Jim Norton: American Degenerate (2013) - full transcript

This year I wanted the opening
of my new special to feel,

well, special.

So I wanted to get somebody
who is not only well known but

who my audience will
understand is very important

to me personally.

Wow, that's, I'm
honored Jimmy.

Not you.

Oh.

No offense but I was kind of
hoping for someone a

little more famous.

Oh why would I be offended, my
best friend is a shallow twat



that doesn't think I'm famous
enough to talk on camera

before he does an hour
of creepy dick jokes.

[LAUGHTER]
Creepy dick jokes?

It's my comedy special.

It's not creepy.

[Gasping]

[laughter]

Don't be scared you little
bitch, you doing good.

[CHEERING]

I'm your number one fan,
you're my favorite character.

I cried when you got shot.

You're one annoying mother
fucker, you do know that

right?

[KNOCKING]



Come in.

[LAUGHTER]

Everything alright?

Yea, everything is good.

Are those tits on your back?

They do look nice.

Ha ha, thanks.

Please let me know when you're
done violating Mr. Norton

cause he's got to
get on stage soon.

Shit.

Damn.

Well in that case, everybody
get on your mother fucking

feet and lets give a warm
mother fucking welcome for the

legendary Jim Norton!

Yea baby!

[AUDIENCE CHEERING]

Thank you.

Thank you very much, man.

Thank you.

Thanks.

I am so happy to be finally
shooting a special in Boston.

Thank you for coming.

It's great to be here.

Ah, I got to start off
with some good news.

Uh, Casey Anthony, uh, has
announced that she's bankrupt,

which is nice to know.

Ah, and she says she wants to
change her name because she's

getting death threats, so
she wants to change it to

something less controversial.

I vote for "Hitler 9/11 Cunt."

What a horrible woman.

At worst-case scenario
she killed her kid.

At best case, she knew the kid
was missing and she did nothing.

I am this close from not
wanting to fuck her.

As of right now I still do.

You know, one kid we've all
lost, but one more dead kid

and she's on thin ice with me.

There's a new pope.

What a weird thing to
see in our lifetimes.

I like the new pope better
than the last pope,

because the last guy, Benedict,
gave me the creeps.

He just looked like a little
mouth--

[MUMBLING]

He looked like that guy
that gets stuff for Dracula

in the afternoon.

The new pope I like.

I was hoping for a black pope.

I think it's time.

And you know he would already
own his own red shoes, purple

robes and bulletproof car.

I hope I didn't offend the one
black person in attendance.

Thank God you're here.

I need a more
diversified audience.

My audience is white
and Grand Wizard.

I wish I had more black fans.

I really-- I feel like
black people don't like me.

And I was talking to Patrice
one time, and I said--

[AUDIENCE CHEERING]

Yeah.

I was talking to Patrice,
and I'm like,

"Why don't black
people like me?"

And he goes, "I don't know."

He goes, "I think that black
people should like you,

but we look at you and
think we shouldn't."

And it just made sense.

I got it.

I'm like, Yes, this is
not the look

that endears you to
black people.

This is not the friendly look.

I look like every guy
on the jury in 1955.

And I love coming
up here so much.

This is one of the few cities
I actually go out and enjoy

while I'm here.

I literally am so
obsessive with work.

I don't travel to
do anything for fun.

The last thing I did just for
the fuck of it was I went to

Chicago over the summer to
see Sabbath at Lollapalooza,

which um...

Yeah, I went to see Sabbath.

And I have this
really weird thing.

Like, during a comedy show you
guys know that you can't yell

to each other, but why is it
when you're watching a band

people feel free to put their
stupid face this close and

just tell you what a
great time they're having?

"Dude, this is amazing."

With that fucking beer breath.

And you're like, "Ugh, well,
it would be better if you were

dead.

Shutp."

I hate it.

So I'm watching Sabbath.

They had just come out.

Ozzy was literally into the
first verse of the opening

song, and this girl comes
up and starts talking to me.

And I can see that she's
really drunk, and she looks

high as well.

So I'm like, All right,
good, I'll talk to her.

Because it turns me on a lot
when I see a girl trying to

focus.

Because I'm thinking, "Ooh,
she'll never remember this."

I'm just fast-forwarding until
she's puking out my passenger

window and I can do
this to her heinie.

Or if we're in England...

But at first I
didn't know her.

She walks up to me and it was
like she was really loaded,

and she goes, "Hey,
are you Jim Norton?"

And I said, "Yes, I am."

And she goes, "Oh,
God, I love you."

And then she reaches out
and grabs my dick and starts

squeezing.

That's the whole story.

That's the beginning, middle
and end of a story I call

"Yay, Chicago."

And my manager's always trying
to get me to travel more.

He's always like, "You got
to go out and see the world,

because all you do is gigs."

Like, he's been to
Afghanistan, he's been to

Indonesia.

He goes to, like, these
hard-core Islamic countries.

And he's a Jew.

And he's just one of those
guys who embraces all

cultures, and they
know to like him.

I don't know how he gets away
with going to these places,

but he's like, "You just don't
understand the Middle East."

I'm like, "I know, and I don't
want to learn on the job."

But here's the thing.

Every piece of footage I
see from the Middle East is

they're angry at us for some
reason, and I never know what

it is because I don't
speak the language.

And I guess the last one was
uh, Benghazi,

over in ah, in Libya.

And there was all these crazy
riots, and-- It looked like it

was a 9/11 annivsary
ah, thing.

But at first they said,
"No, it's about a movie that

Muslims found offensive,"
which actually made sense to

me, because I've seen
movies I didn't like.

And I tried to gather up a
group of people to burn the

theater down and kill everyone
in it, you know, while we all

stood outside chanting
"Caddyshack 2, Caddyshack 2."

And what's so scary is, like,
whenever they riot in the

Middle East, they always yell
"Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar."

That is scary shit.

But it shouldn't be scary,
because I think literally

translated it means "God is
great, " which shouldn't that

make you feel good
when you hear it?

Even if you're not religious.

Like, even if you're an
atheist, if someone yells

"God is great," you ought to
go, "Ah, what the fuck.

He's all right, I guess."

But if you're in Libya and
you hear "Allahu Akbar," duck.

And, you know, fair enough.

I've never seen it
said at fun times.

Maybe that's the problem.

I've never seen, like, footage
of a 9-year-old's birthday

party where everyone's sitting
around, you know,

"Allahu Akbar."

If I did see that I'd be
afraid when he blew out the

candle the cake would explode.

But then people accuse me
of being anti-Muslim or

anti-Islamic.

I'm not at all.

Hey, it's not my fault "Allahu
Akbar" has become the

"For He's a Jolly Good Fellow"
of beheading videos.

And look, it's not to say
we don't have violence

in America.

Obviously we have gun
violence here, which is scary.

And I have weird feelings
about the second Amendment,

because that's like
the big raging debate.

Like, I believe in
the second Amendment.

I think that if somebody is
responsible, they should be

able to own a gun and defend
themselves responsibly.

However, I don't think I
should be able to own one.

I firmly believe that if
you're qualified, God bless

you, get a gun.

I am not mentally
able to own a gun.

And I know this, because
at least five times a day I

think, "I wish I had
a gun right now."

Like, not even
to shoot people.

Like, it must be so much
fun just to brandish it.

Like, if somebody cuts you
off that's not a murder-able

offense, but how good does it
feel to pull up to the light--

Beep, beep, beep.

--and then when they
look, just show them.

Just to see that
look on their face.

"Aah!"

That I've tangled
with the wrong fellow.

And then you really freak him
out: you put it under your own

chin.

I came here, ah, I was in
L.A. this week,

and I came to ah,
Boston directly from-- and I

realize I hate little
weather jokes a lot.

That just is something I--
Do you know when people

make little jokes?

Just a little innocent joke
about the weather, you know?

Nothing too...like, it was
kind of cold when I got off

the plane, and someone said,
"I wish you would have brought

some of that sunny weather
from California with you."

I just thought, How nice
would it be to: "What?"

And then as they're repeating
the joke, you take the butt of

the gun and you crack
their fucking nose.

"You touch her again
and you're dead!"

I humiliated myself
on the flight too.

I mean humiliated myself.

Because men have this really
weird thing where we never

want to seem, like, homoerotic
or gay around each other.

Like, we never want to be
misinterpreted as being--

hitting on each other, which
probably robs us of a lot of

nice moments.

But have you ever been around
another guy, and he smells

really good?

And you want to go, like,
"Dude, you smell really good.

What are you wearing?"

But you're afraid if you
say that it will come off as

homoerotic.

So if you do ask, you have
to ask like an alpha male.

"Hey, what is that?"

So I'm on the uh, I'm on the
plane, and this guy

gets on and sits next to me.

And he smelled delicious.

But I realize there's no
masculine way to go,

"Hey, man, what are you wearing?

Because I just want to
gobble you up right now."

So I'm like, all right, I'll
just ask once we land, you

know, because this way if it's
creepy or uncomfortable we

don't have to spend six
hours next to each other.

But I am not going to lie:
I enjoyed him for the entire

flight.

I sat, like, closer than I
needed to, and I kept leaning

over sneaking sniffs, asking
questions I didn't even need

the answer to.

"So, uh, how much longer
do you think it'll be?"

[SNIFFING]

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

I'm sure they'll tell
us once we take off."

So we finally landed and
I had to just ask him.

I'm like, "Dude, not to be
weird or creepy, but, you

know, since the minute you
sat down I wanted to ask about

your cologne, because
you smell amazing.

What are you wearing?"

And he goes, "I
don't wear cologne."

Good.

Do you understand the subtext
of what I said to that guy?

"You know, I've really been
enjoying your man-scent

across the entire continental
United States.

I've been breathing you in
through three time zones.

You know that thing nature
gives us so we find the

appropriate mate?

I just...

[APPLAUSE]

Hey, not for nothing, man,
but your pheromones had me

creaming."

And the really creepy part was
that I said to him,

"From the minute you sat down."

Like, why did I have
to explain that?

I'm such a douche.

I basically told him,
"Hey, you had me at hello."

But I could see after I said
that he's rewinding through

the whole flight and getting
grossed out, because he's like

remembering all those weird
little moments, like when I

accidentally fell asleep on
his neck for an hour and a

half,

or when he got up to go to
the bathroom how I didn't sit

back; I just let his ass
cheeks brush across my face.

I've been single
for a while, man.

You think this is a
good way to meet a girl?

If I see a girl sitting in a
bar and her arms are up on the

bar, I'll walk over
and go, "Hello."

You think the
finger walk is sexy?

"Somebody looks thirsty."

And then I say cute things,
because women like it when

you're cute.

Like, "Oh, boy, I sure would
like to get to know you."

Oh, don't listen
to him, you know?

I scold my fingers the way
a ventriloquist scolds his

puppet because they
say sassy things.

"I'd eat your ass even
if it was bleeding."

Oh, guys!

And I love when guys say, "Oh,
you just walk up to a girl and

talk to her."

Like, that's easier
said than done.

I find that certain
professions of women are

harder to hit on.

It's like, you know, if you're
talking to a bartender it's

fairly easy, because it's okay
to flirt, but I fly a lot.

Flight attendants very
difficult to hit on, because

the nature of their work is
they're always busy, you only

see them at their job and
there's all these people,

like, in close proximity.

So first of all it's creepy to
call somebody over

to hit on them.

I was on a JetBlue
flight-- And I fall in love

immediately.

You ever see somebody and you
just go, like, I want her to

be my girlfriend?

Like, I love her.

This girl just, like, made the
announcements and I'm like, I

want to spend the rest of
my life just kissing her.

But I didn't know how
to do it, you know?

I felt-- You know...

doing

You know, you're
in the window seat.

"You want to go out?"

That works in
romantic comedies.

Like, if you're in a rom-com,
all the people in the seats

around you are like, "You
ought to go out with him.

He's got a lot of pizzazz."

But in real life everybody
just kind of avoids eye

contact and they're
fucking humiliated for you.

Oh, you douche bag.

So I said, All right, here's
what I'll do: I'll write her a

little a note, I'll
hand her a note.

Because that's kind of
childish, but I'm like, this

way she won't feel pressure to
be overly polite

in front of me.

I didn't want to make
her uncomfortable.

Because if I ask in front of
people, then she's got to,

like, make up an excuse.

Like, "Oh, no, I would but
I've got AIDS and hepatitis."

You know?

Then how stupid do I look
going, "I don't care,

I'll fuck you."

So I wrote her a little note,
like, "Hey, let's go out to

dinner when we land."

And I handed it to her.

And when I handed it to
her, she looked scared.

And then I realized, Oh
Christ, you just handed a note

to a flight attendant.

So I panicked and I was like,
"Oh, it's not dangerous or

nothing."

Which is like handing a girl
a drink and going,

"Come on, I didn't roofie it."

Which is a lie.

You want to creep a girl out,
hand her a drink and then

stare while she downs it.

Follow the arch of the
glass with your head.

And then when she's finished,
walk by and mumble,

"Good girl."

Sometimes situationally
it's hard too.

Not even a job and not
even about the woman.

Like, there's a girl in my gym
I am dying to fuck, but I'm

scared to hit on her and
here's why: I realize I can't

hide my agenda when
I'm talking to her.

Because, like, women-- We
always have to hide our

initial agenda.

Like, whenever you talk to a
girl, she knows what you want.

Like, if you walk up and go,
"Hey, where are you from?"

she doesn't think, like, "Oh,
he must be interested in my

accent."

She knows you just want to
stick it in her shitter.

But we have to go through this
little social dance

with each other.

It's what separates
us from the animals.

But when I'm looking at this
girl in the gym in her little

skin-tight yoga pants and
her camel toe,

I can't hide my agenda.

Like, I immediately
get creepy face.

And no girl wants to go out
with you when you look like

Pyle right before he shot
himself in

"Full Metal Jacket."

And this girl's--
I'm an ass fanatic.

Like, I like a girl's ass.

But her ass is
so fucking juicy.

Oh, my God.

Dude, it's plump.

It's like a Jessica from
"Roger Rabbit" ass on a white

girl, which is
fucking mind-boggling.

And, like, we've all seen nice
asses before, but her ass,

like, it changed me.

Like, I've never talked to her
once, but if she had nowhere

to live I'd go, "Fuck
it, just move in with me.

I'll pay for everything and
you can have half

if we get divorced."

I don't know what
kind of person she is.

I don't care if she's a Nazi
or if she's manic-depressive

and gets that white shit
in the corner of her mouth.

So what?

What's the worst
that's going to happen?

She's bipolar?

All right, good.

She'll sit on my face and
then be a little cranky.

I'll live with it.

Whoo, is her ass juicy!

Like two little plump, firm
teardrops mushed together.

And the way the thong--
It goes so far in.

Like, I love a deep ass crack.

And I don't know how she
gets her thong in that far.

I can picture her putting it
in and then just yanking it...

and handing it to somebody
on a speedboat,

and they take off.

She hold on to the dock.

It cuts in deep.

Her ass is split deep.

It's like Mississippi in 1960.

Good God, I love
a deep ass crack.

And there's no way
to tell a girl that.

Like, it's such a
weird fetish to have.

ke, if you like a
girl's hair you say like,

"Hey, I really like your hair."

But, you know, you can't
walk up and go,

"Your ass crack...

the depth of it.

I mean, it looks like
the McDonald's "M".

I just..."

Ooh, do I want to put
my face in her ass!

I just want to sniff it.

Just...

I would wear her thong under
my nose like a Halloween

mustache.

I would just walk around with
it all day and do mustache

things.

Tie somebody to the
railroad tracks.

I've never talked to this
girl, and she hates

my fucking guts.

She hates me, because I was
following her up--

I was walking up the steps,

behind her, and I was
following her.

I didn't care where she-- If
she was going up to the roof

and jumped I would have
followed her right off and

tried to nose-dive right
into her fucking juicy ass.

But I was staring.

She was, like, ten
steps ahead of me.

And I'm looking up into her
ass crack, and I could see the

juicy, deep crack.

But when she stepped up
I could see up

into the camel toe.

I didn't mean to do it.

It was totally involuntary.

But I just went, "Aah!"

And, of course, she turned
around, because somebody's

making Young Frankenstein
noises on the steps.

Have you ever been so busted
you could only make this face?

"Boy, I sure would like to
smell your heinie hole."

Now, now!

I'll tell you, there's
one guy in the gym I hate.

I'm pretty open sexually.

I don't care what
you like sexually.

None of it is weird to me.

But there's a certain type
of exhibitionism that I've

learned to really hate.

Some guys go to the gym just
because they want to be naked

in front of other guys.

And there's one guy, every
time I've seen this fuck in

the locker room, he's naked.

Doesn't matter if it's early
or-- Like, right now the gym

is closed; if we flew to New
York and kicked in the gym

door and turned on the light,
this bag of shit would be

futzing around.

Just futzing around naked.

Every time I've seen him.

And he always acts like
he's doing something.

And first of all, he's fucking
70 years old with a bald head

and a big, stupid
hard stomach.

He looks like Danny DeVito
when he played the Penguin in

"Batman."

And he always pretends that
he's doing other stuff.

That's what annoys me.

It's almost the insult
to my intelligence.

It's like, do you think I
don't know what you're doing?

Like, he's always acting busy.

If I walked into the locker
room and he just went, "Huh?"

I'd probably go,
"Ah, you got me.

Good one."

It's like, don't try
to trick me, stupid.

Like, you walk in and he'll be
cleaning his ears

like naked in the mirror.

And then you'll come back
25 minutes later, he's still

cleaning his ear.

Or you'll go into the bathroom
and he's nude, barefoot, just

brushing his teeth, looking
in the mirror with his stupid

dick mushed up
against the sink.

His fatty pubis mushed
up against the sink.

And that's disgusting, because
that's where I put my lunch.

And I'm not exaggerating
for the bit.

I swear to God, he has the
smallest cock I have ever seen

on a human being.

Not even an adult.

From baby up.

It's like a little
fucking mushroom.

It's like I want to
ask him about it.

His cock is so small.

I want to go, like, "Look, I
know this is rude, but that

is unacceptable."

I'll bet if you get him drunk
there's a great

story behind it.

Like, "Well, I used to install
windows for a living..."

And it's surrounded by an
unkempt tuft of gray pubic

hair, which I want to yank out
with my bare fucking hands.

And I know he'd be
so shocked and upset.

Like, "Why are
you doing this?"

And I'd have to be honest: "I
don't know, I don't know,

but it needed doing."

And I hate his balls so much.

I've never had a visceral
reaction to someone's balls.

His balls are this big.

The whole thing, it looks
like a hornet's nest with a

doorbell in the middle...

and a filthy gray
sunflower around it.

I want to set his cock and
balls on fire and then put

them out with a shovel.

By the way, do you know how
many times I've had to see him

naked to give you
that description?

I don't stop him when he
walks by-- "Whoa, whoa, whoa."

That's 20 or 30
accidental "Aah!"

"Aah!"

And I know he's
doing it on purpose.

And I know you might think,
Well, he's a really old guy;

that generation looked at
nudity differently, so he's

not self-conscious.

No.

Here's how I know
it's on purpose.

A week or two ago I'm going
from the shower to my locker,

and from behind me I heard...

[CLAPPING]

So I turned around.

That sound was this creep
powdering his balls.

And that's exactly
how he was doing it.

Not even in front
of the mirror.

Just in the middle of
the locker room

like a retarded
bongo player.

Do you know how loud you have
to powder your balls for me to

hear it in an open space?

I actually stepped aside; I
thought a horse was galloping

behind me.

We've all powdered our balls
before, but it's quiet.

There you go.

That's what it sounds like.

The rule of thumb is that
blind people should never know

when you're powdering
your balls.

I could powder my balls over
your face, you'd never know I

was there.

The next morning you'd
probably wake up and wonder

why there's two muddy
footprints on your pillow.

I don't know why my feet had
to be filthy at the end of

that joke.

Obviously I just showered and
powdered my balls, but I guess

I walked through roofing tar
on the way to your house.

So uh, you know, I have
been working out.

And I came yesterday--
Honestly, the first thing I

did when I got to town
was I got a massage.

[AUDIENCE WHOOPING]

Well, to answer your
question, yes.

There was a happy ending.

I had to do it.

But that counts as
far as I'm concerned.

She was not happy at all.

She came back in:
"What are you doing?"

Uh, your job.

The most common question I
get-- I get e-mails about this

all the time.

People say, "How do you make
a regular massage turn into a

happy ending?"

And there's no definitive
answer, because to be honest

with you, 90 percent of
the massages I get remain

massages, because I go
to legitimate masseuses.

But the 10 percent that become
happy endings really spoils

the other 90 percent.

Because picture if every 1 out
of 10 times you went to the

grocery store somebody jerked
you off in the

frozen food aisle.

It would make your other
9 trips seem a little

lackluster.

You'd be walking around with,
you know, two heads of lettuce

and a carrot.

Ahem!

Ahem!

So the way to test the waters
with a massage therapist

is through body language.

Because you have to be
respectful, beuse massage

therapists are
not prostitutes.

Now, I know this, because
enough of them have screamed

that in my face.

And neither one of you
knows the other one.

You don't know if the other
one's a cop and this whole

thing is a sting operation,
so you can't say

anything too obvious.

"Would you touch my
testicles for money?"

So you ease into it.

Like, say you're laying
there and she's rubbing the

hamstrings.

I'll start pushing my hips
back a little bit and then

making this noise.

[GROANING]

Oh, sorry for you people.

[GROANING]

Which is massage lingo for,

"You're getting warmer,

warmer."

Now, she knows exactly what
I'm doing, so she will answer

nonverbally in
one of two ways.

She'll either say no way by
going from my hamstrings down

to my ankles and rubbing,
like, the ankles and the

calves.

So in my mind I go, All
right, mission abort.

It's not going to happen.

Because you have to be a
psychopath to misinterpret

ankles as the next
step in a hand job.

Ooh, she must want me to
scooch down three feet.

Sitting on the end of the
table, my legs dangling off,

just tweetling my
nipples like a baboon.

Or, after I go--

[GROANING]

--she'll move a little
higher on the hamstring

towards what I call
earning a tip.

And then she'll give me a
very, very subtle signal.

Because again, she's
not 100 percent sure.

So she'll do something like
lightly brush my scrotum.

Just a light little brush as
she's going from one leg to

the other.

Just a little
heedle leedle leedle lee

It's such a light touch that
she could go, "Oh, I didn't

mean to do that."

And I could go, "I didn't even
notice you did it, officer."

We both have
plausible deniability.

Now, the only thing to be
careful is there are certain

massage therapists who
give little sexy signals.

Like, they'll flick your nips
or do something sexy, but they

have no intention on
giving you a hand release.

These women should be killed.

By the way, do you know how
much fun it is to come on

stage and talk about this,
and nobody gives a shit?

I'm so lucky to, like, just be
a fucking comic, and nobody--

Like, it's never going to hurt
me to talk about my personal

life.

Like, you know, if I ever get
busted with a prostitute, no

Jim Norton fan's going to go,
"Oh, I won't be buying his

DVDs anymore."

You know, people would
probably go,

"Come on, let's go to the show.

I want to hear exactly
what happened."

I feel bad for real
celebrities and, like, actors

and stuff who can't have
that kind of openness.

Like, I feel like they have
to live inside this bubble.

And it just looks like
a tortured way to live.

Like, poor John Travolta.

I feel very, very bad for him.

Now, I'm going to phrase
this really carefully: I am

absolutely not saying he's
gay, I'm only saying

it don't look good.

He does a few things that
I think are on the gay

checklist, like he was sued
by male massage therapists for

sexual harassment.

That's a check.

He's great in musicals?

That's eight or nine checks.

And I had very mixed feeling
when I was reading about the

Travolta case.

I think a couple of guys sued
him for, like, $2 million

each.

And I believe since the
cases have been dismissed.

But I believed what the
massage therapist was saying.

I believed his account simply
because every creepy thing he

accused Travolta of, I've done
50 times during a massage.

I wasn't shocked by any of it.

I felt like I was perusing
a manual that I had written.

Like, the one guy said he
was, like, massaging, I think,

right by Travolta's buttocks.

And he said Travolta was
pushing his hips back, which

shocked a lot of people, but
as we just discussed,

is move 11.

It's perfectly acceptable.

He said Travolta was pushing
his ass back so far that the

cheeks were separating, which,
oh, I was in awe

of John Travolta.

Nothing but respect.

Do you know the ab/core
control you need to tighten up

your stomach and swing your
asshole open like

saloon doors?

Do you know how good you have
to be at Pilates just to make

your ass wink on command?

I've bn trying
that for two years.

All I've managed is to fire
a log of shit onto my calf.

And there's nothing
wrong with that.

When your ass opens up like
that, it's just your body's

way of saying to a
finger, "Get over here.

Come on, get in here.

Don't be shy."

I love a finger in my asshole.

And I'm not just saying that
because it's the title of my

autobiography.

Just a little finger.

Tickle it around.

Friendly, neighborly.

Like, you ever been home--
Here's what it's like.

You ever been home and you
don't realize your front

door's open?

And your next-door
neighbor walks in.

And at first you're like,
"Aah...oh, it's just you.

It's you, it's you.

What, you got four friends
with you?

All right, bring two over.

Bring two.

Aah!

No, one.

Bring one.

If you bring two, all three
of you are going to leave with

Abe Lincoln hats on."

So while I believed the
therapist's tale because of

the details, I hated these
guys for suing Travolta,

because I think a couple of
them sued him for, like, $2

million each, claiming that
they were wounded mentally

during the massage.

Get the fuck out of here,
you litigious scumbags.

Two million dollars because,
what, Travolta played grab-ass

with you?

Go fuck yourself.

One guy said something like
he was massaging Travolta, and

that John reached out
and grabbed his scrotum.

And then he said a few minutes
later John reached out again

and grabbed the shaft and head
of his penis, like, quickly.

So all I'm thinking is, All
right, what kind of pants are

you wearing while giving a
massage that Travolta can grab

three separate
items in the dark?

Because I want those
pants in every color.

And the guy said that Travolta
grabbed his scrotum, and then

he said a few minutes later
he-- Whoa, whoa, whoa.

So you kept massaging him?

Fuck you.

How many legitimate
interactions do any of you

have on a daily basis where if
you grab somebody's scrotum,

you only get a warning?

I don't know, try that the
next time you go to the

dentist.

If he gets a little too
close just reach out.

[GROANING]

Oh, yeah, I'm sure he's just
going to go, "Up, up, up.

Come on, now.

That's the third time I've
told you to quit poking and

tugging my bag,
you silly goose.

Four more times and
you're out of here."

Two million dollars.

We wonder why we're such a
country of like, you know,

human resources,
litigious douche bags.

It's because we can't
stop suing each other.

Do you understand what John
Travolta would have to do to

me during a massage for me
to want $2 million

in punitive damages?

As I started massaging him, he
would have to pull out my dick

and start punching it.

And he'd have to put on brass
knuckles and put it up against

the edge of the table and
punch it for the entire hour,

and then take me up in his
private plane and pull his

dick out, and then say, "Now
suck it, or I'm going to crash

and kill us both."

And then once we
landed safely...

[APPLAUSE]

Once we landed safely,
if I said--

[SPITTING]

--"Hey, John."

I had to clarify that, because
I didn't want you to think

it's: "Hey, John."

If I said,Hey, John, you
know, you punched my dick for

an hour and then fucked my
face and came in my mouth;

could we take a
picture together?"

If he said, "No picture,"
then I still wouldn't sue him.

I'd ask him to sign my
"Pulp Fiction"

and I'd shut the fuck up.

But I feel really good.

I feel-- I finally feel awake
tonight, because I've been

talking for a long time in
the shows: I have terrible,

terrible sleep apnea.

And I know some of you guys
have it, because I've got a

big fan response.

Who has sleep apnea here?

Some people have it?

[SMATTERING OF APPLAUSE]

I'm going to show you a
picture of myself

in my apnea mask, because--
And I used to have

it on my phone, and
I would show people.

But is there a more horrifying
moment than when you hand your

phone to somebody
to look at a photo?

Because all you're thinking
is, "Don't scroll."

You stay within arm's
reach of your phone.

If they move back a step,
you scooch up a step.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

Because I know what's on
either side of that apnea

photo, you know?

It's apnea photo,
cock pic, cock pic.

So could we bring that down?

This is me in my
sleep apnea mask.

That is not the look
a woman goes for.

I think women would be more
turned on if I went to bed

with a fleshlight
taped to my face.

Just look at that.

If you have a pussy, I
challenge you to keep it wet

while looking at this.

Impossible.

That dries up a vagina
faster than a hot fan.

And it's not just the mask
that's so humil-- Because the

mask is bad enough, but do you
see the little white chin strap?

Now here's what that is,
because the way the mask

works, it's over your nose and
it forces air into your lungs,

expanding your lungs as you
breathe so you sleep through

the night and you
don't wake up gasping.

But because I have such a
fucking weak chin and little

shitty thin bird lips, my
mouth kept going:

[SMACKING LIPS AND GROANING]

And all the air was
shooting out of the

front of my face.

So I would wake up
with my face queefing.

I like to put it on after sex.

Like, we have sex
and then I put it on.

I'm like, Ha-ha, look
at who you fucked.

Ah-ha, you fucd Bane.

How do you feel about that?"

So I had to buy that
fucking little chin strap.

"Ha, You want to fuck me?

I look like I have
the mumps in 1930."

All right, you can pull that
up, because that is just

fucking horrendous.

[APPLAUSE]

So, ah, the mask--
Here's the problem.

And a lot more of you probably
have sleep apnea

than realize it.

Like, if you snore that's
a big sign of sleep apnea.

And it's amazing how angry we
get at people when they snore,

because when somebody is
snoring that person is dying

next to you.

But you ever just stare at
somebody while they snore, and

you get angrier and angrier?

Why don't you
shut the fuck up?

Shut up, you selfish
piece of shit.

You ever just look at their
stupid lips quivering?

And you want to just
pinch their nose?

[SNORTING]

Do you understand
when you pinch somebody's

nose, you're
daring them to die.

You're playing a game of
chicken with the Grim Reaper.

Like, all right, cocksucker,
I'm calling your bluff.

Now what?

And then when they finally
breathe--

[GASPING]

--that's what I thought,
scumbag.

That's like somebody being on
a ledge going, "I'll jump!"

And you go, "Well,
it's cold in here.

Fuck you."

And you close the window.

But when you have sleep apnea,
man, it scares you, because

you feel like your
body is against you.

Do you know how scary it is to
go to bed and I feel like my

tongue and face are trying
to murder me in my sleep.

I mean, it's so anti-nature.

Your body is supposed
to protect you.

And I don't understand why
my tongue does what it does.

Like, at least if you snore your
body's trying to get help.

Because if you're like--

[SNORING]

--that's your body's way
of going,

"Hey, hey, hey,
can somebody elbow

this jizz bucket?

We're dying!"

But my tongue just
lays over my throat.

It's like, "Shh,
it'll be over soon."

I would love to ask my tongue,
"What do you think happens if

I die, asshole?

You live on and run the show?"

Like, my tongue just wants to
kill me because he's thinking,

"Then I'll only have to
go down on women I like.

No more transsexuals."

Guys get so homophobic.

They, like, beat
up transsexuals.

This is the face you should
make if a tranny fools you.

You're good.

Nicely done.

Why get angry?

You don't get mad if somebody
hands you peanut brittle and

you open it and
a snake pops out.

Do you know how sad I am that
only half of you understood

the brilliant example
I just gave you?

And I hope I don't get in
trouble for saying tranny.

That's, like, an
offensive term.

You're not supposed
to say tranny.

So I don't want anybody to
go home and blog about it.

That's what people do now.

They say something offensive,
like, blog, blog, blog.

"I didn't like what I
heard in the comedy show."

Blog, blog, blog.

Oh, I fucking hate people who
blog about being upse--

When I hear about people
blogging

because they were upset at
a joke,

I am suddenly for predator
drones

killing American citizens.

People just love to be
offended and they love to talk

about it.

They love to fucking
blog about it.

And comedians are supposed
to say they're sorry now.

Like, that's all it
takes: somebody blogging.

Like Tracy Morgan said he
was sorry, Daniel Tosh.

And I'm not shitting
on these comedians.

I understand why Tracy
and why Tosh apologized.

Because they had a
lot of money at stake.

They were smart to apologize.

But it's like, what are we,
shocked that comedians make

fun of offensive things?

Tracy's fucking always
said crazy shit.

That's kind of what
makes him really funny.

And Tosh was making jokes
about rape, and some woman

stood up and, you know,
"Rape is not funny!"

And he said something like,
"Everybody rape her, " which

is fucking hilarious.

That's the greatest
thing I have ever heard.

But, of course, victim
country, she had to go home

and blog,blog.

"And I felt very threatened."

Blog, blog, blog.

Oh, yeah, I'm sure you were
terrified, because comedy club

rapes happen all the time.

I'm surprised you people came
tonight, with the threat of

rape in the air.

Oh, yeah, we've all
seen the news specials.

Comedy and rape: can
they be separated?

And all these special interest
groups who agreed with her

ideologically.

They sided with her
interrupting the show.

And they're like, "You had
every right to make your

feelings known."

No, you did not.

If you weren't enjoying his
show, you had every right to

get up and quietly
leave the performance.

Because the minute you talk,
you're a heckler, bitch, and

you got what you deserved.

Fuck her.

Fuck her and fuck her blog.

Why is comedy the only form
of the arts where people think

that they have to agree
with or approve the content?

Why is that?

You don't walk through a
museum with a towel and throw

it over paintings
you don't like.

"I don't want anybody else
seeing this, because I didn't

quite enjoy it."

[APPLAUSE]

Oh, and you know the one group
that owes us all an apology

and they're never going
to give it to us is the

mainstream media
in this country.

There has never been a greater
assembly of vultures

under the same umbrella of
a profession.

And they do things like
continually show

photos of the shooters.

They continually print the
manifestos of the shooters.

Even though FBI profilers
and personality profilers and

psychologists have told them
time after time after time:

Do not show photos
of these people.

Do not print their writings,
because it encourages other

people to do the same.

They know they are
contributing to the violence,

and they don't give a fuck.

And they've never had
to say they're sorry.

Comedy never
leads to violence.

You're never going to hear,
"Two Jews walk into a bar;

let's kill those
fucking kikes!"

It's never happened.

And by showing photos of these
guys-- I don't need to see the

photos of these people.

I'm not interested in
what they look like.

First of all, they all look
exactly like you know they're

going to look.

Are you ever surprised?

They showed the guy
from Connecticut.

The guy from Connecticut
looked exactly like the guy

from Aurora, Colorado, who
looked exactly like that piece

of shit from Arizona.

They all have that psychotic
fucking lonely wide-eyed look,

with their little shitty pupil
dying in the middle with white

surrounding-- Here's a rule of
thumb: If you have white all

the way around your
pupil, you are a nut.

You're a nut.

And they never smile
in their photos.

They're always-- They're
always trying to smile, but

they can't because they're
just thinking of

murder, murder, murder.

Me, me, me.

Murder, murder,

me, me, me.

By the way, who are the
photographers taking these

psychotic head shots?

We should give guns
to photographers.

You know who
we're looking for.

We have your back.

If you take a photo of
somebody and their eyes are

like that and they're happy
with it, blow their fucking

brains out.

And I love how the
press does this.

They honor the nicknames that
these guys give themselves.

That's what vultures
the media is.

Like the Aurora,
Colorado shooter.

He called himself the Joker,
and the press went with it.

He didn't look like the Joker.

He had puffy, orange hair.

The Carrot Top Killer, that's
what he should have been

called.

That doesn't have an
anti-hero ring to it.

Nobody would have wanted to
emulate the Carrot Top Killer.

You know, the next creep would
have been like,

"Oh, that's fucking humiliating.

I'm just going to hang myself
alone in the basement

like I should."

I wish it was that easy to
get a nickname picked up.

You all would have come to
see Big Cock Jimmy tonight.

Come see Girth McGuillicuddy.

Or they-- I love how they
perpetuate the story by

looking for the motives.

I love this fucking
ridiculous exercise.

Why did he do it?

What are his motives?

Gee, I don't know, because
he's fucking crazy?

Maybe that's why he did it?

I am not interested in the
inner workings

of a psychotic mind.

I don't give a shit.

You're never going to get a
real answer as to why a guy

walked into a theater in
Colorado and shot people.

What are we looking for?

Well, he ordered tickets
online and they weren't

available when he got there.

Oh, all right, at least
it was a real reason.

Thank God, because that
makes it feel less

random and frightening.

I'm sick and tired of
searching for the motives.

If he shat in his own hand
and started eating it,

nobody would go, "What
are his motives?

Why is he doing that?"

We'd all be going, "Look
at that crazy fuck.

Back over his head with a
truck and let's

get it over with."

One more thought on Colorado.

I almost forgot.

Do you know who really
impressed me after the

Colorado shootings?

Christian Bale.

Because I always thought he
was a real piece of shit,

like a cranky, douchy actor.

But after the shootings he
actually went to the hospital

and talked to a
bunch of the victims.

I'm like, What a nice guy.

And I wonder if any of them
looked at him and said,

"Where the fuck were you?"

He's a great actor, but I
don't like him

as Batman at all.

Like, I like him as Bruce
Wayne, but that stupid stroke,

lisp voice.

"I'm Batman."

That's what you-- "Tell the
Riddler I have Bell's palsy.

I'll be doing the New Year's
Eve countdown from now on."

Blog, blog, blog.

"I didn't like that
Dick Clark joke."

Blog, blog, blog,
blog, blog, blog.

Holy fuck, are you guys great.

[APPLAUSE]

I need to get laid badly.

[WOMEN CHEERING]

Ooh.

Nice.

Are you by yourself, miss?

I can't see you,
but I'm listening.

Are you alone?

[WOMAN YELPING]

I like that sound.

Where are you?

[MAN'S VOICE]
Right here!

Oh.

That's about the
fucking-- That's the norm.

I've gotten so much weirder
as I've gotten older, sexually.

Like, scent is a very
sexy thing to me.

I like the smell of a pussy.

Like, yeah, I want it to
smell like--

I mean, again, subtle.

Like, you know, you don't want
to notice when she's coming up

the driveway.

Or even the smell of a foot.

Like, I don't have a foot
fetish, but I kind of like a

foot to be a little stinky.

Not dirty, like you
know what I mean?

Don't come over after you've
been doing,

taking a zumba class in a
fucking warehouse barefoot.

But if your foot's a little
stinky, I'll suck your toes.

But I don't know what to
do with a foot in my mouth.

I always feel weird.

Like, "Okay..."

Because you just feel silly.

"Ow, you're scraping
my gums, you whore!"

But you feel weird sucking
all the toes, because you feel

like you're giving five
consecutive blowjobs,

in order from black to Asian.

And you can't get mad at that
joke, because I didn't say

what side of the
foot I started on.

But we all know, don't we?

Although my favorite
thing to do is eat pussy.

I eat pussy really well.

And I know I'm good at it,
because I stop every 30

seconds and go, "Huh?

Huh?"

And I like a big pussy.

I like a fucking fat one.

I like camel toe that will
stop conversation at a party.

The type of camel toe you
can see with Google Earth.

Like, I hate when you pull the
panties aside and it's just a

little dumb pussy.

Hi.

Hi.

Boo!

Boo!

I'd love to have a giant cock.

Like, where you put it in
and the girl's like,

"Aah, go slow."

You know how nice it
is to hear, "go slow"?

Because then you know the
only reason you're not in the

hospital is because
I'm a good guy.

But if I tell a girl, "I'm
going to fuck you hard, "

they're like, "All right.

It's your money."

[APPLAUSE]

Thank you, Boston.

I love you very much.

Thank you guys for coming.

I appreciate you coming down.

Thank you so much.

Thank you.

[AUDIENCE CHEERING]