Joey Diaz - Box of Soul - Uncensored

Bloodline 03/15/2016 Views: 2,314

When Joey Diaz was growing up in 1970s New York City, he became friends with an older man and entrusted him with an important possession. (8:32)

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- And he pulled outa fucking gun

and he goes,"Listen, motherfucker,

"Don't you ever call meMartin the Fag.

"Unless I suck your dickor you suck my dick...

"you don't ever call meMartin the Fag,

or I'll put a bullet in you."

[heartbeat thumping]

[dark electronic music]

[cheers and applause]

- Welcome to"This is Not Happening."

I'm Ari Shaffir,

and tonight,the topic is "Bloodline"!

He is one of the bestcomedians in the world,

one of the beststorytellers in the world.

You know him from his podcast

"The Churchof What's Happening Now"...

one of my best friendsin the world--

Mr. Joey "Coco" Diaz!

[cheers and applause]

- It's so funny right now.

You know, Santeria was big tome, and I tell you something.

You look at me, like, I didn'tcut chicken heads and shit.

It was a beautiful religion.The lady who taught it to me--

When we came from Cuba,my dad died.

My mom took meup to 148th street.

She was a dark Cuban,real pretty...

African-Cuban woman and...

she would throw cards and shewould read me little things,

and she always read mescripture.

She got me,'cause she had a fucking Collie.

She had like a Lassie dog.

That's how she sucked me inand shit.

I'd go up thereto play with the Lassie,

and then she'd cut chicken headsand put spells on me and shit.

But I love this motherfucker.I would go up there--

That's where I sawmy first dead body

on Riverside Highway there.

They had a piece of plywood.I was like six.

I went up there, and the kidsfrom the neighborhood--

And I lived on the West Sideat that time,

you know, with little, like,fuckin', you know, nice kids.

These kids were fuckingdirty and shit,

so I liked going up therebecause--

And then I'd hang out withmy godmother, you know?

And, uh, my godmotherjust taught me a lotta things.

She always taught me tonot hang out in corners

'cause I was like a spongeand I'd pick up bad energies.

And she told me to get a boxwhen I was like seven,

and she goes, "I want youto put everything

"that means something to youas you're growing up.

"You don't have totell your mom.

You don't have to tellnobody."

Like your first lock of hair.

She wants me to put my bootsin there.

My birth certificate.Any trophies I had.

My mom and dad'swedding picture.

She just kept telling meput little things in there.

And every once in a whilewhen you get angry,

I want you to go prayto that box.

Just go over and saya "Our Father"

and just look at the boxand look at everything.

'Cause that meansyou'll never get lost.

And, uh...I would do that.

I really believedin what she was saying.

I filled up this box,and once a week I'd go upstairs.

As I got older, I'd smoke potand blow smoke into the box

and read shit.

You know, and, uh...


But my mom had a bargrowing up, right?

I told you my mom had a fuckin'hot bar with cool Cuban dudes.

And one of the dudesthat hung out in there,

his name was Martin el Maricón.

That means Martin the Fag,right?

You can't say the word fag.PC people--

So we'll call him Martinthe Gay Guy for this story.

You know, when I was a kid--

I met Martinwhen I was like six.

I didn't know what to thinkof him.

When you're sixand you're a young man

and somebody says a man is gay,

I couldn't fathom it in my mind.

I just knew he wasn'tlike everybody else.

I didn't even know.He was a tough guy, you know.

He was a good lookin' dude.

He was a seamstressin the daytime for a play,

but at night he sold cokein the city

to all CBGBs and shit.

This is likethe fuckin' mid-'70s.

He would fuckin' popin front of me

and snort those poppersand shit.

I didn't know how tofeel about Martin

till one day we were at the barin the afternoon

when I was playing pinballbehind them,

like 10 feet from them,

and some guy goes,"Look who it is.

Martin the Fag," and hepulled out a fucking gun,

and he goes,"Listen, motherfucker.

"Don't you ever call meMartin the Fag.

"Unless I suck your dickor you suck my dick...

"you don't ever call meMartin the Fag,

or I'll put a bullet in you."

But I was in direct firewith them,

so my mother's yelling,"Martin, Coco's here!"

And he was like, "Fuck Coco.Coco needs to see this.

This is called respect."

Listen, the next day I almostsucked his dick.

Do you understand me?

I never saw nobodypull a gun on nobody,

never mind threaten themand hold the gun all the way--

He just fuckin'pointed it at him

and he goes, "I'll fuckin'get youse later!"

And two days later, he came tomy door and he apologized.

I'm like, "Martin, you're myfuckin' Charles Bronson."

Nobody's ever pulleda gun on nobody.

This guy was a real--

He was a man that his sexualpreference was other men...

you know, but I'm gonnatell you something,

'cause I know there's some gaypeople here tonight.

He opened the doorfor you motherfuckers.

'Cause that guyused to get beat up

every fucking nightin the city,

and he'd fightto the fuckin' death, that guy.

I'd see him the next daywith black eyes,

snorting poppers and shit.

You know, that guy was a realmotherfucking gay guy.

I loved Martinwith all my fucking life.

I would see Martin and I'd takehim to movies with me

and my mom would pull me aside:"Be careful with Martin.

Be careful--I don't wannahear no fuckin' stories!"

But I loved Martin.I didn't care.

I didn't fucking care.

At that age,I was tight with Martin.

I'd go to Martin's house.

He taught me aboutthe bands he saw.

He saw The Clash, The Police.

He used to tell me aboutall this fucking music,

and I loved Martin.

So my mom died,and I had that fucking box.

But I had moved in withthis Italian family.

I couldn't bring my Santeria box

with these fucking savages,so...


I left the boxwith Martin the Fag,

and I would go to his houseonce a week and pray.

And Martin was into Santeriaalso, and he talked to me.

But one night I'm therewhen I'm like--in 1981, '82,

and I'm looking at this boxand it's got some cocaine,

and I take a fewbumps out of it.

And it's tremendous cocaine.It was off the hook.

You know, all those years,

I never talked to Martinabout coke.

And even now that I wasdoing coke,

I wouldn't tell Martin.I was too ashamed.

But I went over thereand I looked in the box,

and he had a big bag of blow.

So like a month later,I robbed Martin.

My stupidity--I robbed him.

Just like the jerk-offthat I was, 18 or 19.

I robbed Martin.

But I left my box in there.

So this was 1982.

In '85, I left Jersey,and I didn't talk to Martin.

But let me tell you how badof a bum Martin was.

Martin knew that I visitedmy mom's grave,

and he would leave melittle notes:

"I'm gonna fuckin' kill you,cocksucker."

Until my fatherfound one of the notes,

and then he went off on Martin.

He goes, "What's going onbetween you and Martin?

He won't tell me--" Nobody--Martin kept it to himself.

It was between him and--I always loved Martin.

I just fucked up.Listen, I sold my soul for coke.

I stole the fuckin' guy's coke,and I left my box there.

So in 1985, I go to 148th streetto cop weed

and I go let me go seeif my godmother's home

'cause I'm goingto Colorado tomorrow.

I go upstairsto see my godmother

and she's talking to me.

She goes, "You still go prayand see the box?"

I go, "I haven't fuckingseen the box--Martin and me--"

And she goes, "What the fuckare you talking about?

"I told you not to leavethe fucking box over there,

bring it over here!"And she tells me, she goes,

"Are you doing cocaine?"And I lied to her.

I go, "Never," and she goes,"You're not supposed to

"do cocaine.It's in your fucking numbers.

"And listen--don't do businesswith three people.

"'Cause two of themwill corner up on you,

and you'll get fucked up."

Sure enough, I got arrestedfor fucking kidnapping

with three fucking guys.

Anyway, that's a completedifferent fucking situation.

But I never saw her again.I went to Colorado.

And I didn't come backto New York till '91.

I went looking forthat fucking box,

and Martin had long gone.

My godmother had long gone.

I was lost, guys.And deep down inside,

I knew I had sold my soul.

So in 2013 I get a Twitterpage--Twitter message

to do a story about Santeriain England,

and I do the storyfor this blog site in England.

About a year later, do you knowI wake up one morning

and there's a tweet and it says,"Hi, my name is Miriam"--

whatever fuckin' my name is--

"We have your box.

"I'm marriedto your godmother's son.

She passed awayand left us your box."

I flew to Miamia month later.

I picked up my fuckin' box.

Everything was in there--my hair curls, my baby shoes,

my fucking trophies,my mom's pictures,

my saints...and, uh...

I got my soul back.

I got my fuckin' soul back.Not too many people

ever get their fuckin' soul.

So...that's my story.Thank you very much, guys.

[cheers and applause]

[dark electronic music]