Sold Out: A Threevening with Kevin Smith

So this is where I was born--

River view Medical Center,

right here in beautiful downtown

Red Bank, New Jersey, on the Jersey shore,

mere miles from where I would grow up in Highlands, New Jersey.

And then later on, I'd come to live here

in my somewhat adult years.

View Askew offices are here.

Jay and Silent Bob's Secret Stash comic book store is here.

So I haven't gotten really far from the hospital

where I was vaginally pooped into the world.

The next big time I came back here

was almost 29 years after I was born,

when I had my kid.

I made sure we were in Los Angeles

when my wife was pregnant,

and I made sure that we got on a plane, got home

so I could have her right here

at the same hospital I was born.

She could be born a Jersey girl.

And I went through all that trouble

just so I could use her to do an intro for this DVD.

Isn't that shameless?.

I mean, I liked fucking my wife, too, but,

chiefly, it was, like, "We need somebody to be able

to kick off the Q and A."'

And she said, "All right."'

She gave me the courtesy rollover,

pulled up a cheek, and a little back insertion,

and it was all good.

And it led to this.

Hello, New Jersey!

I'm Jennifer Schwalbach.

And I'm Harley Quinn Smith.

And we are here to welcome you and thank you

for coming from all over the world

to celebrate the 37th birthday

of a very beloved husband and father

and, of course, filmmaker.

And now, without further ado--

lntroducing Kevin Smith!

So that's who I fuck.

And that's what happens when I fuck.

When I was a kid,

we'd drive past this theater all the time,

and I'd be, like, "ls he related to Count Dracula??"'

I want to play you jazz.

That is, like, a ten-year-old's joke.

Still fucking works, man.

All the jokes from my childhood still kind of fucking work.

The eye cup jokes still works.

One of my favorite jokes-- If you're from the area--

If you're from out of here, you might not know Car vel--

Car vel lce Cream.

Where, basically, they ser ve soft-ser ve all the time,

and they show you, on the commercial,

- the dude where they fu-- - Cookie!

Cookie Puss and Fudgie the Whale, yes.

Cookie Puss, which became the unfortunate misnomer

of many girls in high school.

Always attached to the fucking, like, you know,

suburban myth of "l know this chick,

and she let a dog eat a cookie out of her pussy.

A cookie.

She put a fucking chocolate chip cookie in her pussy, and the dog ate it.

We call her Cookie Puss."'

And you believe that shit 'cause you wanna believe it.

You're like, "What girl is this?.

Because if she's so fucking desperate

she'll let a dog eat a fucking cookie out of her pussy,

I got a shot, you know??"'

But if you watch the commercials for Car vel,

they always show the soft-ser ve ice cream--

the hand with the cone and shit.

They pull the fucking crank, and the ice cream twirls out and shit.

So when we were kids,

the big joke was "What's this??"'

That's Tom Car vel taking a shit.

And my material hasn't gotten much better since then.

Just variations on that theme.

Well, this is a big show for me because it's hometown.

I was born 37 years ago

from today,

a few blocks away at River view Hospital.

That's kind of cool, man. Like, 37 years later,

I'm kind of up here sweating like a pig.

But it's wild.

I mean, I don't know.

I can't tell you where I was every other birthday in my life,

but I can tell you now where I was on my 37th birthday.

I didn't get very far.

Just a few blocks down.

I was born on August 2, 1 970.

And it wasn't my birthday.

I mean, it was technically.

But before it was my birthday, it was my brother's birthday.

My brother and I are born on the same day,

four years apart.

He was born in 1 966. I was born in 1 970.

My sister was born August 1 0, 1 965,

which, if you do the math,

my parents loved to fuck during election periods.

I just picture my old man being like,

"We did our civic duty. Now do your wifely duty."'

And my mother being, like, "Jesus, Don.

"Just can't we fucking ever vote

without me having to do shit with your dick??"'

And if my father was anything like me,

I'm sure he was just, like, "You don't have to do anything.

I'll just jerk off and you watch. Just--

Just look at it. Just look at my dick."'

The most shameful part of my existence is that--

the fucking plea for, like, just--

"You don't even have to touch it. Just watch me jerk off."'

But I wouldn't have a dick

without one key person in the audience.

I want to acknowledge her, 'cause I would not be here tonight

if it weren't for my mom.

So, Mom, where are you?.

But I guess for a while,

my name wasn't gonna be my name.

My mom always told me that the day I was born,

her and my father were gonna name me Brian David.

- Yeah, Brian! - Yes.

After you, I'm sure. And--

And I guess somebody who had a kid on the same day as my mom--

Is this right?. Mom, where are you?.

A friend of yours had a kid also and named it Brian David.

What kind of fucking friend is that?. Like--

Are you even friends with those people anymore?.

Are you really?.

'Cause after that, I'd be, like, "Fuck you!

That was ours!"

So she looked-- What was it?.

Daddy liked the name Kevin Patrick.

Did Dad like the name Kevin Patrick?.

Not a single Kevin in our family, nor a Patrick.

My grandmother used to tell me that all the time.

She's, like, "l don't know where they got that name."'

Aren't any Kevins in the family.

'Cause a lot of our family members--

My sister Virginia is named after my Aunt Virginia.

- My brother Donald named after-- - His dad.

His father. Thank you.

Random name. And also, since we were Catholic,

it was tradition to pick a name of a saint and shit like that.

So I went with-- I got named Kevin Patrick.

And Patrick is easy. Saint Patrick.

'Cause of St. Patrick's Cathedral,

and everybody knows that.

And St. Patrick, the patron saint of lreland and shit.

Drove the snakes out of lreland.

Kevin-- Saint Kevin--

Not a lot known about him.

And for a while, when l was in Catholic school,

I was just, like, "I'm named after St. Kevin."'

And even these fucking nuns would be, like, "Who's that??"'

I was, like, "It's true. There is a St. Kevin."'

They're, like, "Yeah, right, man.

I'm sure there's a Pope Smith, too."'

So after 37 years,

I decided to fucking look up some info

and see who St. Kevin was,

and--

and it's pretty fucking retarded.

There are-- You know,

when you hear of patron saints--

If you're not Catholic, you don't know about them.

If you're Jewish, you're just, like, "Who's Jesus??"' Um--

You know,

the saints are given patron-- They're given--

Saints are considered patrons of certain things.

Like, you know, St. Lawrence is the patron saint of comedy,

'cause he was a martyr.

Most of the saints were martyred because they believed in Jesus.

All you have to do is get killed believing in Jesus.

One day, they canonize you.

You have to have a few miracles to your name,

but it helps if you died in the name of Jesus.

Which means you could be fucking,

die of a heart attack--

As long as you're, like, "Jesus"--

St. Nuts-Deep, you know.

Patron saint of dying in the midst of fucking.

So there are a bunch of them. You know, like,

St. Christopher is the patron saint of the traveler.

So when people drive around-- they're Catholic--

sometimes you'll see St. Christopher medals

on their dash and shit.

My mom used to wear one around her neck whenever we traveled.

Patron saint of traveling.

It's a picture of a dude holding a baby Jesus on his shoulder,

crossing a stream,

where you're, like, "That's all it took??"'

It's not like, you know, he's fighting fucking lions

and swinging like lndiana Jones and shit.

It was a stream this thick, and he's, like--

"I'm gonna be famous for that one day."'

St. Kevin, though--

"patron saint of crows."'