Joey Diaz - True Friendship at a Memorial Service - Uncensored

Friendship 03/19/2015 Views: 4,243

Joey Diaz details his relationship with his mother's best friend and how it shaped his definition of friendship. (15:10)

And she'd be in therewatching, like, novellas

with a scale,a bag of coke, a gun,

and a motherfucking Chihuahua.

You understand?

Who fucking hasa Chihuahua for protection?

[dramatic music]

[cheers and applause]

Thank you.

On this show,here's what happens.

It's just a bunch of comicstelling true stories,

and that's all it is.

The man, the myth, the legend,

Mr. Joey Diaz.

[cheers and applause]

You know, when I was a kid,my mom had a bar,

and she was popular, so she hada lot of, like, girlfriends

that hung out with her,like, hot girls.

But there was this one chickthat she used to

be kind of tight with, butI couldn't fucking understand

what the friendship--like, theywould be on the phone all day.

They would talkfive times a day.

If my mother was in the city,she would stop by her house.

And then as I got older,I got the back story,

that they knew each otherin Cuba, and then...

This lady's name was Z.

That's what we're gonna call herfor this fucking story.

'Cause the names have changedto protect the innocent,

all that shit.

So, uh, they came from Cuba,and Z married some dude

and went to Chicago.

My mom opted--went to New York.

And like six monthsinto the marriage,

the guy was beatingthe hell out of Z,

and my mom and my daddrove down there and saved her

in the middle of the nightand took her to New York.

And she was indebted to them.

And this is, like,19-fucking-60.

Then, you know,as long as I can remember,

my mom used to go over there.And I liked going over

to where she livedbecause she went on

to become a huge drug dealerin New York.

Right?On 113th and Fifth Avenue

in the mouth of Spanishmotherfucking Harlem, right?

And it was scary.It was like The Walking Dead.

You see, like,Puerto Ricans walking around.

People fucking noddingon the sidewalks.

It was just amazing asa little kid to see this.

Fuck the circus and the zoo.

These are realfucking animals.

Like, hanging there.

Laying in their own pukeand shit.

It's fucking tremendous.

So, I liked going there, too,'cause she'd always give me,

like, a 20 or a 50.

As young as I was,she always dropped--

and she always dida blast of coke,

no matterwhere the fuck she was.

You understand me?

So I would go over there,she'd pick me up, kiss me,

and then go in her bra.[sniffs]

Do a line and ask mehow school was, and...

She went to my first communion.She did a bump kneeling down

in the fucking thing.She don't give a fuck!

That's a real crazy lady.

Not one of these ladies with atattoo and a hat with a feather.

"I'm so crazy."No you're not, all right?

No you're not.You go to yoga at Studio City.

You ain't that fucking crazy,all right?

Fucking crazy.

Go to yoga in Compton, bitch,and then we'll talk.

So going to her house, guys,

she lived on the second floorover a bodega.

This is, like, the mid-'70s.

You know, you knockedon Z's door,

and a black guyopened the door,

and he'd point youto the back.

And I would run to the back,

and she lived, like, in a--like in--

she had, like, maybethree rooms,

you know,like a living room.

But where she soldcoke out of and heroin

was this little room thathad, like, beads in the front.

Like, you know,you opened it up and shit.

And she'd be in therewatching, like, novellas

with a scale,a bag of coke, a gun,

and a motherfucking Chihuahua.

You understand?

Who fucking hasa Chihuahua for protection?

And she was dark Cuban,so she had big tits and an ass.

Like, she was good-looking,but she had blonde hair

that was tight,30 years before Lil' Kim.

I mean, she was way ahead ofher fucking time.

Finally, like, in the eighth orninth grade, I figured out,

you know,they were just good friends.

They spoke all the time.

But then my dad--my mom died.

And she wasthe first phone call I made.

And she was the first one there,you know?

She made allthe funeral arrangements.

You motherfuckers been toregular viewings with gentiles,

where they sit around and cry,and it's like,

"Oh, he was such a great man."

That's great.

That--that's great.

Then there'sIrish fucking wakes,

where people aredrinking and cursing and--

But then there's Cuban wakes.

That makes an Irish wake looklike a fucking daycare, okay?

They drink 24--and it's open 24 hours.

24 hours,funeral parlor.

And anything goes.People are doing lines,

people are arguing,people playing dominoes.

People are playingfucking dominoes

at my mother's fucking wake,okay?

And the first nightI hear this commotion.

And I go in the hallway.

Z had the funeral directorby the throat

because she put the wrong dresson my mother.

That is a fucking friend,motherfuckers, right?

Like...'cause anybody can beyour fucking friend

when you're alive, but tofucking be at your funeral

smacking motherfuckers,right?

That's a friend, right?


That's a fucking friend,you know?

And she was checking people.

Like, "Hey, fuck you.You didn't like her,

and she didn't fucking like you.Get out."

She was checking people,you know?

And all these people werein there, "Oh, we loved Denore,"

and all this shit.

You didn't hear shitfrom this lady.

You didn't hear a word.

There was no fakenessout of her.

Right there,I learned what fake was

and what real was.

At that early age,I learned that, I saw it.

Like people come up to me,

"Oh, my God,if you need anything..."

And after my mom died,I'd call 'em,

and they changedtheir fucking phone number.

But just little thingsthat I saw right then.

I decided, oh, my God,that's what a fake person is.

"I loved your mother.Oh, God, take me."

All that shit.

You know, the whole fuckingfour days of the wake,

Z didn't say shit.

She would every oncein a while just sit in the back

and just take a little bumpout of her bra.


And look at me and go, "Shh."

And she would just watchwhat was going on.

Even--and she wassuch a woman.

Like, men would behaving conversation.

I'm not talkingabout regular fucking guys.

I'm talking about Latin,old-school,

machismo motherfuckers.

And she would go tell 'em shitlike, "Shut the fuck up."

Like, even they werescared of her.

And I observed all this,

like how she had taken overfor my mother.

And then the last night,my mom got buried on a Monday,

and that SundayI went outside to smoke a joint

or whatever the fuckyou go outside of a wake for.

To get air.

And when I came back,she was alone with my mother.

It was the first timethey were alone together.

And she was kneeling down,and that's where I got it.

She was...petting her hair.

And she was telling herhow beautiful she was,

and how the world wasn'tgonna be the same without her,

and how she was gonna miss her,and she was her sister.

And it was justfucking mind-boggling.

And then she said--

and she turned,like she knew I was there,

and she goes, "I'm gonnatake care of this motherfucker.

"I'm gonna take care of him,I'm gonna watch over him,

I'm gonna make sure hegrows up to be a fucking man."

And I saw the meaningof friendship right there,

when Z was petting her fuckinghair and doing bumps.

She did a fucking bumpright there, right?

She did a bumplooking at the casket.

She's like, "I'd give you one,

but what's the differenceat this point?"

But then it was after thatshe stuck to her fucking word.

Every Sunday, she'd come overfrom Long Island

and meet meat Weehawken Cemetery,

and she'd bringa bottle of Dewar's, flowers,

and she'd pourthe bottle of Dewar's out

and tell my mother how much sheloved her and she missed her,

and she'd do some bumps.And by that time,

I was doing coke.And she would, like, do bumps

into the spirit, like,"Here's a couple for you."

And I'd be like,"No! Let me...

Give them fucking thingsto me!"


You're gonna fuckingthrow 'em on the grass.

That's $20of fucking blast there.

$20, $20, $20.

Stop it already!Give it to me!

So...this went on.

She took care of me, guys,from '79 till '83,

till I got out of high school.

Every fucking Sunday,200 fucking beans.

And she'd bring me weed,

a little $5 nickel bagfrom the city.

And then in '83I moved to Colorado,

and, you know, I got intocraziness and shit.

But I always called hertwice a week.

I would send her pictures,you know?

And then I movedback to Jersey,

and by that timeI was a fucking lunatic.

You know, and the cocainehad absorbed me and stuff.

And I kept in touch with her,

and I would go into the cityonce a week

and take herfor a Cuban sandwich.

There was a placeon 118th Street, we'd walk.

And I went--

And I went to Miami,and I found some friend of hers,

and I beat 'em for,like, a half a kilo.

And I just felt fucking bad.

You know how it is, dog.One bump leads into another.

Next thing you know,you're having a party.

Next thing you know,you did six ounces of blow.

It's a fucking nightmare,you know what I'm saying?

And there's no rehabs.There's no hugs.

You know?

'Cause they don't give a fuck,you know?

That's it.So I felt embarrassed.

And I came back from Miami andI'd fucked these people over.

And I felt embarrassed,so I didn't call her.

I didn't call her for,like, five months.

And in January of '85,I finally got a little sober

and I called her one dayand I go, "Z, what's going on?"

And she's like,"Where the fuck have you been?"

She goes, "You haven't called mein, like, five months."

She goes, "The cops raided me.They took everything."

She goes, "My leg broke, andthere was nobody here for me."

And I felt fucking terrible.

I let my mother down,I let myself down,

I let Z down.And I was at a pay phone.

I just droppedthe fucking pay phone.

It was likea kick in my stomach,

like she had just said,you know,

"Where the fuckwere you for me?

"For all those years,I was there for you,

and you justdisappeared on me."

And I was--I just felt terrible,and I--

I walked awayfrom the pay phone.

I didn't call herfor about a week or two,

and then I finally calledand her phone was disconnected.

And I went over to the bodegaa few times,

and they told methat she got busted

and they closed the apartment,and I never talked to her again.

And I felt like shit.And I live with that today.

And that 1985, you know?

And I thought about it,and I digested it,

and I swore to God that ifI ever had a chance

to be a friend to somebody--

'Cause you don't need20 friends.

You just needthree motherfuckers,

and you cantake over a country.

Okay, that's where we'reconfused as Americans.

We think we needall these motherfuckers.

You give methree bad motherfuckers

and you're finished.

You understand me?

You're fucking finished...[cheers and applause]

because we got each other.

And, you know, listen, man,like Ari.

Ari's my fucking goombahtill the end.

He might bea Jew or whatever,

and I'm Cuban,but that's my fucking goombah.

And he knowsthat's what I'm here.

Not because whatever,but, you know,

I promised that I would bea friend to people,

and I wouldlive and die for them.

And, you know,when I look at people now,

I always look at peoplesometimes and I go,

"How's that motherfuckergonna feel when I die?"

Is he gonna be talking shitat my funeral

or is he gonnasqueeze my daughter

and come see her every weekand give her a toy?

You know, and that's howI have to look at people.

That's how I was raised,you know?

And I always livedwith that guilt

of not doing somethingfor my friend.

And then in 2007I got off the blow.

I quit doing cocaine.Don't ask.

You know?Don't clap.

Nobody's supposed to do itanyway, you know?

People are like,"I'm off drugs."

You're an asshole.You're not supposed to do drugs

anyway, okay?Don't fucking break your arm

tapping yourself on the back,asshole.


Right or wrong?

These motherfuckers walk aroundwith their water,

"I'm sober now."

Who gives a fuck?You know?

You know, two months agoyou were sucking dick for rock

at The Roxy.

Now I gotta fuckingshake your hand.

Fuck you.

You motherfuckers don't know,you know what I'm saying?

So I got off coke.

I had been off coke,like, four days.


And that was tough for me.

I used to go, like,18 hours,

and I'm like, "Ooh!"

That's a long fucking time,you know?

I was clean for four days,and a dear friend of mine dies.

It was a comedian.She died of cancer.

And there wasthis one producer

that used to mess with usall the time here in L.A.

He would have these festivalsand tell us

that he was gonna book us,and then decide,

"Oh, no, no, I'm not hiringdirty comics this year.

Why would you have towork so dirty?"

He'd make us feel badabout being dirty comics,

when we were just expressingwho the fuck we were.

You know what I'm saying?So...

I saw him then.

He had messed withme and Marilyn a couple times,

and I saw him at the church.

Right?I saw him at the church,

but it was 10:00.

I was a littleon the stoned side.

I said I might as wellnot say nothing.

You know, sometimesyou do a bong hit before church

just to calm your nerves.

You know, sometimesjust 1 1/2 just to, you know,

just to loosen you upbefore church.

And, uh...

'Cause church suckswithout a bong hit.

Trust me, that's whyit sucked as a kid.

Once you start doing bong hits,church ain't that bad.

It's a fucking hour,people shake hands,

they give you a cookie,you know, everybody--

"Peace be with you,"you know what I'm saying?


Right or wrong?

"Peace be with you, brother.Peace be with you.

Peace be with you."

So that night they hada memorial at a comedy club.

When I walkinto the memorial,

well, they had free foodat the memorial.

Like, this--Like, they had--

They buried her that day,

but they had, like,a microphone.

They had a picture where you'regonna go up and say words.

Then they had free food.When I walk in,

guess who's eating the fuckingfree motherfucking food?

That motherfucking producer.

Now, by that time, I'm bre--it's after 8:00.

The cocaine addictionis growing.

I'm getting madderby the minute.

I'm Cuban.It's fucking just...

it's just developing, right?

And they come over to me,they go, "Listen,

when we do the memorial,can you go up on stage first?"

And I'm like, "Absolutely."And I'll get my words over,

and I'll getthe fuck out of here

so I can go homeand go to sleep

before I chokethis motherfucker, too, right?

So they say, "Coming tothe stage, Joey Diaz."

I go on stage.People, you know me.

I talk for like a minute,and I can't--

this motherfucker's over therewith that smile on his face.

You know when somebody'sgot, like, that smile

on their fucking face?

And in the middle ofmy memorial, I just stopped.

And I go, "I don't know whatthe fuck you're smiling about,

motherfucker," you know?"But I tell you what,

"I'm gonna go get a drink,and when I get back,

"you, your wife,and that fucking attorney

"better get the fuck out here

'cause I'm gonnafuck you motherfuckers up."

And I was serious, Jack.

I was fucking serious.Like, I was done.

Like, seven dayswithout a line of coke.

This motherfucker--this is my out.

I'll beat him up,and then fuck it,

they'll throw me in county jailfor 30 days.

By the time I get out,I'll be clean and sober.

I mean, that was my fucking...

That's how you gotta thinkwhen you're fucking addicted,

how I was, you know?

But I was really pissed aboutwhat this motherfucker had done

to me and to Marilyn,and how he had the balls

to show up at this fucking wake

with that smileon his fucking face.

And as I went to the drink,and I came back in,

and him and his fucking familywere gone.

When I walked to my car,I thought about one thing.

That I'm through.I-I-I did what I had to do.

Without even knowing,

I stuck up for one of my friendswho had died.

And that nightI became that much better

as a human fucking being.

I made my peace with Z,

I made my peacewith my mother,

and most importantlyI made my peace with myself.

And that's my storyabout friendship.

[cheers and applause]