(male announcer) HBO presents
One Night Stand,
with comedian Louis C.K.
Ladies and gentlemen, Louis C.K.
[applause]
All right; thank you.
Thank you very much.
Thanks, you guys; that's very nice.
Thank you.
How you doing, all right?
Good.
Good; this is good. You're out.
Being out is good.
It is.
I don't go out anymore.
I have a baby now, so I don't go out.
Some of you have babies, but you don't love them,
so you're here; that's cool.
No, I mostly just go out with my daughter.
I went to the park with her the other day.
I was at this park and-- New York City park--
and they had these "No Drinking" signs at the park,
but it doesn't say, "No Drinking."
It has a picture of, like, a martini glass
with a line through it.
Are those really the people causing the problems
with the drinking in the parks?
Are they reaching their target audience
with a martini glass, really?
Shouldn't there be, like, a bottle in a bag
with a line through it?
Do you see people at this park at 4:00 in the morning:
"Hey, motherfucker!"
I try to go to movies, but movies are all shit now.
They are; they're all shit.
Like they just have this machine that just--
just makes shit.
I try to see-- I rented a movie.
I rented that Jesus movie, where they beat the shit
out of Jesus for a couple hours.
Wow, they kicked his ass.
What happened?
What, did he key somebody's Camaro?
What did the guy do?
Look, I didn't like the Jesus movie.
I thought it was a shitty movie.
And people get offended when you tell them that,
like you're saying something wrong.
It's like, "I thought the Jesus movie sucked."
And they're like, "Hey, man."
Like, what? He's not in it.
Who gives a shit?
Like Jesus cares about Mel Gibson's movie, you know.
Look, I was raised Catholic, so I know He did that for me,
and I appreciate it.
You know, thank you.
He should have asked first, you know.
I would have said, "I'm all set;
I don't need that done," because--
a little presumptuous.
Only because-- Look; here's the thing.
I was raised Catholic, and I'm not anymore,
because they-- look, if they're right,
I am fucked; I'm going to hell.
I am, because I'm really a--
I do wrong shit a lot.
Man, it's really-- I'm going to hell; I know it.
And I don't want to go to hell,
and really because I don't like new places.
That's really the reason.
'Cause I'm afraid I'll go to hell,
I won't know where to sign up for shit,
I'll be all confused--
like the first day of school, you know?
I wonder, is there, like, a schedule to hell?
How organized is your damnation?
Like, do they first-- do they put you in one room,
and some monster fucks you up the ass for 1,000 years?
You come out, you're like,
"They ain't fucking around in there, I tell you.
"I don't recommend that room.
That was a drag."
Then they take you and they put you in another room,
and they shit on you-- or I don't know
what the fuck they're doing down there,
but what if hell's not like that?
What if I'm just standing in a hallway in hell, like,
"What do I do? Where do I go?"
Some demon walks up to me.
Hey, [growls].
And I'm like, "Woo! Demon."
And the demon's like, "Come on; suck my dick."
Now I'm blowing a demon in hell, and it's horrible.
I'm thinking, "I shouldn't have lied so much,"
or whatever.
But here's my question:
What if, when I'm done blowing the demon in the hallway--
which, how do you know when you're done
blowing a demon in the hallway?
I guess, when he comes fire ants on you, whatever.
When I'm done blowing the demon in the hallway,
what if some guy in charge of hell walks up to me and goes,
"Hey, man, you didn't have to blow that guy, you know.
"He just hangs out here.
"He's not part of your damnation or anything.
What did you blow him for?"
I just assumed you're supposed to blow people.
He said, "Suck my dick," so I, you know--
"So, say no. What's so hard about that?
"Jesus.
"Look, man; you better pace yourself.
"You're down here forever.
"You're gonna blow a lot of demons
"and elephants-- all kinds of shit.
Don't be freelancing in the hallways, for Christ's sakes."
And also, you gotta die to go to hell,
and I don't want to die.
I like my life; I'm very happy.
I'm married, and I love my wife.
I love her very much.
My wife hates me.
She fucking hates me.
She hates me so much.
Like, that's what she does.
Like, if you asked her, "What did you do today?"
"I fucking hate that guy; that's what I did today.
I hate Louis."
She is so mad at me all the time.
Here's the latest thing: the other day,
she got really mad; she said to me,
"You know what you did?
"You filled the dishwasher with dishes,
you put the soap in, and you didn't turn it on."
And I'm like, "Oh, shit.
What are we going to do now?"
But here's the part where she blows my mind.
This is amazing when she gets to this level.
She says, "Well, why didn't you turn it on?"
Like I have a reason for not turning it on.
And I'm like, "Can't I just be stupid?
"Can't it just be that I'm a fucking idiot,
"that I filled the dishwasher, and then I went, 'Duh,'
and I walked away?"
I can live with that.
I'm cool with that.
But she says, "No, why'd you do it?"
Which means I decided not to do it.
Do you know how much more of an asshole that makes me?
That means I filled the dishwasher,
and then I went, "You know what?
"Fuck her; I ain't turning it on."
"She can suck my dick if she thinks
"I'm pressing that On button.
"I'll fill it, but I don't fucking press On;
not in my own house."
Why would I do that?
That would be crazy.
The thing that she's usually mad about is simple.
She says that I don't listen to her when she's talking.
And I don't,
but it's not because I don't love her, blah, blah, blah;
it's because--
I try to listen; I really do.
When she talks, I just stare at her face.
I'm like, "Come on, bring the story."
But somehow, I'm like, "What the f--"
I can't do it; I tried.
'Cause every story gets divided into 50 stories
that all branch out into these crazy--
And I'm like, "Holy shit."
I've got ADD; I can't do it.
I'm like, "Fucking please."
But I try-- Every time I try,
because I love this retarded woman,
so I try really hard to listen to her stories.
Other people don't even try.
We go to parties, she starts talking,
people just walk away like, "Fuck this.
"That lady's crazy.
Who would waste time listening to that crap?"
Me.
She can't help it.
I really feel bad for her, because the thing is
that every word of this story gets her so excited
that she wants to fucking run with it.
She can't fucking just break through and get to the end,
or even the beginning.
This is my wife telling a story:
She's like, "Guess what happened to my mom today.
"You remember I told you my mom, how when she was in college--
"Not when she went to Michigan; when she transferred.
"Remember, 'cause that guy got weird
"nd she had to leave 'cause he was--
"Not the Iranian guy; that was a different story.
"That guy--actually, I think he was Persian.
I heard that Persia actually split--"
What the fuck are you talking about?
Jesus Christ!
Pick a thing!
Have some consideration for the fucking listener.
I don't do that.
Here's me telling a story:
"I bought a tomato, and I ate it, and it was good."
That's a story anyone can follow.
It's about a tomato the whole time.
I like being married, though.
I do; I really like it.
I seriously do.
We were having sex-- my wife and I--
a couple of weeks ago,
which is amazing, that we did that,
because we never have sex.
Never.
Because we have a baby, and our baby's a fucking asshole
and won't let us have sex.
No, fuck--that kid's a jerk, man, seriously.
Every time, she's got some urgent shit in her room.
"Papa, come in here!"
"I a min--" "Now!"
"Okay." I go in there; "What's up?"
"I need a pair of pants to put on my pony."
[with mock concern] Wow. Holy shit.
I'm trying to fuck your mom in there.
Would you give me a break?
Can't a guy fuck your mom for a minute?
There is no sex, man.
I had no idea that marriage just means no sex.
No, none, fucking none.
I have friends that are thinking of getting married,
and they say funny shit like,
"Hey, you know, I don't know if I could do it,
"because I don't know if I could have sex
with one woman for the rest of my life."
I'm like, "Don't worry about that shit."
You're going to have sex with zero women
for the rest of your life.
That's a lot less than one.
One woman--who the fuck do you think you are?
Where'd you get that fantasy?
I'd love to have sex with one woman
for the rest of my life-- any one woman.
Big fat dead lady with a beard--
I'd fuck her every day.
I'd be proud to have her.
That's not usually my problem.
These days, my problem is very simple.
It's trying to find a place in my house
where I can masturbate without somebody bothering me.
And that's getting really difficult.
There's nowhere to go anymore.
She's got her mother staying with us too, in the guest room,
and I'm on the streets now.
I got nowhere to go.
Like, now I know, when I see a guy
on the West Side Highway jerking off in plain daylight--
That's not a homeless guy;
that's a married man right there.
He's got nowhere to go.
"Fuck it--Fuck you.
"Go ahead and look, man; I got nothing to hide.
What else am I going to do?"
It's not fair, man.
I'm 37 and I own my home.
I should be able to just stand in the living room:
"How you doing honey?
Good morning."
But I can't.
I've got to hide.
I'm down in the cellar by the boiler,
like a troll down there.
[growls]
Just fucking miserable.
"Oh, shit."
That's what it's like.
Masturbation doesn't bring much joy to guys.
Women seem to like masturbating.
They put flower petals on the pillow.
They're like, "Ah, me," or whatever, you know.
The guys are like, "Ah, shit."
[muttering]
"God damn it."
Sometimes you find ecstasy, but it's followed
by the deepest self-hate and depression you've ever felt.
It's an amazing drop from way up here to--
It's like, "Oh, yeah--
"Oh--what the fuck is wrong with me?
"God damn it.
"I gotta get to work.
I don't have time for this shit right now."
But then you get married; now you've got to hide.
And you have to.
You have to hide.
Because when your wife catches you masturbating,
that's sad for the whole family.
That's not--
not a good moment in a marriage.
She comes in the cellar: "Oh, my God."
And then she always wants to know shit about it.
She always asks me stuff.
My wife's like, "Well, do you think about me
when you're doing that?"
What are you, fucking high?
Why would I do that?
Why--
I can think about anybody.
That's magical.
Why the fuck would I-- I'm married to you.
Do women really think their husbands are going,
"Oh, my wife. Oh, yeah, that's fucking hot.
"Oh, yeah.
"Picking her up at the airport and getting yelled at:
"Oh, that's fucking hot.
"Yeah.
"'Put it in the hamper, not on top, you idiot.'
"Oh, I love when she talks like that.
Yeah."
But you know, whatever.
We're a family; we have a kid.
That changes everything.
That's the whole thing.
The kid is everything.
Marriage is nothing.
Without a kid, marriage is dating.
It doesn't mean shit.
And you don't realize it till you have a kid.
Here's what happens: when you get married,
you go, "Holy shit; I can't leave now.
"I mean, I wasn't thinking of leaving,
but now I really can't leave."
Then you have a kid and you go, "Holy shit; I could've left."
I totally could have left.
Fucking door was right there.
Now I can't go.
Got a kid now.
No, I love my daughter.
It's a lot of responsibility
that you never think about, though.
Like, you've got to name your kid.
That's a big deal right there.
And you know what's amazing to me?
You can name your kid anything you want.
Isn't that incredible?
There are no laws.
There should be a couple of laws.
None.
You can literally name your kid anything.
You can name your kid a name with no vowels if you want,
like Pnsndltn.
Dpppppthfffffffff
ffffffffffff.
Just 40 Fs: that's his name.
"Ffffffffffffffffffff ffffffffffffffffffff,
go clean your room."
[laughs]
Some people name their kids a word, like Sunshine
or Battery or whatever.
I'd like to name my kid a whole phrase, you know.
Something like Ladies And Gentlemen.
That would be a cool name for a kid.
"This is my son, Ladies And Gentlemen."
Then when he gets out of hand, I get to go,
"Ladies And Gentlemen, please!"
But you've got to be careful what you name your kid.
You do have to be careful, because what happens is,
other kids in school are going to make fun of them.
They're going to make fun of their name.
And you don't have to give them a weird name,
because they can do it with any name.
Kids are geniuses at that.
Any name--they take it; they go Louis Screwy,
Joey Blowy,
Mike Your Mother's a Dyke, whatever.
They find a way, these kids.
Any name-- Like, what's your name?
Eric--You Fucking Asshole.
See? Just like that.
Lightning speed these kids got.
What's your name?
Joe--Eat a Bag of Shit, Cuntface.
You see? Just like that.
He got that all through school and cried like a pussy.
It's not going to happen to my little girl.
My daughter is really something else, man.
She's--She runs the house.
She runs the whole house.
She decides everything.
Like, we were playing hide-and-seek the other day.
We play hide-and-seek, and we play by her rules
that she invented.
And do you know why?
Because she sucks at hide-and-seek.
And so she covers it with this fucking ruse
to level the playing fields.
And I gotta fucking pretend it's all--
that she's great.
No, it's bullshit.
Like, we're playing--
No, fucking--
I know she's a kid, but fucking listen.
When it's my turn to hide, she tells me where to hide.
She tells me where.
She goes, "Hide in the closet, Papa."
But you're going to know where I--
"Hide in the closet!"
All right--fuck-- I'll hide I the closet.
Good, fine.
Now I'm standing in the closet like an asshole.
She comes in. "I found you."
She's, like, shitty about it, like, "I found you."
And I'm like, "Wow.
"How did you figure out where you told me to fucking hide?"
And then when she hides-- this is her hiding.
She goes over to a wall and does this.
She goes--
That's it.
There's nothing here.
What the fuck is this?
Like this is some ninja invisibility crouch.
And I've got to act like an idiot.
I can't just walk in and go, "Yeah, you're there."
'Cause she'll cry and shit her pants, right?
So I've got to walk around like an asshole:
"Where is she?
"I have no idea.
Where could she be?"
I'm making eye contact.
"I don't see her."
It's amazing to me.
The other day, we're playing--
This is how things have gotten in my house, okay?
Here's a very good example of where it's gone.
We're playing a version of hide-and-seek
where my wife and I have to decide together
where to look, because she likes that.
She's like, "Mama, you tell Papa where to look."
Okay, fine.
So she's over there, hiding like this,
just in plain sight, and my wife and I are--
My wife's like, "Why don't you look under the bed?"
I'm like, "Okay.
She's not there."
And then she says, "Why don't you look in the linen closet?"
Okay; so I open the closet.
She goes, "That's not the linen closet.
We don't put that in there anymore."
All right, fucking-- Jesus, all right.
So I look in anoth--
Why would she be in that closet that has shelves?
She can't stand in a shelf.
"Well, maybe she's crawled in a sh--"
Now we're having a fight about where to look
for this fucking kid who's standing right there.
She totally runs the house.
I remember Halloween last year--
A couple of days before Halloween,
my wife comes up to me, and she's like,
[whispering] "We have to get you a cat costume."
No, no, we don't, actually.
"No, we do, because she thinks you're going to be a cat."
It's like she's got a--
she's a guy with a gun in the other room.
That's what it's like.
She's like, "Jess thinks you're going to be a cat.
"I don't know how she got it in her head,
but she's expecting you to be a cat on Halloween."
I just go, "Well, tell her to go fuck herself,
because I'm not doing it."
I'm not afraid of her.
She's two; I'll fucking fight her.
I could take her.
I could beat the shit out of thousands of two-year-olds.
All day-- just walk around.
They would never even gang up on me.
They suck.
I'm not afraid of her.
So my wife decided that she wanted to get pregnant again.
She decided it.
And she-- this was back in August.
She told me, "You need to be in town next week."
Why?
"Because I'm get-- you know, I'm ovulating, so--"
Like, not, "Do you want another kid?"
Just, "Be in town;" that's how she handles it.
I'm like, "I'm not going to-- I don't want another kid,
so fuck it."
And she's like, "All right."
Next week, she starts blowing me, right?
Now, she hasn't blown me in--
Jesus, I don't know if I've ever been blown.
That's how long it is.
She's blowing me on the day she's ovulating.
I'm a fucking idiot.
I'm like, "Yeah, you love it."
Like, I think she digs me now.
Fucking stupid.
So she's having another baby.
Any day now, she's due.
It's true.
She's fucking--
Fucking--the whole thing.
And I'm like--
[muttering]
"Okay.
No, no, it's great."
[laughs] Fuck it.
That's really the attitude that keeps a family together.
It's not "we love each other;" it's "fuck it, man.
"Fuck it.
Fuck it."
Another kid-- Fuck it.
Why not? Let them all in.
Good.
Fuck it.
But the problem is, we have no fucking money.
I don't know where she thinks the money's coming from.
We're so broke.
I'm so sick of being broke.
I'm broke all--I'm just always-- just keep digging this hole.
And most people are broke too; that's the thing.
This country's just-- everybody's broke.
That's why I don't-- Look, I don't like George Bush,
but I didn't like Kerry either, because they're
fucking both rich, and they don't get it.
They don't know what it's like to be poor.
Like, poor people know what it's like to be rich.
They know exactly what it's like,
because they fantasize about it constantly.
Every poor person has their whole rich life all planned out.
Every detail.
"I'm gonna have a house made of chocolate.
"People are going to blow me as I walk in each room.
"They're gonna be waiting.
"I'm going to wipe my ass with live rabbits
and throw them out the window."
Got it all worked out.
But rich people don't fantasize about being poor.
Why the fuck would they do that?
"I'll have to take the bus everywhere--yeah!"
I've always been poor, my whole life.
I've fucking never had any money.
And I--I don't care; I don't give a shit.
But there's a lot of people that are poor now.
Like, I was driving through upstate New York,
and there's people up there, man,
their lives are just shitty.
Like, you ever drive through a whole town,
and you're like, "What, did a shit bomb go off in this place?
What happened?"
Everybody's life sucks in the whole town.
And you can tell, because they're just standing
in front of their houses like--
They're just bleak.
And a lot of people call those people white trash.
And--
I love that expression, "white trash,"
because it's the only racial expression that you can use
and nobody gets offended.
Nobody gives a shit.
When you say "white trash," nobody goes,
"Hey, don't talk like that about them.
That's not nice."
Nobody defends white trash.
You could be talking to the most liberal hippie in the world.
You go, "Hey, I saw this guy; he was white trash."
He'll go, "Ha-ha! Fuck that guy.
White-trash loser."
No, I don't know; I just wanna be a good dad,
raise my daughter.
It's a complicated country.
People get angry, you know.
And everybody hates gay people now.
I never understood anger towards gay people,
because a person being gay doesn't affect your life,
so it's weird to me that people just like--
They're in their homes going,
"Oh, people are gay.
Damn it."
What do you care?
I can understand hating gay people if, say, like,
you're mowing your lawn, and two guys
are blowing each other right on the grass.
"Oh, I got to cut around you faggots every Sunday.
I'm sick of this shit."
Or, say you're eating your breakfast in the morning,
and you're about to put your spoon in the cereal bowl,
and two guys touch dicks right in front of you.
"Hey, come on!
"I gotta get to work.
"I don't have time to dodge your dicks with my spoon.
Fucking homos-- get out of my kitchen."
I hope I'm a better parent than my parents were.
My parents were not good parents.
My parents-- here's a typical example.
This is a true story, I swear to God.
My parents sent me to summer camp when I was in third grade.
It's a good idea, right?
But they didn't look into the camps.
They just chose one out of the phone book, randomly.
And I swear to God, this happened.
I get there; it's a camp for all retarded kids.
I swear to God.
I went to camp for retarded kids.
I swear to God.
I'll never forget, the moment I arrived,
I looked around, and I realized, "Holy shit...
"I'm retarded.
"I didn't think I was, but I must be.
"How am I the only kid who's not?
"This is how they chose to tell me?
This is it?"
"Just send him to the camp.
"Fuck it; he'll figure it out.
He's retarded; he's not stupid."
I loved it there; it was great.
Everybody's nice, every game is a tie,
just gold medals for everybody.
It was awesome.
Here's the thing:
I never, never, never, never judge other parents now.
I never do.
I used to, but I never do.
Like, you know when you see a mother in McDonald's
or some place or in a toy store,
and she's just melting down on her kid?
She's like, "Shut up. I hate you.
You're ugly."
And people are standing around going, "Oh, my goodness.
She's a horrible mother."
Well, guess what?
Those people aren't fucking parents.
They don't have kids.
'Cause any parents who are in that store are thinking,
"What did that shitty kid do to that poor woman?
"That poor woman.
I wish I could help."
'Cause you don't know, man; you don't know.
Or like, when you see a parent that seems to be negligent.
Like, you see a parent in McDonald's
with the kid, and the parent's like,
"I can't take this shit anymore."
Just, like, collapsed.
And all the shopping bags are just strewn everywhere.
And the kid's happy.
The kid's eating french fries.
And the kid asks a question like,
"Mama, why is the sky blue?"
And she's like, "Just shut up and eat your french fries."
And you think, "What a terrible mother.
"Why doesn't she answer her child?
"When I have a child, I will answer all of their questions
and open their minds to the wonders of the world."
Well guess what:
you don't know what the fuck you're talking about.
You can't answer a kid's question.
They don't accept any answer.
A kid never goes, "Oh, thanks; I get it."
They fucking never say that.
They just keep coming, more questions:
"Why? Why? Why?"
Till you don't even know who the fuck you are anymore
at the end of the conversation.
It's an insane deconstruction.
It's ama--
This is my daughter the other day; she's like,
"Papa, why can't we go outside?"
Well, 'cause it's raining.
"Why?"
"Well, water's coming out of the sky."
"Why?"
"Because it was in a cloud."
"Why?"
"Well, clouds form when there's vapor."
"Why?"
I don't know.
I don't know any more things.
Those are all the things I know.
"Why?"
'Cause I'm stupid, okay?
I'm stupid.
"Why?"
Well, because I didn't pay attention in school, okay?
I went to school, but I didn't listen in class.
"Why?"
'Cause I was high all the time.
I smoked too much pot.
"Why?"
'Cause my parents gave me no guidance.
They didn't give a shit.
"Why?"
'Cause they fucked in a car and had me,
and they resented me for taking their youth.
"Why?"
Because they had bad morals.
They just had no compass.
"Why?" 'Cause they had shitty parents.
It just keeps going like that.
"Why?" 'Cause fuck it; we're alone in the universe.
Nobody gives a shit about us.
I'm gonna stop here to be polite to you for a second.
But this goes on for hours and hours.
And it gets so weird and abstract.
At the end, it's like, "Why?"
Well, because some things are, and some things are not.
"Why?"
Well, because things that are not can't be.
"Why?"
Because then nothing wouldn't be.
You can't have fucking "nothing isn't,
everything is."
"Why?"
'Cause if nothing wasn't, there'd be fucking
all kinds of shit that we don't--
like, giant ants with top hats, dancing around.
There's no room for all that shit.
"Why?" Oh, fuck you!
Eat your french fries, you little shit.
God damn it!
Thank you very much, everybody.
Good night. Thank you.