All language subtitles for Ali.Wong_.Don_.Wong_.2022.1080p.WEB_.H264-NAISU

Ladies, gentlemen, and everybody,
put your hands together.

Please welcome to the stage Ali Wong!

Hi, everybody!

We love you, Ali!

Thank you.

You know, I'm very jealous and bitter

that when a man finds

any ounce of mainstream success in comedy,

they get to date models,

actresses, and pop singers.

One of my dear friends is arguably
one of the top stand-up comics

in the world.

And for the past year and a half,

she's been dating

a magician.

I was like, "Okay,
you know, no judgment, girl,

but is he at least,
like, a good magician?"

"Is he, like, the best magician

like how you are one of
the best stand-up comedians?"

I looked that dude up on Yelp,
he got two stars.

That's what being one of the best
female stand-up comics will achieve you.

A "ain't shit" magician.

See, because when you are
a woman with money, power, and respect,

your romantic options do not expand.

They decline!

Now, I am told
it's because men are threatened

by women with money, power, and respect.

What do you think
is going to happen to you, huh?

You think your dick is gonna
get acquired in a hostile takeover?

I bet most men in this theater

have never, ever had your dick sucked

by a woman that makes
a lot more money than you.

And let me tell you something.

It is spectacular, okay?

It is.

It is.

Why wouldn't it be?

If she got the skills
to earn money, power, and respect,

you don't think she got
good pattern recognition?

Those skills transfer.

You should feel so lucky,

so flattered,
so blessed and highly favored,

if you ever had the opportunity
to get your dick sucked

by a woman that makes
a lot more money than you.

Because out of all the things

this important woman
could be doing with her valuable time…

Yeah.

All of her responsibilities,

all the interesting opportunities
and deals knocking at her door,

but no.

She chose to get on her knees

and stick your
$40,000-a-year dick in her mouth…

in your Toyota Yaris.

But no. None of you,

not a single man in here
knows what it's like

to cum on the face of a millionaire.

Sure, you've gotten head.

But have you ejaculated
onto a great American mind?

Has your sperm swam
in the eyes of an icon?

Have you been deep-throated
by a voice of a generation?

I don't think so!

It's highly unlikely that any man in here…

Well, any straight man in here,

knows what it's like
to cum on the face of a millionaire.

First of all, how many female, self-made
millionaires are there to begin with?

And then out of that pool,

how many of them
gonna let you cum on their face?

There's three of us, okay?

Yeah, I don't even know
who the other two are.

You think Ellen gonna
let you cum on her face?

You think Oprah gonna let you go to
Montecito and stomp on all her vegetables?

I love

to get cummed on, on the face.

I do.

Because it's so nasty

and is so easy.

It is so easy, especially when
you compare it to sucking dick,

which is so physically taxing.

The choking, the eyes watering.

And if you really want to keep it 100,
you got to add the pepper grinding.

A lot, you know?

Whenever I get a deep tissue massage,
the masseuse is always like,

"Do you sit and work
at a computer all day?"

I'm like, "No, I sucked dick last night."

"Now I can't look to the left."

So in addition to all of that labor,

when you suck dick, there is all of
this performing and pretending involved.

You have to tell all of these lies.

"This is the biggest dick
I've ever had in my mouth."

"I love sucking your cock.
It makes my pussy so wet."

"Yummy!"

But you have to tell the lies

to make the man cum faster.

The lies will set you free!

But then when you get cummed on
on the face,

your only job as the woman

is to make an enthusiastic expression.

And then your other assignment

is to not laugh…

while this grown-ass man
is straddling your rib cage,

he looking down at you,
you looking up at him,

and you see him
from this very unflattering angle

where he got
that Jabba the Hutt double chin, you know?

He all possessed by the Holy Spirit.

"Look at me, Mommy, watch me,
pay attention, look at me!"

Young men in particular,

they don't like women
with money, power, and respect,

because they know you can't
tell that kind of woman what to do.

Young men want a woman that's chill.

That's a quality in a partner
that they seek out and brag about.

"Bro, I'm dating this new chick."

"She's so chill."

"She doesn't give a fuck
about what I do 'cause she's chill."

"She lets me do whatever I want
'cause she's dead inside."

"She's chill."

"She's like a corpse with tits.
It's awesome."

"She's chill."

I have never, ever wanted
to date a man that was chill.

'Cause chill don't pay the bills.

My nephew is 25 years old,
and he is dating this architect.

My goodness,
she is so smart and interesting,

successful, and charismatic,

and we all hope
that he marries her one day.

But he called me up earlier this week
and he was like, "You know, Auntie Ali,

I think I'mma break up with her."

"Yeah, because she's a boss at work,

and so she thinks it's okay
to come home and boss me around."

I was like, "Oh."

"Well,

that shit's gonna happen to you
no matter what."

"Whether she a boss,
whether she employed or unemployed,

once you get married and have kids,

your wife gonna boss you around."

"And you would know that
if you watched House Hunters."

House Hunters is a show on HGTV

where a couple

pretends that there's
a decision to be made together.

And they go on this fake-ass journey
looking at three different houses,

and the audience is
meant to be left in suspense.

"Which house are they gonna choose?"

It's whichever one
Barbara wanted in the first place, okay?

And Barbara, who lives in Boise, Idaho,

or wherever the fuck
these HGTV shows are filmed

where houses cost $5,000 an acre…

Barbara, she don't got
money, power, or respect.

But Barbara is a woman,

and all women are very good

at being extremely unpleasant…

and holding your happiness
and self-esteem hostage

until we get
what we fucking deserve, okay?

Yes.

That is a superpower that we evolved

to compensate for
our lack of earning potential.

You can't tell any woman what to do,

so you might as well pick the bitch
that will give you health insurance, okay?

I know exactly why

there's a disproportionate amount
of men that do stand-up.

It's all because of fan pussy.

We call them chuckle fuckers.

These poor, naive women
who get dickmatized when they laugh.

And fan pussy is so motivating

because fan pussy is
young and sexy and exciting.

Fan pussy is a great reward
for doing stand-up comedy.

And fan dick

is frightening.

Any man watching me,
listening to what I have to say,

and thinking to themselves,
"I want to fuck her…"

is a raging psychopath.

And has extremely good taste.

Fan dick is not interested
in showing me a good time.

Fan dick wants to trim my pubes

and sew them into wigs
for his antique doll collection.

That's why I don't see
more women doing stand-up.

There is no reward,

only danger and punishment.

Lot of my male stand-up comic friends
be hooking up with women,

beautiful, gorgeous women,
through the DMs.

Direct messaging.

I never check my DMs.

And when I do, it's only to see
if Sanrio, the owners of Hello Kitty,

have finally contacted me
to offer sponsorship.

Yeah.

Come on!

I think I'd be a great fit,
and I want all of that shit.

I want the Gudetama pajamas.

I want the erasers
that smell like the gum.

And I want the gum
that tastes like the erasers.

I want all of that shit.

But no.

My DMs are full of

these Silence of the Lambs motherfuckers.

It's these dudes
who always have zero followers.

Do you know anybody
who doesn't know anybody?

They don't even offer
to take me out to dinner

or lick my pussy.

They just threaten to decapitate me
if I don't let them smell my feet.

And it's a shame, you know?

It's very disturbing,
this disparity in quality

between fan pussy and fan dick.

It is so upsetting

to a person like me.

Because I think

about cheating on my husband…

every five minutes.

I haven't done it yet.

Not because I'm a good person,

only because no worthy opportunity
has presented itself.

My mom doesn't understand,
she can't relate

to these feelings of wanting
to fool around outside of your marriage,

because she's an immigrant woman
who was born in 1940.

Her world is a lot smaller than mine.

The only men my mother has
ever had an actual conversation with

are my brother and my dad. That's it.

I, on the other hand,

have met the entire cast of The Avengers.

And I want all of them to cum on my face.

I think I'm going
through a mid-life crisis.

Having two C-sections
and being the breadwinner of my family

has turned me into a 50-year-old man.

I had a colonoscopy a couple years ago.

That is some
50-year-old man shit right there.

What had happened was

I, all of a sudden, got extremely bloated
over a very short period of time.

And it was so extreme to the point
where I thought I was pregnant again.

And I took a test, and it was negative.

And then my OBGYN became very concerned

that I was showing
symptoms of ovarian cancer,

because it runs in my family.

And so then she ordered a CT scan,
and the results came back.

And she said to me,

"Okay, Ali."

"Well, you know, the good news is that

you don't have ovarian cancer, okay?
And then…"

"The bad news is that, Ali,

you are full of shit."

"Stop giggling, Ali, stop it.
This is serious, okay?"

On the report, the radiologist wrote,

"The results are remarkable."

Which, to me, seems like
the radiologist gave me an A++.

She was like, "No, that's bad."

When the radiologist writes
"The results are remarkable,"

what that translates to is,

"Oh my goodness,

I don't understand
how this tiny Vietnamese mom

fit this football field of doo-doo
inside of her body."

"I have never seen this
in my 30 years as a radiologist,

and I cannot wait to text screenshots
of this to all my radiologist friends."

So then a GI specialist was called in,

and I saw her look at the results,

and she went like this.

And then she turns to me and says,

"Miss Wong, I am so sorry
that I gasped in front of your face."

"That was so unprofessional of me."

"I know exactly who you are."

"Please do not talk about
how I just did that on stage."

"But, you know, I have to admit that
I'm clearly alarmed by what I see here."

"You are backed up
well into your small intestine,

and I'm almost certain that
there is some sort of mass,

and most likely a tumor
that's causing all of this blockage."

"So we're going to have
to perform a colonoscopy

to see what's going on in there."

I was like, "Why?
You guys just did a CT scan."

And she was like, "Yes,

it is true that the whole point of
a CT scan is to see inside of your body,

but the lasers couldn't penetrate
the Great Wall of Shit that's inside you."

"And they just ricocheted
and bounced back into the machine,

and now the machine is shook, so…

we're going to have to stick a camera

up your ass."

And I was so nervous.

But what I didn't know was that
right before the procedure,

they give you propofol.

And I have to say that
as a working mother of two…

getting to take
a drug-induced nap for an hour…

was well worth
having a news crew up my butt.

It was luxurious.

When I woke up from the colonoscopy,
I was like,

"I want another colonoscopy."

And then it turned out that
my colon was perfectly healthy,

and I figured out that
what caused that huge traffic jam was

the summer before, I was shooting
this movie called Always Be My Maybe.

Oh, thank you.

Yeah, it was a big-ass deal because it was
the first movie I had ever co-written

and starred in as the lead.

And I worked on it for 12 hours a day,

every day for six weeks straight,
and I was so busy

that I forgot to take a shit…

for six weeks.

The movie shot
in Vancouver and in San Francisco,

and I have no recollection of shitting
in Vancouver or in San Francisco.

I just straight up forgot.

Something like that
would never happen to a man.

Men, you never forget to take a shit ever.

Ever.

How could you, when you sit
on the toilet and have your sacred ritual

every morning to summon the shit?

You sit there from 8:00 a.m. to 8:30 a.m.

You sit there
with all of your reading materials,

your iPad battery just
burning up the sperm in your balls.

You sit there
at the most crucial time of the day,

when your wife and kids
need you and the bathroom the most.

You sit there to avoid reality
and all of your responsibility in life.

You're too scared
to ask your wife for alone time,

so instead you just
passively-aggressively take it

by chasing your wife and kids
out of the bathroom

with the stank of your selfish-ass shit!

Women, we don't do that, okay?

We have too much guilt and shame

to sit there every morning
at the same time to summon the shit.

Instead, the shit comes to us

at the most inconvenient time of the day.

When we're in the middle of a meeting, or

onstage taping our third Netflix special.

But when you feel
that first turtle head peek out,

you gotta squeeze your butt cheeks in,

suck the poo-poo back up

into your generous,
loving, self-sacrificing soul.

But then at some point, you gots to go,

and then it's an emergency.

It's always an emergency
when a woman finally takes a shit,

and that's why
every woman's public restroom

looks like a post-apocalyptic
zombie nightmare,

where there is blood on the walls
and pizza on the record player.

My life has changed dramatically
in the past seven years.

Seven years ago, I pressured the shit
out of my then-boyfriend to propose to me.

Every day, I was in his ear…

"When you going to ask me to marry you?"

"I'm not gonna wait forever!"

"Everybody wants this pussy."

Nobody else wanted this pussy,

but I had to make up these fairy tales

to add pizzazz to the ultimatum, you know?

It was crazy, but my wish came true.

He proposed, we got married.

We bought a house, had two kids.

Fast-forward to seven years later,
present day, I'm like,

"I don't know why I did that."

I think that what happened was
at the time,

my future in comedy
was looking very uncertain, you know?

I was really struggling.

Like, I was eating
cough drops for dessert.

It was so sad.

And I panicked. I was like, "I don't know
if I can make it in this world on my own."

"So I better trap this dude
who graduated from Harvard Business School

so that I don't end up homeless."

But now,

I know that I can make it on my own.

So I kind of want to just be on my own.

Only other married people
with kids can empathize

with the deep envy I feel
towards you single people, okay?

You don't know how free you are.

You can eat an edible at 2:00 p.m.,

go to the aquarium and
watch the jellyfish go back and forth.

You don't gotta bring a giant bag
with little Ziploc baggies of Goldfish,

and toy cellphones.

You can just go
with what's in your pockets.

You single people,
you don't know what it's like

to eat a cold quesadilla

that your toddler threw on the floor,

because it's easier
to put it in your mouth

than travel to the trash,

while you repeat to yourself
over and over that

child abuse is illegal!

You single people, if you're
romantically involved with somebody,

and then all of a sudden,

that somebody reveals
a personality trait that you don't like,

you could just leave.

Move to another city
and never see their stupid face again.

Because you didn't make a promise

in front of your grandma
and all your coworkers

and ask your friends
to buy you an Instant Pot.

You didn't fuse your DNA to create
human life that will forever ask you,

"Where's Daddy?"

You single people,
you don't have to go on a playdate,

which is basically a blind date
that your toddler sets you up on…

with some bitch
you have zero chemistry with.

You single people,
you don't have to be nice to your mother

because you need her for babysitting.

You don't have to smile

and listen to all of this
unsolicited parenting advice

from this woman
who neglected the shit out of you…

because you want time to yourself
to binge Bridgerton to feel alive again.

Like you single people,
I, too, was once free, okay?

And then like an idiot, I asked this dude
to ask me to go to prison.

And now I'm in monogamy jail,
and I don't know how to get out.

Monogamy made sense
when we lived until we were 40 years old.

Yeah, I'm 39 right now,

so if you told me that
I had to do this shit for another year,

I'd be like, "Yeah, I could do that."

"I can rub it out to Aquaman
for another year, it's fine."

"It's no big deal."

But as an Asian woman, I'm gonna live

until I'm 95 years old.

That's not even a joke, okay?

that is statistically probable.

My husband and I are the same age.

He'll most likely die when he's 85.

So between 85 and 95 is

when I'm morally allowed
to fuck other people again.

It's too late.

'Cause at the age of 75
is when Asian women

finally turn into an owl.

You know what I'm talking about.

Their tattooed eyebrows
turn green and shit.

They go bald, and then the few strands
that are left, they perm the shit out of

to make it more Jhirmack "bounce back."

And then they become
obsessed with dried jujubes

and just walk around
in down jackets all day like this.

I want to fuck other people now…

before I metamorphosize
into a nut sack with a visor.

You want to cheat with me?

You want to fuck around with me?

You better give me
two weeks' notice, okay?

'Cause you gotta
give me time to go shopping

for new underwear.

I've been with the same dude
for the last 10 years.

So all my underwear looks like
it's been snacked on by rats.

Just looks like wardrobe
from Les Miserables, okay?

Like a tattered sail of a pirate ship.

The elastic? Gone.

So the crotch area hangs
about five inches below my actual pussy,

like a Indiana Jones suspension bridge,

like a hammock in the Blue Bayou, okay?

You want to fuck around with me?
Let me know,

so I got time to go to Target and get that
sweet five-for-20 Xhilaration panty deal.

Merona, whatever's on sale.

In our society,

there is no word for a male mistress.

That's how taboo it is
for women to cheat on their husbands.

The only word I've ever heard is sancho,

yes, because Mexican women
cheat on their husbands,

because their culture is mucho más mejor.

Es la verdad, okay? It is.

I've been saying this about Mexican people
and Mexican culture for a long time.

I'm like the Little Mermaid.

I want to be part of your Telemundo, okay?

Yes. Si se puede, con permiso,
let me in. Come on.

I like Fabuloso, okay?

I like storing my pots and pans
in the oven. Yeah.

I like squeezing lime juice on everything.

I like hickeys. I love hickeys.

Generally, our society is very unforgiving

of women who cheat on their husbands,

and at the same time, it's so forgiving
of men who cheat on their wives.

Somehow money, power, and respect
will earn a man the right to cheat.

People will come to his defense and say,

"Oh, how could he be expected
to resist all of that fan pussy?"

"He is so awesome, he deserves to cheat."

For women, no matter how much
money, power, or respect you earn,

you are never allowed
to behave badly and get away with it.

But that's all I want to do.

I want to have it all.

I want to have a family, a career,

and a side piece.

The greatest trick women ever played
on ourselves was making us believe

that having it all was limited
to having a family and a career.

I got both of those things.

Newsflash, it's not enough.

Necesito más.

I don't just want equal pay,

I want equal pleasure.

But it would be very threatening

if all women wanted
and felt like they deserved that,

because then a bunch of women
wouldn't be available

to helping their husbands
make their lives as easy as possible.

Do you know how much more
successful I would be if I had a wife?

Some loving, devoted woman by my side

who bought a bunch of fruit
besides bananas?

And put the duvet cover on the duvet?

People don't like it
when women cheat, you know,

and they'll really turn on you
because they feel betrayed,

especially if you're a mom.

It's too contrary
to your wholesome, loving image.

And that's why
I'm trying to let all of you know now…

that I'm a real piece of shit, okay?

I want you to really listen to me
and understand this and believe me,

so that you're not shocked or surprised,

so that you don't abandon me

when you see the TMZ video of my face
getting fire-hosed by Michael B. Jordan…

while I chant, "Wakanda forever!"

I think another reason why
a lot of women are hesitant to cheat

is because it's too high stakes

to put your family, your reputation,

your life as you know it on the line,

all for the probability
that you most likely

will not have an orgasm.

Very difficult to make a woman,
especially a new woman, cum.

It's so annoying.

It's a design flaw.

There's too many factors.

There's too much shit that has to align.

The lighting,

the temperature,

the news.

You can't be all up in your head about
the global supply chain being backed up.

I don't deserve to cum
when the Dow Jones is down 500 points

and I still don't understand
what cryptocurrency is.

Who can cum in times like these?

So in order for a woman to cum,
all this shit has to align, right?

And then on top of that,
the dude got to have skills.

He gotta have great timing.

He gotta know
how to come in real slow and soft

and romantic and tenderoni
in the beginning…

and then get real rapey by the end.

In, like, a consensual way, of course.

But a lot of dudes,
they fuck that timing up, right?

They come out the gates guns blazing,

like Braveheart
coming over the hill, just…

"Mortal Kombat!"

And you're like, "Okay, I'm bleeding and…

think you rubbed my clit off
onto the floor,

and now it's lost with the dust bunnies."

And then some dudes,
they do the opposite, right?

They maintain this whole, like,
candlelit, walk-on-the-beach energy…

Close your eyes
Make a wish

…throughout the entire course of the sex,
and it's like,

"Nah, dude. In the last 30 seconds,

I need you to put me in a headlock

and say racist shit to me. Okay?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah, I want my eyebrows
to fly off my face,

and I want you to degrade me until
I go deaf and mute at the same time."

"You gotta shape-shift, bro."

Nothing more satisfying to a woman

then when a man goes through
a sudden and extreme transformation

that she is responsible for.

You know,

would be such a shame
to go through all that trouble of cheating

to end up having to fake an orgasm.

In fact, I don't think any of us women
should be faking orgasms anymore.

Yeah.

No more faking orgasms.

I mean, you really think about it,
that is some nutty-ass shit

that we women do.

That's a skill that you taught yourself.

That wasn't passed down to you
from your mother.

You taught yourself
to do that shit out of survival.

And it is wildly indicative
of how terrified we women are

of offending a man,

that we would rather
fake an orgasm than simply say…

"Hey, I just want to go home."

"This is so not awesome."

"And I feel like I've really tried
to tell you where to put it,

where not to put it,
how fast, how slow, and

you straight up just don't listen,
you know, so…

I'd really like to just go back
to my house and fold clothes."

Men are so much more
incentivized to cheat because

you're going to cum no matter what.

It's so easy for a man to cum.

All you need is a wet hole.

You don't even need that!

Men love to jerk off
in front of women all the time.

I've seen, like, 70 men
jack off in my lifetime.

Men love to show you
their masturbation practice.

But for me, you know,

if a man is not performing
at the caliber I need him to perform at,

I'm not all of a sudden
going to leap onto his neck

and start fingering myself
over his face, you know?

Like, "Oh, you have erectile dysfunction?"

"No problem. I got it."

"Let me just dangle my pubes,

my long-ass pandemic pubes
over your forehead

and squirt into your nose hole.
You don't like it?"

"Who cares? Who's gonna believe you,
you young, powerless boy?"

I'd be like, "What the fuck am I doing?"

So if you haven't seen the movie,
it's a romantic comedy…

where I play a celebrity chef who falls
back in love with her childhood friend.

And in the movie,

my character hooks up
with three different, very good-looking,

very iconic,

very sexy Asian American men.

I know, it's like,
who wrote this thing, right? Like…

Whose idea was this?

And while shooting,
all of my girlfriends kept on asking me,

"Okay, Ali, on the DL,

you gonna hook up
with one of your costars?"

You know, I came this close…

to fucking the food consultant.

It was this 29-year-old Persian dude
who had tattoos all over his arms

and his chest,
and when the wind blew, oh my God,

he was so ripped,
you could see everything.

You could see the King's Hawaiian,

you could see the cum gutters pointing you
straight to the kingdom of heaven.

You could see it all, you know?

And we spent one Sunday morning

butchering 18 raw chickens.

That shit was like
the "Unchained Melody" scene from Ghost…

but with salmonella.

He had his arms wrapped around me,

and I almost sliced my hand off,

because I could feel his 29-year old dick
getting hard up against my spine.

Yeah.

See, the pussy can fake a orgasm,
but the dick don't lie.

I felt that biology and that truth
right up against my back.

I did not feel violated.

I felt victorious.

I did.

As, like, a 39-year-old woman
with two C-section scars,

I was like, "Oh my God, I am so powerful."

"I changed density, motherfucker, what!"

"I am a wizard!
I'm a blood bender! I could be in Avatar."

"Let's go, Appa. Let's go
find Zuko and make out! Let's go!"

And I went back to my hotel that afternoon

and I pull down my pants,

and my underwear…

looked like the bottom of a bird cage.

It's a mystery to me why Hello Kitty
hasn't contacted me yet, you know?

It's like,

come on, what's up?

When I saw that in my underwear,
when I saw those loogies,

I was like, "Oh my God, I still got it!"

There is still supply,
given that there is fresh demand, okay?

If you don't understand
the supply and demand metaphor,

what I'm trying to tell you is my body
still produces pussy juice, people.

Okay? And it was good pussy juice too.

It was sparkly and glistening.

Viscous but not too pasty.

Pungent but not too dank, it was…

It was.

I took a little fun dip in there,

that shit tasted
like LaCroix Pamplemousse.

It was quality.

It could've sealed up all the holes
in my underwear like Gorilla Glue, it was…

You know, as much as
I would love to cheat on my husband,

I cannot afford to get a divorce.

I can't, you know?

The reality is, I need my husband
way more than he needs me.

It is ten times harder
to find a decent husband

than it is to find a great wife.

It's so fucking annoying, you know?

I'm almost 40, so I have all these, like,
acquaintances getting divorced right now.

All these women,
they keep coming up to me…

"Ali, it is so difficult
dating out there for a divorced woman."

"None of these men can handle me,
a strong woman."

"None of these men want a strong woman."

I'm like, "You're an annoying woman, but…"

I do believe that
it's slim pickings out there, you know?

And then these women,
they keep telling me about their battle

and how ugly it is, how they're
fighting for full custody of their kids.

I'm like, "Why?"

Even half custody sounds like
American Horror Story.

I can't let go of my husband, you know?

He's very handsome, he's very sexy,
he's very much my type.

I have a very specific type.

I like dudes who look
as close to Keanu Reeves as possible.

Yeah.

And that's my husband, straight up.

He's so good-looking, he's so interesting.

He speaks three different languages.

He introduced me
to mushrooms and ayahuasca,

changed my life.

So in addition to being my husband,

he's also my drug dealer.

I can't lose
that Shaman connect, you know?

My husband's so smart.

He went to Carnegie Mellon,

Harvard Business School.

He's a Fulbright scholar.

He was smart enough to choose me,
to invest in me,

when I was 20 pounds heavier,

had chronic acne and no money.

He bought low.

And if we get divorced,
he going to sell high.

I can't let him get away with that!

So my husband,
he's all of these wonderful things, right?

But most importantly,
he gives me permission

to be myself.

Which perhaps,
for a wild, untamable spirit,

is the most important quality
to find in a man.

But people think
it's so difficult for my husband

to do something so simple as
giving me permission to be myself.

They always ask him, "Oh my God,

how do you feel about
your wife Ali going up on stage

in front of all of these strangers,

talking about how much
she wants to cheat on you?"

You know, right now while we're all here,

my husband is at home
in the house that I bought…

telling time on the Rolex
I got him for Father's Day…

jacking off to porn that he streams

on the high-speed internet
I pay for every month.

So, he always tells me…

"Yeah, you go ahead, you know you…"

He doesn't give a shit
about what I say on stage

because he's too busy

living the life I wanted for myself.

I'm the one leaning in
while he is lying down.

And now that I'm the clear breadwinner,

he don't choke me like he used to.

It's too high stakes if I die.

I'll be like, "Harder, come on, harder!"

And he'll be like,
"But I really want a PS5."

"It's all sold out, and
the waitlists and the ports are all full."

People like to assume that
because my husband is very spiritual

and because he's Asian American,
that he's some kind of softy,

when the truth is he got
this backbone made of pure, solid steel.

He is a motherfucker.

And whenever we get into an argument

and I raise my voice,

he'll look me in the eye and say to me,

"Oh, you don't talk to me like that."

And then I'll be like…

"I'mma suck your dick."

"You put me in my place again."

"And then you give me
permission to be myself,

and then you tell me what to do,

and then you celebrate me."

And that, single people, is
what a healthy marriage looks like, okay?

I've been Ali Wong,
have a good night, everybody. Thank you!