I, uh, I didn't masturbatefor an entire week.
And when I finally did,
a whole baby came out.
So if anybodywants to buy a baby...
...he's in my sock.
I know, oh...
Like, half-- oh...
We were with baby shooting outof your (bleep) is just fine,
but you (bleep) offinto a sock, unh-uh!
We are trying to have a society.
A friend of mine recently diedclimbing Mount Everest.
Pretty extreme thing to do.
His name was Decklin,knew him for a while in college.
Went to the, uh, funeral.
Then I went to the after party,junior prom thing
where everyone says nice thingsabout the dead guy.
And because he dieddoing something extreme,
and you'll hear this a lotwhen people die, like,
skydiving or, uh, big wavesurfing or anything like that.
There's always, uh,the living
at the funeralalways say stuff like,
"Well, at least he died doingwhat he loved, right?
And it's to makethemselves feel better.
I understandwhy people say it,
but peoplekept saying it at this thing.
They were like, "Well, Decklindied doing what he loved.
That's great, isn't it?He died doing what he loved."
And after a while,I'm thinking,
"I've known Decklin 15 years.
He never once called me up like,"Dude, I love
"falling off mountainsonto pointy rocks
"and bleeding to death,it's amazing.
What are you doingthis weekend?"
Like, "Oh, I'm going to catch
a Three's Company marathonand (bleep) off."
Please, have fun, have fun.
But you can't sayanything like that.
You gotta, you gotta be cool.
But everyone kept saying it.
"Well, he died doingwhat he loved.
He died doing what he loved."
And then, I started thinkingabout a year ago,
I lost a friendto a drug overdose.
And everyone at thatfuneral was like,
"Oh, this is tragic."
And now I'm thinking,"Screw you.
"She loved heroin, like,what are you...
"She stole from me to get it.
"Pushed an old man downan elevator shaft for it.
"She died doing what she loved.
This guy's an idiot."
But you can't say that.
You've got to keep to yourself.And then I get this--
I get the only guy, uh,in Decklin's family that I know,
and, uh, everyone hasone of these in the family,
uh, the "drunkle."
Right?Just that jerk-off uncle
that yells stuff at Thanksgivingyou can't take back, right?
"Hey, bitch, pass the potatoes."
Like, "Uh, Uncle Doug,that's grandma.
You want to sit down?What are you doing?"
So I'm keeping to myselfand Decklin's Drunkle Doug
comes up to me,puts me in a headlock.
He's like, "Oh, Jon,wouldn't it be great
"if we could all diedoing what we love?
Wouldn't that be awesome?"
No... that's the single worstidea I've ever heard.
Are you kidding me?
My friends, my family--
they got enough problemsjust knowing me.
I don't need to be found deaddoing what I love.
How insanely awkward for whoeverhas to find me like that, right?
Brother Jeff comes over."Are you in there? I haven't
seen you in a week."Kicks open the door.
"Oh, my God! He's dead!
"But there he is with his penisin a warm pumpkin,
"extension cord around his neck,
"spatula in one had,a bottle of Xanax in the other,
"a goat tied to the TV stand,
"a clown juggling scarveson a unicycle,
"a Doberman pinscher lickingpeanut butter out of the crack
of his ass and a Hannah Montanamovie on a loop."
Like, "Oh, at least he dieddoing what he loved."