- So I did whatall of us would do.
I dried the underwear offas best as I could.
Shut up!Shut up!
This is not easy for me.
[dark electronic music]
- This next comedian you guysare gonna absolutely love.
He's one of my favorites.
Please give it up forMr. Rory Scovel, everybody.
[cheers and applause]
- There's no reason why
any kid should ever assume,
ever in their life,
that if they were to farthard enough
they could shit themselves.
Think about that.Like, as a kid,
why would you ever assumethat's an outcome?
Why would you ever assumethat's even a possibility?
The only way you would know thatfor sure
is if an adult told you,
and that's clearly the creepiestadult in the world.
"Hey, bud,come here for a second.
"Hey, did you knowif you fart hard enough
"you can shit yourself?That's right,
"tell your parentswe have a relationship.
Run along.Have a good one."
Creepy neighbor guy.
Another kid isn't gonnatell you that.
If another kid told you, thenyou know it happened to them.
They don't want toout themselves.
The only way to find out thatthat's a real scenario
is the hard way.
And now we all knowwhat this story's about.
The music kicks in.
I was 11.[giggles]
I didn't know who I was then.
But I found out.
I was 11 years old.
If I can open upto you guys...
I was headed toa back-to-school,
end-of-the-summer pool party
at a friend's house.
And this is going intoseventh grade.
This is when it startsto fucking matter,
you know what I mean?
Before seventh grade,you didn't give a shit.
You just did whatever you did.
But as soon as, like--when you're 11, 12,
you start caringwhat people think.
It's really the moment in time
where everythingbecomes horrific
for the rest of your lifebecause you start to care
so much about what people think.
I'm on my wayto this pool party.
My step-mother's driving.
We got to stop at gymnasticsto pick up my sister.
She gets out of the car,runs inside to grab her.
I'm just sitting in the car.
I have to fart,you know what I mean?
Little did I know I had to shit.
Little did I knowI had to shit.
I thought I only had to fart.
I thought, you know what,I gotta fart,
move some stuff around in here.
We all think that.Like, when you have to shit
and you go,"If I fart a little bit,
make a little room."
You know what I mean?Move the furniture around.
Little feng shui of the gut.
Do a littlefeng shui of the gut,
if we can.
and my world changed.
I was no longerjust an innocent child.
The world became a real place.
One second ago I was justa normal kid.
Now I'm someone who understandsthat people die every day.
Every day people die.
That's the worldwe truly live in.
And I now know that.
When you are 11 and you fuckingfart in your car
and shit yourself,you're like...
You have to--first you have to
just grasp the concept thatthat's a thing.
You didn't know that.You're like, "Aah!
"Never do this again.Never.
Never have this kind ofconfidence."
"You got to figure out howto fix this situation.
"All right, I got to go inside.
I got to sort this out."
I had about 30 yards betweenthe car and the front door
into the gymnastics place.
And that's what we'll call it:the gymnastics place.
Those are the words I've chosenfor this story.
You have 30 yards to figure out
how to walk as thoughit looks like
you didn't just shit yourself.
When you first get out ofthe car, you're waddling
a little bit because it givesyou kind of an idea of what
you're working with back there.
How much did I shit,you know what I mean?
You don't know.
Waddle a little bit.
Try to see.Where are the boundaries?
You can't waddle for too long,
because ifsomeone sees you waddling,
their first guess is thatyou've shit yourself.
No one's like,"Oh, that kid has a problem."
They're like,"No, he probably shit himself.
I bet he found out the hard waythat life is real."
You have 30 yards to gofrom like,
"Aah" to, like, some sort ofupright, big left arm swing...
"Hi, I'm a member ofthe country club.
"How are you?I'm 11.
I pay my monthly dues."
You have 30 yardsto figure out how to walk,
'cause as soon as you getthrough those doors,
now there's people watching.
And you gotta getto the bathroom.
I get in there.
There's not a men's room
and a women's room.
There's just one bathroom
that everybody has to use,like, individually.
I know, right?Like, even then,
gymnastics didn't havethe funding.
It's a fucked-up situation.
I get in there.
And I see the bathroom.
Bolt past everybody.
Go in.Close the door.
Here we are in the bathroom
where we can really fixthis situation.
What do I do first?I get the underwear off, folks.
I'm not an animal.
I try to clean themas best as I can in the sink.
Picture what you want.
I don't care.
Whatever you picture,that is truly what happened.
I tried to clean themin the sink.
Okay,we all have the same thought,
I thought, "Maybe I can justtake these off, clean them,
throw them in the trash can."
There's not, like,a regular trash can
in the bathroom that has, like,a trash bag in it.
There was one tiny little pailtrash can
with zero other trash itemsin it.
So that's out.
I'm not gonna throw myshitty underwear in the trash,
walk out,the next person comes in.
"Did you leaveyour shitty underwear
in the trash?"
I thought I couldflush my underwear.
- No, okay.
Little did I know how relatablethis story truly was.
Till that groan right there.
"No.You can't--hey, bro."
Everyone's got a cigarettefor some reason.
"No, you can't--you can't flush that.
You can't flush that.Nah, nah."
Imagine stopping upthe fucking toilet.
You walk out, someone's like,
"Hi, sorry, didyou try to flush your clothes?
"'Cause you're dumb?
"Sorry, did you wipe yourselfwith your clothes
and then flush them?"
So I didwhat all of us would do.
I dried the underwear offas best as I could.
Shut up!Shut up!
This is not easy for me!
This is a partof my 12-step program, okay?
Go to a strip cluband tell this story.
It's weird thatthat's the first step,
but it is.
I go to a very "alty" AA.
I dry them off as best as I can.
I grab a bunch of paper towels.
I'm wringing them out.
And then I shove theminto my pocket.
Yeah, I shove them in my pocket.
What am I gonna fucking do?
I'm trying to figure it out.I'm 11.
Honestly, for 11 I'm like,"Pretty smart kid.
"Hello, Harvard, Yale, others.
Others I don't know of."
I shove them into my pocket.
I get back in the car.
We're on our wayto the pool party.
No one in the car knows.
My step-mom doesn't know.
My sister doesn't know.
I'm sitting there just...
It felt like I was goingthrough, like, customs
with a suitcase of blow.
Oh, God,I'm redneck Johnny Depp.
I get to the party.
My step-mother's justdropping me off,
so she's just pulling up.
I'm jumping out.
I get out of the car.
I can hear everybodyin the backyard at the pool.
I go up to the front door.
I knock.No one answers.
I go in, thinking,
now, I'm gonna have tointeract with people.
Be ready.Go inside.
There's no one in the house.
There's a stairwellright in front of me.
I go right up it.
In my head, I'm like,
there's a bathroomat the top of the stairs.
I'll go in that bathroom.
People will be like,"Oh, Rory got here
and he had to goto the bathroom."
Little do they know,I already had.
Still, what is the solution?
That's what I'm going through.
I can't leave the underwearin the trash can here.
This is even worse thanthe fucking--
the gymnastics place.
I'm definitely notflushing them here.
I know thatoutside of this bathroom,
to my right is my friendMichael's bedroom.
To my left is hisyounger brother's bedroom.
I take the underwearout of my pocket,
I open the door,
and I just fucking launch theminto the corner
of his younger brother's room.I see them.
I see it hit the cornerand fall behind the bed.
I walk away.I walk away.
It's not me anymore.
That's no longer a part of me.
That's not my issue.
I don't know what you're talkingabout, Officer.
Why are you at this party?
Why did they hire the police?
That's a better question.
I walk away.
What's funny about this storyin my mind is that--
I was on a friend's podcast
and they were telling storiesabout shitting themselves.
And it was only thenthat it occurred to me
that I even had this story.
That's how powerfulthe human mind is.
I erased what--everything I just told you
happened exactly the wayI just told you,
and I erased that from my memory
so that I could continueas a person.
'Cause if I were to have gottenhung up on that,
there's no way I would bepublic speaking at a strip club.
I had to move on.
And I remembered, "Oh, my God,
that did happen to me."
And also, I now remember,
my step-mother used to writemy name in some--
Some of my underwear.
How fucked up is that?
Not even all of 'em.
Or none of them.
Some of them.
How lazy can you be?
If I had ten pairs of underwear,
she probably wrote it in, like,four pairs of underwear.
To this day, I have no ideaif my name was written
in that pair of underwear.
I threw it, I walked away,I thought, "That's gone."
As a stand-up comedian,I've been fortunate enough
to get to do some thingson television.
Not a lot.
I think a good amount of things.
If you're trying todo things on television,
I've been fortunate enoughto get to do some.
And I'm happy about it.
And I've always been gratefulfor that,
but now knowing about this past
that I deleted from my memory,
is there any chance my namewas in that underwear
and anyone in that familyhas ever seen me do anything?
The current thingI'm doing right now
is going to be on television.
I just--is there a part of themthat has ever seen something
and been like, "Whoa, whoa,whoa, whoa, whoa.
"Go back, go back, go back.No, no, no, no.
"Go down, go down.Go down.
"Go down, go down.Go down one channel.
Well, then go up two channels!"
"Go up two channels.
"It's not even that hard.Thank you.
"That motherfucker right there.
"That's the guywho ruined our family.
"You see that, Michael?
"You see him?You remember him?
"Look at him.
"That guy right there.
That guy's the reasonyour brother killed himself."
Oh, you wanted a happy ending?
I'm on televisiontelling the story!
[laughter and applause]
Thank you guys very much.
I appreciate it.