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[announcer] Ladies and gentlemen,
please welcome Chris Porter!
[cheering, applause]
What up, Denver?
-[cheering] -[laughs]
Oh, shit!
It's good to be back in...
-[cheering] -Yeah, it's fun.
I like it here, although hipsters are starting
to ruin your food like everywhere else.
LA is the worst, man.
I just want breakfast.
You know what I'm saying? I don't want a Radiohead album.
Are we just putting arugula on everything now?
Is that how we denote food?
Can't get a cheeseburger in LA anymore.
You can go to In-N-Out all day.
But if you wanna sit down at a restaurant
with a cloth napkin and silverware,
it's never just a burger.
Every burger has a story.
Like, "Oh, our burger comes from a cow...
that was happily raised
by our owners, Barber Geoff,
which is spelled G-E-O-F-F.
And then we cover that in Havarti cheese."
Havarti cheese is the handjob of cheeses!
It's a bullshit, tasteless cheese
that should start sucking a cheese dick.
I don't know what the fuck aioli is.
But you can keep it off my goddamn burger.
Every restaurant in LA, they're like,
"Oh, we have a garlic aioli."
I'm like, "No, you have a gross mayo, is what you have."
Aioli sounds like a word you say when you wanna
say "asshole," but your grandma is in the room.
"Is Uncle Steve coming? Goddamn it.
Uncle Steve's-- hey, Grandma.
Uncle Steve's a real aioli, that guy."
I was born and raised in the state of Kansas.
-[cheering] -Yeah.
I'm a simple man with simple tastes.
I just want a burger.
I want a burger made from a cow
that was born and raised to be a burger.
That is why that cow existed,
was 'cause some rancher went, "Fuck. I'm low on burger."
I don't want a cow with hopes and dreams.
I want a cow that knew the fucking deal.
I want a cow that walked by the slaughterhouse
every day like, "Is today my day?
Can I go early? I'm bored as fuck out here."
And I want cheese that is 40 percent plastic.
I want a cheese, that when I shit it out,
I shit out a red Solo cup.
And I want Heinz ketchup.
I want ketchup made by a giant corporation
that was built on making fucking ketchup.
Have you ever gone to someone's house
and they don't have Heinz?
And your immediate reaction is, "You broke-ass sons of bitches.
You could have called.
You have my number.
I have four dollars.
I brag about it all the time.
I'm like, 'Look at me over here breaking a five!'
I could have stopped and gotten us all real ketchup.
But no, you had to let all your friends know
that you've hit hard times with your fucking Hunt's ketchup.
Your goddamn Mr. Pibb of ketchups."
Mr. Pibb is a tool of the government
to track people that own dungeons.
No normal person is ordering Mr. Pibb on purpose.
Have you ever gone to the store for your friends,
you're like, "I'm grabbing sodas. Who wants one?"
Has anyone ever been like, "Fucking Pibb me, bro!
Give me 21 ounces of the Mr.!"
They're fucking up pizza, man.
I went to my friend's party in LA.
He announces to the whole party, "Pizza's here."
I said, "Fuck yeah. What kind of pizza did you get?"
He said, "I got spinach,
veggie, and white pesto."
I grabbed him by the lapels.
And I said, "When the fuck does the pizza get here?
'Cause you just named two salads and a murder mystery."
I don't talk about politics or religion onstage.
So y'all can loosen your buttholes a little bit.
[cheering]
Religion and politics are people's beliefs.
You're not gonna change someone's belief structure
over dinner, so you're better off just shutting the fuck up
about that shit, and then maybe everyone just has a good time.
[cheering]
Your parents never came home from a dinner party like,
"Children, gather round. We have an announcement.
After a fun night at the Liebowitzes,
starting tomorrow, we're Jewish! So...
clear your Saturdays!
Hope you like tiny hats.
I got bad news come December."
Here's a little word to the wise
in these politically charged times.
If you're at your friend's party, you look around
and everyone's having a good time,
and you feel like that is your opportunity
to bring up your political stances,
you need to do everyone else at that party a favor,
and instead of bringing up your bullshit political opinions,
just pull out your dick,
and shove it in the Jell-O.
Yeah. 'Cause you will get the same reaction
that you would have gotten had you brought up the election.
Everyone's gonna look at you and go,
"What the fuck are you doing?
We were all having fun. Why are you doing this?"
But at least if you stick your dick in the Jell-O,
your friends have a story for later.
"How was my weekend? Pull up a chair,
I'm about to win this shit.
You know Gary from Marketing?
I was over at his place for dinner.
Middle of dinner, Steve gets up,
pulls out his dick,
which was erect...
he saunters over to the dessert table,
just shoves it in the Jell-O!
I don't know! I don't know why he did it,
but he didn't bring up the election this time,
so it was better."
And now I realize that there are people in the room
that are like, "Hey, Chris. I don't have a dick."
You know who you are.
That's fine, just... you go over to the Jell-O,
you scissor that shit.
Yeah! Yeah, you do!
Put a glaze on it.
Stare at someone you don't like while you're doing it.
[cheering]
"Look at me, Karen.
Fucking look at me. Don't look at her."
I just think we need a break from the news, man.
It's on all the time now.
You guys can come here and hang out
and not have hear about that shit for a few minutes,
-you're probably better off. -[cheering]
When I was a kid, the news was on three times a day.
And normal people watched it one of those times.
Now, the news is on all the time,
and my question for that is when is shit supposed to happen?
That's why the news used to only be on once in a while.
They waited for shit to happen.
They came on at noon and said,
"Here's the shit that's happened so far today."
And then they came on again at five and said,
"Remember the shit at noon?
Here's what's happened since then."
Now the news is on all the time.
And there's not that much shit going on every day.
But they never fucking admit it.
I would have so much more respect
for all the news channels if every once in a while
you turned them on and they were like, "Fucking nothing."
-[cheering] -Yeah.
"There's not a goddamn thing going on right now.
Turn on something else, you fucking weirdos."
They got the news on everywhere too. You can't escape it.
They got the news on at airports, restaurants.
They got the news on at Jiffy Lube, man.
I don't need to watch the news at Jiffy Lube.
I'm just waiting to see my air filter.
Right, they bring it out to you like it's your abused child.
"Have you seen this?
What are we gonna do about this?"
"You're gonna put it back in the engine, Louis.
I got places to be.
You're taking the jiff out of my lube here."
"Mr. Porter, your filter's dirty."
"Yeah, I know, it's a filter.
That's what it does.
Let's get one thing straight, Jiffy Lube.
Only reason I'm here is 'cause my garage
does not have that giant hole in the floor,
where I could get underneath and do this shit myself."
[cheering]
Changing your oil is very simple.
You undo a bolt, the oil drains out,
'cause of gravity.
You put the bolt back in, you change the filter,
you put new oil in.
Ta-da! That's it!
I didn't skip a step!
The only reason none of us do it is 'cause our cars sit too low
and we're too fat to fit underneath that son of a bitch.
But you should know how to change your oil.
You don't have to do it. You need to know how it gets done.
If for no other reason than eventually
you're gonna have a child.
That child's probably gonna come with you to Jiffy Lube.
And they're gonna be like, "What are they doing in there?"
And you're gonna need to have a better answer than,
"They're fucking costing me 38 dollars."
It astounds me what men my age don't know how to do anymore.
Basic household man shit
has started to fall through the cracks,
and it's fucking embarrassing.
[cheering]
There is an app now called Takl, T-A-K-L.
And it's basically Uber for being a man.
You can have a man come over to your house
and do man shit while your man gets online
and downloads Imagine Dragons LPs.
You can have Takl come over, clean your house
and mow your yard. That shit I get.
Those are menial tasks, and if you have the finances
to pay someone else to do it for you,
God bless you.
But you can also use Takl to have a man come over
and hang a television on your wall.
And that's when I'm like, "No, bro."
You man up and you fucking hang a television.
It takes 20 minutes, and you get to use a drill!
[cheering]
How are you not using a drill whenever you can?
They are the best! They are half-gun, half-penis!
They are the shit!
They are a handheld dick that will burst through walls.
They are battery-operated Viagra.
Just... [imitates drilling sound]
I carry one around during sporting events.
"Let's go!" [imitates drill] "Come on!"
You get to use a stud finder.
You get to make dumbass stud finder jokes for 20 minutes.
"Babe, babe, babe.
Put it on me, see if it works.
I think the batteries are dead. Let me see it. Let me see it.
Gotta put it on deep skin."
[man] Whoo!
Remember when you were a kid
and you had to follow your dad around and hold the flashlight
while he did man shit?
Yeah. Now it's your turn.
Man up, drill some goddamn holes.
[cheering]
"Yeah, but Chris, what if I fuck it up?"
Well, then you fucking learn to spackle!
"Chris, my dad never taught me how to do that shit."
Well, that sucks, but get on YouTube
and let YouTube be your dad.
There are a thousand videos on YouTube
where real men will show you how to do real man shit.
There is even an entire channel of videos
where an incredibly attractive woman
will show you how to do real man shit.
Yeah. Yeah, you can learn while you jerk it.
And it feels good. It feels-- it feels better
because you learned something.
It's less shame.
Not no shame, less.
I call it "lurking it," and...
I love doing shit like that around the house.
I just feel like a man. It makes me so confidant.
If I hang a TV, somebody's getting fucked.
I'm just like, "Yeah! Look at that TV just hanging there!
Was it hanging there before? No, it was not.
Why is it hanging there now? This motherfucker.
You're goddamn right. Yeah, we're gonna fuck
and then we're gonna watch Frasier.
Let's do this."
[cheering]
Last time I hung a TV on my wall,
I got so confidant after it happened,
I looked basic logic in the face and said,
"You're not welcome here."
I hung a TV, I took a step back,
I was admiring my work,
I had my "I did shit" boner going...
Then it came time to do the minute adjustments.
Tilt it, make it perfect, so when I lay in my bed,
it's right in my face.
But when I approached the mount,
I realized Amazon had sent me a mount
that only tilts up.
Fucking idiots.
Why do they even make those?
Why did that not come up in the reviews?
"Think it through, think it-- Fuck, I hung it upside down!
Son of a bitch!
Get the drill!
Get the drill!"
Ladies, I don't mean to exclude you over the next few minutes.
I do need to speak to the gentlemen directly.
But I promise it's to benefit y'all in the long run.
Gentlemen, over the last year or so,
what I refer to as "the man brand"
has taken a bit of a hit.
There have been a lot of douchebags in positions of power
that over the last decades, have been using that power
to treat women incorrectly.
And now they've started to receive their comeuppance,
as well they should.
[whistling, applause]
But now it's on us, as the common man,
to start to rebuild the man brand
by being men again.
By building shit, fixing shit,
saying "Excuse me" and "Thank you,"
and treating women with respect.
[cheering]
And gentlemen, please, for the love of God,
stop sending people pictures of your dick.
-[cheering] -Right?
I don't get it!
Even if they ask for 'em, don't send 'em!
Have some class!
Every time I've been asked for a dick pic...
both times...
I have sent that girl a picture of Richard Nixon
with a caption that says, "It's tricky."
The only time I would even consider sending a girl
a picture of my dick is if she was like, "Chris,
I would come over and have sex with you right now,
but I genuinely don't think you have a penis."
That would be the only time. I'd be like, "Fuck you, bitch!"
[imitates camera shutter]
With like today's paper laying next to it. Just...
But as a way to hit on a woman, I don't understand it.
First off, no way that's your best angle.
Genitals are not attractive.
Especially ours.
There's a reason it goes inside.
Yeah. Someone gave you a dick and said, "Go hide this.
Yeah, make a good living so you can hide this."
Even the vagina, as part of the female form,
it's immaculate.
But when you solo it out,
even other women are like, "I don't...
I don't know what that is. Um...
Someone drop a sammich?
Uh...
Five second rule."
I also realize I'm older. I'm 39,
so I'm not really in the dick pic generation.
Also, if you're my age or older and you've sent someone
a picture of your dick, you need to fucking talk to somebody.
You got some issues.
'Cause I remember a time, when in order to send a dick pic,
you'd have to go somewhere and get that shit developed first.
Yeah. And then you had time to think shit through.
And then about the time your dick pic
came down the one hour window...
you're like, "No, this is fucking stupid.
This is stupid!"
It was my dick, and it scared the living shit out of me
when I saw it.
I'm not sending that to anybody. No, no, no.
I'll just send her the card. It's fine.
I remember when dick pics were a prank.
Remember when disposable cameras were the shit?
Before we had cameras on our phones,
you'd go to a reception,
everyone had a disposable camera.
By the end of the night, you'd walk by an empty table
with one lone disposable camera on it,
look around, grab it, shove it down your pants,
take a picture, put it right back on the table.
Yeah.
Yeah, 'cause they'd never know whose dick it was.
Unless you were the only black dude at the party.
You know... "Goddamn it, Jimmy."
Otherwise, it was four months later before they even
got that shit developed.
Some poor old woman like, "Oh, look, it's Tammy's wedding.
There's Tammy. There's my mom. And-- oh, my God, it's a dick!"
Like... [laughs]
♪ Dicks from beyond
♪ Where did they come from? Dicks from beyond ♪
And I get it, fellas, girls are hard to talk to.
Especially the cute ones. They're intimidating.
Some girls don't say the shit that they mean.
Some girls play little games.
But you gotta play the game.
You can't just show 'em your dick.
Would you do that in public?
If you were just talking to a girl at a bar,
and you just ran out of words,
"Uh... er, uh... so, uh...
My dick!" Would you do that?
No, you wouldn't. And you'd get arrested if you did.
So why are you doing it via text?
Do you not understand the liabilities of some woman
just having a picture of your dick on her phone?
It's just on her camera roll next to pictures
of her sister's kids, and a trip to Hawaii.
And then there's your hog just chilling.
That's power over you, gentlemen.
That girl calls you in a week, she's like,
"I need to borrow 50 bucks." You're like, "Go fuck yourself."
She's like, "I have a picture of your dick."
You're gonna be like, "Can I send you 30?
I feel like it's a 30 dollar dick, if we're being honest."
If you send anyone a picture of anything,
of your own volition, that's their picture.
They can do whatever they want to with it,
there's not a goddamn thing you can do about it.
So imagine you send a picture of your dick to some girl,
she doesn't want it.
But she's a graphic designer with 20 minutes to kill.
Right, she Photoshops your dick into a pretty little kitten.
That shit goes viral on Instagram.
Everybody's like, "Have you seen Kitty Dick?"
You're like, "No, I haven't seen Kitty Dick."
You're like, "Oh, fuck! That's my bathroom!"
"Why are you moving?" "Fucking Kitty Dick.
It's a long story. I don't wanna talk about it."
What if you got a weird dick?
What if you got a weird vein you're not supposed to have?
I wouldn't know.
Me and my friends never compared dicks.
You send a picture of your dick to some nurse,
she's like, "Fucking gr-- Wait.
That's not right. That's not right."
Now you're a thread on Reddit.
And I know there are dudes in the room that are like,
"Dude, she'd tell me if I had a weird dick."
The fuck she would.
She'd just send that picture to every girl she knew,
fucking hashtag "weird dick."
You don't tell people about their physical imperfections.
Ever!
Especially if you're just hooking up with them.
Or if you're just hooking up with them for the first time.
You're excited, you let a lot of shit go.
Why do you think ugly chicks wear so much makeup?
They know by the time you kiss that shit off,
you're probably back at your place and odds are
you're not gonna tap out.
Don't play dumb with me.
I know 80 percent of the dudes in this room
have made out with a shapeshifter.
You know exactly what I'm talking about.
You're making out with some girl,
you come up for air, you're like, "Who the fuck are you?"
Here's a perfect example of shit you let go
in the heat of the moment.
Nine years ago, I was making out with a large-breasted woman
in Des Moines, Iowa.
Things escalated.
She allowed me to take off her shirt, so I did.
When I removed her shirt, it revealed
that at some point earlier in her lifetime,
she had been in what I would consider
a very significant knife fight.
And from what I could surmise from the scars that I saw,
at best it was a draw.
Yeah. 'Cause this chick got lit up.
Like, it wasn't one or two, it was just like
stabby, stabby, stab...
Like, if I was her coach, I'd be like,
"We need to work on your bobbing and your weaving.
'Cause... you're just standing there."
But in the heat of the moment, I didn't give two shits.
Took a look at her, I was like, "Oh, fuck! You've been stabbed.
You're about to get stabbed again. Let's do this."
[cheering]
But if that girl would have sent me a picture
of her stabby-ass torso,
I'd have been like, "No thanks, Julia Caesar.
I'm good on that.
[laughs] You look good in that Paul Pierce jersey."
Also, dudes, can we not be psychos anymore?
That seems to be a trend that's fucking stupid.
-[whistling] -I saw a dude full-on
cry in a bar the other night.
Guys, we don't have emotions in public.
That's not what men do.
If you-- like, I'm not saying don't cry.
I'm saying, if you're gonna cry, fucking leave the bar.
We're trying to have a good time in there.
[gasping] Fucking leave!
That should leave... [gasping] Fucking go!
A bar is not a place for emotions.
[gasping] Go to your car, turn on Bob Seger,
cry like a man.
[man] Whoo!
This dude was-- it was pretty obvious what was going on.
Everyone in the bar saw it.
This dude had a crush on a chick,
she thought they were just friends,
she showed up with another dude,
he was hammered, and he just went full psycho.
Just... [yells]
[yells]
She had no clue. She was like,
"I don't-- I don't know what's happening."
Dudes don't handle infatuation well, ladies.
It's not an emotion we deal in often.
Men deal in three emotions 98 percent of their lives.
Men deal in happy, angry, or confused.
Yeah. And I know there are women in here going, "Horny."
But horny is happy and angry at the same time.
Yeah. We're happy we got a boner.
We're angry we got nowhere to put it.
Otherwise, dudes deal in three emotions:
happy, angry, confused.
If you give us any other emotion,
our first instinct is to run it through those three emotions.
Sadness? Watch your man watch his team lose the big game.
He will fucking go through all three emotions
in about nine seconds.
Big game's over, they lose.
[laughs] "It was a good year. It was a great year.
You know, I didn't think we could get this far.
Fuck!
What happened? What the fuck happened?
We were so good all year."
[cheering]
Women deal in all emotions all the time.
If they don't feel them in their real life,
they watch shows with them in them.
Women will watch shows that make them cry on purpose.
They look forward to that shit.
They call their friends to come--
"Hey, you wanna come over and cry on Wednesday?"
"Fuck yeah, I do!"
You know what those shows are?
Those shows are emotional CrossFit, is what they are.
Those are just women doing emotional reps.
And they're doing sadness squats and love burpees.
When women get crushes, they're fucking--
they're light years ahead of us. They've seen all the movies.
Guys are blindsided, we're just like,
[blubbering] "I just think about her all the time."
Women are just reading defense. It's like,
"No, it's fine. It's just-- it's summer. It's fine."
Here's a good test, fellas, for the difference
between infatuation and crazy.
Infatuation is when you think about a girl a lot,
you wonder what she's doing, kind of wish you were involved.
Crazy is when you go find out.
Here's the problem with the news being on all the time.
Stupid people think they're smart now.
Stupid people used to know they were stupid.
Remember back in the day, you'd be talking about
some deep shit, you'd throw it to your friend, Dave,
he'd be like, "I don't fucking know. I'm fucking stupid."
No one says that shit anymore.
Now, stupid people think that 'cause they watch the news
for six hours every day, that now they're super smart.
But all they really did was watch the same 15 minutes
37 goddamn times.
Yeah, and they're so fucking stupid,
they don't even get it.
They're deep into hour three just fucking riveted. Just...
And when stupid people think they're smart,
they start saying their dumbass opinions in public.
It used to be, if you had a fucked-up opinion,
at least you felt outnumbered enough
to shut the fuck up about it.
Remember you had your buddy Dave at work,
and Dave was kind of a weirdo.
You felt bad for Dave 'cause no one hung out with him.
So you take him out for drinks.
And after a few too many Pabsts...
Dave would start talking
about some bullshit conspiracy theory.
After 25 minutes, you're hearing about how chemtrails
are gonna poison us all.
You're just like, "Shut the fuck up, Dave!
This is why no one hangs out with you.
'Cause you're stupid, that's stupid,
now we're back to 'you're stupid' again."
And Dave would tell you to go fuck yourself.
And he'd go home and he'd sleep that shit off.
No harm, no foul.
See, now Dave thinks he's smart.
So he goes home and he Googles that shit.
Google is not an answer engine.
It's a search engine.
It doesn't tell you when you're being a dumbass.
It just connects you with 80,000 other dumbasses
that think the same dumbass shit you do.
[cheering]
Do you know how fucking stupid people can get on Google?
I wanted to find out,
so I started Googling the dumbest shit I could think of.
I Googled "the sun... is bullshit."
You know the sun? The S-U-N.
The ball of fire in the sky that says, "Hey.
It's daytime."
We've heard a lot of debate in our lifetime.
No one to my knowledge
has debated the existence of the sun.
I thought we were all 100 percent...
on the sun.
Do you know what should have happened when I Googled
"the sun is bullshit"?
Nothing. Nothing should have fucking happened.
Nothing should have come up on my screen.
Some sort of alarm should have gone off at Google headquarters.
And they should have choppered authorities to my apartment.
And I should have had to explain in triplicate
why the fuck I just Googled "the sun is bullshit."
That's what the fuck should have happened.
[cheering, applause]
But do you know what happened?
A bunch of shit came up. Yeah.
There are people in this world
that think this whole sun theory we have
is just a little too easy.
I don't believe that we as a nation
should ever round people up due to their beliefs.
But should we ever start...
we need to start with these windowlickers.
-All right? -[cheering]
That's an easy vetting process.
"Hey, man. Sun real?" "Yeah." "Move along.
Hey, man. Sun real?" "I don't even know."
"Fucking get in the truck."
And then you drive the truck to Arizona in August
and you fucking leave 'em.
[cheering]
And you come back three days later and you go, "Hey.
What you think about the sun now?"
People think the earth is flat again.
How many science classes do you have to fail
before that even comes into the realm of possibility
for your half-incestual ass?
Even the thought that Columbus
thought the earth was flat is incorrect.
Columbus knew damn well the earth was round.
The Vikings had been over here 100 years earlier.
And they came back and told everybody, "Man.
We just killed a bunch of people by going 'achoo.'"
Do you really think the Queen of Spain
is gonna give her three best ships to some lunatic
to fucking sail off the edge of the planet?
They knew-- have you never seen a picture of earth from space?
What do you think, we got the perfect angle
every fucking time?!
Have you never seen a lunar eclipse?
Has it ever just been a line across the moon?
Have you ever talked to a sailor
that crossed the Atlantic?
Has he ever told you about the big flip? No.
"Aye, three days into the journey,
we all go, 'Whee!'"
Everybody thinks they're all kinds of smart now.
And you're not. No one is.
That's impossible.
You can't be all kinds of smart.
You're one kind of smart... two at best.
Ninety-eight percent of the people in this room
have an area of expertise.
An area of life where you know as much, if not more,
than anybody else in this room.
And it can be anything. A computer system at your work,
landscaping, beautician, doctor, lawyer,
whatever the fuck it is.
Ninety-eight percent of us have an area of expertise.
Two percent of us don't.
Two percent of us are complete dumbshits.
And that's fine.
We have to keep Buffalo Wild Wings staffed.
You ever been to a B-Dubs? Why does that shit take an hour?
Maybe cut out some flavors, give these kids a chance.
No one's ordering the mango habanero ever.
Oh, it's sweet but it burns my butthole?
Fuck yeah! Give me six boneless.
Just as 98 percent of us are some kind of smart,
100 percent of us have an area of life
where we don't know as much as we should.
Everyone is some kind of dumb.
Whether it's art, history, physics, common sense,
whatever the fuck it is, everybody's some kind of dumb.
Everyone throughout time has been.
The smartest people you can think of
have been some kind of stupid.
Einstein didn't know how to use a comb.
Remember that girl in high school
that would ace every test, get in her car
and get lost in the parking lot? Yeah.
Everybody's some kind of dumb, man.
Whether you keep dropping your phone in the toilet,
or whether you keep getting DUIs,
or whether you like Luke Bryan's music.
[cheering]
He is the worst,
and you're gonna get cancer from listening to him.
♪ Rain make corn Corn make biscuit ♪
"Oh, fuck, it's a tumor."
Luke Bryan is the Jerry Sandusky of country music.
[crowd groans]
And all of his fans are Joe Paterno
watching him finger blast an American institution.
I have told that joke throughout the country
in preparation for this special.
And while it's angered many women,
not one of them have come up to me after the show and said,
"You know, if you listen to this one song,
I think it would change your mind."
'Cause there-- there fucking isn't one.
'Cause he's terrible.
Did you notice that when Luke Bryan got famous,
Merle Haggard died?
Yeah.
That dude did cocaine and drank bourbon
for fucking 30 years and was fine.
Luke Bryan hit CMT, he was like,
"I'm fucking out. I don't need this shit."
If you don't think everybody's some kind of dumb,
I want you to go to Home Depot
and I want you to count the handicapped spots
in the parking lot.
'Cause there's like a thousand of them.
And there's a reason.
Home Depot is where smart people have to go
right after they found out just how fucking stupid they can be.
And they've usually already injured themselves
to a point where they have a brand-new placard.
My father's the smartest man I've ever met.
That man whoops my ass in Jeopardyevery time.
And in the 39 years I've been alive,
I've watched him climb from regional salesman
-to chief executive officer. -[whistling, cheering]
-Yeah. -[applause]
He's also the same man I watched electrocute himself
four times in one afternoon.
Yeah. Not in a row either. Not like... [buzzing sound]
No, no. It was like, "burzap,"
"I have time to call a professional and end this,"
"burzap,"
"My family's laughing at me,"
"burzap,"
"Now they're worried,"
"burzap," "Now they're inviting people over to watch."
My mother asked my father to replace four outlets
in the kitchen that had become cracked and old.
My father, being a smart man,
went to the fuse box and turned off what he felt
would be the appropriate breakers
to complete such a task.
Side note: my parents currently live in the house
that my mother's father built,
and apparently Grandpa was not a big labeler.
So the fuse box, as my dad puts it,
is just a fucked-up game of "Guess Who?"
To my father's credit, the first three outlets
were replaced without incident.
Number four got sticky.
I was not in the room
when my father was electrocuted the first time.
But I heard it.
And I knew exactly what had happened.
I don't know if you've ever heard 110 volts
run through a loved one.
But I can promise you that the sound they make
when it happens is a sound that you will only hear then,
or during an unexpected finger in the butthole.
Those are the only two things on planet earth
that will make a grown-ass man go... [babbling]
So I heard that.
And then I heard my mom chuckle.
[laughs] "Oh, honey.
I guess that outlet's on a different breaker, huh?
Maybe we should go downstairs, see which one that is."
To which my father said,
"Nah!
I'm almost done."
What the fuck does that mean?
What does that mean?
Do you think electricity gives a shit
how far into the job you've gotten?
I was there for the second one. It was funny.
I laughed in his face.
You would have too.
My father was in the middle of a sentence
explaining why he didn't need to turn off the breaker.
"Nah, son, all I have to--" [babbling]
After the third one,
which ended with a "Shhhit!"...
I said, "Dad, I'm only in town for the weekend.
I did not allot time for your funeral. Um...
Why don't I do this? Why don't I go downstairs,
turn off that big red switch at the top of the box?
That'll cut off power to the entire house.
And then you can go fix the outlet, not die.
When you're done not dying, I'll come back downstairs,
I'll turn the power back on.
And then I, and I alone,
will walk throughout the entire house,
fix all the clocks and the router,
'cause I know that's what you're fucking worried about."
And I promise you if my dad had died that day,
I'd have written that shit on his tombstone.
"Here lies Scott Porter,
'cause he didn't wanna fuck with the router."
And there'd be a USB port in the tombstone
where you could charge your phone off his charred remains.
I've put my dad through a lot.
Not as a child, I was a good kid.
But as an adult, I put him through some paces.
I haven't lived in Kansas City for over 13 years.
So when I come home, it's a bit of an event.
Sometimes, my parents have parties for us.
Sometimes, we just have parties at my parents'
and don't fucking tell 'em. Um...
But two Aprils ago, I was home for a wedding.
Through a bunch of weird experiences, I've become friends
with Justin Verlander, who's a pitcher for the Houston Astros.
-Yeah. -[cheering, applause]
At the time, he was pitching for the Detroit Tigers.
And they had a night off in Kansas City.
So Justin and I and a few of his teammates
went out and had a few drinks.
While we were out, Justin saw a young lady,
he goes, "I'm pretty sure I know that girl.
I think she's an actress.
I think my fiancée and I hung out with her last weekend.
I should probably go say hello."
I said, "Justin, we're in Kansas City.
There's no way that chick's an actress.
She probably works at Cheesecake Factory."
He said, "No, I think that's her."
Calls the waiter over, he goes, "Who's that girl over there?"
Waiter says, "I don't know who the girl is,
but everyone at that table's with Mumford & Sons.
They're here playing the Arena tomorrow night.
And they're here having dinner."
And Justin says, "Well, send them a bottle on us."
Meaning him. Because... I'm not paying for that shit.
Uh, first off, not a big Mumford & Sons fan.
Second off, if I'm hanging out with you
and I know you've signed a contract for over $100 million,
I'm not paying for shit.
Yeah, fuck you, dude. You pay for shit,
it's not even on your register.
I pay for shit, I don't even get to buy shoes next month.
And I'm gonna be fucking pissed.
So he sends them a bottle. They come over to say thank you.
Turns out it's not Mumford & Sons.
It's just & Sons.
Mumford isn't there. I don't know where he was.
I'm assuming he's back at the hotel writing a song
that at some point goes... ♪ Oooh
So & Sons come over, start talking to the Detroit Tigers.
I'm not really involved. I kind of tune it all out.
But when I come back into focus, & Sons are talking shit
to the Detroit Tigers about beer pong.
& Sons are like, "We'll fucking whoop your ass
in some beer pong."
And the Detroit Tigers are like, "We get paid very handsomely
to put balls places.
Fucking bring it."
And I said, "Hey, fellas.
My parents live about eight minutes from here.
We could settle this."
The reason I said that was 'cause I was fully aware
that both & Sons and the Detroit Tigers
have an entire floor at whatever hotel they're staying at
to do whatever the fuck they wanna do.
So there was no reason to come to my parents' house.
It was complete fake hospitality,
until they all turned around and looked at me and said,
"Fuck yeah! Let's go to your parents' house
and play beer pong!"
Yeah.
And that's when I went, "Oh, shit!"
'Cause it is now two o'clock on a Sunday night,
technically Monday morning.
My parents are not gypsies. All right?
They have real jobs with real responsibilities.
And that shit's about to start in about six hours.
So I-- what am I gonna do?
Like, I can't look at these guys and be like, "You guys!
My parents." Right?
So I just said, "Fuck it, let's roll the dice,
see what happens."
So we start to leave the bar.
As we do, my sister texted me 'cause she was also in town.
She said, "Hey, I'm out and about.
If you get home before I do, will you walk my dog?"
And I texted back, "Unless you're out and about
with the goddamn Dave Matthews Band,
you better get your fucking ass home,
'cause shit's about to go down at Ma and Pa's house."
So at 2:30 on a Sunday night,
me, my sister, and about 12 dudes
roll into my parents' basement and start throwing beer pong.
And let me tell you, shit got weird.
Like, weirder than I've already described.
Like, my sister, who's 30, ended up in her prom dress.
I don't know. I don't know how that happened.
God bless her for being able to fit in it.
But also, the fuck?
All right? So...
About 3:30, I decide to go out and smoke some weed.
Ampersand Sons come with me.
But as it was the middle of the baseball season,
the Detroit Tigers could not partake,
so they had to pretend like it was the playoffs and watch.
-[audience] Ooh! -[cheering]
So we come back in from smoking weed,
and my dad's downstairs and he's pissed.
Like, "What's up, Dad?"
And he's like, "What the fuck's going on down here?"
I go, "Well, this is & Sons,
of Mumford & Sons.
And this is half the Detroit Tigers' bullpen.
And we're playing beer pong.
And it was in that moment that I realized
my father was no longer sure if he was actually awake.
You gotta look at it from Dad's point of view.
He walks downstairs in the middle of the night,
sees a bunch of weird dudes that he kind of recognizes,
and my sister's in her prom dress.
Yeah. Shit's weird.
And Dad's confused as shit. He's like, "I don't...
What... Is that Justin Verlander?"
"Yes, sir, it is."
"Well, then I don't know what the fuck's going on right now."
He walked upstairs, that was the last I ever saw of him.
Not ever, just that night. That would have been a weird...
That's a dark turn to that story.
[laughs]
That would have been funny if he just was like,
"You know what? I'm just fucking leaving the whole family
after this thing."
Whole next day, I'm freaking the fuck out.
My parents have done a lot for me over time.
I don't need to be pissing them off over some bullshit.
So when my dad came home, I was completely prepared
to take him out to dinner, buy him some drinks,
make amends for the evening previous.
That was until my dad walked in the door
like he'd had the greatest goddamn day of his life.
He walked in like... boom! "What's up, everybody?
How you doing? How you doing? [imitates gunshot] All right!"
I go, "The fuck happened to you today?"
And he just stopped, he goes,
"I fucking hated you this morning."
He said, "I woke up on about four hours sleep.
I cursed your name all the way to work.
But then I got to work, and everyone started asking me
why I looked so tired and exhausted.
So I started bitching about my son bringing home
the Detroit Tigers and Mumford & Sons
and playing beer pong all night.
And now I'm the coolest motherfucker in the office."
-Thank you very much, Denver. -[cheering]
God bless y'all. See you next time.
Thank you.