. You want to die.

It uploads pictures from the beach, drinking a smoothie.

It throws a banana in the air.

You're less lucky and win third place.

A blender.

It's going to take my job.

"No, kid, we used to be better off. There's a lot of crime now.

There's a lot of crime. That's the deal."

Do you consider it safer to fight with tigers?

"No, kid, there's a lot of crime. You can't argue against that.

There's a lot of crime. That's the way it is."

Sir, there's always been crime.

The thing is you spend the whole day reading the paper,

listening to the radio, and the only thing they talk about

is crime. It's obvious that the concept is eventually

going to get in your head and you'll talk about it all the time.

It's as if a zebra were watching National Geographic all day,

watching how the neighbor gets eaten, and the cousin gets hunted.

It's better if... "The savannah is messed up.

You can't even go out.

You go to the lagoon to drink water and a crocodile comes and bites your face,

he puts a drain in you and shits in it.

It's impossible to be in this neighborhood.

It's filled up with panthers.

I don't want to criticize, but...

they're black.

I'm talking about here."

I don't like sensitive people.

Assume that I like to pop my knuckles.

But there's always some gay who says: "No, no!

No, no, you're going to get hurt. You'll get arthritis."

What are you saying? It's not bone against bone.

It's a little bubble of hydrogen that is released...

"No, no, it's bad for me!"

How is it bad for you if they're my fingers, idiot?

"No, no!"

Does anyone sensitive here get bothered when people pop their knuckles?

You're bad.

It's OK. I have a simple exercise

so that the ones in charge get well and the ones who aren't in charge,

become obvious. It's very simple.

On the count of three, we're all going to pop our knuckles.

One, two, and three.

Did you get well, sweetie?

It's a comedian's show, not group therapy, my dear.

On we go.

I don't know if you noticed, but I don't come out ahead with that.

But she loses and that's good for me.

I don't like people. I really think that I don't like people in general

because to meet people, I have to leave the house.

I'm fine at home because I have everything. I have water, Internet,

my puppy, my girlfriend, everything. I need nothing more.

At home I have my clothes for wearing in the house.

I'm a fan of comfortable clothes.

But comfortable clothes are not a fan of elegance.

Simple mortals are not physically and spiritually prepared

to see my pajamas.

I'm comfortable, but it's jogging pants

with a crust of solidified polenta,

which is hard. I use it as a shelf to hold the remote control.

The other day I put my cell phone on it and it recharged itself. It has WiFi.

With a t-shirt from the 1997 Carrefour marathon.

It started out white, I believe, but is now a new color

that I don't dare to...

sort of beige...

like your aunt's teeth.

I don't like it. I think the people I like the least are showoffs.

Showoffs, because they remind me of school.

They were the little kids I didn't like when I was in school.

Because they had things I didn't have.

I would get angry.

I would get jealous.

A little jealous. I hope you have a death in the family on Christmas.

That's what I want.

They had that binder

with three rings that opened automatically.

For technology.

Who are you? James Bond or what?

I would try to get a piece of paper: "What's going on here?

You're going to pull off my finger. It's a bear trap. What's going on?"

Or what?

"I just touched the one on the bottom."

"How does the one on the top know? What kind of witchcraft is this?"

I got paper from my classmates because...

Once my mother...

there was a sale at the supermarket

on packs of 500 sheets of paper.

She took advantage of the sale, bought a pack and told me:

"Take it, kid, happy birthday."

All of it?

I didn't even take off the plastic. I slept of couple of nights with...

It was the best birthday in my life.

The typical paper, that ream of Rivadavia paper, whatever.

Gloria paper maybe.

It's the same.

It's not the same.

The Gloria paper is fine. Fragile.

They get a normal sheet and divide it into eight pieces.

Take it, kid, Gloria.

Thanks, Ma. Tracing paper.

No, sheets of paper, dummy.

They're transparent.

You take out the first sheet, and you see the 100th sheet below it.

You say: "Wow, I have X-ray vision."

-"No, you're poor." -"No!"

Clap for poverty as well. It's good.

Those little turds at school with,

with those three-level pencil cases.

Three levels.

You have three levels of school supplies already?

So many assets in your name at that age?

Not even in my imagination do I have so many little things.

What...? If I did, I wouldn't know... What do you put in three levels?

What goes in the bottom level?

Pencil, eraser, pencil sharpener, ruler.

Stylus.

They didn't let you use a ballpoint pen when you were little. It was dangerous.

A small pointed object is more appropriate for a six-year-old child.

A piece of wood with a nail on the tip!

That goes in your pencil case, in your backpack. In the kidney.

Anyway you have another one.

You'll be thankful when you're an adult.

When you're a grown up you say: "Luckily I put my renal health at risk

because I use a stylus daily, every day.

I go to a job interview. ‘Show me your skills.'

I can write my name with a stylus and glazed paper.

‘Very good. Welcome to Google, imbecile.

Go and choose your office.'"

What do you put in the middle level?

Colored pencils, a piece of crayon you found.

Synthetic cloths, if you're from a good family.

Microfiber cloths, you're...

the son of Tinelli, you must be.

But what do I send to the third level?

What do I put there to fill it up? My sweater?

My pencil case was the lost and found box.

I got to school a little early and say: "Hi, Miss.

I'm getting a pencil.

What?

Yes, I'll give it back. I'm not a thief.

No, I won't bite it. I already ate."

And those turds brought those fat ballpoint pens.

Remember those fat pens that had...

They had all the colors.

You only used the blue.

It was the only useful one, the first one you used up.

Then you had to use the purple one, which was somewhat similar.

Because you couldn't write with green and red at school.

Because the teachers check papers with those colors.

We'd get confused.

She got first dibs on those two colors.

But if there's a useful color in that bunch...

it's yellow, right?

What could you write on to contrast

with the yellow? But it was there to make you proud.

I'd get the pen and want to use two colors at the same time.

And they'd get stuck.

I'm going to have to sell my other kidney to pay for it.

I got a bright idea and took the piece off the bottom.

I unscrewed it and the pen was naked,

with all the little points of color hanging out.

Awkward, uncomfortable, like writing with a sausage in the tomato sauce.

Not aerodynamic, counterproductive,

because you have to write fast at school.

You have to write fast. I can't remember many situations

more desperate in childhood than copying off the board

and the teacher says: "Children, I'm erasing now."

No! Don't erase! I'm not finished!

-"Did you copy it?" -No, I'm not finished either.

One more second, don't erase it. I wrote everything in yellow!

What a shitty life! I think...

I think that...

that the only situation more desperate than that in childhood,

is when you're in line at the supermarket and your mom says:

"I forgot the detergent. I'll be right back."

No. I'm little.

You get very worried.

"I'm going to be a lost child who'll live forever in the supermarket

and my parents will be a pair of monkeys."

You get really upset because you've never dealt with a situation like that,

and so much responsibility.

The woman ahead of you is almost finished paying.

It's my turn! Anyone normal would let the person behind go first.

But this one looks crazy, and he has a crooked collar.

What kind of person leaves home with one side of his shirt collar

on the inside and the other on the outside, like a soft lapel,

like the bottom of the pie when you heat it in the microwave.

"I don't trust that guy. For sure he cheats on his wife. It's my turn.

I don't have any cash.

I have to look for a job.

I have to write a résumé.

What's a résumé?

I have to grow up all at once. I have to be a man.

I have to have a wife, gray hair, acid stomach.

I have to pay the bills, the kids' school fees,

I won't have enough fingers when they ask me my age.

I'll have to do this to talk about the computer.

I'll have to learn hard words like...

gross income.

I'm almost sure it has nothing to do with coming in.

In he comes grossly!

I have to use beige clothing.

I don't have anything beige.

I have to cheat on my woman with my secretary.

She'll find out, throw me out. I'll separate, get depressed, be sorry.

My secretary will leave me too.

I'll go live in a sad studio apartment.

I'll have to buy my own groceries.

With my collar messed up because I don't have anyone to tell me.

The little asshole in front of me won't stop crying since the stupid mother

went back for detergent."

You get a huge identity crisis.

I say: "Who am I?

Who am I in this story?

Who am I? The kid or the man? Who am I really?

That's the question. Who are all of you?

Are you really here or are you characters in a joke that someone is telling..."

Drugs.

This segment is about drugs.

I have fun with these things because I'm childish.

I know I'm childish, and it doesn't bother me to be childish.

I realize how childish I am in certain circumstances.

When I'm bathing.

When I bathe I like to relax and have the water run all over me

and like...

One wrinkle from the water.

-Do you do that? -Yes.

We're all stupid. I'm just in the limelight.

Five wrinkles.

Two wrinkles.

Three wrinkles.

Five.

Six wrinkles. Five.

A very drunk superpower got hold of the guy.

The worst X-Man in history.

"X-Man, what's your power?"

"I regenerate my own tissue when I get hurt."

-"And you?" -"I'm invisible."

"And you?"

I...

make some...

modest wrinkles in water. Any number you ask for.

Maximum one per finger or toe, obviously.

Do a demonstration.

The only thing is...

I have to be bathing.

Whenever you want, the X-Men are invited to my house. I have a transparent wall.

You can see everything. There's a ramp for you, Mr. Bald Guy. You can come.

I know I'm immature. I don't care.

I'm childish. Do you know where the planetarium is?

Yes.

-What's next to the planetarium? -A lake.

A lake. Very good. What's in the lake?

Ducks.

Who said water?

Water.

Yes.

The thing that gives the lake the identity of a lake.

If not, it would be known as the Palermo well.

What's floating in the water in the Palermo lake?

Ducks.

Ducks.

The planetarium, Libertador Avenue, ducks.

Someone assumed it was a great idea to put cars going 80 mph

next to birds that size. But we're not here to judge

the urban planning of the city of Buenos Aires.

We're here to talk about how childish I am.

I believe the following.

How can people live on the streets and suffer from hunger?

Free ducks!

I don't know if it's good. It's expensive! It's a delicacy!

I'm not telling you to eat a dog. It's a duck.

If I'm homeless, give me two pieces of bread and an orange,

and I've got dinner, pal.

Two pieces of bread. You don't like sliced bread?

Daddy loves it. Hand it over.

I'll keep the orange for later. I get the two pieces of bread,

one in each hand. I attract the duck with the one on the bottom.

I'll put the white side up and the brown side down.

I won't underestimate such a bird.

I get close and say: "Here, Ducky."

"Ducky, ducky."

If he doesn't come, I get more serious. Douglas, come over here.

When he starts to nibble the break on the bottom, whop! Duck sandwich.

That's dinner for you, of course.

And the orange, dessert.

If I knew how to make duck l'orange, I wouldn't be living in the streets.

I'd be a famous chef. Don't think...

The other day I got a detergent with orange fragrance.

It works great.

Unless you use it to wash a plate where you ate an orange.

It's like: "This plate looks very clean.

Is it really clean?"

"If I remember correctly, it smells the same as before.

Should I wash it again?

Or throw it away?

Why did I eat an orange on a plate?"

I'm childish. I know.

The other day we were at a friend's house and we had eaten a lot.

I said: "I'm going to the bathroom. I'll be right back."

Before sitting on the toilet, I see on the bathroom floor

a beautiful, shiny scale.

Right?

I say.

What a great opportunity

right here in front of me

at this time and in this place

to attempt to calculate

with a certain degree of precision

the weight

of what I ate. Why not? It would be a sin not to.

I do everything, go out and tell my friends:

"Three pounds.

Like a premature baby, more or less."

He goes: "How did he do it?" The other one: "You weigh yourself,

go to the toilet, weigh again, and the difference

is what you left behind." I was like...

That was it.

Your option was so much more practical and hygienic.

I'm so sorry we didn't talk about it before. I'll replace the scale.

Forget it.

I say I'm childish because we're all childish.

I have the theory and the certainty that adults are extinct.

Adults are extinct. There are no more adults.

At least not like the adults when I was young.

The kind of adults they taught me about.

The other day at my house, a friend broke the PlayStation joystick

because I won the FIFA game. He went home crying

to his three children.

It didn't used to be like that.

The last ray of hope for me is to decipher who the adults are,

is at the Christmas dinner.

That's the last frontier.

Because at Christmas you have the grownups' table

and the children's table.

You have to have Christmas down there, Dad.

All the adults are here, happy, celebrating,

the patriarch, the oldest at the head of the table. Everybody happy,

and you're there with...

Everything is always three degrees lamer at that table.

To start with, it's always plastic.

It wobbles and you have to put a piece of bread under one leg to stabilize it.

Everything is three degrees lamer. Disposable plates, plastic glasses,

fake silverware, paper napkins.

Do they cut your meat? That's good. But everything else...

is torture.

You see the other table with all the grownups, weak-minded.

Luxury, tablecloth.

China plates, crystal, cloth napkins, how soft, baby.

Metal fork and knife. They trust them.

You're there eating veal sandwiches.

You have to stand it here. You have to wait for the grownups

to leave empty chairs, like empty lockers

in the game of Christmas Life...

The grownups have to start like...

dying.

If there's an accident during the year...

Three chairs all at once. Damn!

It's a nice Christmas.

I'm always going to be childish. I'll be on my deathbed

and still be bothering people.

I'll be on my deathbed, useless, and I'll call

my three grandchildren: "Come here, three grandkids."

He doesn't remember their names.

"Three grandkids, come here. I'll tell you my last wish and I'll die.

You, the youngest. When I leave this planet, I want

you...

to avenge my death."

But you're dying from cancer, Grandfather.

"I don't care. Find out who's guilty. Take a sword.

Avenge my death."

"You, in the middle. When I die,

I want you to succeed in the NBA."

I'm 32 years old and 4'6" tall, Grandfather.

"I don't care. Go play basketball."

I play the violin and I'm getting ready for a concert in the city theater.

"LeBron or die, asshole."

"And you, the oldest. The favorite.

I want,

when I rise from this earth,

for you to study the art of whips."

And I'll die.

But I'll die happy. I'll die laughing.

Imagining the oldest trying to find out

where in the hell to study whips.

They don't hand out brochures in the street

about the Reina Reech whip academy. No, the kid will have to go home,

turn on the computer and be like: "Grandfather's last wish.

Teacher. Whips. Palermo."

"Teacher. Whips. Buenos Aires."

"Teacher. Whips. Argentina."

"Teacher, whips."

"Whips."

"Whips not Indiana Jones."

"Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, subtitles."

The oldest gets distracted very fast.

I don't know how he gave him such a task.

"Bloopers."

"Bloopers, accidents."

"Kittens."

"Kittens, accidents."

"Chinese boy playing piano."

"Look how that Chinese boy plays the piano."

"Chinatown."

"Tripadvisor.com."

"How to cook rice."

"Chopsticks, how to use."

"Pizza, delivery, Palermo."

"Do lakes really have water?"

I'll always be childish, for a simple reason.

I had a very happy childhood. I'm stretching it out a ton.

I had a very happy childhood and that's why I'm stretching it out.

Except for a couple of outbursts... Do you remember

the first time you stayed over at a friend's house?

You would turn out the lights and talk,

but then you wanted to stop talking and sleep.

But you don't know the rules in that house,

how to do it.

See you tomorrow. Sleep good. You might risk a "Good night."

"The little wimp says good night. He misses his mommy."

Leave my dick alone. I'm sleepy.

Or you don't say anything and go to sleep.

At three in the morning the mother comes in: "Luciano, get up."

-"What's wrong, Cristina?" -"Come with me to the kitchen."

-"What's wrong, Cristina?" -"Nothing. Fede likes to be told

good night before going to sleep and you didn't tell him.

I'm going to ask you please to leave our home."

"But Cristina, I'm little.

I was ready to go to sleep. I'm all naked..."

"I wanted to tell you about that. I don't know why you sleep naked.

If you touch the sheets with your dick, I'll have to send them to the laundry.

You don't explain anything in this house."

The worst thing about sleeping over at a friend's house

is waking up before him.

Now what do I do?

I don't have anything to do in your dark room.

It's like...

Fede.

Fede.

-Fede. -What's up? What are you doing here?

-It's OK, Fede. -Why are you naked?

It's the same thing.

They didn't explain anything.

I would get up, go to the bathroom, wash my hands,

splash water on my face. You see the sink,

the bidet, and two towels hanging on the wall.

Clearly, one of them

isn't for your face

and no one told you. It's Russian roulette in a very dangerous hygiene topic.

I dry my hands on my pants and they tease me later.

I think the worst was when I was

playing with toys in my friend's room and his mother came in:

"Boys, do you want to eat?" He said: "No, Ma."

I was going to die of malnutrition

because the ministry of health decreed that children don't have an appetite.

Wonderful.

You can't tell the mother anything.

You can't contradict her because you're little and she's big.

She can't tell you anything because she's big and you're little.

She sees you doing something bratty,

but she doesn't scold you.

She scolds him.

The guy in charge.

I'm over here kicking a rabbit...

She says: "Fede, behave.

Kick the rabbit softly."

"Put on some clothes, anything.

You're 32 years old now.

Grandmother is scared in the living room, and wants to call the police."

I had a very happy childhood. I grew up going to the plaza a lot.

The plaza is pure happiness because everything is planned

for your enjoyment. Do you want to eat? You don't have to think

because you have three options at the plaza. Three options. Popcorn,

candied apples, or cotton candy.

Popcorn is what most falls on the ground

between the sack and the mouth.

We wouldn't allow that with any other food.

"What's on your shirt, on the rug?

Some pasta. I'll blow it off. It'll be OK."

Candied apples are a trap.

A trap we fall into everytime

because they shine, but they're...

old fruit and three layers of boat varnish.

Hard, ugly, little... With five popcorns.

Strategically located, the ones that fell on the floor.

Cotton candy is an aberration.

It has a nice cloud shape that makes it no less damaging. It's sugar.

It's definitely sugar. There are people who dedicate their career and their life

to eliminating sugar from the diet, especially for children.

And this is basically sugar on a stick.

The kid is a diabetic at age three.

"Roly-poly, how many cotton candies did you eat?"

-"Five." -"What?"

"They amputated my other two fingers. Five cotton candies."

You're applauding a diabetic child.

I liked to go to the plaza. I especially liked the merry-go-round.

I liked the merry-go-round because of the following.

On the merry-go-round, for the first time in your life

at least half way around,

you're completely alone.

You don't depend on anyone. You're alone. You get on as a child.

"Hi, Dad... shit.

Freedom, what do I do?

Dad, there's a lot I have to tell you. Be right back."

I felt so emancipated, I would hit the top.

I felt as if I had a beard, reading the Financial Times,

eating caramels half an hour and telling the kid next to me:

"Kid, you have no idea. A half turn ago,

you don't realize what it was like."

I had a very happy childhood.

Once when I was little they gave me

a personalized book.

I don't know if anyone had the luck to receive this gift,

but basically, a personalized book

is a book that tells a story

in which one of the characters

has the same name as the birthday boy.

And the birthday boy shows off.

If you're large, you prefer average, but not if you're small.

My aunt came and gave it to me and I told her,: "Thanks, Auntie."

I had the same little voice as when I was about to die.

It's a strange condition in my family.

"Thanks, Auntie." I opened up a Disney book.

"Thanks, Auntie.

I'm little and I like Disney. I didn't have a book.

It's you'."

She didn't have on her glasses.

"Ready, Auntie."

"Go into the party.

This is over.

Eat whatever you want.

Yes, all free. It's my birthday. Better be free.

Go ahead and eat. Chips, cheese sticks. The pigs in a blanket are on the way.

Don't touch the figurines." They used to make figurines

with the cheese sticks.

When they were bigger, they gave them a little dick.

"Don't drink anything..." They used to make a drink

with Fanta, cola, ketchup, cocaine...

They had to light a fire in the party room to clean it up.

Mickey and his little friends. Good.

"Mickey was walking through the forest with Goofy, Pluto, Donald

and his new little friend, Luciano."

What?

No!

It must be a coincidence, a very nice coincidence.

I read more, and this mysterious person appears a couple of times more.

The one with the great name.

In the middle of the book on a double page with a gigantic illustration

was Mickey hugging Donald, hugging Pluto, hugging Goofy

and hugging me. Shit!

I said: "Ma."

"I don't remember anything about that day.

To hell with this birthday. Get me a neurologist, Mom."

I thought since the fantasy was intact,

the capacity for wonder still existed.

As you grow, you lose those things.

I had infinite fantasy because I grew up watching a lot of TV,

especially cartoons. When you grow up watching cartoons, anything can happen.

Anything can happen in the cartoons. Cartoons shape your personality.

The cartoons you watched as a child say a lot about you as an adult.

What cartoons did you watch when you were little?

What? What did you say?

Tom and Jerry, very good. Tom and Jerry are very nice.

It's very nice because the essence of Tom and Jerry is:

If someone is very different from you,

try to kill him.

That's how you'll win.

Do you remember they were in a house, with a lady?

She always wore slippers, with an...

an apron, and a scarf on her head. You never saw her face.

If you think about the time these cartoons were made,

the lady was black and did the housework.

You'll reach the beautiful conclusion that the lady was a slave.

You're backing slavery from the third row.

Applaud.

What other cartoon did you watch when you were little?

-The Powerpuff Girls. -The Powerpuff Girls.

The powerpuff girls were like: "Oh, the world is in trouble.

-What can we do?" -"Let's send three four-year-old girls.

I think that's the best idea."

-"Will they be able to defeat the enemy?" -"Yes, unless the enemy is

an intergalactic music teacher, it shouldn't be too hard for them."

What other cartoon did you watch?

-Dragon Ball. -Dragon Ball. Who said Dragon Ball?

Dragon Ball. You say it with pride!

Because you know I can't kid you about that one.

Because it's about kingpins.

Because everyone in Dragon Ball is a champion.

All geniuses have super powers and you wanted to have power like them,

but you had the power of virginity.

You made Kame-Hame-Has with your acne.

"Semen."

What other cartoon did you watch?

-Pokemon and Captain Tsubasa. -Power Rangers.

Who said Power Rangers?

Shall I explain?

Power Rangers, my dear,

are not cartoons from any perspective.

It's really good

that although your parents are first cousins, you're on our side.

You're laughing, but he's one step away from a free bus pass.

I don't know...

he who laughs last.

What other cartoon...

What other cartoon?

-Cow and Chicken. -Cow and Chicken.

Captain Tsubasa. Who said Captain Tsubasa?

Let's do both. Cow and Chicken. That cartoon is really nice.

I identified a lot with Cow and Chicken.

Especially if you're a cow.

Or a chicken.

Or if your parents don't have part of the top half.

My parents also have legs. I identified a lot...

Make a torso for those parents.

Don't screw up the childhood of an entire generation.

How much ink can you really save?

Who said Captain Tsubasa?

Captain Tsubasa. Remember the final episode of Captain Tsubasa?

If you didn't see it or don't remember it,

the final episode of Captain Tsubasa...

Captain Tsubasa was a boy who played soccer,

a boy...

who was Chinese.

It's like, it's the same...

it's the same as...

like generic brands.

Razors are Gillette, mustard is French's,

and the Japanese are Chinese in Japan.

Assume he was Japanese, the Japanese boy

who played soccer. He was the best in the world

and played later on Team Japan and was a world champion with Japan.

Dragon Ball is much more credible right now.

In the last episode, this boy, the star of world soccer

awoke from a deep coma in the hospital, with his head bandaged.

He looked down and had no legs.

It had all been a dream.

Doesn't the slave in Tom and Jerry sound good now?

They could have given him the legs from the parents in Cow and Chicken

to save ink. They gave him a torso and used the legs from...

Some people say a fan invented it...

I choose to believe that happened to Oliver.

What other cartoon did you used to watch?

-Pokemon. -Pokemon.

Cruelty to animals made into an animated series.

All the Pokemons

had a name that showed their race.

All the Pikachus were Pikachu.

Play with it a bit, Daddy. Use something like Sparky.

Yellow Tongue, maybe Cheese Sticks.

It's as if you told your dog: "Come here, Labrador.

You're a great dog. Go over there with Cocker

to have an unhappy life while I watch cartoons

so I can tell jokes."

What other cartoon?

Scooby-Doo. Shaggy was always super crazy.

Shaggy was always super crazy.

Always. First, he was the only one who listened to Scooby.

"Oh, Shaggy, let's solve a mystery."

You're going to have another stroke, dog. Calm down.

It's enough for you to talk. Don't figure out anything.

Shaggy was super crazy. When he got scared, he took off running.

But first, he would run around in the same place.

Then he would leave.

What were you smoking, pal?

In case you're not sure, whenever they found a haunted mansion

everyone fought for the magnifying glass to solve the mystery.

Shaggy would head for the kitchen to make a huge sandwich.

An old, hairy pothead: Shaggy.

Besides cartoons, did you watch Bananas in Pajamas?

-Yes. -Why?

How much energy

do they want me to believe a banana has

if it has to sleep, and besides that, in pajamas?

It doesn't do anything all day. The only thing a banana does all day

is get peeled and eaten. And I do that, Daddy.

When you peel a banana,

you get those strings. They're like:

"I already peeled it, man."

Am I going to be peeling bananas all day?

I'll ask for a day off at work next time I want potassium.

You can't eat those little strings,

because if you do, you'll die.

Scientifically proven.

And since this is an inclusive show,

and we want to keep everyone happy,

we're going to talk

about Power Rangers.

You can.

I had a question about Power Rangers when I was small.

Only when I grew up could I put it into words.

It is: Why is it that every time a Power Ranger talks,

it moves?

Do you identify that situation?

Or shall I draw you a picture?

"We're the Power Rangers and we're going to tie you up."

The guy on the side: "Just like my black friend said."

He called his friend "black friend" because he had a black suit.

Then he took off his helmet and he was black.

Coincidence?

Or racism?

You kept wondering about it.

Until the yellow one took off his helmet and was Chinese. Racism.

Racism. Great.

I said: "Coloring, fun, attractive, strange.

Power Rangers, that's strange."

What kinetic need

overtakes these mysterious masked champions

in every blessed line of dialog?

That question

answered itself.

The keyword was "masked."

The Power Rangers, like most superheroes,

have the exotic need to hide their true identity.

They're low profile.

Batman hides his identity, but only down to here.

When he talks, you see his mouth move.

But the Power Rangers have a helmet that covers their whole face.

So if they don't move,

you don't know which one is talking.

Something similar happens with Spiderman.

Spiderman also has a mask that covers his whole face

but Spiderman is by himself. If someone is talking

and it's not you, it's Spiderman.

You get it from the context, by elimination.

The Power Rangers are much more complicated since there are five of them.

If they didn't move,

the bad guy wouldn't know which one was after him.

"Hey, who talked, man?"

"Who was it? The black one or the pink one?"

Because Zack is cool, but Kimberly, I'll whip your ass.

If they didn't move,

we wouldn't know which one was talking.

It's worse for us because we got the dubbed version.

Imagine if the original is lame,

how much worse the dubbed one is.

Don't applaud. What I said is very basic. Please.

Let's raise the bar.

If they didn't move,

among themselves they wouldn't know who was talking.

Tremendously anonymous.

Marvelous impunity for bullying each other.

"The blue one isn't a great fighter."

"Who said that?"

"When kids play Power Rangers, no one wants to be the blue one."

"We had agreed we’d move.

Seriously, guys, don't do anything bad that you don't want

someone to do to you."

Thank you, people, and good night!

Subtitle translation by Trina Brown