Pete Holmes: Nice Try, The Devil - Full Special

[Music] Ladies and gentlemen, Pete! [Applause] Huh, thank you. So, oh my God, thank you so much, Austin, Texas. How's it going? Late show? Great to see you. Look at this, look at how the spotlight follows me. I feel bad for the front row; it's like the sun rising on you. Look at [Music] this, just for you guys, Austin, Texas.

Yeah, one of my favorite towns. I saw one of my favorite things about Austin, Texas. One of my favorite restaurants has one of my favorite signs; perhaps you've seen it. It's a barbecue joint; has a sign that says, "No need teeth teeth te F." I'm not making this up. "No need teeth to eat our beef." That's a real sign that exists. I walked past that. This is a weird town, guys. You have a Whole Foods that you can drink white wine in the middle of it. You also have a barbecue joint that caters to the teethless. It's a weird place, guys. Walking around with a beard, to bead, just like I don't have teeth, but I love cow. Only problem though, these places don't cater to the no-teeth wallet; they definitely have teeth-having prices. Do you understand? A guy with no teeth goes in there; he probably doesn't have the coin to throw down for this premium barbecue. He's like, "H, do you accept eye contact?" "Beat it! Notif scram!"

I was recently home in Boston, Massachusetts, where my mother, Irena, referred to the singer Celine Dion—listen to me now—she referred to the singer Celine Dion as Salon Dijon. I honestly don't know why we're not all doing backflips right now. "Salon Dijon" was said to me in a room with air in it; I heard it, remembered it, and brought it to the show. That is a gift. I haven't even added anything; it's like a cat bringing a dead bird; it's a treasure. And it wasn't like this: it wasn't like, "Peter, who's that singer? French Canadian? I don't know. Salon Dion? I don't know. What's her name? I don't know. Salon, is that it? Salon Dijon? I don't know." It wasn't like that; it was like this: "Peter, your father got me tickets to my favorite recording artist, Salon Dijon, just an expensive mustard rinse of a performer. I love Salon. I hope she plays my favorite song from my favorite movie, *Big Boat Iceberg*. That's my favorite movie, starring my favorite actor, Leonardo to pizza place. He is a dream. Here, there, under the stairs. I love the lyrics." None of those are the lyrics, Mom.

So, I don't know if you can tell by my overall vibe, I am a friendly fellow, kind of guy that likes to get to the airport a couple hours early, get a few white wines in me, and start telling old people they still got it. That's [Applause] the high-five and babies, that sort of thing. I don't feel like I belong in comedy. People going out drinking slippery American cocktails, having sex after. I don't belong in the nightclub scene. Look at me, this face doesn't—how you doing? Fixed your taillight, *While You Were Sleeping*, no charge. That's—I don't belong in a comedy club. I like to think that there are millions and millions of different universes, each slightly different from the last, and this universe, the one we're all in currently, is the only one where I'm not a youth pastor. Does that resonate with you? I shouldn't be on a fancy stage right now; I should be in a carpeted gymnasium with an acoustic guitar with a rainbow strap, just like, "Who wants to rap about the Lord? Let's do this! Let's get some testim—is going, Tyler? I love those tesses, buddy. Break out those testies!" But no one will tell me why that's funny. Yeah, corny guy. I always like doing something silly up top, uh, to kind of—I look at it like comedy stretching. Remind me to not take any of this too seriously; it's just a silly job. So I'd like to do Pierce up top, if any of you are familiar with *What a Weird World*. You guys know Pierce? Yes, we do. We're going to do Pier—for those of you who don't know Pierce, I feel like expectations are getting up high; go ahead and lower them; nothing is about to happen. So this is it; this is my impression of a guy asking his friend Pierce to get beers for a party. Okay, starts with a door opening for no reason. "Pier! Pierce! Pierce! Get beer! Pierce! Pierce! Get beer!" And music. "Pierce tears for fearce! Pierce go to Sears! Pierce three tears! We're Pierce! If you don't do that in the shower alone tomorrow, you're dead inside." That's how that works. Make up your own; just be like, "I haven't seen you in years, Pierce!" Live your life; no one else is going to tell you to. We did an old one; to do a new one. This is a new Pierce. This is a guy—it's just as stupid. This is a guy telling his Latino friend that their soccer team finally broke their losing streak. Okay, guy telling his Latino friend that their soccer team finally broke their losing streak. [Applause] "Ju, we won! One! One! One! We won one! We finally won! One! One! Where were you when we won? One! One! We finally won! One! One! Is what we won! One! One! Is what we won! It was one to one for the longest time, one, then we won! One! One! Penalty kicks! If that doesn't unlock the safe where you keep your joy, maybe lube up the dial a little bit, just a little bit, for yourself." That's—we're having a good time. That's the worst thing to do when you're actually having a good time is to declare it. I do that all the time. If I'm at a party and I—we are having a fun time—I'll go, "Oh man, fun with friends, not anymore! You just ruined it!" I'll actually teach you guys the worst thing you can say. Do you guys want to learn the worst thing you can say? I figured it out. If you're at a party and you actually are having a fun time, wait for there to be a lull in your little horseshoe of friends—statistically every 11 minutes—then just look at them and go, "Oh man, this party is McDonald's. I'm lovin' it!" That's it; that's the worst thing you can say. Feel how you feel right now, violated. That joke changes your core temperature. The feeling of hearing that joke is the feeling of getting hit in the face with a living lobster; that's what that joke feels like. And everyone falls for it. I don't care how smart you are. Like, "This party's McDonald's? What? What do you—what do you mean by—what does he mean by that? What do you mean by that, sir? I'm lovin' it? You—you, sir…" Everyone falls for it. You have this—this is a tool in your tool belt now. You didn't know you were going to leave better than you came. If you're on a date, you just don't give a—about the date; you knew right away; you're like, "Nope, sabotage the date!" Wait for a lull and just look at them and be like, "Oh man, this date is McDonald's." Then there's a timing to it; it's a three-count, or two dry swallows. "I'm love—" They're gone; they are not there; they are not there when you come back. [Applause]

It's great to be in Austin. The last show I had was in Atlanta. My travel agent made a mistake and booked me in a bad part of Atlanta, called Atlanta. That one is right over the plate; that one, that is straight show business; that one. I don't know if you can picture this: friendly-faced fellow in a bad part of Atlanta. But I was just like, "Oh no." And I don't know if you've ever been driving around a sketchy neighborhood and you do what I do and start telling yourself that it's you—that you're judging the neighborhood inappropriately. That's what I did. I was like, "Stop it! It's fine; it's different; I like it; it's just different." Thank you. "What a vibrant community! Check-cashing places! What a wonderful service! Those should be everywhere!" Thank you very much. "Oh, a cash for gold! Thank you so much! Finally a place to get rid of this goddamn chest of gold I have for—I be a pirate back from voyage!" Thank you. I knew it was a bad area because I saw a pimp. It's 11:00 a.m.; I saw a pimp. How do I know it was a pimp? Picture a pimp; you got it. Don't alter your first draft of pimp in the least. I saw a man, head to toe in a furry purple suit, a glass cane with a living squid in it, and Kung Lao's hat from *Mortal Kombat*. I saw a pimp! Like the idea of a man who went to a costume shop, rented the pimp, and then proceeded to actually pimp within it, and then never return it—as is the pimp swag. Then I got to my hotel. I don't know if you're still playing the picture-at game, but it's not like a DoubleTree; it's like an abandoned building; someone had spray-painted the word "Hotel" on—two E's—put them wherever tickles you. I'm checking in behind 3 feet of bulletproof glass. I still think it's going to be a delightful stay. I'm asking what the Wi-Fi password is. "What is it?" "What? It's hard to hear you through this protective casing." "It's stab_me." How odd. "Stab_me." There's an underscore. "Stab_me." Thank you so much. Then it hits me: this has nothing to do with me or my perception of this area; this is a messed-up area. I don't care who you are; you need to get the—out of this area. So I'm in the middle of the transaction; I didn't know what to say. I had my roller bag and I was just like, "Never mind," and it just rolled out. I'm in the parking lot; it's 11 a.m.; it already looks like a Bone Thugs-n-Harmony video. I don't want to go to the crossroads just yet. So this is the most cowardly, lamest, most pathetic thing I've ever done in my life. I got in my rental car—AIA RTO—already pretty lame, terrified, no idea where I was, no idea where I needed to go, turned on the GPS, hand trembling, just knew I needed to get far, far away from there. Typed in Barnes and [Applause] Noble. I feel some of you—not sure if you can laugh at that joke—and I feel that same percentage filing that away as a viable option to get out of a sketchy neighborhood. It worked. I could have done Panera; I could have done Apple Store. Fifteen minutes later, I had a scone. Do you [Music] understand? You're welcome. It's not my finest moment. I think I'm getting too comfortable swearing. I recently told my doctor that I don't really—with [Applause] cheese. That's true. I was in a doctor's office in the morning, and he was like, "Tell me about your diet." I was like, "Pretty good. Don't really—with cheese." Maybe pump the brakes, old pey pants. Maybe pump the brakes. I'm a dumb man, though; I'm a dummy. I recently dropped a dog. Oh, that's okay. Hear the empathy noise. I didn't wound a dog; I didn't—that would be—I'd be crazy if I was like, "Okay, show's going pretty good; what next? I killed a dog!" You know, those things everyone loves? I ended one. I wouldn't tell you guys if I did that; I would save that for my serial killer journal. Just like, "Could man be so sweet? Is that just me?" That's the craziest thing about serial killers is the journaling. I understand killing some people, but who wants to go home like, "Big [Music] day. Take it easy. Doie Hower. He killed a lot of people today. Take it easy." So I dropped a dog. I didn't know you can't—did you know—maybe there's one person I'm helping—you can't drop dogs. If you want to put a dog down, they're like little old people; they need help; they have arthritis and joints; they're like, "Be gentle!" You got to be gentle. If you want to put a dog down, you have to kneel as if before a king and lay it down. If there's mud, put your jacket down; they need our help. I was raised with cats. You can bowl a cat. Do you understand? You can't hurt a cat; they're infallible; they're like the Pope or a Pharaoh; you can't hurt a cat. You can pick up a cat any way you want; you can grab a cat by the fat behind its neck; it'll yield to that move from its youth. Straight up, with that look on its face like, "This is degrading us both." I'm 6'6"; that's like a kitty cat skyscraper. I'll go as high as I want; give it a little bend of the knee, a hoist into the air; cat's cool, baby; he's unfazed; he doesn't even blink. Do cats blink? He doesn't even blink. Let's just do 13 kitty cat somersaults, smoke a tiny cat cigarette, land on all fours, be like, "Yourself, I'm a cat!" He'll disappear into a nearby shrub; you won't see him for two months; he'll be fine; he'll forge for himself; he'll come back on a rainy Thursday, covered in loam, just like, "I've returned, not because I like you, but because I choose to come back." That's how I like my love from women and from cats; I like to earn it; I like to earn it. When a cat meets you, he's like, "Die!" Then you work up to that purr. That purr means something. People are like, "My dog loves me!" I'm like, "Yeah, but your dog would also love a bag of sticks with your t-shirt on it." You know what I mean? Scram! But I love dogs; don't get me wrong; I love dogs. If I see a dog, I love it; I get excited; I'm very tall, and especially if it's like a cat-sized dog, I want to pick it up. That's how I love animals; I want it close; looks so small; bring it up here where I can see it. It's always a gamble picking up a dog, 'cause I'm never sure where they bend; it's never the same. Where do dogs bend? It's a gamble; they're like rigid little furry tables; you got to go in like a forklift and just take a chance. Once you're up in the air, you never know when's it going to yield into that lowercase C shape with the—right on your arm. We all act like that's not happening; it's a lovely beast; the—is right on my arm; it's cooler than the rest of them. So I'm holding a dog; it's like a 35-lb dog, like a Boston Terrier or something. Thing—took a picture with the dog—proof that I love dogs—and then I was done; I'm done with the dog. I feel you judging me; I'm judging me too. This is a stupid story; this is a tale of woe. I'm done with the dog, and an idiot—me—I just open—from here—I just opened my arms, and immediately I watched it falling; I was like, "That doesn't look right," 'cause this dog didn't put its paws out to cushion the blow; he put his paws to the side like a goddamn adrenaline junky skydiver trying to get the most juice out of the run. His arms flailed like an old man chewing mosquitoes at a company picnic, and then he greeted the Earth with his face. Are you listening to me? He greeted the Earth with his face. Do you know the sound of a dog crumbling into the Earth? I do; it's terrible; it's like dropping a hairy baby; everyone hates you; no redemption. You have no choices, though. You open your arms and drop a dog; it starts free-falling; you have two choices: one, let it go, which is what I did; the only other choice you have—I thought about it—is to own it and be like, "Your dog—your dog is a racist! I've always hated your [Laughter] dog!"

So, uh, I'm a single man. I am the only man up here, a single man. I've never really been single before; uh, it's new; it's interesting; it's not because I'm so—I can't stop getting it wet. You know, you ever offend yourself? I just offended myself. "I can't stop getting it wet." GH, gross. It's not because of that; it's because for the past whatever decade I've been sexually active—I've never said that before—for the past decade that I've been sexually active—what am I, showing you a slideshow? 1950s high school? This is a penis. Okay, here we go. For my whole life, if I sleep with a girl, I date her for a year and a half; that's how it works. She's not even aware of it; I'm like, "I'm your boyfriend!" That's how it works. And I thought I'd give that a break; I was like, "Let's see what happens if I'm a self-reliant man," and I will be a single man, and I like it. It's a give and a take. The give: you can do whatever you want; there's no little girl there to be like, "Stop it!" Head—they're not—they're not there. You can be like, "I'm going to shave with Miracle Whip!" You'll be surprised how far you get; you're just like, "Zesty!" And it worked. Downside: I choke on my soup; I die alone. That's the downside. I'll tell you, there are things that I do now that I'm single that I've never done before in my life. For example, if I'm going out—and this is sad—if I'm going out to a party or a dance or something—ice cream social—anywhere where I think there might be a girl and I might meet a girl—I hear lore of people meeting girls and having sex with them—I like—maybe for old pey, you know what I mean? So if I'm going out on a Friday night to a party, before I leave the house, I do stuff I never do, like I'll make my bed. I feel you getting uncomfortable; I'm uncomfortable too. I'll make my bed, 'cause I'm like, "A girl might see this bed; it's got to look like the cover of a Crate & Barrel catalog." I want it to look real nice, guys. I don't make my bed; I've never made my bed. What am I, a recovering alcoholic? I don't need structure; I sleep in the same swirl of top sheet as I mule-kicked it off the evening before in a fever dream. I've never made my bed; I jump right back into that like a caramel center in a Ben & Jerry's flavor I call "Lonely Man's Dilemma." I've never once made a bed. I can't tell you what it feels like to be wafting up a top sheet that I haven't moved in a millennium, just like—maybe a special lady tonight. Tucking it in—guessing I don't know how to tuck it in, like fancy, like a hotel. Spraying down Febreze. Hear the truth: no time for a wash; spray down some Febreze. This is awkward. If you're not laughing, you're not picturing a grown man alone, just like floral-scented desperation all over the sheets. There's a lamp that I turn on, like a sex lamp—mood lighting—I never use it unless I think a girl's coming over. Can't use the overhead one; it's too dank. What is this, surgery? Sex lamp? Clean up the toenails. This is true; the feet might make an appearance. Trim up the toenails, guys. Can't have the cold click-clack of your feet on tile be a deal breaker. Just like, "Hi, I'm Foghorn Leghorn, here to fornicate with you!" He doesn't have sex; he's a cartoon bird. Then I can't tell you guys—I don't have the poetry of language to then tell you what it feels like to come home 1 in the morning alone, see the crack of my bedroom door, see the lamp, smell the Febreze, and promptly masturbate atop a made bed. I can't—just like—this was first—someone [Applause] else. Pretty generous girth mime at the end. That is a generous girth mime. None of that's even a joke; that's just investigative reporting on what happens in my life. I'm a straight man. I'm one of those straight guys—some exceptions—some exceptions. I am completely gay for Ryan Gosling. That's true. Behold the correct response. In fact, any man not clapping and applauding, at least in his heart—he's a goddamn liar, and I want to hit you in the face with an antique fan from the Orient until you admit it. You don't have to be gay to know that that is a gorgeous, sexy beast, and he's everything that we want to be. I am gay for Gosling; that's right. I don't want to—him—that's not enough; that's just a little piece of me inside of him. I want to go all the way up in there and wear him like a puppet. Do you understand? I want to be Ryan Gosling—like I'm getting orders from Ryan Gosling. Like, I saw the movie *Drive*; changed my life; it's true. I saw—I left the theater; I was like, "Oh, that's what I'll do to be cool; I just won't talk." I've done it; it totally works. I've been on a date and the girl's talking; I don't know what to say. Do what Gosling would do, man: shut your mouth, chew on a toothpick, don't say—it works. And by "works," I mean we're in a non-sexual relationship where I'm helping her raise her son and also helping her husband rob a pawn shop. I think it'll be okay. Straight men are the most easily offendable group—my group. It's fun to—with them; it's fun to mess with them—with us guys. I love playing the price is right game with my friends. You ever do that? It's where you talk to your friend; you're like, "All right, I know you're straight; you are a straight man; I believe you; you check the box, mark straight; you are straight; got it. Ten million dollars—you go down on a dude?" I don't care how gay-friendly or open-minded the guy is; it's always the same; it's like, "What? No! No! No way, bro! No way!" Twenty million—"Barf! Barf! City.org, bro! I'm logging on!" A hundred billion dollars a week for the rest of your life—"Not even considering it, bro! Seriously! How many Tahitian islands and polar bear butlers do you need to forget fifteen minutes on a lonely Thursday? You'll move off on—" Do you know how much straight I've done? I've forgotten—with two glasses of Chardonnay and a Xanax, you'll erase the memory. You can even make it mythical, like, "Dude, your mom is dying; we'll cure her if you do it!" "No way, bro! Ma didn't raise no homo!" Just an irrational monster that won't save her. You kill a guy for a million dollars; I kill a guy for 200 cash—stab him in the neck, watch life leave his face, but not make him feel pretty [Music] good. Listen to me carefully, Austin: I'm straight; that means I don't want to blow a dude, but it doesn't freak me out. Penises don't freak me out; I'm attached to a penis. What do you think I'm in the shower like? "No! It's back!" I give a man a hand job most days—me. I know the warm, familiar grip of a penis, you guys. I could figure it out; I'd be freestyling, but I'd get the job done. Next thing you know, my mother's got everlasting life, and I'm doing backflips into gold coins, ducktail style. I'm so full of my ties; I have no idea how I got [Applause] there. Four—4 million? Are you kidding me? In a briefcase I can handcuff to my wrist? Yeah, 4 million; let's do this! You're right, $4 million. Yes! Ryan Gosling—50 bucks and a ride home; that's all. And I give him the 50 bucks, like, "Thank you very much, big fan. Where do you live?" This next one, I have no idea if it's going to work; this is a newer joke, and I'm not sure if it's too mean, because it's a weird feeling I've had. Uh, I'm a nice person; uh, I'm a nice guy; I don't know, just kind of like the kind of person you want to introduce to your parents. Like, "I'm hanging out with this guy"—like, "Hi! Nothing illegal! Hey, no pills or powders here! Hey, good-looking! I'm a friendly guy! If your name's Anna, I'm calling you Banana!" That's the kind of guy I am; that's who we're dealing with; that's Part A. Part B: every girlfriend I've ever had, I've secretly hated her friends. Don't abandon me, please; don't betray me here. I know that's a weird thing, and some of you are on dates, and you can't laugh—fine, I'll be the whipping boy. This is a weird secret I've had in every relationship. Thank you for nodding your head, sir. God love you. Every girlfriend—why? Let me break it down for you. You meet a girl—what an exciting thing—you fall in love with a girl, and hey, she loves you too! How magic! That's great! You found a girl, and then suddenly there's just six other girls, like, "Hi! I'm Tiffany!" "Beat it, Tiffany! I don't give a—I'm from Pennsylvania; can I light you on fire? Is that something I can do?" And my girlfriend always secretly hates her friends too. The second we're alone, she's like, "I know Susie's a—" "I hate Susie!" "Susie walks in—" "Hey, Susie! M-m-m—" "You hate Susie too!" We both hate Susie, and my girlfriend's parents too—always hate them. I'm sorry; I know that's unpopular; it's weird—always hate them. Why would I like them? You fall in love with a girl, then there's just two random old people, like, "Hello, how you doing?" "Scram! You're in the way!" "What are we going to hang out? Maybe we could all find a movie we could all enjoy. Maybe we could ingest grenades; is that something we can do?" They want to get all friendly. "Call me Dad! Call me Dad!" I'm full up on Dads; already got a Dad. And I've never been with my parents and been like, "I got to double up on this!" Never. And they hate me too; it's a facade; they hate me too. We're all pretending to like each other. Go to the Cheesecake Factory, like, "So, Peter, what was your major in college?" "Your daughter—is that a major? I minored—and I'm rough with your baby angel, is that—" And we're going to sit here like chums. If your dad's best friend—his daughter—he'd kill that man with a shovel, but we're going to split a dessert. It's a lie. I've been playing a lot of old-school video games; I got an emulator for my computer, so I've been playing a lot of like *Double Dragon*, uh, yeah, remember that? *Streets of Rage 2*, *Final Fight*. Been playing all these games, and I've been playing them and also cracking myself up with the following fantasy that I think would be fun for us to imagine together: the idea of a character from one of those side-scrolling games going to the doctor. Already laughing, 'cause he's making artistic choices; it's a video game character—like Hagar—going to the doctor. How are you picturing it? Is it a human doctor? Maybe it's Dr. Mario? These are your artistic choices, but I can't stop laughing at the idea of Hagar going to the doctor, and the doctor being like, "Hey, hey, Hagar, how you doing?" "Pretty good, uh—" "And what have you been up to, man? What—what's been going on?" "I've been fighting—doing a lot of fighting." "What kind of fighting?" "Oh, regular, you know, left to right, a lot of little guys, and then like at the end, one big guy, you know, fighting, you know, pretty standard." "Okay, and uh, what's the problem? What brings you into the office here today?" "It's my stomach." "Okay. Why don't—why don't you tell me a little bit about your diet?" "I don't think that's it." "All right, well, humor me. Why don't you just tell me what you eat on a normal day?" "Okay, it's a waste of time, but—uh—like an apple—like I'll—like I'll find an [Applause] apple." "What do you mean you'll—what do you mean you'll find an apple? You mean you'll go to the store and you'll select an apple? Is that what you mean?" "Oh, no, I'll be fighting, and then I'll hit a barrel, and that barrel will bounce a few times, flash and disappear, you know, a barrel, and right there on the dirty ground, there'll be an apple, and uh, I'll go over and I'll eat that in one bite; that'll get me about a third of the [Applause] way." "I forget who's who—you eat ground apples?" "Well, I—I don't call them ground apples, but yeah." "You eat anything else?" "Oh, yeah, fully cooked rotisserie [Applause] chicken." It's the stupidest joke there's ever been. You just witnessed the stupidest joke that there's ever been, and it takes like six minutes. You were here for something; something happened; end it. Oh God, let's see how weird we can get it. This is a weird one. I've been thinking about breast milk a lot lately. Breast milk. Hey, guys, breast milk. When's the last time you thought about that? Never. Milk from breasts, guys. Listen to me: women can make milk from scratch. Milk—the—you buy in the back of the grocery store—women can make it with their bodies.

I feel you backing away. I'm not a crazy person out on the sidewalk. Like you can make half and half with your tatas. This is a scientific fact that we must all reckon with. Any woman in this room can get pregnant, and something in your body goes, turn it on, and you eat it—Quiznos—and your body takes the nutrients from Quiznos, turns it into milk. Something comes out of your vagina, you feed it that, and it lives. Holy, that's amazing. What's even crazier is I drank it. You drank it. You sociopaths, you drank it, and you loved it. Oh my God, you loved it. You were never so happy spooning your mom's huge tit, napping mid-guzzle. Listen to the truth; you would cry and scream and wail when you didn't get it, and the only thing that would settle you down is going to second base with your mother. Do you realize you should be so much more up than you are? I can't believe any of us are wearing pants. Great job, you guys. Way to turn it [Music] around. We should all be dressed like Abraham Lincoln right now, killing off-duty clowns. That's where we should be—not even clowns in makeup, just like, I know you're a clown, and when the police get there, be like, "Sorry, I committed a thirsty act of incest." That'd be like, "As you were, Mr. President. Thanks for not killing all of us." This is the end of the show.

I feel like we should talk about religion. Um, good way, good way to wrap it up. You guys have been amazing, by the way—really, really great. I've been thinking about how I want to die. We all have to die. Weird if there was one person here that didn't know that. Like, what [Music] No, I've been thinking about how I want to die. I want to get hit by an arrow. Who's hit by arrows anymore? That never happens. I want to get hit by an arrow, and not like in the woods where it would kind of make sense. I'm would be waiting for like a crosswalk to change, just like, what? And you know, if one hits you, three more on the way, just like, who the heck is arching me right now? I would crumble to the Earth with a smile on my face. That would be the best way to die.

I thought about the funniest way to die. It's me. I've been hit, hopefully by arrows, God willing. I'm on the ground, and I'm dying, and somebody's passing by, and they see me dying, and they come and they kneel beside me to be with me in my final moment. Unwritten social rule; that's what you're supposed to do. So he kneeled beside me, and I see this man, and I get a second wind, and I lean up and I go, "Not today!" But then I just die anyway. To lean up with vigor and declare like, "Not today!" I guess today. Then you fall back down, and diarrhea shoots down one of your legs, and they put "Not today" on your epitaph, cuz you can't argue; you're gone. It's weird that none of us know what happens when we die. That is a huge burden that all of us share. I don't care if you're an atheist or a big-time believer; either way, I respect you. All of us in common: no idea what happens when we die. It's all just a guess. That's crazy. It's wild. We just walk around acting like we're not thinking about it. Like in yogurt shops, it's like, "Hi, is it all by weight? Is that how this works?" Like the Crunchies and the candies and the fruities—those are all, it's all by weight. Where did Grandma go? It's a heavy question, and I'm tired of not talking about it.

The way I see it, you have two choices: You can believe in something and be that variety of doofus, or believe in nothing and be that variety of doofus. Either way, you're a doofus. You got to choose. You can believe and be happy. Yellow t-shirt, just like, "Yeah, I know it doesn't quite add up, but I love it. It just works for me." It works for me. This is a segue. You're hauling ass on a Segway. You throw a wet Nerf football to a Golden Retriever that catches it as the sun is setting, and you're like, "That's proof of the Lord." That's Choice A. Choice B: You can wear a dusty corduroy jacket with elbow patches and scotch, bring everyone at a party down with your science, just like, "We're all bags of water and electricity; we're going to die." Those are your [Applause] choices, and they exclude each other. Everybody thinks they're in between. You got to choose. You got to choose right now. Why not be weird? Choose at a comedy show. Which are you? Everybody thinks they're in between. You got to pick one. Which is it? You're on a plane; it's going down right now. Which guy are you? Are you Science Guy in First Class with a scotch, just like, "Well, this is as meaningless as it all was," or the believer back in Coach, just like, "I'm going home"? You put it that way; it sounds obvious. Of course you would be a believer, but it's not always better to be a believer, because chances are if you believe in something, you probably think that thing has a preference on how you live your life. That's where Science Guy wins. Nothing's judging him. He's like, "What of it? I love dog pornography. Who cares? I look at it every night. I'm carbon; they're carbon. It makes me hard. I jerk off; I go to bed. We're going to die." He's fine with it. Or you can be a believer, mostly happy, but a closet homosexual, and burn yourself with a cigarette every time you get a half-boner from Ryan Gosling. Those are your choices, and I'm 33. You think I would have put this to bed already? I would have had it all figured out, but I can't, cuz things keep happening that make me question it, man.

Like, for example, recently a guy jumped off the Golden Gate Bridge to die—obvious, not to celebrate life, not like things are great, too high; it wasn't like that. He jumped off to die, and in the air, mid-fall, the guy realized that he didn't want to die, called out to God, and when he hit the water—listen, listen to what I'm about to tell you—when he hit the water, an otter—are you listening? You know that animal? No one ever thinks about—and otter swam up, pushed the man out of the water, and saved his life. That man said that that otter was sent by God. Was it? I don't know. I got both interpretations in my brain. I got Science Guy going, "Yeah, right. That otter probably thought the guy's feet were fish. That otter killed a human baby later that very day." But I want to believe in that world where God is up in heaven, and he goes, "Someone's falling!" Otter, and the otter goes, "Got it!" And God is up in heaven, and I picture the Burger King King. That's my God. You can have your God; I got my God. He's got the unmoving, smiling face, the crown, the Whopper Jr. up there watching, just like, "You want to live? Have it your [Laughter] way." I want to believe in that so very badly. I spent most of my life believing in that variety of God. I know I still have some religion click-clacking around in my subconscious. You know, like when you shake a spray paint bottle and you just hear that? That's what I have of religion still kicking around in there. I know that because I'm still afraid of raptures. Is anyone here afraid of raptures? We won't make fun of you. Someone went, "No." Did you say a little, "Oh, Jesus"? Oh, I heard a "no" from this. That would be a great time for the devil to heckle, like, "No. Continue your wicked ways, everyone." I'm afraid of raptures. I'm a grown man; I'm afraid of raptures. Remember a couple of years ago, a couple of people—like a big group of people—put up all those billboards that said the world was going to end Sunday at 6:00? I'm the only person that was terrified by that. I got home on that Sunday; it was 4:00, and I remembered, and I was like, "2 hours! I don't even have time to watch Forest Gump! What do I do?" What do you do? I was afraid the world was going to end by the Lord, you guys, so I didn't know what to do. I had a bottle of Scotch that someone gave me as a gift, and I was like, "S—listen to the thoughts of a man"—I was like, "If the world's going to end, I'm going to try this Scotch first," and I did. It was great. That's a weird ad, a weird ad for Bushmills: "Afraid the world's going to end by the Lord? Bushmills." So I drank the Scotch, and the Scotch worked; it made me forget that the world was going to end. And then I'm laying on the couch, and now it's just another lazy Sunday. No, I'm not proud of this part of the story, but I—I was going—I'm a grown man; I'm not proud of this—occasionally to recreate, I will take myself on a J date. Do you understand? I was going to take myself to dinner. I was about—I was about to begin. I'm very sexy with myself. I'm like, "You ready to begin?" I'm like, "Yeah, begin! I want an HJ from lesbian Val Kilmer. Get in there [Applause], girl!" And I was about to begin, and this is how I know I still have some religion click-clacking around back there, cuz I looked up at the clock and it was 5:58, and I went, "Nice try, the devil. No way, no way am I going to have my ham in my sandwich when Jesus comes out of the clouds on a flaming sheep, just like, 'Huzza! What are you doing?' I hope that feels like heaven, cuz you'll never know." [Music] "Hosanna." Sorry, for some reason I love to pretend that Jesus is tone-deaf. I don't know; it never doesn't crack me up. I feel like if you're not laughing, you're not picturing dying and going to heaven, and there's Jesus as you've always pictured him, and he's like, "Welcome, welcome to Paradise." You want to tell the King of Kings he can't carry a tune? No one wants to tell him. Go tell the Prince of Peace he needs to work on his harmony. No way. Playing the harp, he can do anything, just not much of an ear for music. Tone-deaf Jesus. Okay, the show's basically over.

Oh, thanks, man. Oh, man, that was one of the best moments of my life. I was like, "This is good, but it is kind of hard to like remember everything, and you're kind of—I'm aware of the cameras, and you're like, 'Oh, people are going to see this.'" And then there's this quiet moment. Weirdos are the best fans in the world, and I'm not—I don't—I'm not just pandering. Listen to what just happened. It's silent, and I'm kind of like, "Okay, there's a couple of things we could do, and then we'll do the last thing," and as I'm thinking about it, this guy, this gentleman right there—what's your name? Jan? Of course it's—we went to school together. Jesus, Fony! He went to Gordon College, my weird Christian college. Isn't that weird? It was weird. Now look at us. So in the middle of the show, Jonathan Flanders—who's looking good—you look like he lost some—we kind of got it together. You look like a man now, you know what I mean? You run into someone from college and you're like, "Why are you a man now?" That's what happened to Jonathan Flanders. It's dead silent, and he just goes, "This show is McDonald's." And then I turn, and it's people I know from college. This is like my otter moment. I'm like, "Is there a God?" I'm up here like, "Tone-deaf Jesus! Blasphemy is fun!" He's like, "Hey, Pete, remember New Testament blasphemy is fun?" I like to mix up which Jesus I blaspheme. Mormon Jesus; that's a good one. He doesn't get enough. Mormon Jesus like in traffic; it's fun. It's okay. I feel all your tightening up in unison. No, isn't that weird? It's like the only other time that happens is on an airplane, you know, where there's a big bump; everyone's just tight. That's the only response we have. Your body is pathetic. It's like, "We might die; we can't grow wings. Tighten the—" That's the only time that happens. We could do it now. On three. No one will know if you do it or don't. This is just a treasure for you, and some of you, this is the only thing you'll remember. An unison butt clench for no reason other than we're living our lives and catching happy checks. Ready? One. You better do it; I swear to God. I swear to somehow—all—no. Two. You're kind of getting ready; you didn't know you knew there was a way to get ready. Some of you kind of widened a little. Three! I did it! We did it! Good for you.

I think it's weird that electric eels exist. Those are real; they're not like unicorns; they're real. Elect—are you listening? Electric eels—eels that have electricity in them—are a real thing. They're swimming in the ocean currently with currents. That's happening. That's insane. When's the last time you thought about that? Kindergarten? Someone just came up to you and was like, "Hey, electric eels are a thing," and you were just like, "I believe you. I'm going to file that under 'T' for true and never open the file." Imagine having that open of a mind. That would be like if you were at the aquarium tomorrow, and I just came up to you and I was like, "Hey, you know seahorses transmit a Wi-Fi signal," just immediately you're like, "What's the password?" Magical. It's magical; it's working. I'm on. He swam away. I also think it's weird that we have a berry called "Boon Berry." Boon Berry, guys. You know, we name the berries. Human men and women get together and name berries. You don't just like lean into them real close, and they whisper like, "I'm a [Applause] strawberry." It's not how it works. We get together and we decide the names, and one of the names we decided on is "Boon Berry," guys. There's two varieties of berries that I'm aware of: regular and poison. We named one of the regular berries "Boon Berry." That is one sound away from a horrible camping accident. Just like, "How was camping with Dad?" "He thought I said 'Boon.' We're orphans now." You can't add a "B" to a word and have it be okay. Like, who wants banthra berry pancakes? Delicious fresh banthra from the mail.

You guys want to hear my dirtiest joke? We almost done. It's my dirtiest joke. It's not even that dirty; it's just like a fun dad dirty joke. It's like we're at a barbecue, and I'm like, "Come over here, away from the ladies. This is my fresa. Come on, get over here." It's more of an idea. I'm terrified of getting a girl pregnant. I think it's crazy that that's something you can do, guys. That's something you can do. Depending on how you choose your day, the events in your day, you can either like eat an Egg McMuffin or blow a baby up. Somebody, are you listening to me? It's like a Choose Your Own Adventure. One page has a low-cost breakfast; the other, there's a baby that's like, "I'm yours forever." That's insane. That's what makes me think—I think one of the reasons why guys enjoy pornography is there's no way nobody's getting pregnant. Not only are you not involved, but the people in the video never get pregnant either, cuz it's always like, "Come on my elbows," you know what I mean? "Come birds.net." And I think in the back of your mind—was taken—in the back of your mind you're like, "That's hot and responsible." But that's crazy, cuz the point of sex evolutionarily is to make a baby, but that never happens in pornography. That's crazy. That'd be like someone inviting someone over to their house. You're like, "You want to come over on Saturday and make a cake? I love making cake. Well, come over on Saturday; we'll make a cake together. I love it. Cake Day! I love that you called it Cake Day. See you Saturday for Cake Day. Thanks for thinking of me." And then they come over on Saturday, and you're like, "You ready to make a cake?" "Yeah." You get a big bowl; you start mixing up the ingredients, the milk and the eggs and the cream; you whisk them up real nice; you preheat the oven, and at the last second, instead of sliding it in there, you just throw it in their [Applause] face. She's like, "Boom! Nobody's getting pregnant today." Look in the camera and say, "Bang Bros." Look in that camera and say, "Bang Bros, Cupcake Edition." Okay, let's head back over to the ladies. Then we go back to the party. You guys have been truly wonderful. This is the—this is the last thing I will say. Uh, man, I just—this will be the last thing I say. No, not really. It's my favorite thing to talk about. We save it for the end.

People always get mad about telemarketers. I don't understand why. Whenever I go home and we get a telemarketer during dinner or whatever, my dad will answer the phone and be like, "God, a telemarketer. Trying to eat my corn!" Hangs up, so mad, vein in his neck. Guys, listen to me: Telemarketers are a gift from the Lord. Do you understand? It's an opportunity for joy in your life. Listen to what I'm about to tell you: They can't hang up. Do you feel that? That's the feeling of your life getting better right now. If you don't swear or threaten them, it's their job to listen to whatever you have to say. What an opportunity! I do it all the time. This is a true story. I answered my phone; I saw on the caller ID that it was a telemarketer. I decide to have a little fun, cash some happy checks, live my life. I answer the phone, went, "Hello." I can feel some of you wanting that to be funnier, but this is a true story, and remember, no one was even there with me. I was like, "This is going to be great." "Hello, guys?" Like, "Hi, is Peter Holmes there?" I'm like, "This is she. I'm in the bathtub. Scrub-a-dub-dub, scrub-a-dub-dub. I'm a downstairs downstairs. Say whatever you want. I threw up in my mouth. Should I swallow it? Press one. Anything you [Music] want." CU, like, "Well, I'm calling from Chase Bank." I'm like, "Ooh, money, money, money, money, money, money!" Did the money song for 10 minutes—not a real song. Then I said the word "diarrhea" 20 times in a row, guys. I'm 33, the age of the Lord. I said "diarrhea" 20 times in a row, never the same way twice, just listening to him nose-breathe on the other end, waiting for his turn to speak. Finally, I run out of wind; I can't say "diarrhea" any longer, and the guy gets a chance to talk, and he's like, "Well, Mrs. Holmes, I'm calling to let you know that your credit card has been stolen." This is a true story. What do you do? I couldn't stop the voice on a dime. I had to like slowly work my way out of the voice over 10 minutes. I was like, "Oh, no. Did they buy anything expensive? Or what do we do? Do we—do we put a hold on that account? Is that what we do? We put a freeze on those funds. Thank you so much for the early alert, Chase. I cannot afford to have this happening right now. Thank you sincerely. Goodbye, Austin." Thank you so much, everybody. This was incredible. Thank you so much for being here. Keep it crispy, everybody. Thank [Applause] you. Thank you very, very much. Good night. [Applause] [Music] [Music] w [Music] [Music] all [Music] [Music] [Applause] [Music] w [Music] [Music] [Music] yeah [Music] w