Daniel Sosa: Maleducado (2019) - full transcript

In his second comedy special, Daniel Sosa reflects on his childhood, Mexican traditions and the problem with the movie Coco.


Introducing... Daniel Sosa!

How's everyone doing?

Louder! How are you?

- I love you, handsome!
- I love you, too.

It's a shit ton of people, bro.

Thank you all for being here.

I'm very happy because I'm filming
my second comedy special,

and I decided to do it in Mexico
because I love everybody here.

A round of applause for all of you here.

I decided to do it here because people
don't know me in other countries.

It's not like I can go to Amsterdam
and say, "Yeah, here I am!" I can't.

They don't even know me in the US.

I was just in Los Angeles,
one of my favorite cities,

to learn more about their culture,
their history...

I went to Disney. I went to Disneyland.

If anyone watches this over there,

they'll be like, "Son of a bitch,
put up the wall now.."

I went to Disney to see the differences
in our cultures, and there are a ton.

I got to go to The Walking Dead and...

Ma'am, so you know, The Walking Dead
is like a Mexican haunted house...

but without the Weeping Lady,
the Boogeyman.

They're all zombies.

So, I got there and I was like,
"Let's check it out."

And I noticed we're not afraid of zombies,
because we know they don't exist.

What we're afraid of is walking
into a dark place where you can't see shit

and out of the blue someone goes...

That's pretty much it.

And you're crouching
in your safe position like,

"As long as I stay like this, I'm safe.

But if I stand up, I'm exposed.
So I'll just stay down here."

Being there,
I realized that Latin Americans,

especially Mexicans,

are the ones who curse the most
when they're scared!

I mean, there are kids
making memories in there, dumb-ass!

And you're like,
"Cocksucker motherfucking...

Did you see that? It looks so real!"

How can it look real? It's a zombie.
They don't exist, you idiot!

Outside these rides,
there's always a kid crying

because he doesn't want to go in,

and the father is saying, "Don't cry!"

They're normal people wearing makeup.

I'll bring one out and show you."
And I'm like, "No, you asshole!"

The kid has been eating sugar
all fucking day.

A zombie is going to go... And the kid...
"Where can you get a bolillo at Disney?"

That's what we're exposing our kids to.

And in analyzing all the Disney crap,
I realized

that Disney and Universal Studios

are the only places
that should be allowed to be theme parks,

because in Mexico we have
the most ridiculous theme parks.

The Saint Judas Thaddeus
motherfucking Fair.

The Saint Marcos Fair.

"That's not a saint, it's a place."
I know, but it's still a saint.

When these saints died,
the Bible didn't say,

"To remember them,
you've got to trash the streets,

get wasted, have fireworks...
They love fireworks, a shit ton of them."

No, man.

Then I thought,
"At Disney, you see Mickey Mouse,

and you take a picture. That's cool."

But at the Saint Judas Fair,
what the fuck?

"Holy shit, it's Saint Charbel!
I want a picture with Saint Charbel!"


"There's Saint Antonio! But on our heads!
Everybody, on your head!"

See how we look like fucking idiots?

Thank you.

They're going to hate me.

All the old ladies are saying,
"What a rude boy."

At the...

At the Saint Judas Thaddeus Fair,
we have souvenirs that aren't worth shit.

At Disney, they've got
Mickey Mouse ears.

They light up.
It makes sense. It's Mickey.

What are they going to sell at this fair?
Crowns of thorns that light up?


I don't know
what a caterpillar with a hooker face

has to do with a religious celebration.

You know
the ride I'm talking about, right?

This caterpillar ride in small town fairs

with a face that looks like
it just took ecstasy.

It's like...

With makeup like a cheap hooker.

You see it and think,
"This thing must go fucking fast!"

Then you ride it and...

And your dad's yells from the side,
"Put your hands up!"

You get off, he asks, "Did you like it?"
"Don't talk to me, Dad."

We have the stupidest things
at the Saint Judas Fair,

like the Krakatoa Canoe ride.
You've seen it.

For those of you who don't know,
the Krakatoa Canoe is a metal boat,

and after you ride it,
you reek of metal all fucking day.

With a dragon's head on each side
and a bus tire underneath.

And to make matters worse,
you can't even fit inside.

You get on and you're all like...

Yeah, give me a sec. Let me just...

And then they tie you in with a rope.
"Tighter, bro!"

And the operator is a kid
who just flicks a switch and leaves!

It's like...

And you're there, endangering your life,
adrenaline pumping 'cause you might die.

Why do I do this? Really, why bother?

I could've been playing marbles.

And suddenly something breaks.
"Hey, kid! Kid!

Kid! Hey, kid! Somebody call the kid!

There's a weird noise, kid!"

And then...

You get off, and you're like,
"Don't anybody fucking talk to me."

We love to celebrate Saint Judas Thaddeus.

I have to make a side note here.

Did you all see what happened
to Saint Judas not long ago?

Did you see how he got all fucked up
on that bicycle?

Time out, guys. Come on. He's a saint.

As Mexicans, our superpower
is the ability to make religion tacky.

Saint Judas
became the drug dealer's saint.

When they go to Heaven, they're all like,
"What's up, Saint Judas? Pass the joint!"

We fucked Saint Judas up!

For those who haven't seen it,
look it up on YouTube,

Saint Judas on a bicycle
and see how he gets all fucked up.

Now imagine
you're a devout Catholic, right?

You're waiting in your car.

You obviously have your rosary
hanging from the rear view mirror.

And you're there...

and suddenly...

You turn around
and see a spinning bicycle wheel.

You think to help, open the door,

and see Saint Judas' head
on the ground and scream,

"How have I failed you, Lord?
What have I done?"

On top of that, the dude on the bike
crashed because he was being nosy.

He was riding, looking to the side...

And he's fucked.

That guy was going somewhere, right?
He got up early.

He cleaned his bike.

Tied Saint Judas,
so he wouldn't fall off.

Imagine if they went
over a pothole and he fell off.

Imagine when the poor bastard
got to his destination...

with his bicycle all fucked up...

and his sunglasses all crooked.

And everyone's like...

"Where's Saint Judas?"

And the dude goes...

"You won't believe what just happened."

Everybody's like,
"Holy shit, let's get another one!"

And they get a tiny little one.

I'll never get that tradition
of having a fair for Saint Judas,

but in Mexico
we have other beautiful traditions,

like the Day of the Dead.

The Day of the Dead
is a tradition full of culture and magic.

But when you strip out
the magical and cultural elements,

it's basically just watching food rot.

Your grandma always makes
a shit ton of food.

"What are you making, Grandma?"

"A whole pot?"

"Who for?"
"For your grandpa."

And is he coming?
Because that's a lot of food.

At least give him a piece of toast
or a taco or something.

And they just leave
the mole there, rotting.

You pass by
and want to stick your finger in.

In the pot, not in your grandmother.

It's not like, "Hey, what's up, Grandma!"

So, in the pot.

Keep laughing at your grandmas. Real nice.

When you're watching this at home,
"Let's skip this part, Grandma."

They leave the whole pot to rot,
and it's okay

because it's for your grandpa
who is with God now.

But don't you dare
not finish your chicken soup.

"There are people starving in Africa."

"But you made a whole pot... "
"It's not the same!"

I'm really moved by the Day of the Dead.
It really is very cool.

It's so cool
that the US made a film about it.

Did you all watch Coco?

Great film.

Don't make the same mistake I did
and watch it with the girl you like,

because it was like,
if she cries, I'll hug her.

If she doesn't understand,
I'll explain it.

If she wants something,
I'll pay for it. "Here's your idiot."

Everything was going fine
until the scene with the flower bridge.

And I go...

And she has the nerve to ask,
"Everything all right?"

"It's amazing how Disney captures
the magic of our traditions."

Then they turned on the theater lights
and I was like...

"We can wait
for everyone to leave if you want..."

To see if there's gonna be a sequel,
Coco Two.

I actually read in Cineminuto that...
Wait, don't get up.

I read in Cineminuto
that there's gonna be a Coco Two.

Grandma Coco becomes evil
and turns into the Boogeyman.

"You know, like in the lullaby in Spanish,
in which the Boogeyman is called Coco."

You finally leave the theater...

and she asks,
"Remember when the grandmother..."

But if you pay close attention,
the movie isn't that cool.

Look at how the US
is telling the rest of the world

that Mexicans are assholes to their kids
in regards chasing our dreams.

Miguel had to go
to another fucking world...

to ask for permission to play the guitar.

He wasn't trying to do anything wrong.

It's not like he wanted
to stick his finger in everybody's ass.

He just wanted to play the guitar
and had to go to another world

to ask his grandfather, and when he
gets there, his grandpa says,

"I'm not your grandfather."
"Don't fuck with me and say you're not!

They just made you a whole pot of mole!"

That's Coco.

It's really funny
because you can't see what I see.

And suddenly people go,
"Oh, yeah. He's right!"

"And I just bought it."

But I think Mexicans are much more

than families denying
their childrens' dreams.

We're people with a lot of love
and a lot of drive to succeed.

The real problem is
that we haven't been raised properly.

And I'm not just talking
about academic education.

I mean, music, telenovelas, social issues.

We've been raised like shit.
I'm exhibit A.

As kids, we were taught
the most idiotic songs.

Tatiana had a song that went...

My house's backyard is very particular


It gets wet and dries

That's not special, Tatiana.

Those kinds of songs
always play at family reunions,

and it's horrible because the kids
have to suffer through the whole thing.

Because let's be honest,
as kids, we hated those parties.

They make you wear shoes that don't fit
and fucking corduroy pants.

You get to the party and ask your mom,
"What time are we leaving?"

"At 4 p.m.," she'd say, but you'd always
leave at one in the fucking morning.

So you're like, "Okay, bitch. Okay."

You think I don't have shit to do?

"My Hielocos are not going
to step into the fridge on their own!"

So, you would develop tricks
to leave the party on time.

And I don't care if there are doctors,
lawyers, or priests in the room.

You are all a bunch of hypocrites,

because you all faked being asleep
to leave a party as a kid.

We all have that memory of being "asleep"
on your mom's lap.

You're hearing everything like...

"Yeah, he already fell asleep.

He was jumping around all day long."


And you'd still cuddle like...

So, if you already know this,
next time your kids fall "asleep,"

say things to wake them up.

-"I'm going to fuck you in the... "
-"I'm up!

You have no idea
how much energy I have, Mom!

"Let's play soccer!"

I've always had a problem
with Christmas time.

I've got to be really honest with you.

I come from a very tacky family.

Not everyone, but let's say nine
out of ten people in my family are tacky.

We really do some very, very tacky stuff.

I have an uncle, who I love to death,

but he's always showing off that nothing
is ever too spicy for him.

That's his achievement in life.
"No, that's not hot."

So? "No, habanero sucks balls."

We were eating the other day,
and as soon as I reached for the salsa,

my uncle goes, "Put some more, you pussy!"

I could very well ignore him
or say, "No thanks, uncle. I'm good.

I don't want to make myself cry.
I just want to eat a taquito."

But I'm a fucking idiot.

"Give me some more."

You take a bite of that shit
and your ears clog up.

Your mouth starts vibrating.

You start getting dizzy and think,
"Why? What's the use?"

And that's when you realize...

"If that's how much it hurts coming in..."

When I take a shit...

my ass is going to be on fire...

It's something that happens to everyone,
but nobody talks about it.

My grandma has a lot of anal remedies.

Really! I'm being honest here.

She has a lot of remedies
for constipation.

When you can't take a dump,
my grandma knows exactly what to do.

A prune smoothie,
a mango smoothie, pineapple...

You'll shit water for weeks,
but it does help.

When you're constipated,
you don't know until you're on the toilet.

You get there
thinking you're going to take a shit.

"Yeah, I'll send it later."

"I'm in a meeting right now.
I'll call you."

And you don't realize
how long you've been there

until you move your elbows
and notice two red marks here.

Everybody has been late
because of a dump. Be honest.

But you blame the fucking traffic.

That's when you think, "Damn,
it's getting late. I gotta hurry this up."

That's the normal sound.

Then comes a louder one.

You even get dizzy.

I'm glad I'm sitting down.

Then one where you go...

Oh, shit.

I'll turn into a Super Saiyan
before I'm able to take a shit.

And you give up and leave.

I know this is scatological,
but I told you I was tacky, so it's okay.

It's not like you thought
I was gonna be all sophisticated.

No, you knew what you came for.

I've got more stories
about my tacky family.

We're all tacky.
We're tacky through our ancestry.

We're put-baby-Jesus-to-sleep-on-Christmas

But we tuck him in with such faith.

My grandma cuddles him and truly believes
she'll put him to sleep.

I really want baby Jesus
to close his eyes one day.

"Holy shit! He closed his eyes!
What do we do?"

And baby Jesus is hearing everything like,
"He closed his eyes! What do we do?"

Last year, I had the fortune to go buy
a baby Jesus at the baby Jesus store.

A little Jesus store, no?

Remember when Buzz Lightyear enters
the toy store and sees a bunch of himself?

Just like that, but with baby Jesus.
There was even one like Messi like this.

I'm like, "I'll take one."
And the clerk says, "Which one?"

And I say, "What do you mean?
They're not Barbies. The normal one.

If you have one that's asleep,
I'll take that one."

Why is it that even though everyone
knows the story of God and Jesus Christ,

it's only Mexicans who dress them up
and do all this crazy shit?

Has anyone been to Paris
and there's the Eiffel Tower

and right beside it there's
a baby Jesus retail and repair shop?

No! Only here!

And we dress them up in things
that are straight up wrong.

You can see my grandma saying,
"And here is your little crown."

Maybe it's in the same Bible that says

we gotta do all the crazy shit
for Saint Judas, too.

Who are these people
that keep believing in this crap?

Who is encouraging this
in this day and age?

It's even in soap operas.

Do you really believe

that if you experience a miracle,
a white rose will appear?

No, man. It's not going to happen.

But that's what soaps teach us,
a bunch of crap.

Catalina Creel had an eye patch
and was the villain.

She was the Jack Sparrow of soap operas.

Then we had another soap on earlier
when kids were still watching

in which a woman screams
at a girl in a wheel chair,

"What are you doing kissing
my man, you damn cripple!"

Bro, she was a child.

And it was daytime television,
and that was fine.

If you don't think that's fucked up,
I dare you to tell

the next person you see in a wheel chair,
"Excuse me, you damn cripple."

No, that's fucking offensive!

We've always been told
that if it's on television, it's okay.

I grew up with that, and it's fucked up!

They recently made
a soap opera with Maite Perroni

in which she bangs her head...

on the side mirror of a mini van.

And she's in a coma just for that shit.

She was arguing with a dude,
and what do we do when we argue?

She sprinted out into the street.

We see the mini van and think,
"Fuck, it's going to run her over.

She'll end up like Saint Judas."

But no, she just... It's like...

The side mirror was in the scene,
and it was like, "Action!"

And that was it.
She's in a coma for that shit.

She's rushed to a government hospital
where she's quickly treated.

The nurses are hot.
That doesn't happen in real life!

Have you ever been
to one of these hospitals?

Nurses are like healthcare Oompa Loompas.

They all look alike.
"Was it you or your cousin? Tell me!"

They mess with our heads.

Nowadays, we have so many media outlets
and distribution channels

that I wonder
who is watching this content.

And I kid you not, it's the people
from the lower classes.

For example, the cleaning ladies.

I want to stop now and note that cleaning
ladies don't just give us a clean home.

They give us part of their lives
and years of youth.

Let's give a round of applause
to all the cleaning ladies, please.

They are all very nice.


sometimes they're dumb as shit.
Let's accept that.

They don't put your stuff away.
They hide it.

You're looking for your shit like an idiot
thinking, "She must have stolen it.

I hope she gets mugged on the subway.
I really do."

It brings out your shittiest side.

And that's not even now.
That's when you were a kid.

Remember how, as a kid, you had
that one toy, your toy, your pogs.

You held your pogs and your self esteem
in the same plastic tube.

You wouldn't take them to P.E. class,
because you might lose them.

So, you'd leave them in a safe place.
And what's safer than your own home?

So, you'd leave them on your nightstand,
right by your hopes and dreams.

What could happen to them?
And you're off to school.

When you come back, you see
your bedroom door open and you're like...

"No, say it ain't so."

"How can this be possible, dear Jesus?"

You start going up the stairs
and it smells like Mr. Clean.

"Don't mess with me. It can't be true."

It is Mr. Clean, God damn it.

You even grab your baby Jesus
to accompany you on this quest.

So there goes baby Jesus like...

You get to your room,
the cleaning lady is grabbing your stuff.

And you're afraid
to look over at the nightstand

because you know your pogs won't be there.

And you're like,
"Our Father, who art in Heaven..."

With a rosary in your hand,
"...hallowed be thy name."

And as soon as you can't find them,
you get the Devil up your ass.

And you go up to the cleaning lady
and ask, "Have you seen my pogs?"

"Your what?"
"My pogs, you idiot!"

"The plastic tube?"

"I threw it away."
"I hope they mug you on the subway."

And you'd leave...

full of anger and hate, not knowing
what was happening in your life.

You'd wonder who could help you
through these dark times.

And who better than your mom
to cuddle you with her motherly love

and guide you back to happiness.

So you go up to her,
looking like shit and say,


"Did you look for it?"
"Yes, everywhere. She stole it!"

Your mom would listen to all that,
take a good look at you...

and go like this...

And that was the fuck she gave.

She didn't care one bit
about what you just said.

She'd always say,
"I'll get you another one."

And you'd be like,
"It's not about buying, you damn cripple."

I really didn't have
a good time at school.

I didn't have a cool experience.

There were games I didn't understand.
Stupid games like

taking the glue stick, taking the cap off,
and then doing this...

Turn it over
and start making spider webs.

If you were the class idiot,

they'd take it away
and stick it on the ceiling.

"Come on, man! We've got class."

"Yeah, miss, I'm coming.
My glue stick is up there."

Other shitty games,
like hiding your fucking backpack.

Remember that fucking "game"?

There was always the first hiding
of a backpack, and you'd be like,

"Crap, they're gonna start
with their shit."

And you were petrified
to be the next idiot.

So, you'd take your backpack
and put it between your legs like this.

And you would still make fun of the guy
whose backpack was hidden,

but you'd always slip and get fucked up.

Suddenly, you'd look down and...

"Our Father, who art in Heaven,
hallowed be thy name..."

You look around
and all your friends are giggling.

Meanwhile, you're having cold sweats.

"My mom's gonna fucking kill me.

Please don't let them
throw my stuff in the trash."

All of this
with an I-don't-give-a-fuck face.

"I know where it is."

You even had to take your backpack out
to recess or they'd hide it.

You thought it couldn't get worse.

And then the teacher says,
"I'm coming to collect your homework."

You see her walking around
and you're like...

You don't even have
your backpack to look in.

She'd walk up to you and ask,

And that's the moment
you're most humiliated.

"They hid my backpack."

"Nobody leaves until..."
And there you are...

walking through the rows like an idiot.

"Give it back, Antonio."

And it's very far away. You have to walk
with all your dignity to get it.

"They took out all my stuff."

I was that idiot
who always got his stuff hidden.

School was always a problem for me.

We had classes that I didn't understand.

Stupid bullshit classes like music.

Classes in which we'd learn
about Beethoven, Mozart, Manzanero.

Old guys who've done something.

With an instrument very fitting for
this type of music education: The flute.

There was always the asshole that went...
And you'd be like, "Shut up, dude!"

And the teacher's pissed. "Don't do that,
or the flute will get out of tune."

How will it get out of tune
if it's a fucking tube?

On Facebook, they do it with a carrot.

Then you realize there's spit in it.

And you're like...

If it were a Catholic school,
you'd be like, "God bless you."

If you were poor,
you had the translucent flute.

If you were poor and tacky,
it was translucent and colorful.


They taught you the most idiotic songs.

It made me mad because
we supposedly also had a sports class,

which by the way,
I don't know who the fuck said

Duck Duck Goose was a fucking sport.

Is there a Duck Duck Goose event
at the Olympics with a national team?

No! You remember the game?
With all the kids sitting in a circle

with one kid going,
"Duck... duck... duck..."

And to the fat girl, "Goose."

You could see the fat girl
sweat just from getting up.

Her tits would clap as she ran.
Tits at nine years old!

She'd get to the classroom
and drink her guayaba juice.

"It was really hot today, wasn't it?"

That girl that always smelled
like hot sauce. Always.

It makes me mad because
those were the classes that formed us.

We had history classes
in which we had a ton of books,

like the Mexican history book

with Miguel Hidalgo holding
a banner with the Virgin Mary.

And he's really buff. Really buff.

As if he did Crossfit.
With a lot of wind blowing. A ton of wind.

Morelos at his side, emotional, like,
"Here are the feelings of our nation."

On the back cover there's Pipila like,
"This stone ain't heavy!"

Turn the page and he's like,
"It's not heavy here either!"

It looked more like a cover
for the Avengers than a history book.

There were books that were so stupid,
like the atlas.

A book that, just like the soccer team,
isn't good for shit.

It didn't even fit in your backpack!
You're like...

Grab it there. Yeah, there.

You'd leave it half sticking out,
brushing against the back of your head.

Our Spanish book would tell us stories,
like the one about Paco el Chato.

What the fuck do I care
about Paco el Chato?

Except that his name
sounds like a grocery store.

In history class, we were taught a lot
of bullshit about our national identity

that I don't understand or care about,
like the story of the Niños Héroes.

It couldn't have been real.
Do you think it was real?

Of course not!
Say it out loud. Don't be pussies.

Do you really think
that after the battle with the Americans

they had forensic detectives
look at Juan Escutia?

And the first thing they thought was...


This was for our nation."

He was a kid. There was gunfire!\
"But this is Mexico. This is our nation."

He's so Mexican
that if you get close, you hear...

"'Damn cripple.' See? It's Mexico!"

And they make us believe this crap.

History has taught us a lot.
It taught us to learn from our mistakes.

Or so we say
that's what history taught us.

And we realized we are a stupid race.

We're the race that
when the Spaniards came...

to sell us mirrors, we bought them.

They said, "Here are the mirrors.
And they're expensive."

And the Aztecs were like,
"I don't give a fuck about the price."

Just because I'm brown
doesn't mean I don't have any money.

"Give it to me
no matter how expensive it is."

Imagine the first Aztec who bought
a mirror and got home to his wife.

"Look what I got."

A mirror.

If I put my foot there,
you can see it.

"And there you can't."

And the wife goes...

"How much did you pay for that, Arturotl?"

"You're going to get mad..."

Even though I can speak coherently now,

I was a fucking dumb-ass in school.

If I'd heard
what I'm saying back then, I'd be like,

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

Let's help
so there are fewer morons like me.

I was so stupid that when I got a test,
it was like, "Name: Daniel Sosa."

"Last name:"

I fucked up on the one I knew.

So you go and ask for help.


Excuse me!

"I have a question."

She's like, "Yes?"

"Could you come here?"

"I could cheat on the way,
so you better come here."

She gets to your desk and you're like,
"Well, there's something here that..."

Two things.
First, how do you spell infrastructure?

And second...

"My name... Please don't flunk me."

That was me in school.
I really had a rough time.

Every time there was a group project
and the teacher said groups of three...

"Can it be four?"

"No... Three."

"Come on. One group of four!"

"So we can be together
and we don't have to move our chairs."

"It's not because of the chairs.
There aren't enough of you."

"Exactly, one group of...

Oh, yes, you're right."

"But really,
can't there be a group of four?"

The problem with group projects

was that you had to go
to a friend's house to do it.

And whoever's house it was,
they thought that was all they had to do.

"What? I'm offering
my house for the project."

I live here.
I've got my pogs, my baby Jesus.

"In that hole over there,
we had a Saint Judas, but we lost him."

And then,
when you had to present the project,

We didn't have
SMART boards or iPads back then.

We didn't any of that crap.
We had a chalk board.

And you had to put your hand-written
cardboard poster up there.

"Did you bring tape?"


"I offered the house."

"Fuck you, man. Really."

So you're there and go, "You start."


"So... Oh, do you start or do I?"

"Hi, we're group One B."

The Niños Héroes...

"Like the name implies, they were kids
who were also heroes."

You started your presentation,
and as soon as you looked at cardboard,

the teacher would go, "Don't read."

"Fuck off."


"I can't read the handwriting anyway."

So you've been presenting
to the class for a while now,

and you think it's time to also direct
your attention to the teacher.

So, you turn your head
ever so slightly towards her.

"That's why the Niños Héroes..."

And the teacher goes, "Don't tell me.
Tell the rest of the class."

It made you want
to punch her in the face, right?

But it was illegal,
so you had to be like...

You'd finish your presentation,
and in the back, you'd hear,

"I have a question."

You look over and it's the fat girl
from Duck Duck Goose.

"How to stop eating? Shut your mouth.
I think that would do it!"

And from that moment on,
she'd make your life a living hell.

And by the way, during my tour, I've been
trying to locate my teacher, Miss Magda.

Miss Magda from the Youth Institute.
If you see her, tell her to fuck off.

What a bitch. She'd come
into the classroom and wouldn't say hi.

She'd come into the fucking room and...

"Write this down: The Niños Héroes.
Niños Héroes were..."

Say hi! You'd get all nervous.
"Write this down. Write this down."

You start writing and she says,
"Hurry up because I'll erase it soon."

And you're like, "Oh, no! More pressure!"

And you're really trying hard
with all your might.

You're thinking, "Today will be the day
I'll do my work. My mom will be proud..."

She erased it! Shit!

Warn us, Goddamn it!

"My hand hurts."

And that was your first encounter
with failure and disappointment.

"I'll copy it from someone later."
And you never did.

Then you'd see girls in your class
who were able to write

with two different colored pens
in the same hand.

"Red... black... red...
I underline in red... black..."

And you're all stupid like...

I hated that.

I had to buy that pen
with the four different colors.

But since we didn't have a lot of money,
I got a knockoff.

So, when I pressed the black ink...

I'd try to write and it would pop back in.

So I'd have to push, hold...

You know? Like, "Why? What's the use?"

That's what I had to go through.

One time, I had school supplies
that denoted extreme poverty.

By "one time," I mean all through school.

I had the pencil
with the broken lead inside.

And when you sharpened it...

the tip would go...

A friend would say, "Don't be stupid.
Use your drafting compass."

So there you are with the open compass,

hurting your finger saying,
"Shit, it hurts."

I had a gum eraser. Remember those?

They were amazing.

I had one of those,
but it was dried out, so it was cheaper.

So when I erased, it was like,
"Oh, shit. I ripped the paper."

And the same friend would say, "Don't be
an idiot. You know your finger erases?"

So there I go like an idiot,
smudging the page.

As if it were Ash Wednesday
in your notebook.

You don't know how humiliating it was
to ask for supplies from other students.

They'd be in another class
talking about Aristotle, when suddenly...

"Come in."

"Anyone got a pencil I could borrow?"

Really, school
was really complicated for me.

I had these shitty colored pencils
called Little Map...

that fit in your pants pockets.
All of your colored pencils here.

I had 20-some pencils,
and if my math is right...

there are more states than colors.

So you can't color a map
with your Little Map pencils.

If anybody here had
Faber-Castell colored pencils,

those boxes
with colors like for an architect...

Fuck you very much, really.

They made my life miserable.
The box of colored pencils would go...

"Which color do you want, boy?"

You asked if there's red and it answered,

"Fire red, lava red,
passion red, love red, crimson red..."

If someone asked me if I had red...

"It's orange, but if you press hard,
it looks like red."

Very funny, right?

In school,
they don't teach you stuff for real life.

In sex ed class they say, "Use a condom."

And that's it.
That's all you need to know.

But they don't tell you
that when you're going to use it,

you're with your girl, your lady.

You're on the couch. It always starts
on the couch. And you're like...

There's always a misty kiss,
you know what I'm talking about?

A kiss that makes you say,
"Wait, wait. The canoe just splashed.

The marzipan is crumbling."

From there, you move to the bed
with your girlfriend or wife...

And you say, "Take your top off."

And what does she say?
"You take it off."

"I'm asking one favor. One!"

I've got other stuff to do!

"My Hielocos are not going
to step into the fridge on their own!"

The problem with women's tops
is they're not like these.

They have buttons, ties, zippers...

Gentlemen, how many of you haven't been
in this scenario for at least 30 minutes?

Your girl, your lady, your princess

with her tits hanging out like,
"No, pull the zipper down!"

Pull it down! No!
You're going to break it! Not like that!

"Okay, I'll take it off!"

They make you feel like a moron.

"There! Easy! See?"

"Without looking." And you're like...

"Yeah, it does look easy."

That's what they
should teach us in school.

Any kids here,
ask your teacher how to undo...

And you'll learn more.

With the education I got,
with the education I grew up with,

my friends were pretty much like me,
kind of like...


We'd relate to each other.

"Hey, motherfucker."
That's how we'd greet each other.

And I had the amazing experience
of going to tacky kids' parties.

Don't laugh. I'm serious.

For her, it's like a fantasy.
"Come on, it'll be fun."

That was my day to day.

Parties where they had
triangular sandwiches, you know?

Wrapped in napkins.

And you didn't know why
they were always moist.

You would take one and be like...

"I'm coming!"

"Oh, fuck it." And you'd eat it like that.

You'd be spitting all day long.

"You're it!"

If there are parents
who have a kids' party coming up,

please be careful
because you always fuck it up.

You do stupid shit like the bouncy castle.

You always set it up like,
"Where's the sun? That's where it goes."

Put fabric under it. If the sun moves,
we can move the castle...

"and it can be scolding hot
all fucking day."

Your dad would tell you to jump in,
and you'd be like, "Ah, it burns!"

What a stupid thing.

Then there's the trampoline,
something I only liked if I was alone...

because there was always an asshole kid

that would jump at the same time as you...

and fuck up your knees and your back.

The same kid that said,
"I offered my house for the project."

You're jumping and then...

You'd fall and everybody kept jumping.

"Stop! Please! I'm getting dizzy!
I want to get off!"

And they just kept jumping.

Thank you.

You wanted to get off
and the edge would give you a shock.

But a shock that could charge an iPhone.

You'd get off like...

"Where are my shoes?"

"Ma'am, have you seen my shoes?"

And you're barefoot
for the whole damn party.

Parents love bringing characters we love,
like Darth Vader, the Power Rangers.

Don't do that.
As a kid, you look up to these characters.

Darth Vader is the ruler of the galaxy.
He killed children.

The last thing I expect is to see him
leaving my bathroom saying,

"Are you having a good time, Carlitos?"


Then they hire clowns or magicians
with inappropriate names.

"The clown with huge balls."

And they play stupid games. Like when they
ask you to bring your dad's shit to them.

"The first one to bring back a belt wins.

The first kid to bring back a set of keys
will win a prize!"

So there you are,
like an idiot looking for your dad.

You finally see your dad
and run up to him. "I want the keys!"

"Dad, do you have the keys?"

And you dad is like...

"Crap, your mom has them."

And you're like, "Fuck you!"

You go to your mom.
"Mom, you got the keys?"

And she's like...

"Thanks, boss."

"Hey, have you seen my shoes?"

You run back and you win.
You win a fucking balloon.

There were free balloons in the back,
but they gave you one as a prize.

We have another very stupid,
very dangerous game, musical chairs.

This awful game where the clown
put kids around a line of chairs.

And you're like,
"One, two, three, four, five, six..."

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.
Holy shit!

Maybe I counted wrong. Let's see.
One, two, three, four...

Mr. Clown!

I know you're the one
with the balls, but...

you can't fool me.

Either we're missing a chair,
or there's an extra kid!

"I might be nine years old,
but I've seen things."

And they would play
a fucking stressful song for that crap.

The chairs are just sitting there,
and you realize

this is the first time you're taught
to value something you didn't before.

You want that chair
only because someone else wants it, too.

There were other chairs at the party,
but you wanted that one.

And you're like...

"Come on, Daniel. You've got this."

You give your baby Jesus a kiss.

And you start.

And the fucking stressful song starts...

And suddenly, it kind of stops,
but not really.

Go play jokes on your mama."

You're all pissed off, looking
at the chairs, and the songs stops.

You think, "I got this. There's the chair.
Here's my ass, I'm sitting down."

And they pull the chair out
from under you!

The fat chick from Duck Duck,
she pulled it away.

You'd fall on your ass and get an itch
in your throat. I don't know why.

That's dangerous.
Why do we keep doing these types of games?

Imagine a kid getting paralyzed
because of that shit.

Imagine he makes it on a telethon
when he grows up.

And they're telling his story.
"Well, we're here with..."

Mr. Andrés, who, well...
has been paralyzed since he was eight.

"Mr. Andrés, tell us how this happened."

"Thank you. Well, when..."

"It was..."

"We were at Carlos' party..."

"When the clown with the huge balls
told us..."

And suddenly, the host starts dozing off.

"We were..."

Yeah, don't worry about it.

We started playing musical chairs and...

we agreed to play.

And the irony of it all...

"is we played musical chairs
and I'm still sitting!"

Thank you very much!
I'm Daniel Sosa.

Thank you!