Ron White: If You Quit Listening, I'll Shut Up

You ever take a crap so big your pants fit better?

What's he doing?

Looks like he's trying to get the taste out of his mouth.

But let me tell you something, folks.

You can't fix stupid.

Now, when I have seven eighths of a gram of marijuana, I consider myself to be...

out of marijuana.

Tiger doesn't get any credit for all that pussy he turned down,

and that's the number you're looking for right there.

6:01, gets there.

Is she there? No.

Do I leave? No.

Why? Because this dick won't suck itself.

That's why.

I want to start off this evening by telling you something about me

you may not know.

Um, I'm from a very, very small dusty town in northwest Texas,

and I grew up in this little bitty house that was built

by my father and my grandfather the year I was born, 1956.

Now I live in Beverly Hills in a house my wife and I just built,

and I was doing an interview the other day,

and this guy asked me, "Has it changed you?

You know, the fame and fortune and all that?"

And I said, "I don't think so," but I kept thinking about it,

and I realized it's changed me in two ways.

One, while we were building this house,

my wife selected these really exotic Japanese toilets.

And as you approach these toilets, the lid of the toilet automatically opens.

I was mad when I first saw it.

I'm like, "You're wasting our money on this stuff?"

But I got used to it after a while.

And now when I approach a toilet,

and the lid doesn't automatically open,

I just piss all over the top of it.

And I still eat tacos,

but now I only eat the baby duck pussy lip tacos

that you get at the Four Seasons in Beverly Hills on Sunday.

What they do is they take these baby ducks,

and they just snip the pussy lips off of 'em,

and it takes, like, 35 baby ducks to make one taco,

but it is fucking worth it, man.

And it turns out, they've been snipping the pussy lips off of baby ducks

in Saudi Arabia for 1,500 years and just throwing them in a river,

and the cook from the Four Seasons went there

and saw this amazing waste of baby duck pussy lips,

and just started thinking, you know, "Fuck... Tacos!"

PETA hates it.

And I don't know why, 'cause they used to sell duck tacos,

nobody gave a shit.

You gotta kill the duck to get the duck meat.

You don't have to kill the baby duck to get the pussy lips off of it.

Sure, they bleed to death in the trash can when you throw them away,

but they're baby ducks. It's a nickel for a hundred of 'em. Nobody gives a shit.

So if you're ever in Beverly Hills on Sunday night,

go to the Four Seasons.

It's baby duck pussy lip taco night, and...

get there early, because, uh, parking.

I'm 61 years old now,

and I know two things to be true.

One...

anything has the potential to become a DUI checkpoint

if you crash your car into it.

And you can't un-fuck the housekeeper.

So...

That's it. That's all I know.

Governor Schwarzenegger helped me with that second one,

so I didn't have to do that one myself, so that's good.

Don't drink and drive.

That's what they say.

They also say friends don't let friends drive drunk.

Well, which one is it? Somebody's gotta drive.

I was leaving a party the other night,

and this buddy of mine goes, "Hey, Ron, can you drive?"

I was like, "I can drive...

I can't get pulled over."

Now, I won't drive drunk, but I will ride with somebody

that can't blow a .08 and not fucking know it.

'Cause .08's not drunk.

.08 is a revenue stream for the federal fucking government, is what .08 is.

That ain't drunk at all. That ain't even kind of drunk.

This is drunk.

That guy can't drive my fucking car.

Now I'm not saying I've never driven drunk,

because I've drank so much in my life,

now on the back of my driver's license,

there's a list of organs I need.

I was in Melbourne, Florida, one time and I was driving a rental car,

and I was by myself, and I'd had two drinks.

I didn't make the drinks. I don't know how strong they were.

Tasted strong.

Whiskey and ice cubes.

And I'm driving, and I look ahead,

and there's a sobriety checkpoint and I'm like...

"Fuck..."

Which is what you say when you see a sobriety checkpoint.

Fuck.

And I get up there and the cop goes,

"Mr. White, I smell alcohol on your breath."

I said, "That's been there since '77, dude."

You pour that much Scotch on a tongue,

it's gonna smell like Scotch forever. There's nothing you can do about it.

We've tried everything that there is.

He goes, "Well, I need you to blow into this breathalyzer,"

and I said, "Well, here's the bad news, Hoss.

I'm not gonna do it.

I'm not, and I'll tell you why,

because if that piece of shit's calibrated wrong,

I could be convicted of something I didn't even do."

He goes, "Then I need you to do a field sobriety test."

I'm like, "Just tell me what to do."

He goes, "I want you to stand on one foot, raise the other foot--"

"No, bullshit.

Fuck that. I'm not doing that either.

I'm not, and I'll tell you why. That's not a sobriety test.

That's an agility test, and I'm not very goddamn agile, all right?

I'm not, and it's not fair to me,

because I'm older, I'm not in that great of shape.

I may or may not be a little drunk. Fuck, I don't know.

You know what a fair drunk driving test is?

Drunk driving. Get in the car. Let's do a couple of blocks.

Let me show you some skills.

I'm not a 21-year-old, puking cheap tequila through my nose.

I'm a 61-year-old raging alcoholic, motherfucker."

Or that's what it said in the deposition.

Here's another fair test: darts.

We go back to O'Leary's Pub where this whole fucking thing started.

If you can beat me at darts, you can take me to fucking jail, how about that?

How about a sobriety contest?

I got to go this year for the first time in my career to do stand-up in Europe,

and I did shows in Amsterdam, Edinburgh, Scotland, and London.

And when I was in Edinburgh,

I realized that the Scots made me laugh harder than anybody.

Not because they try to say something funny. It's just the words they say,

whatever the fuck they say just cracks me the fuck up.

And I wear wild socks, and...

So I'm having breakfast in this restaurant

across the street from the hotel I'm staying in, by myself,

and...

I finish with my meal, I realize I don't have any money.

I only have the room key. I left everything in my room,

and I tell the guy, "Listen, I got to go back to the hotel.

I'll get some money. I'll come back over and pay you."

This is what he says:

"Well, those don't look like the socks of a man who would steal an egg."

Yeah, they sure the fuck don't.

And I did these shows in London,

and they don't play my stuff on television in London.

So I really had to call and promote these shows

and get everybody to come out, and I called this radio station in London.

This is what this DJ says to me:

"Ron...

Every time a celebrity calls our station,

we always ask the same question:

If you could have a conversation with anyone, living or dead,

who would it be?"

And I said...

"Living."

And he tried to explain it to me.

He was like, "No, what I'm saying is,

if you could talk to someone, whether they..."

Yeah, I fucking get it.

I'm a joke writer from America.

I'm all over it, dude.

Trying to make this funny, sell some comedy tickets

in a land where you don't play my shit.

Thanks for playing our game.

And the punchline of that story is, I come back to the States,

when I get back to the States, my assistant goes, "Ron,

did you hear that John Mayhew died?"

And I'm like, "John Mayhew... Why do I know that name?"

"It's your ex-wife's divorce lawyer."

Oh, I hated that motherfucker.

That Yale snob fucking piece of shit, fucked me out of so goddamn much money.

It happened ten years before,

but I still had his office number in my phone,

and my wife said I was a dick for doing this,

but as soon as I found out he died, I called his office, I said,

"I'd like to speak to John Mayhew, please."

The lady goes, "I'm very sorry to tell you,

but Mr. Mayhew passed away."

I said, "Okay," and I called her right back and said,

"I'd like to speak to John Mayhew, please."

She goes, "I just told you, Mr. Mayhew passed away."

I said, "I know, I just like hearing you say it."

My wife's like, "You're a dick."

I said, "Bullshit. He's lucky I don't know where he's buried. I'll show you dick."

I saw this on the news the other day. This befuddled me.

It was a story about a town in the Middle East where, by law...

by law, the women who live in this town

have to wear burkas

with one... eyehole.

That's it.

That's all you get.

One eyehole.

Not two eyeholes like those other sluts.

One...

..fucking eyehole.

Just enough to keep from bumping into shit.

That's all you need.

And the guys over there still think they're hot.