Maria Bamford: Weakness Is the Brand (2020) - full transcript

Thank you for coming out.

Great time.

Oh, yes.
Oh, yeah.

And thank you, you the viewer,

who's probably doing
something else right now.

You get your laundry done.
Whatever you need to do.

You guys!
Thank you so much.

Thank you so much
for coming out.

Uh, I understand,

I know we're here
in Los Angeles.

Also, at home,
I know we're all artists.



We all have a gift.

If, at any point
during my program,

you feel disgusted.
You think to yourself,

"Why isn't comedy better
than I remembered?"

"Why isn't
that particular premise

less ill-conceived?"

"Why... why isn't this experience

exactly what I had wanted?"

Please let
that rage trampoline you

into working on your own stuff.

Harness the power
of an enormous letdown.

Uh...

and I ask you, why does
everything have to be so good?

There's a lot of talking
in society about,



"That's amazing."
"That's genius."

"He's a pig of productivity."

"She's
a kaleidoscope of can-do."

Yes, there are
certain people in society

who have a tremendous
amount of talent.

You combine that
with an unbelievable work ethic,

it is greatness.

Is that really that interesting?

Haven't we seen it before?

Einstein, Beyoncé,
the Muppets, Japan.

I adore a two-star experience.

There is a deli
down the street from our house.

I believe it is called
the Super Crap

Shitty-Ass Liquor Store.

It is dusty, dark...

Diet Coke, hot.
Milk, sour.

You open up a Milky Way,
it blooms.

They are invariably unfriendly,

and they're only sometimes open.

And it is that kind of integrity
of mediocrity over time

that deserves celebration.

The energy that it takes
to not improve...

And, as a small business owner,
I relate.

Many times a day
on my Yelp page,

I get customer comments.

"Stop, witch!"

"Why don't you kill yourself?"

Ooh, great minds think alike.

Thumbs up.

Follow and then mute.

And yet... and yet,

despite that ongoing
negative commentary,

I persist at half steam...

generating up
to eleven new minutes

of material per decade.

And, uh, things
aren't so good in general.

Uh, I don't know
if you've... noticed.

We cannot, of course,
physically harm

the President
of the United States.

But it is not illegal
to lead him into a bramble,

some uneven pavement,
rocky terrain.

Let your deteriorating roads,

bridges, and public schools
work for us.

Oh, well...

there's...
"Hey, get in here."

Uh, many times,
in comedians' acts,

you'll hear legitimate
domestic and foreign policy.

I heard a comic, 1999,
Mr. Isaac Witty

suggests at a Go Bananas
in Cincinnati, Ohio,

"You know, why don't we send

a high school marching band
into Afghanistan?"

Confusing, inexpensive,

quite possible hilarious.

I feel like I'm
in an abusive relationship

with our government.

I thought, "Why not file
a restraining order

against the President
of the United States?"

I did it!

I printed out all the evidence,

went down to the courthouse,
saw a judge.

Within a half hour,
he denied me.

Ultimately, a useless gesture

that didn't further
the conversation in any way,

and wasted the time
of caring professionals.

But I would recommend that

if you're gonna
do anything political,

to live-tweet it.

Because it got me
in contact with so many people

I didn't think I had
anything in common with.

Turns out I have a few opinions
in common with the far right.

"You're a fucking idiot."

I know!

I went to a third-tier
state school.

"You crazy cunt."

Now, that's just accurate.

"You're just an unknown comedian

doing this for attention."

Of course.

Oh, that's... oh, yes.
Oh, yes.

Oh, yes, I love attention.

Ooh, ooh. Ever since
I was three years old,

my parents, they forced me
to play a musical instrument,

the violin,
at the age of the three.

Could not wait to get
that thing out of the way

'cause it was cockblocking
the sale.

Uh, I'm not politically
articulate,

but we do have
a 20-year-old pug named Betty.

And she's blind and deaf,

so she can no longer
find the doggy door,

so if we leave her
for any amount of time,

when we come home,
she will be wedged

in between the stove
and a kitchen cabinet,

covered in her
own fecal matter, crying.

That's it, that's where I'm at.

Hopeless...

looking for leadership...

and I wouldn't turn down
a biscuit.

And I don't know why
I'm being so critical.

Uh, I'm not the greatest.
I have a bit of a tremor

that's distracting
in a performer.

"Why don't you take a medication

to offset the hundreds of
medications you're already on

so that I feel more
comfortable?"

To which I'd like to say,

"Weakness is the brand."

Aw, yeah.

I don't want to quash
this cash cow.

Uh, I may be mental,

but I'm also a millionaire.

I, uh... I have done very well
with mental health shtick,

and I was...

But I've been feeling
so good the past several years,

um, I don't have any
new material about it.

And I thought, "Uh-oh, maybe
I should worry about that."

Uh...

but then I remembered
that I'm on anti-psychotics,

and it is no longer possible
for me to worry.

I do have this joke, though.

I was at the funeral for
a comedian who died of suicide.

Wait for it!

And, uh... awful.

I've had many friends and
family, sadly, die of suicide,

and one thing that always
bothers me, though,

is that,
when there's an obituary

for someone who's died of it,

there's always the number
for the suicide hotline.

And I know that's helpful.

I know it is.
I know it saves lives.

It's helped me.
I've called it myself.

But as a person who's trying
to kill themselves,

it always feels a little
condescending.

Like, "I know what
the fucking number is.

I'm depressed,
I'm not a moron."

Just seems like, you know,

having an obituary for someone
who died of drowning

and then there's
an ad for a raft.

You know?

"Yeah, that
would've been great."

So, after the funeral, I
overheard a few people talking.

"It's just the single most

selfish thing
he could've done."

"I know, he has two kids,

and his wife,
she's gorgeous."

"Uh, hey, you know what

I think the single most selfish
thing you could do.

I think blaming someone
for their own death

at their funeral?

That is truly
the single most selfish...

Hold on, hold on, hold on.
No, no, no, no.

Writing down the premise
for this joke.

Yeah, that is truly the single

most selfish thing you could do.

Yeah, two... two kids?

And don't forget to mention

how pretty his wife is."

Let us never forget
how attractive all of us are.

Especially now.

I'm a very good-looking beast.

Uh...

uh...

I have, uh, silky dark fur
that covers my body.

You can see it here.

This is false.

That doesn't mean
I don't put in the effort

to seduce my husband.

We both work from home,

but at least three times a day...

I'm busy, so I keep on my top,

so my shoes and socksies.

But I will pull down my pants
and my underwear

all the way to the bottom

and make my way over.

Say, "Hey.

I'm just sittin' over here.

I love you, you love me.

What that means for us both
is, I'm down for whatevs.

Uh, haha, don't tickle me!

Don't you come over here
right now and tickle me."

We have sex
in one way very well.

The second way
involves a purple buzzer.

It's not always charged.

Let's not play the blame game.

Uh, I was trying
to write some fantasies,

and in order to live-action
role play something,

you really need to know
so much about a genre.

And the only thing
I know a little bit about

from a very limited
point of view

is intractable social issues.

So our first sexy scene
was gentrification.

"My name is Jen.
I just moved here.

It's so cheap, and I can use
my high school Spanish."

"My name is Art. I'm an artist.

I've lived here for 30 years,
and it's hipsters like you

who have committed
cultural genocide."

"Aren't you the
first sign of gentrification,

that you transform
industrial abandoned spaces

into galleries, thus making it
more attractive to developers?"

"And you ash
your hand-rolled cigarette..."

"into my succulent!

Oh, what, are you moving out?

Has this neighborhood
become too cool for you?"

"No, I've been evicted.

I can no longer afford to live
in the city that I love."

"Oh, my God,

it's happening
to someone I know.

Maybe you should move in with me

because that's the answer
to affordable housing,

not NIMBY, Not In My Back Yard,

but YIMBY, Yes, In My Back Yard.

Ooh.

If you lived here,
you'd be home by now."

My husband, Scott,

he doesn't like to act,
so I do most of it.

Second sexy scene.
Living wage.

"I'm the owner of a Midwest

McDonald's franchise.

Boy, you're lucky
I hired a loser like you."

"Well, you're lucky you got me,

'cause, see, I just got out of
treatment for opioid addiction

and I'm gonna work
80 hours a week

to support myself
and my four kids."

"Maybe you shoulda thought about

having kids
before becoming an addict."

"Well, maybe I would have,

had I had a... access
to preventative healthcare

and family planning!"

"I'm putting out a tip jar."

"No handouts.

Listen, you've been doing
such a nice job for me

the past couple years,

just puttin'
all that meat in buns.

I thought I'd like to give you
an eleven-cent raise."

"Oh, then we can get

an oil change on the house."

"But then I see you

pouring a four-and-a-half-foot
vanilla cone.

You're stealing from me.
You're fired."

"That was gonna be my supper."

"You mean to tell me you work

in a restaurant
but you're food insecure?"

"No shit, Shake Shack!"

"I need
to restructure my business,

creating
a profit-sharing entity,

thus destroying all hierarchy."

"So we could date.

Then maybe I could teach you

a mutually satisfying
application

of open book accounting."

Scott's been
working... he's been writing.

"Okay, uh, all right.

We're in a massage parlor.

Oh, right.
Human trafficking.

Uh, I think it's legit.
I know it's in a strip mall,

but there's water in the
fountains, orchids are real.

You seem happy.
You lead me into a room,

and you just start
working on my back.

You can go hard.
Use your elbows."

"Okay."

"Aw, babe, that's good."

"Okay."

"And then, I...

Yeah, I have some curiosity
about your situation."

"That's awesome."

"Yeah, I'm like, 'Oh my God,

this is modern day slavery.'
And then...

Twenty-five bucks for a massage?
That's insane.

Oh, God, babe,
that's awesome."

"And... and then what happens?"

"Wouldn't you keep going

for at least a half hour?

Okay, yeah, no, you're right.

Okay, uh,
I go to your country's embassy,

and we find out
you're a princess?"

Now that's
what I call a happy ending.

All right.

Oh, uh...

my husband and I, he's...

His longest relationship
was three years.

My longest was one year.

We just made it six whole years!

Thank you so much.

Thank you, we need your support.

And we need it now.

We don't know what we're doing.

My parents have been married
over 50 years.

They gave us
this way of fighting.

Uh, it's called
sharing and caring.

You do it once a week.

You share something
you're grateful for,

a concern, ugh,

and then something
you're grateful for.

It's a shit sandwich.

And so we'll do it for ya.
Joel, go ahead.

Ahem, I'm grateful for all

that you did for me this
morning, and it's private.

And I'm grateful

I'm still able to do that.

And now, Joel,
do you have any concerns?

Oh, yes,
I do have a concern, Marilyn.

You've been interrupting me
for the past 50 years.

Okay, well,
I thought I was doing so...

I wasn't finished speaking.

All right, I didn't know

we were gonna
say something real.

Okay, well, I felt hurt
when you called me a blueberry

and I was wearing my blue coat.

It felt like a slur.

Ahem, your mother knows

I find spheres very sensual.

Ahem.

Uh, and close
with the gratitude.

Marilyn, I'm grateful
that you're gonna let me

have the rest of your
sweet potato fries.

Yes, yes, go ahead.

And I... I am grateful
that your father

is here with us tonight
and is not spending

his entire life
with his buddy, Lyle.

They get together
and they eat Fig Newtons,

and then your father
gets night terrors.

Now you and Scott give it a go.
You and Scott go.

Okay, uh, Scott. Scott.

I'm grateful that
you can sing the lyrics

"Turkey leg, chicken leg"
to any available melody.

For example,
"Frère Jacques."

♪ Turkey leg, a turkey leg

♪ A chicken leg, chicken leg

♪ Turkey, turkey, chicken leg,
chicken, turkey, turk, turk ♪

♪ Turk, turk leg,
chick, chick turk ♪

♪ Leg and turk turk,
leg and turk turk ♪

♪ Leg and chick,
leg and chick ♪

♪ Leg-a, leg-a turk, turk,
leg-a chicken turk, turk ♪

♪ Turk, turk, chick,
turk, turk... ♪

M-Maria, Maria.

I'm grateful
that you join me in those songs.

It's a real clock-eater.

Uh...

you are actually
the first person

I've ever had to beg to stop.

Uh, Scott,
I actually did have a concern.

Uh, I felt hurt when you were
laughing about my cooking.

Okay.

I thought we were
laughing together.

I'm sorry. Uh, can I tell them
the story, though?

Okay, Maria decides
to make pancakes.

She pours batter
into a pot nine inches deep,

like a cake.

That burns.

Does another one, burns again.

By the time I get home,
she's on her third pot.

She's added frozen vegetables.

And the house
is filled with smoke

'cause she's removed
every single fire detector.

Yeah, they're too loud.

I already know what's going on.

I'm making some fuckin'
veggie pie cakes.

Hot, fat, tall.

Now, Scott,
do you have any concerns?

Uh, yeah.

Maria, I love you.

I love that you put a bench
on the front lawn.

But now, uh,
there is a man living there.

Which is fine,
we live in Los Angeles,

but now when you leave your keys
in the front door overnight,

over and over and over again,
I feel terrified.

It's just,
they... that's where they fit.

Maybe I could ask the guy
on the bench to remind...

Honey, no, okay.

Shut it down.
Shut it down.

So, uh, say something
you're grateful for, Scott.

Something you're grateful for.

Uh, Maria,

I'm grateful
you're so beautiful.

Scott. Scott.

I'm grateful that you let me use

our sweet and fragile
personal life

as fodder for my act.

Very good man.
Very kind man.

Uh, my husband's an artist,

so we're working
on a project together.

I'm not sure what it is,
exactly,

but he pulls up his swim trunks
all the way up to here

and then he tiptoes
around the public pool,

and then I chase him yelling,
"Mr. Cassidy.

Mr. Cassidy.

Mr. Cassidy!

Gonna try to pitch it
to Nat Geo.

Audible?
Okay, all right.

Uh, so, we talk about...
We talk about money.

That's the other thing
we talk about in our family,

'cause we both have to ask
to get paid in our jobs.

And, um, has anyone here
ever asked for a raise?

Yes? No? No?

Oh, how'd it go?
How'd your raise go?

I got let go.

You got let go!

Oh.

But good for you.
Asked. You asked.

So...

I'm so sorry. Are you working
at a better place now?

- Yes.
- Oh, okay.

Uh, I never... I've never...

I never thought
to ask for a raise.

I worked in temp jobs

and minimum wage for 15 years.

I worked
at a laundry factory once,

making wire hangers
into one long wire.

I wasn't told
what the mission statement was,

and yet I still felt inspired.

Uh, yeah, so I also
worked for a temp agency.

Maria, can you meet them

at an unmarked warehouse
in downtown Los Angeles?

When?

Are you okay with working

with sharp objects?

Yes.

You're gonna be making

airport salads.

You buried the lede!

But I never thought to ask
for more money,

but now I get direct offers
to myself.

I just got an email that said,

"Hey, can you come to Alabama
for 300 bucks?"

And I wrote them back
and I said,

"Hey, why don't I just
send you two grand,

'cause that's
what's gonna happen."

Oh, I'm so sorry.

I love you so much.

Uh, now, uh, I, uh...

But recently...
Also, a few... oh, gosh.

A little while ago,
I got... yesterday?

Is that good for comedy?

Is "yesterday" good for comedy?

I'm... I'm a liar.

The important thing
about stand up comedy

is to call whatever you're
doing, "stand-up comedy."

All right, so, I got an offer
to do a commencement speech

at the University of Minnesota,

from wherein I get
my degree in creative writing.

I said to them,
"That's a terrible idea,

but that is on you.
I love money."

And... and I thought about it
and I thought,

"You know what?
I do have some advice to give."

"Okay, class
of whatever year this is.

You'll find it doesn't matter.

Okay.

You guys,
don't move to Los Angeles

with the promise
of a touring Star Trekshow.

Uh... hook up on a one-night
stand with a Vulcan.

He gives you an STD
that you let go for so long

that when you finally
go to the Planned Parenthood

in Hollywood, California,
the doctor says,

'Why did you let this
get so bad?'

Don't do that!"

Ah.

"Don't send in
your 1040 IRS forms

with 'Sorry, don't get it, '

smiley face,
exclamation point."

Oh.

Okay.

"Uh, don't move
into an apartment

where the landlord allegedly
accepts sex for rent,

and then not have money
for rent.

Turns out,
he was not interested.

I just had to move out!"

Oh, there's so much here.

Um...

so, I asked the university,
I said, "Hey..."

Well, 'cause they didn't
mention it,

"What are we talking about,
in terms of Bitcoin?"

They said,
"No, it's an honor."

And I Googled "hon-or."

And sometimes a "hon-or"

comes with a paid
"hon-orarium."

They said, "No."

I went to my business advisor,
who's my dear friend Jackie's

83-year-old father,
Elliot Kashian.

He's a former aluminum siding
salesman currently living

at the VA hospital
in South Milwaukee, Wisconsin.

I said, "Mr. Kashian,
what do I do?" He says,

"Okay, you never say no

without a number.

That means, if you're not
even sure you want the job,

put out something ridiculous,

something you've never gotten
before in your life.

That way, either
you get a ton of money,

or you don't have to do it."

So, let's remember
that their initial parry

was zilch.

I counter-thrusted

with 20 grand.

Oh, I received the following
e-mail in response.

"Oh, you dirty little bird.

You and your filthy
feathered fat pants

used to be a nice girl
from Duluth, Minnesota,

but now you're from L.A.

with your eyes made
of lead and steel.

We're a non-profit."

They... they didn't say that.
They said,

"We'll get back to you."
But I read between the lines.

And I do know that schools
are educational charities,

that they... I'm very happy,

I just heard they had
a successful fundraiser.

Uh, I'm not sure if it
was a bake sale,

but they did raise $900 million

for their new athletic facility.

Presumably for the poets.

Was the University of Minnesota
trying to suggest

that I could not get paid
for the one thing

that I paid them to teach me
how to get paid to do?

And I tell you, no, ma'am.

They came back three days later
with ten...

$10,000.

I woulda done it for $600
plus air and hotel.

Ugh.

Uh, Mr. Kashian said,
"Okay, now you say,

'We'll split the difference,
fifteen, '

and then you settle
for twelve-five."

But the guilt of the old country
had done its work.

And I went with ten, and then
I ended up feeling so bad

about myself that,
as a part of the speech,

I gave the money away
to kids in the audience

to pay down their student loans.

Sounds like a nice thing to do.

That is the only way
I'm able to do kind things.

If it is in public
and it is grandiose.

Uh, I am an atheist,

but I'm nothing
if not ethically competitive.

My husband and I, we found out
that, most religions,

you're supposed to give
at least ten percent

of your income away to charity.

So we're giving 11.

We don't even
fucking believe in Heaven,

but we're going!

No, I'm just jealous.

I've never had
a religious experience.

I have a friend
who's having them all the time.

She takes ayahuasca, so she's...

"A red
dragon told me I really need

to raise the prices
on my jewelry."

I wish I had
a fucking red dragon

to tell me to take specific
price-point related actions

in my small business.

"Why not
create a passive income stream

by selling already colored-in
anxiety coloring books...

so that people don't feel bad
about not finishing them?"

"I'm listening, dragon."

Uh, I haven't had
a spiritual awakening,

but I have been so bored...

On a mindfulness meditation
retreat in the Malibu Hills...

That I walked directly
into some trees.

And who but aging action star
Nick Nolte

should come out of that forest

carrying a ridiculously large
submarine sandwich.

I... I have nothing
guiding me from within

beyond a moldering
origami skeleton

of women's magazines articles
from the late '90s.

Uh, so when I see someone

who has a sign of what they
believe on their person...

You know, like,
they have an earring

or like a necklace... what?

Uh, it's just to remind me
not to be a jackass.

"Oh, right, right."

Um, or if they have a robe on,

I always feel like asking them,
just saying,

"Hey, you really
doing that over there?

The whole thing?

Okay, all right.

That's a lot of stuff
to keep track of.

I read some of your shit.

All right, all right.

Well, good for you, yeah, no.

I'm gonna be
keeping an eye on you.

I want to make sure you're doing

everything your hat
says you are."

Oh.

I even get a little irritable

when I see
the words-on-shirts trend.

I saw a woman my age,
she was wearing a t-shirt

that said "Truly, Madly, Deeply"

in a giant Santa Barbara font,
very beautiful.

But she herself
was shuffling along

carrying a to-go bag
from the Cheesecake Factory

in a pair of worn purple Crocs

with a little smile on her face.

"Truly, Madly, Deeply."

I want to see you running

covered in the blood
of a loved one while screaming,

"Done is better than perfect."

You can, of course,
keep the Crocs,

those are on message.

But I'd prefer to see them
sloshing in the entrails

of your recent kill.

Um... I was at a yogoo class,

and I call it "yogoo"
'cause I in no way

enjoy it or respect it.

And... and packed class.

One woman had clearly
gotten there early.

She had a big moat of space
around herself.

She had all of her blobs
and wads and wickets and sticks.

And... and, uh,
I had gotten there late,

so I had to ask her,
'Hey, could ya scoot your mat?"

And unfortunately for her,
she had a t-shirt on

with font large enough
for me to read it...

The word "Compassion."

Aw, shit, you gotta
scoot the mat, beeatch.

Oh.

I'm not the one
wearing the t-shirt.

If I were to wear any t-shirt,

it would be blank
on the outside,

and then on the inside
where only I could see it,

it'd say,
"Kickin' ass."

That would... uh...

But has anyone had a fight
on the Internet recently?

Any fights?
Yes, yes? No, no. No.

Oh, somebody's trying
to raise your hand.

You're about to start a fight.
Exciting.

- Have you had a fight? Yes?
- Sure.

Yeah, yeah, what'd you fight
about on the Internet?

- Hmm.
- Green beans.

Green beans?
For real?

Sure... oh, oh,
you're just impro...

Are you...
You're a kind improviser.

You don't have a strong opinion
about green beans, do you?

Now, your face.
I'm reading, I'm reading.

I'm not...
I'm not a professional,

but I can read the body
language.

You're just trying to help,
I appreciate that.

And, uh...

And, by helping,
sometimes we harm, am I right?

I should... I should know that.
I'm a white woman.

"How can I get in there?"

I love the Internet

because it is a place
of learning and healing,

in that I'm a dinosaur.

I'm slipping into the tar
of irrelevant redundancy.

And, uh...

So I'm forever horrified

by what new thing I may say

that will alienate people
I care about.

So, I... a year and a half ago,
I did write an essay

and I was hired to write
an essay on a topic

that I have no
personal experience in...

Satirical.
What?

And wrote it, put it out there.

Some very nice people
said to me,

"Hey Maria,
we're real disappointed

because it's trans-phobic,

many of the things you said,"

and, uh, "Oh, my God, wow.

Apologies all around.

I will read some books on
gender identity and sexuality.

Yay, team!"

Uh, and then
the publishing company,

because they still
thought it was funny,

they didn't want
to take it down.

And I got
the electric experience

of getting to teach
someone a lesson

I just learned!

"You should be ashamed
of yourselves."

So, uh, I... I have a friend

who's always posting things
that are kind of mad,

but I'm not sure
exactly about what.

Like, "If you know who you are
and you do

but you get it and you don't,
repost but don't like,

because you aren't a grinder
and you don't hustle.

I hustle, I grind.
Hashtag skincare."

I hope this involves
multi-level marketing.

I want to be on all sides
of the argument.

Um, do you ever feel like
you just want to know

that you're... you're
a pretty good person?

Like, that you're just...
You're good as someone

everyone considers
to be pretty good.

You know? You...
Maybe you're not Santa

but you're not
the Golden State Serial Killer.

Like you're... or maybe

you're just better
than one person.

And I always think
it's gotta be somebody

who's following a religion,
who's deeply religious.

So then you can go mano-a-mano,

and examples
from their own philosophy,

so you can see who's ahead,

like who specifically
is winning.

Uh...

So I called my mom, I said,
"Mom, you're a Christ-ian.

Would you be willing to go
with me, three rounds,

in your own religion,

to see which one of us
is the better person?"

- And she said...
- "What?"

Round one!

These are all stories from the
"Beeblay" I remember as a kid,

uh, about how you're
supposed to act in the world.

First story, Good Samaritan.

Jewish guy is left for dead
on the side of the road.

His two best friends
leave him behind

'cause they've got
time management issues.

Uh, a third guy,
his sworn enemy, a Samaritan...

Always the rule of three
in the Bible...

One, two, then the kicker,
just like comedy...

And, uh, so the Samaritan,
his enemy, stops,

puts him on his donkey,
rubs him down

with oils and herbs and spices.

Bible's a lot about spa
treatments.

And then takes him back
to his home, saves his life.

So, uh, in Los Angeles,
we are, of course,

living in a human rights
violation.

Every few inches
is an opportunity

to experience the Old Testament.

Uh, outside Target,
Santa Monica Boulevard.

I was out there.
Man, uh, my age, six foot five,

maybe we'd done an improv class
together, at some point.

I know I did say,
"Yes, and..."

to someone of
his height and weight

And I was doing okay.

He, however,
was covered in filth.

No shirt, no shoes,
sores on his feet,

uh, catatonic, not aware
of any outside stimuli,

and a secondary face of snot
covering his own face.

Here's what I should've done,

according to
the rules of the game.

I should've gone straight up
to him and said,

"Okay, hello.
I know you can't hear me.

But I'm gonna...
You're a big man,

but I'm gonna flat pack
you into my Prius.

That's right.

Now I'm gonna spray you down
with Axe body spray,

whatever flavor you want.
I would recommend Taboo.

Then... then take you back
to our house, live with us,

and then be his best friend
for the rest of his life,

especially if he does not
want me to be his best friend,

'cause that's what best friends
are fucking for.

What did I actually do,
in real life?

Uh, in real life,
first I went into Target

to get a couple things
that I needed.

Then came out, had a $20 bill.

I had wet some
paper towels down.

Put those at this man's feet

while stepping away, whispering,

"I'm sorry.
I'm so, so sorry."

And I felt good about that.

That's
a low bar for Marilyn to clear.

She's armchair quarterbacking it
from the sidelines.

Marilyn, what would you do
on the field in this play?

"Oh, honey, you know.

You cannot drive yourself crazy.

There are organizations
to help people like that.

What did you get at Target?"

Round two!

The story of Esther.
Hot, hot Jewish lady.

She wins a beauty pageant
to marry the king.

She does not tell the king
that she's Jewish.

The king says, "Hey, guess what?

I think I'm gonna kill
all the Jews."

And she's like, "Oh, shit.
Um, guess what, I'm Jewish,

and so are my
friends and family."

And he was like, "What?!

I didn't know Jews
were so fuckin' hot.

I'm gonna kill the guy who told
me to kill all the Jews.

Somebody has to die,
this is a children's book."

So, uh, you're supposed
to speak truth to power,

put yourself in danger
on behalf of the voiceless.

I would argue the most maligned
group of untouchables

in Los Angeles are extras.

People in the background
of film and television.

I have many times been an extra.

You are left
without food, water,

bathroom breaks
for hours at a time.

They throw buckets
of Red Vines at you.

And most painfully,
you're inches away

from a tiny, gorgeous
group of people

who are having
all their dreams come true.

So, I, uh...
I had my own TV show,

Lady Dynamite, on Netflix.

Thank you.

Requisite applause break.

Thank you so much.

Thank you, thank you for...
Thank you. Thank you.

Uh, I... uh,
here's what I should've done,

according to the rules
of the game.

I should've made a big speech
at the beginning of production.

I should've said,
"Netflix, should you massage

my kale with avocado
and sea salt and lemon,

so, too, should you massage
the kale of the extras.

For that which you scream
at the extras,

'Use the port-a-potties
a thousand yards away, '

so do you scream at me,
for I, too, am an extra."

Uh, what did I actually do?

My very own husband
was an extra. He calls me.

"They have us in a van.

Uh...

it's over
a hundred degrees in here.

The guy won't let us out.
It's locked from the outside.

Hey, I can... I can see you,
can you see me?"

"Oh. Oh, yes, shit, babe,

yeah, I'll try to...
I'll get somebody over there,

but they're doing my hair."

I asked my mom
what she would've done.

Pop fly ball to the outfield.

Easy catch, Marilyn,
but the sun's in her eyes.

Marilyn, what would you do?

"Oh, I mean, if it were me,

I'd pay to be part
of the magic."

Marilyn in the penalty box

with her first lie.

Ahem, she's lying.

So, round three.

Okay, not looking good
for my mom.

The following is one
of the creepiest stories

from the Bible,
of which there are so many.

Uh, please Google the story
where the father

can't stop touching
his daughter's feet.

That's from the book of...

Verse yikes.

This story bothered me
ever since I was little.

It's... okay, it starts out...
Slave owner.

Oh, my God, what?
Tells three of his slaves,

"Hey, you guys,

I just had this great idea.

Um, I'm gonna give you each
a bag of gold, okay?

And, um, you do whatever it is
you want to do with it, man.

No, honey, you do you.
No.

No, I'm not gonna
tell you what to do with it.

That's the whole thing!

That's what makes it fun!

I'm gonna fuck off
for seven years.

But if I come back
and you've done the wrong thing,

I'm gonna kill you.
We good?"

The first guy is terrified.

He does what I'd do,
buries the gold underground.

Keep it safe.
Money market funds and CDs.

Second guy goes,
"M-maybe he wants me

to risk a little bit
of the capital so that the...

And make a little profit,
but something meaningful

from the heart
like upcycled wet naps,

uh, sew them each
into dollhouse quilts."

Makes a little money.
Third guy says,

"Uh, I'm just gonna
buy a factory with the gold,

and then I'm gonna
enslave people myself,

force them all
to make sweatpants

that say 'Not Today, Satan'
on the butt."

And he becomes a kabillionaire,
as he well should.

Now, who is the guy who does not
die at the end of this story?

It's the guy who makes
the most money!

What?

I asked my mom, "Mom, so,
are you bringing in any cash?

Christ just needs cash.

Christ needs cash.

God is invoicing."

"Oh, no, honey, no,

you know, I haven't been
feeling so good,

with the chemotherapy
and the immunotherapy stuff,

some of the lung stuff,
so I... we're...

And we're trying to just,
you know, enjoy each day."

"Mom!"

'Cause she can make bank.
She used to be a therapist.

You don't have to be
that good at being a therapist

to make a ton of money.

I have been paying this one
woman, online therapy,

200 bucks a month.

She just texted me,

"Christine, of course you're
stressed, you just had a baby."

And it was helpful!

Of course I'm stressed,
I just had a baby.

"But the lesson is, honey,

with that story,
is you're supposed to do

everything that you can
with exactly what you have."

Uh-oh.
I'm not doing that.

A lot of comics
sell merch after shows.

Uh, very thoughtful people have
asked me, in a nice way,

"Hey, Maria.
Do you have any merch?"

To which I've sometimes said,

"Uh, why don't you make
your own fuckin' merch?

No, you take a piece
of masking tape,

you write 'comedy' on it...

Slap that on your sock."

"But, Mom,
you're not bringing it in."

"I know, I'm a drain

on the Lord's resources.

But I was so mad at your father

'cause I told him, you know,
to keep within our budget.

He bought organic.
He bought all organic, and...

But then I had an orange.
And it was an organic orange.

I want to tell you about
this 'cause it was so good.

It was... it made me
think of my father...

and how we went
to Florida when I was five

and... so beautiful,
and just the trees...

And then how much work
goes in to harvest...

You know, the UFW,
United Farm Workers union

and Cesar Chavez and the sun.

The sun.

And the next thing you know,

I had eaten the whole peel
and the label."

"But I looked it up
on Weight Watchers

and it's still okay,
it's still no points.

The label
and the peel are free."

So I had to tell her,

"Mom, I mean, it seems
I'm a much...

Three clear rounds.

I'm a much better person
than you are."

"Oh, that's good, honey.

Well, good for you."

"Mom,
I'm a much better Christian

than you are."

"Oh, well,

I'm so glad that you remember
all those stories.

That's good,
that's good."

"God,

I'm so much better
than you are."

Except for the fact
that you've raised me

thanklessly for 18 years.

You've allowed me
to do extremely unattractive

impersonations of you

for another 35 years,
to your face.

And you're also not...

judging me in public

over a microphone."
Hat trick, alley-oop,

hole in one in the final
seconds of the game for Marilyn.

It's not...
I'm not a professional.

You know, it's just...
It's just...

Joy is my choreographer.

All right.

Um...

So, uh, I have two
hot chunks left,

two thick slices.

If you need
to take care of yourself,

if you need
to go night-night, you know,

uh, please go,
you're okay by me.

I know, I'm grateful
that you came here at all.

I'm grateful
for the context you provide.

Without your presence,
this might seem bizarre.

Uh...

I'm not saying I wouldn't do it.

Have you ever looked around
your life and thought,

"Uh-oh...

uh, this isn't temporary."

"This may, in fact,
be who I am."

I... I like to think of myself
as a sophisticate.

Um, I get the New York Times

and their ten free articles
a month.

Uh...

but it's also true
that I was recently

on a Southwest Airlines flight,
middle seat.

I had just tremble-spilled
my Diet Coke all over myself

and my two new friends,

and I looked down
and I was wearing an outfit

that I purchased entirely
earlier that day

at a San Antonio, Texas, CVS.

Hook 'Em Horns tee,
Aztec print poly legging,

open toe shower shoe.

I'd like to think
that's a one-off.

But that's gonna happen again.

I enjoy a last-minute
fashion binge

at a regional drugstore.

'Cause they... they got
those little crinkle shirts

that get so big.

They're doll size,
but then they fit.

Uh, you know, you have your, uh,

publicized version
of yourself on Instagram.

I don't know what your face
is like on Instagram,

but, God, do I laugh.

God, I am laughing.

If I'm not laughing,
if I'm not laughing...

And I laugh...
If I'm not laughing,

I'm outside, okay?
Okay?

And if I'm not laughing outside,

I'm with friends and family.

Right?

Friends and family.

That's who I am.

Friends and family.

Uh, but while I'm looking
at those pictures,

I'm kinda trying
to make 'em move

but they won't work
'cause the layer

of sriracha almond dust
is so thick.

And I'm very much alone
in a 7-Eleven.

So, it was no surprise
when I found myself

on a reality show called
Worst Cooks: Celebrity Edition.

Who's who of who?

Oh.

It's myself, Ian Ziering, 90210,

one of the kids
from Modern Family.

I'm sorry, I didn't watch it.

Uh, Balki
from Perfect Strangers.

That's a deep dive.

Uh, then LaToya Jackson

from 20th century
American history.

I lied to get on the show.

Eighteen-hour shoots.
They said, "Can you do it?"

I can do four hours,

uh, upright and sentient.

Then I gotta go home.

Too tie-tie.
Too tie-tie.

And, uh... but I thought,
maybe I can do one day.

I'm on a lot of pharmaceuticals,
but I thought,

"Come on!

Come on, Bamford."

I made it through the first day.
They didn't eliminate anyone.

Uh, the second day,
I am losing...

I start sliding down walls.

I... I hid underneath the craft
service table for a while,

and then I cut myself
while gutting the monkfish

and I bled into my pizza,

and I was on LaToya's team.

She's am... she's 65.

She looks 12.

I said, "LaToya,
how are you doing this?"

And she said...

"It's all in your mind."

Shit.
Aw, shit.

You're gonna win.
And she does.

You're not gonna watch it.

Uh...

We're on the same team.

I cut my pineapples

for a pineapple
upside-down cake.

I hand... handed them
to LaToya, and she said...

"They're uneven.

Do it again."

"LaToya,
you know this doesn't matter."

And is that how I always am,

always making fun of things
from the outside,

always acting like
I'm doing half-assed

because
what if that weren't true?

What if I was actually doing
the best I possibly could

and I still failed miserably?

Hmm.

I did not redo
the pineapple slices.

But I did say directly
into camera

my favorite
Teddy Roosevelt quote

while smashing garlic.

"It is not the critic

who counts.

It is the man
who is in the arena!"

"Marred by blood
and sweat and tears."

The Food Network
then re-edited that to...

The end of the second day,
I'm dying.

I... I asked them
if I could leave

and they said no.

Eighteen-hour day.

So I found the youngest person
I could on set, and I said,

"Hello. Hello.

We're both powerless.

Um, do whatever you need
to take of yourself.

I'm gonna start sprinting
as soon as we stop talking.

Uh, don't worry about me.

I've been fired
so many times before,

the only backlash
I've ever received

has been an enormous
rush of relief.

So..."

She then did some beautiful
kabuki theater

of, "No, Miss Bamford, please!

Don't!"

That I very much appreciated,

and then I wasn't fired
'cause nobody cared.

But, uh, third day,
I'm not sure.

They must've said something.

They took me
and Oscar Nuñez aside...

From The Office... and they said,

"Hey, uh"...
Off camera, they said,

"Hey, you're both terrible."

Uh, who wants
to go home the most?"

Ah! God, yes!

So, I agreed to fix
a salad battle

against Daisy Duke,

Catherine Bach
from Dukes of Hazzard.

And, you know,
if you're gonna throw a fight,

I could've just taken
a raw chicken cutlet,

stuffed it in a glass of water
and said, "Salad."

But I did not.

And I think that's who I am,

as a least-known person
on a Food Network reality show,

who does the best work
when I know I've already quit.

And also can't make it
through a third day of work,

even for charity.

Did I mention
it was for charity?

Oh, oh, no.
Oh, boy.

Thank goodness my charity

was the National Alliance
for Mental Illness.

I know they would've said,

"Girl, you're on Seroquel.
Go home."

Is that something?
Should I...?

Okay, uh...

Uh, so this, uh... this last bit,

um, my husband and I,
we had a terrible kerfuffle

about two years ago.

It was awful, so scary.

We went to our therapist
afterwards,

and she said
that there's a point

when you're in a fight
with someone where...

It's called "Saturation point,"
where you just...

You have too many emotions

and your blood pressure's
too high and you must stop.

You must stop talking,

you must stop...
You must distract yourself.

Do anything, because otherwise

you will say
or do something you regret.

And, unfortunately, we didn't
know that before this fight.

Uh, ahem.

Uh, emotional architecture
for the fight.

I have this voice.
It's been suggested to me

throughout my lifetime
that because of it,

I might be a dumb-dumb.

Which, it's okay if I say it,
no? I don't know.

Uh, but, yeah, I don't want...
Like seeming incompetent,

even though sometimes I am.

And, um... and then also
a spate of DJs

in the '90s would ask me,

"Is the age you sound

the age you were molested at?"

Is this where
the healing begins?

Oh, I was, uh...

I was touched inappropriately
as a child,

so I'm not a fan of being
touched, especially at work.

A lot of people do this,
men and women do this.

Uh, it's supposed
to be comforting, I guess.

They touch you
by the small of your back,

guiding you places.

I got guided up
to the stage recently.

"Ah!
I know where it is."

Um...

If that stuff... some people
feel comforted by it...

If it's something you like
to do, ask next time.

"Hey, do you mind if I touch you
around the midriff at work?"

And if I get the okay,
then go for it.

Uh, so, my husband...
Won't speak to his experience,

just that he grew up
in a big family, Philadelphia.

There's no food 'cause
somebody was drinking it all.

And though he had
a place to live,

he would oftentimes,
for safety, sleep in the woods.

Forty years later,
we're trying to decide

where to put the new TV.

Uh...

It's a over-100 degree day
in Los Angeles.

We just moved in together.

Uh, setting the scene.
A little hot, tired.

"Shall we put the TV
on the fireplace?"

"No, that's where
the fire goes."

"Should we put it
on that wall?"

"No, that's where we're
gonna do improv with the dogs,

and the dogs can play
whatever they want.

You know, just because
we have a pug and a Chihuahua

doesn't mean that's always
what they want to be in a scene.

Let them identify themselves
as a baby or a package."

"No, all right, let's put
the TV in the cozy corner."

"Oh, my, God.
I love you so much.

Cozy corner
is a cozy couch corner...

Corner... couch corner
for kissing and cuddling.

Scott leaves, the TV guy comes,

he says,
"Where do you want it?"

I say...

"On the fireplace."

And as they're drilling
two-and-a-half inch

diameter holes
in what I now understand

to be a hundred-year-old
sandstone fireplace...

I think to myself,
"Hmm."

Scott comes home, he says,
"Where is it?"

I said, "Ah."

"Maria, we talked about this

for a weird amount of time.

Can I not trust you to get
things done by yourself?"

He goes to hug me,
but I have begun to scream-cry.

"Don't you touch me.
Don't you dare touch me."

And from thence, we wrote
together this song about love.

Oh, wait, I forgot.
Is Scott in here?

- Scott, you here?
- What?

You gonna come down
and sing the song with me?

Come on, booboo.

Yeah!

Yay.

Yeah, yeah.
Look at this guy.

Ah-ah.

Okay.

Should we start the song?

♪ Um, I'm on the phone with
my mom having lots of laughs ♪

♪ She loves all my new jokes,
except for the one about Trump ♪

Honey, you could get on a list.

Mom, I can say whatever I want.

♪ No, you can't,
yes, I can ♪

Honey,
you sound speedy. Are you manic?

Oh, fuck you!

♪ It's saturation point

♪ It's been 20...

♪ It's been 20 minutes
we've been on the phone ♪

♪ It's saturation point

♪ We both got toxic,
it just got triggered ♪

♪ I'll call you tomorrow,
let's just ♪

♪ Shut up

♪ I'm on a trip
with some girlfriends ♪

♪ So fun, New Orleans

♪ Just had dinner,
it's time for dessert ♪

♪ Marquetta says...

♪ Hey, it's crème brulee ♪

♪ Marquetta says,
"Hey, no thanks."

♪ Katie says...

♪ It's crème brulee ♪

♪ I say something I just read
in a women's magazine ♪

"Nothing tastes as good
as feeling good feels."

"Shut the fuck up, Maria."

♪ It's saturation point

♪ It's been 72 hours, we've
been having a girl's time ♪

♪ It's saturation point

♪ We're all menopausal,
we just had martinis ♪

♪ Let's just change
the subject ♪

♪ There goes a blue car

♪ I said things,
you said things ♪

♪ We said things

♪ I said things,
you said things ♪

♪ We said things

♪ I said things,
you said things ♪

♪ We said things

♪ I said things,
you said things ♪

♪ We said things

♪ I'm on a walk
with my husband ♪

♪ So in love with him

♪ I tell him something
I'm worried about ♪

♪ He gives
unsolicited advice ♪

♪ I say, "Hey, I don't
feed any feedback ♪

♪ He says...

♪ What am I, a piece of meat
walking beside you? ♪

That's actually
the definition of listening.

♪ You say...

♪ That's not funny

♪ I bring up your

♪ Dead dad

♪ Saturation point

♪ Let's both take our phones,
let's watch animal videos ♪

♪ The one with the dog
and the monkey ♪

♪ The mouse and the cat

♪ The duck and the chicken

♪ The turkey and the turtle

♪ Let's just shut up

♪ I love you,
you love me, let's just ♪

♪ Shut up

♪ I love you,
you love me, let's just ♪

♪ Shut up

Hey, honey, there's this great

new book I read about
by a comedian,

and it just won a prize.

A memoir by a comedian,
it won a prize.

Oh, I'm sorry, Mom.

Is that the daughter you wanted?

♪ I love you, you love me,
let's just shut up ♪

♪ I love you, you love me,
let's just shut up ♪

Hey, dad, what did you
think of my TV show?

Ahem, what...

Whatever you need
to do for money.

♪ I love you,
you love me ♪

♪ Just shut up

Uh, let's just talk about

something else, like how dogs...

Dogs... some people say they
don't like wearing hats,

- but I... they do.
- They do.

Yeah, like ours
get a little smile.

Yeah.

I love wearing a hat.

Did you hear that?

The dog said it.

Himself.

He loves wearing hats.

♪ I love you, you love me.

Good night, thank you so much.

Thank you.

Thank you so much
for coming out.

Thank you, thank you.

Thank you.

Good night, thank you so much!

Thank you!

Thank you so much.

Can you guys do an example
of caring and sharing?

Like, just with something,
you know...

Just with your past week.

I'm the only one
who ever brings up

a complaint or a concern.

And so your... Marilyn never
has brought up a concern.

Oh, that's not true.

Uh, so, anyway.
I don't do it anymore.

If anybody wanted to learn more

about that whole business
of caring and sharing,

they could go to a workshop at

in Northern California.

That's what we did,
and it was pretty great.

But you guys don't do it.

Yes, we do do it.

You don't do the shar...

The part where
you say the concern.

But we don't have... if we don't
have a big resentment.

But Dad just said he stopped
saying his sharing because...

Because it's
a one-way street, yeah.

- A one-way street.
- Yeah.

Well, okay.

I'm not gonna make anything up
just to take care of him.

And that's that.

Oh, huh.

Well, there it is.