Hasan Minhaj: The King's Jester (2022) - full transcript

You guys wanna know a secret?

Yeah!

For four years, my wife and I
couldn't get pregnant.

And it was my fault.

For years!
The secret was killing me, man.

I was at The Daily Show.

Every day, Trevor Noah would come up to me
with those cute-ass pimples.

"Hey, friend, what's going on?"

"What's going on with you and Beena?"

"You're like Indian Barbie and Ken."

And I'm like, "I know."



And much like Ken…

…my parts don't work.

Do you know what it's like to be a guy
and find out your balls are broken?

It's humiliating!

Dude, I felt lied to my entire life.

Growing up, they told me
my sperm is radioactive.

Remember sex ed?

Yeah!

Do you remember the way
they would horrify us young boys?

One morning you're sitting there,
Mrs. Lettington just bursts in.

"Watch out, boys."

"Your pre-cum will get girls pregnant."

"Don't look at anyone!"

"Your pre-cum will get girls pregnant."



"Hasan, the cum before you come
can conceive a life!"

You're like, "Mrs. Lettington, I'm nine."

"This is terrifying."

"Good!"

"Now, let's watch a live birth."

You're like, "Nooooo!"

"Why did my parents sign the waiver?"

And anyone going through
fertility problems,

you know it loads the relationship

with all this pressure, you know?

Me and Beena, we'd be up late at night
having these really tough conversations.

You know, "Is this gonna happen for us?"

"Are we gonna be able to have kids?"

Then I was like, "Babe, what if we adopt?"

"What if we adopt a white baby
just to flex on these motherfuckers?"

Just to show people we made it,
you know what I mean?

Reverse Angelina Jolie power move.

We'll show him off at parties,
just this chubby white kid with asthma.

You know what I mean?

He's just like, "Hi."
"I'm Bradley Minhaj."

"I'm a proud member
of the Indian-American community."

"This is my son!"

"Bradley."

"We saved him

from a war-torn part of America."

"Detroit."

Everyone's like, "Oh, wow."

Beena's like, "I don't want a white baby."

I'm like, "Whatever. You're racist."

"All Bradleys matter."

She's like, "Hasan, I don't want
a white baby, don't you understand?"

"I want a baby with you."

Aww!

I know!

That's Beena, that's why I married her.

Family is everything to her.

She's a Patel.

She has 961 cousins…
at this show tonight.

And she's a motel Patel.

So that family shit runs deep. Yeah!

You ever notice that
every motel you've ever stayed at,

all owned by Indian people?

Look at the name tag: "Patel."

They're all from one part of India
and they're all related.

If you've stayed at a Hampton Inn,
a La Quinta Inn, a Quality Inn,

a Comfort Inn, a Super 8, you have been
supporting this Patel cartel.

For centuries we have been debating:

Indian, Asians, Jews,

"Who is the cheapest of them all?"

Motherfucker, it's Indians.

Only Gujarati Indians would choose
a family business you could live at.

That was Beena's kingdom, man.

The kingdom of La Quinta Inn.

And now she wanted
to start a kingdom with me.

Dude, I'm gonna be honest with you guys.

I was kind of glad
we were having fertility problems.

I didn't want to have kids.

I was like, "Come on, babe,
I just got verified on Instagram."

"Let me enjoy this clout."

She's like,
"I don't give a shit about clout."

"The only reason why we can't get pregnant

is because it took you
ten years to propose to me."

"Yeah!"

"I went to the doctor."

"It's not my ovaries, motherfucker,
it's your balls."

"Go get your balls checked out."

I'm like, "Hey,
don't bring them into this."

'Cause here's the thing, I'm at that age
where I don't like going to the doctor.

'Cause a lot of doctors are my age.

And they're Indian,
which means I might know them.

So we're sitting there
in the waiting room at NYU, right?

Door opens, nurse comes out.

She's like, "Dr. Gupta will see you now."

I'm like, "Oh, this better not be
Arjun Gupta from Sacramento."

Then I hear a familiar voice,
he's like, "Hasan Minhaj!"

I'm like, "This is Arjun Gupta
from Sacramento!"

"I know this kid, he's a fucking idiot!"

He failed out of the Caribbean med school.

Twice!

I go, "Arjun, how are you licensed?"

He's like, "I don't know."

"That's why I'm a jizz doctor
with a basement office."

"Yo, drop your pants. How's Auntie?"

I'm like, "Don't talk
about my mom, Arjun!"

"Beena, he's not even an MD!"

"He's a goddamn DO!"

"Oh, boo, boo it up, DOs."

In the back.

Doctors of osteopathic medicine
hate that joke.

So, MDs and DOs,

they're basically the same,
they're both good doctors.

The only thing is, a DO's sense of humor

stops at their MCAT score.

You see those seats way back there,
those are the DO seats.

These are the MD seats.
Do you know what the difference is?

It's five points on your MCAT, okay?

So this dude is all up in my merchandise.
He's like, "Aw, bro, I know what's wrong."

I'm like, "Stop saying 'bro.'"

He's like, "Son, oh…"

"You got too much blood down there,
it's lowering your sperm count,

so we're going to do a dangerous surgery
called varicocele repair."

"But don't worry,
I'll be doing the surgery."

I go, "Arjun, I'm very worried."

"You're in a lab coat and Jordans."

Pulls out a trimmer,
"Let me shave you down right now."

"Let's do this right here, right now."
I go, "Arjun, back up."

"I'm not ready."

He goes, "Listen, man."

"If you don't get this surgery,
you can't have kids."

"Ever."

I go, "Are you serious?"

"Me and Beena, we can't have kids?"

"Like, you're telling me
we can't start a family?"

See, that's the crazy thing
they never tell you about adulthood.

Life gets very real when
"don't want" becomes "can't have."

Isn't that right, DOs?

So I'm sitting there naked,

and Beena is looking at me.

And I turn, and Arjun is looking at me.

And he pulls out the manscaper.

And I go, "Fuck it, give me the fade."

"Make the bottom match the top."

He puts the Darth Vader on me, right?

I wake up six hours later, naked.

I look down, I'm in a huge diaper

with four huge blood stains on the diaper.

And I look up and I just see Arjun,

and I go, "Arjun,
I only have two testicles."

"How did you mess up two extra times?"

He's like, "Don't worry about it, bro,
we figured it out."

"Just give it six weeks."

And, DOs, he was right.

He was right.

Six weeks later, me and Beena,

we have hot, monogamous action.

Beena gets pregnant, finally,
four years in the making.

I know!

I'm in the delivery room,
she pushes the baby out.

I didn't know this.
Now they just throw the baby on the dad.

They're like, "Do you love it forever?"
I'm like, "It's wet."

They're like, "Kiss it."
I'm like, "It's not done yet."

"Let the yeast rise."

"It's not even brown."

Did you know that?

Brown babies don't come out brown,
they're Caucasian.

I'm like, "It looks like Bradley, return."

They're like,
"No returns, it's not Costco."

They put the baby on the boob.

Then they put the baby on me.

And I'm holding the baby.

And Beena's holding me.

And she goes, "Can you believe it?"

"We're finally a family."

Awww!

"Promise me, Hasan."

"Promise me, you will always
protect this family."

And I was like, "Of course."

"I need you."

"For material."

"Stand-up doesn't write itself."

Three days later, the bread had leavened.

It finally browned.

And I'm holding this little gulab jamun,
this little brown ball.

Yo, and here's how I knew
my daughter was Indian.

She wouldn't stop staring at me.

I was like, "Oh, you're one of us."

"You're not respecting
personal boundaries."

"Welcome to the tribe."

We lock eyes,
and it just hits me right here.

Parents, you know this feeling.

I was like, "Oh, my God,
I've never felt this before in my life."

"But I love you so much."

"I've only known you three days,
but I would do anything for you."

"I can't believe how much I love you."

And I know I've said that
to Beena before, but…

I was lying.

I was lying!

And she was lying to me!

Here's how I know we both
unconditionally love my daughter.

She's four now, okay?

Now, as you know, we could not
adopt a white baby, my wife is a racist.

But…

But we now live in a white state.

We live in Greenwich, Connecticut.

Ooh, yeah, it's Get Out white.

Everybody there works at a hedge fund.

And I can feel your judgment, Brooklyn.

Oh, you're judging me.

You're like, "Really?"

"You're gonna take your daughter
and raise her in Greenwich?"

"You're gonna spoil her like that?"

Nah.

I want her to see how gritty and grimy
and corrupt the real world is.

Every morning she wakes up
and she sees bankers and traders

in Patagonia puffer coats.

And I go, "Look, babe, criminals!"

"They're the reason
Daddy doesn't have a pension."

"Look at 'em!"

So, I'm taking her to school,
and we pull up in the Honda Odyssey.

I'm not trying to brag,
but your boy's really doing it.

Look, I used to own a black Toyota Camry,
but I had to get rid of it

because people would just
get into my car at intersections.

We pull up to school.

All the hedge fund dads are like,
"Hey! Welcome to Photo Day, Dad."

I'm like, "They still do Photo Day?"

I have a thousand photos of my daughter
in my pocket from yesterday.

We're still doing one photo
like it's the goddamn 1800s?

"Just today we shall take one photo

of your daughter!"

"Come, sit upon the wooden stool."

"Turn, look back at it."

"Here is a photo
of your firstborn blinking, no retakes."

I'm like, "That seems fair."

"$89.99. Thank you, Lifetouch."

"What a deal."

"I'll put this in my wallet
that I don't own anymore."

I put it on her stool, right?

She drops her mask.

She has snot all over her face.

Just, ckckck…

All the hedge fund dads are like, "What?"

Then I hear one of the dads.

I will never forget
this motherfucker's name.

His name is Connor.

Oooh! Oooh!

And Connor audibly goes,

"Yuck."

And all of the sudden, it hits me here.

I'm like, "Oh, this hedge fund criminal

thinks my daughter
is a gundi little brown girl?"

"Nah, not on my watch."

So, I'm drinking an iced coffee, right?

And I pull the green straw
out of my iced coffee.

And I walk over…
and I tilt her head back and I…

…suck the boogers out of her nose.

And I swallow that shit like a real man.

I would never do that for my wife.

Look, man, I got a thousand photos

of my daughter
in my pocket from yesterday.

But this photo is my favorite.

Aww!

Because for four years, I never thought
that I would be ready to be a dad.

But on that day…

I could taste it.

Thank you.

-Thank you, Brooklyn.

I'm sorry, look, listen.

When I see that photo of my baby girl,
I get emotional.

She's not like us, she's the future.

She's second generation.

She doesn't carry our trauma,
you know what I mean?

When I look out here tonight,
I see so many broken dreams.

So many IT consultants.

So many premed majors.

So many dudes that work at Deloitte.

My daughter has something we never had.

Choice.

She can choose who she loves.

She can choose her major.

She can choose whether or not
she goes to Kumon.

Anything is possible.

She's in control of her life.

The only thing that ever
gave me control was comedy.

Thank God I have comedy.
I have no other discernible skills.

Dude, I remember the first time
I found out I was funny.

I was a junior in high school.

I was 16 years old, it's 2002.
I'll never forget this.

So, I'm a junior,
and during fourth period,

my dad pulls me out of school
and he takes me to Friday prayer.

And I'm in the back of the mosque,

and in the middle of the sermon,

this super-ripped white guy
shows up to the mosque.

Just bald, all trap, no neck,
barbed-wire tattoo.

Dude, he looked roided out.
He's just like…

"Hi."

"I'm Brother Eric."

"I'm here to convert to Islam."

And my dad's like, "Hasan, you see that?"

"It's a miracle!"

"That's the power of Islam!"

"Eric!"

"Blue eyes, strong."

"He wants to be a Muslim."

I'm like, "Dad,

Eric is a federal agent."

"He's spying on us, I'm sorry.
He's just not that into you."

He's like, "No, he's into me."

Eric converts, my dad's like,
"Shabash, welcome to the faith."

"Come over for dinner!"

I'm like, "Are you insane?"

Now, I don't know what your junior year
of high school was like,

but have you ever had
chicken biryani with a narc?

This dude was a narc!

He's in our living room eating Indian food
with a fork and knife.

I'm like, "Motherfucker, use your hands.
Commit to the role."

"Convince me, Eric."

"If that's even your real name."

He knows I don't trust him, right?

So he puts his arm on my shoulder,
he goes, "Hey, bro, what's up?"

"What's going on, buddy?"

"You wanna work out?"

Which sounds weird.

But if you saw me at 16,

you know the answer unequivocally was

"Yes."

"I want to work out, Eric."

Zoom in. This is me flexing
as hard as I possibly…

Yo, I thought I was
killing it with tricep.

There's no tricep.

All right, zoom back out.
Look, I look the same, right?

This is my best friend,
Will Moroski, okay?

This is what Will Moroski looks like now.

Blow up!

Yo, Will Moroski is built
like a Greek God.

Pecs, abs, bulge.

I cannot stop thinking
about Will Moroski.

Dude, sometimes
when it's late at night, I'll be in bed.

And I will pull out my phone.

And I will slowly…

scroll through Will's… profile.

And Beena will wake up,

and she'll be like, "Are you looking at…

…OnlyFans?"

And I'm like, "No, it's

only Will."

"I'm really happy for him."

"But this is so depressing."

But it's still not as depressing
as that goddamn photo

of Kumail Nanjiani.

Fuck this photo.

Don't clap,
don't you dare clap at this photo.

This is a personal attack, no!
This is a personal attack!

When he dropped this photo,

he low-key-tagged
every brown dude in this room,

do you understand?

He tagged all of us. He's like,
"Hey, what's up, man? I'm Kumail."

"What's up, man? I'm from Karachi.
What are you doing with your life?"

I'm like, "Fuck you, Kumail!"

"How dare you show white people
what we could look like?!"

That's why I love Aziz.

I love Aziz!

He set the bar right where it should be,
do you understand?

Five foot two, built like a laddu,
he's eating pasta all day, right?

He's just like, "Ooh, yummy, ooh!"

"Ooh! Pasta. Ooh, rigatoni."

"Yes!"

"Rigatoni!"

Just keep eating, fatso!
Stuff your mouth!

You think I can eat pasta
when this exists?

This is cyberbullying!

Oh, cancel Kumail.

Cancel him.

So we're at 24 Hour Fitness, and…

it's me, Brother Eric,
all my friends from the mosque, right?

This dude is power cleaning 400s.
He's like…

I'm curling 15s.

I'm like, "All right, slow and steady
wins the race."

"Progress isn't perfect."

"You can do it, yes you can.
Come on, Hasan, do it!"

He's like, "Stop, get over here!"

I'm like, "What's up, Eric?
You got creatine, glutamine, I'll do it."

He's like, "Shut up!"

"Everyone from the mosque,
come here right now."

All these brown, double desi kids
in basketball shorts are like,

"What's up, Eric?"

He's like, "Shh! Come here, boys.
Come here."

"Let me ask you a question."

"You boys ever think about…

…jihad?"

I was like, "What?"

"I thought you were gonna molest us."

One of my best friends, Imaran,
freaks out, he runs to the bathroom.

I'm like, Imaran, what's wrong?
He's like, "Dude, this is crazy!"

"Hasan, this is crazy!"

"Hasan! Hasan."

"Did Eric radicalize?"

"Imaran, Eric is a cop!"

"He's a kamala, he's entrapping us,
what are you talking about?"

"No, we should call the police."

I go, "No, no, don't call the police.
Let's go fuck with Eric."

I run back out,
this time I pick up the 20s.

I go, "Hey, Eric." He's like, "What?"

I go, "Hey, Eric? Do you know
what I wanna do one of these days?"

He's like, "What's that?"

I go, "I wanna get my pilot's license."

Then I hear a police siren. Whoo!

I look outside,
15 police cars are in the parking lot.

Imaran called the cops.
They bum-rush the 24 Hour Fitness.

They run past Brother Eric, they grab me!

They drag me outside, they slam
my head against the hood of the car. Boom!

Now shit is getting too real.

I'm not built for this,
I'm just a smedium.

And my head is against
the hood of the car and I look out,

and I see all my friends from the mosque
lined up on the curb.

And I can hear
the walkie-talkies going off.

They want to bring me in for questioning.

Now it's a whole scene,
and I hear a car door open.

And this girl from my high school,
she notices me, Elena Cervantes.

She's super fly.

She's like, "Hasan?"

You know how hard it is to holler
at a girl when your head is against a car?

I was just like, "Elena."

"What's up, girl?"

"What are you doing here?"

She's like, "Are you selling…

…drugs?"

I'm like, "No!"

"Terrorism."

She starts laughing.

Everyone in the parking lot
starts laughing.

The cops aren't laughing.

And that is the first joke I ever landed.

And it felt amazing!

I've never felt in control of my life.

The moment I landed that joke,
I was in control.

Eric could feel everybody laughing at him.

He's just like, "Fuck!"

"This kid isn't al-Qaeda."

"He's an asshole."

That's how he knew I was American.

I was an asshole.

A few years later, right?

I'm back at home, I'm with my dad,
and my dad is doing that thing

that every retired dad does.

He's hate-watching the news.

Right?

And that night he happens to be watching

an investigative report

about how, after 9/11,

the FBI used to embed
with the Muslim community legally

through a law called "The Patriot Act."

And sometimes they would get kids
to give false confessions.

And that night they were doing a story
about an undercover agent

in Irvine, California.

And I go, "Papa…

…what a crazy story
of mystery and high jinks."

"What do you think about that?"

And he goes, "Hasan,
who would be dumb enough…

to let a federal agent into their home?"

Craig Monteilh is a human
chameleon and a convicted con artist.

He pretended to convert
to Islam for the FBI

in order to work
the counterterrorism beat.

As a personal trainer,
he'd wear people down

to get them to open up.

I go, "Well, well, well, Papa,
look who it is."

"It's our good friend Brother Eric!"

And he's like, "Hasan,
are you not paying attention?"

"His name is not Eric."

"His name is Craig!"

Now, as the years go on,
I come to find out my hunch was correct.

Through the Patriot Act,
the feds were watching us.

And they were getting kids
to give false confessions.

In Dearborn, Michigan.

In Chicago.

In New York City at NYU.

Then I find out, in Lodi, California,
one town next to me,

there was a 16-year-old kid,
his name was Hamid Hayat.

He gave a false confession.

This kid served 20 years in prison.

He just got out of prison this past June.

Man, he's my age, he's 36.

I think about Hamid all the time.

I'm like, "What if I complied
that night like Hamid?"

Dude, being a smart-ass saved my life.

That's why,
when I finally got my own shot

to do my own show on Netflix,

I named that shit Patriot Act.

It was my middle finger to Brother Eric,
do you understand?

I'm gonna name my show after
the same program you used to spy on us.

And on Patriot Act, I was in control,

so I thought, "Hey,
why not go after everybody?"

It's my show, right?

Dictators, autocrats, religion.

That's why, when Washington Post
journalist Jamal Khashoggi

got murdered
inside of that Saudi consulate,

I thought, "Hey,
this could be our first episode."

And I had a crazy take.

You remember this?

I was like, "Saudi, hear me out.
It's your boy, Hasan."

Hot take!

I think murder is bad.

And the kingdom was like,
"You have gone too far, Minhaj!"

Netflix under fire today
after its decision

to pull an episode
of a comedy show that was critical

of Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman.

Saudi Arabian officials cited article six
of their anti-cyber crime law.

I was like, wait, what law did I break?

It was in Arabic, so I cut-and-copied it,
put it in Google Translate,

and it turns out I broke article six
of their cybercrime law,

sentencing me to five years
in Saudi prison.

I know.

Somehow CNN got the story right.

Now, as crazy as that sounds,
here's where the story gets even crazier.

That wasn't the first time
I messed with the Saudis.

I haven't talked about this publicly,

but way before
the whole Netflix kerfuffle,

I tried to interview
the crown prince of Saudi Arabia.

I'm serious, he came to New York City,

and he was taking
all these weird meetings.

Dude, he met with Michael Bloomberg

at the Starbucks in Times Square.

Do you remember this?
Look at Bloomberg's goofy ass.

He's just like,
"Welcome to Starbucks, Your Highness."

"If you want to take a shit,
the code is 2-3-3-2, my liege."

All right.

Crown prince in New York.

Your boy in New York.

Let me shoot my shot.

Let me slide in the DMs,
it will be funny.

Now, Beena has a slightly different take

because she has a PhD.

And I do PowerPoint comedy.

So she's like, "Hasan,
do not antagonize the Saudis."

"It's dangerous."

I go, "I know."

She goes, "I'm serious."

"Don't do the interview."

And I go, "I won't."

And I meant it.

But then she left the room.

And I'm like, "Come on,
let me write a letter to Santa!"

So I was like,
"Dear Kingdom of Saudi Arabia."

"My name is Hasan Minhaj, I would like
to interview the crown prince…"

Send! They hit me back immediately.

"Dear Hasan Minhaj, we read your letter."

"Please come to the embassy."

I go, "Huh!"

Well, that seems cordial.

Now, look, I'm not an idiot.
I didn't tell Beena about this, okay?

I'm not a moron,
I'm not gonna tell my wife.

I told Jim, one of our producers.

Now, I have to be honest with you guys,
there is a slight difference

between an embassy
and a consulate, but, fun fact,

you're not supposed
to get murdered in either.

So me and Jim, we go from New York City
all the way down to Washington, D.C.

Three blocks away,
Embassy of Saudi Arabia.

Me and Jim, we're about to walk in,
I go, "Jim, let's fucking go!"

"Let's fucking go, Jim!"

"Let's interview the Saudis."

"They set the fucking gas prices,
let's fuck with them."

He's like, "Stop dancing, you idiot!"

"We're about to walk
into a new country, you moron!"

"Show some respect."

I go, "Jim,

you show some respect."

"This is the goddamn
United States of America, Jim."

"Yeah, they're not gonna
fuck with me, Jim."

"I'm a U… S… citizen."

He's like, "Stop grabbing your nuts!"

"It's literally a new country."

"When we walk through that door,

it's like a green tunnel
in Super Mario Bros."

"You understand?"

"We're in America."

"We walk in, Saudi Arabia."

"America… Saudi Arabia."

And it really was like that.

It was like…

Saudi Arabia.

We walked in, it was Saudi.

Gold, chandelier, marble.

Indian servants.

I'm like, boowah.

"You did it."

"Indian servants."

I mean, the authenticity just…

Because you know this,
in the Middle East,

Indians, Pakistanis, Bengalis,
Sri Lankans, we're the help.

Right? We're the Mexicans
of the Middle East.

Even brown people
have their own brown people.

That's how those buildings got there.

The only people that love shitting
on Indians more than the Saudis

are the Brits.

The only difference is,
we love when the Brits shit on us.

There are Indian uncles here tonight
that are like, "Wow, London, dēkhō."

"Look at London, man!"

"My cousin lives in London!
Look at the queen."

I'm like, "Fuck the queen,
what are you talking about?"

This is insane.

Bro, in my mom's bedroom, this is true,
she has a wedding photo

of me and Beena on our wedding day.

Directly next to that photo,
it's a photo of Princess Diana!

I go, "Ma!"

"She's been dead since 1997."

"I'm your son."

"How are we the same?"

She's like, "Hasan,
you don't know Princess Di."

I'm like, "Do you, Mom?"

"She was so beautiful."

"And her mother-in-law was mean!"

"And her husband was cold."

I'm like, "Ma, are you
describing your marriage?"

So we're in the Saudi embassy,
me and Jim, sitting down.

Saudi delegation walks in.

Fifteen men, they represent
the Saudi royal family.

They set the gas prices.

Head of the delegation circles me,
sits across from us.

"Mr. Minhaj."

"Thank you so much

for your letter."

"Why do you want
to interview the crown prince?"

"Have you ever even been to the Gulf?"

Jim's like, "Don't be funny."

I go, "Jim, why would I be funny?"

"Yeah, so…

one time I got asked to go work in Dubai,

and as soon as I landed,
they handed me a mop."

"Oh, you like jokes?"

"You like noticing things."

"Well, here is something
I have noticed, Mr. Minhaj."

"You see, the country you are from
is not like the country I am from."

"You see, we, Saudi…

…we were never ruled by the British."

I go, "No, no, no."

"No, no, big misunderstanding."

"See, my parents are from India, okay?"

"But as for me…

…I'm an American."

"Like I said, Mr. Minhaj,

we were never ruled by the British."

"We don't get lectured or ridiculed

by anyone."

"Good luck with your show, Mr. Minhaj."

"We'll be watching."

They escort me and Jim
out of the embassy.

Now we're sitting on the train.

We're not talking.

We get back to New York City,
I open up my phone.

Everybody at the office is texting me,
"Are you okay?"

"Are you watching the news?"
"What the fuck is on the news?"

"CNN breaking news."

"Washington Post journalist
Jamal Khashoggi

murdered inside of a Saudi consulate!"

I go, "Oh, shit,
I was just in one of those!"

I run back to the apartment,
I close the door, I put the dead bolt on.

"Yeah, that'll stop 'em."

I turn, I see Beena, Beena sees me.

She goes, "Oh, my God, Hasan,
were you watching the news?"

"Jamal Khashoggi got murdered
inside of a Saudi consulate."

"Thank God you didn't meet
with the Saudis, right?"

I was like, "Right."

"That would have been crazy."

Now I feel like a piece of shit.
I have this weighted vest of guilt.

What do I do with this feeling?
Oh, I know what to do.

Once you do something bad,

all you have to do is
immediately do something good.

And then that gets rid of the bad thing.

So I see a pile of dishes, I go, "Cool."

"The harder I scrub these dishes,
the less bad my lie is."

And I'm going to town on the dishes.

I'm like, "You're not a bad person,
you're helping!"

And Beena sees it,
and she's kind of into it.

And she's like, "Hey…"

And I'm like, "Hey."

Then she squeeze