Jim Jefferies: Intolerant

Ladies and gentlemen, Jim Jefferies!

Hello, Boston!

How you doing? Thank you for that.

Thank you for that. You all getting fucked up?

I'm not drinking. I got water.

-I can't drink like I used to drink. Okay? - Aww.

I used to drink-- I used to be a daily drinker.

I used to be five drinks, every day, seven days a week,

which is 35 drinks a week.

Which the FDA of America says that means I'm an alcoholic.

They say anything over 20 drinks makes you an alcoholic.

Bullshit.

That's less than three drinks a fucking day.

That's a reasonable amount of fucking drinking.

You can have three drinks a day. There's nothing wrong with that.

You don't have a problem.

Two lines of coke a day isn't a coke problem.

- -It isn't a coke problem.

That's less than a gram a week.

You know why I stopped drinking so much is because I cracked open a beer,

and my son, he was five at the time, he looked up at me, he went,

"Daddy, are you drinking again?"

I'm like, "Where the fuck did that come from,

-you little...?" -

Like, very clearly it was from the woman who I gave a house to, but I was like...

So, I don't... I don't drink... I don't drink like that anymore.

I don't drink, 'cause I'm a good dad, you know?

So, what I do now is I just drink one day a week,

but I still get my 35 in.

That's how society has pushed me.

That's why if you ever see, like, a woman

and she's like in her mid-thirties and it's 9:00 p.m.

and she's all dolled up,

but it's like she's holding her shoes and just stumbling around

and vomiting in alleyways, don't feel sorry for her.

She's just a good mom.

Found a window of fucking time.

The Queen of England drinks four cocktails a day.

That's eight standard drinks a day.

That means she's a full-blown fucking alkie.

-Full-blown. -

My question is, is she a nice drunk or a fucking nasty drunk?

Around cocktail three, does she start trawling the palace, just...

"Philip!

Philip!"

And Philip's like, "Ah, fuck, Lizzie's at it again.

Get my Land Rover ready."

She's just trawling around, "Philip!"

She goes into one room,

she jumps back out with a crown on her head, "Ha-ha!

I look like the money."

I got to tell you a story right now.

To tell this story, I have to start off by saying that I'm lactose intolerant.

- -That means that I will not...

tolerate lactose.

If I eat lactose,

40 minutes later, and you can set your fucking watch by it,

I will shit myself.

That sounds like more than just intolerance, doesn't it?

I shit myself.

Like, think about it right now. So, you're all in groups, right?

You've probably got groups of three, four friends you're all hanging out with.

And then you have your periphery groups.

Like, some cunt in your group has brought some friends from work. Right?

And there's always one cunt in that fucking group

where you, like,

you turn to one of your good friends and you go, "Can't tolerate that guy.

Can't tolerate him."

But it's not like, if he comes near you,

you shit yourself.

So, my two biggest nemesisises...

Nemesi?

- -N--

The two things that-- that I'm not good with...

are ice cream and cheese.

Now, here's the tragedy that is my life.

Ice cream and cheese are also my two favorite things.

See, I wasn't always lactose intolerant.

No, it happened to me at 35. I'm 42 now. It happened on my 35th birthday.

I was sitting down, having my Baskin-Robbins ice cream cake,

as I always request.

I'm hoeing into it, and then God looked at me and went,

"How's all those atheist jokes going, cunt?

-Pew!" -

So now I can't eat ice cream and cheese. Right?

But here's the thing.

I still eat ice cream and cheese.

With the full knowledge that I'm going to shit myself,

I still fucking do it. Right?

I-- I, actually, what I do is if I have a heavy meal,

I eat a scoop of ice cream afterwards

'cause then I know I'll shit everything out, cause...

I'm a genius, you see?

That's the Jefferies diet. You can fucking take that home with you.

So, I still eat ice cream and cheese,

but I don't eat them out in the wild.

You'll never see me on a boardwalk with an ice cream cone.

No, no, no. I eat them at home,

amongst people who love me and respect me.

Where I know where the toilet is, I know how much toilet paper we've got,

I'm ready to fucking go.

So, although I am intolerant of lactose,

I still, you could argue, tolerate it.

In the same way that my dad...

doesn't hate gay people...

he's just intolerant of them.

My father's a 78-year-old man from rural Australia,

and when we were growing up, I heard him say the occasional homophobic slur.

When he was young, uh, being gay was a mental illness.

He's a product of his environment.

But two years ago, Australia had a referendum,

where they voted on gay marriage, and my father voted "yes."

And that's because I spent time talking to him,

going, "Dad, it's the right thing."

And then my dad said,

"Well, I guess they deserve to be as miserable as the rest of us."

Now, because my father has done this one forward-thinking thing

in his entire life,

my dad now thinks he is woke as fuck.

And my dad says sentences like this.

"I've got no problems with the gays,

they can do whatever they want,

in their own homes,

behind closed doors,

as long as they don't try to involve me."

And I'm always like, "Dad, are they trying to involve you?"

Is there a scenario...

...where there's two gay fellas in the inner suburbs of Sydney,

one's strapped up to a bed with a fucking gag ball in his mouth,

the other one's lubing up his fist, and he's about to enter,

and just as he's about to go in, this fella goes...

And he goes, "What's that, mate?"

"Maybe we should try to involve Gary Jefferies."

"Oh, that's a brilliant idea. Why didn't I think of that?"

He unstraps him.

They get in their Honda Civic, and they fucking drive.

It's a Friday night in Sydney, it's raining,

you've got to get around the harbor, it's fucking-- traffic's horrendous.

It takes them an hour 15.

They get out to the house where my dad lives.

My dad's just sitting there, watching rugby league.

He hears a knock on the door.

"That's the second time this month.

I told you not to involve me."

Now, I was, uh, touring in Sydney earlier this year,

and I did that routine.

My father was in the audience,

and he'd brought along all of his bowling friends.

My father plays lawn bowls, uh, every day,

uh, which is like, uh, curling but with a ball and...

You'll figure it out.

Anyway... So he brought these, like, eight mates,

and all of his mates were aged between 70 and 90. Right?

All these blokes fucking went along.

And then my dad came backstage, they're all sinking piss backstage.

My dad comes up to me and goes, "Yeah, I enjoyed the show.

Yeah, it was a good show. Good show.

Different jokes you're doing now.

Uh...

I didn't like that bit about me and the two gay fellas.

-I didn't." -

And I didn't understand why,

and it turned out the reason he was upset,