- Not a single man in here knows what it's like
to cum on the face of a millionaire.
Sure, you've gotten head,
but have you ejaculated onto a great American mind?
Huh? Huh?
Has your sperm swam in the eyes of an icon, huh?
Have you been deep throated by a voice of a generation?
I don't think so.
It's highly unlikely that any man in here,
well, any straight man in here,
knows what it's like to cum on the face of a millionaire.
First of all, how many female,
self-made millionaires are there to begin with?
And then out of that pool,
how many of them gonna let you cum on their face?
There's three of us, okay?
Yeah, I don't even know who the other two are.
You think Ellen gonna let you cum on her face?
You think Oprah gonna let you go to Montecito
and stomp on her vegetables?
I love to get cummed on, on the face.
I do.
Because it's so nasty and it's so easy.
It is so easy,
especially when you compare it to sucking dick,
which is so physically taxing.
All the
choking, the eyes watering,
and if you really wanna keep a 100,
you gotta add that pepper grind in.
You know?
Whenever I get a deep tissue massage,
the masseuse is always like,
"Oh, do you sit and work at a computer all day?"
I'm like, "No, I sucked dick last night.
Now I can't look to the left."
I wanna have it all.
I wanna have a family, a career, and a side piece.
The greatest trick women ever played on ourselves
was making us believe that having it all
was limited to having a family and a career.
I got both of those things.
News flash is not enough.
Necesito más.
I don't just want equal pay,
I equal pleasure.
But it would be very threatening if all women wanted
and felt like they deserved that,
because then a bunch of women wouldn't be available
to helping their husbands make their lives
as easy as possible.
Do you know how much more successful I would be
if I had a wife?
Some loving, devoted woman by my side,
who bought a bunch of fruit besides bananas.
And put the duvet cover on the duvet.
People don't like it when women cheat,
and they'll really turn on you because they feel betrayed,
especially if you're a mom.
It's too contrary to your wholesome, loving image.
And that's why I'm trying to let all of you know now
that I'm a real piece of shit, okay?
I want you to really listen to me,
and understand this and believe me,
so that you're not shocked or surprised,
so that you don't abandon me when you see the TMZ video
of my face getting fire hosed by Michael B. Jordan.
While I chant "Wakanda forever!"
- I can't help it,
at the beginning of a relationship with a guy
I just assume anything nice he does
is a move he pulls on everybody,
and I'm not gonna fall for your choreography, sir.
I'm like, "Oh, is this, is this your move?
You open the car door for me on the date?
This is like your move.
This is how you do it.
It's cute, bet that works a lot."
"Oh, is this, is this your move?
You go with me to my grandpa's funeral,
hold an umbrella over my head in the rain?
Is like your move?
This is how you do it."
Like, "Oops, don't get wet."
"Oops, I am."
Whatever.
This ain't my first rodeo, I used to have two grandpas.
"Oh, is this, is this your move?
You die next to me in a hospital bed at 86 years old
holding my hand for all eternity?
Is this your move?
Is this how you get pussy?"
He's like, "We've been together for 60 years."
I'm like, "You're a fuckboy, and I know it!"
Don't bury me with this guy,
he's been dying with other people behind my back.
I can't prove it.
Check his phone when he uses the bed pan.
That's why we're in therapy.
- A lot of things have changed, but not the audacity of men.
I did not miss talking,
hearing, interacting with men at all.
I'm not a man hater, let me just say that.
I know that's the wave.
I'm not a man hater,
but I always give 'em the benefit of the doubt.
I have to believe that they don't know how fucking weird
and creepy they being all the god damn time.
You know what I mean?
I have to believe that or I won't go outside.
You know what I mean?
I feel like that's how most women operate.
You know what I mean?
We like, "I know there's some good ones out there," right?
That's how we think so we can go about our life.
I heard my sister married one,
her brother, he was a good man.
That's how we do it, you know what I mean?
I heard one time, now he dead, but I know.
I'm a comedian.
I ride in Ubers.
I come home late, 3:00 a.m. sometimes.
How dare me, I know.
But these drivers, they pull up to the house,
it's 3:00 a.m., they say shit like, "You live here alone?"
Like, why would you say that?
Why don't you know that's creepy?
That's happened to me multiple times.
"You live here alone?"
Like, 20 minutes of silence, this is what you choose to say.
And when you choose to say it.
What is happening?
They turn you into a liar.
You gotta be like,
"No, it's just me and my two husbands,
and our pit bulls.
You know, we run a pit bull academy if you wanna come by."
It sucks, 'cause I love Ubers.
That's how I pretend that I'm rich.
I get, and I'm like, "Drive."
That's my shit.
And they fuck it up for me.
I want to take naps and shit in the Uber, but you can't,
can't nap in the Ubers, right?
Not with a male driver, ladies, we know that, can't sleep.
Can't even catch a wink.
Every once in a while I get a female driver.
That little thing pops up, I see the woman face, I'm like,
"Ah, I just light a joint, I'm about to relax."
You know what I mean?
I love it.
Not with the male driver.
Can't do that.
You gotta, you know?
Gotta let, 'em see the whites, you know?
Gotta not only be awake,
you gotta make sure they know you awake,
so that's posturing.
I roll the window up and down.
Am I cold?
Am I hot?
What I am is awake.
Gotta fart.
"Oh, that was me."
"Woo, that was me.
I would not touch me if I were you, sir."
"Oh, that's a wet one, that, woo.
I am so unrapeable, I can't even."
Gotta stay alive.
I've only fallen asleep one time with a male driver.
I remember it, it only happened once,
that's why I remember it.
So clearly I was sleeping.
And you ever hear the "Law & Order"?
In your head?
I thought it was on the radio it was so clear.
Like, and it was just my brain,
my alert, like, "What the fuck you doing?"
And sure enough that weirdo was staring at me
dead in my eyeballs and he didn't look away.
That's a murderer.
Right, that's a murderer?
Sane people know, you get you get caught staring,
"Hey, sorry," you know what I mean?
They're embarrassed.
No, he was, you know what I mean?
And you know, I live in New York, so I,
you know what I mean?
But he didn't look away.
That was 10 minutes of extended eye contact on that ride.
I'm farting for my life in the back.
It was crazy.
- 'Cause I grew up right here in Atlanta, Georgia
during the '80s, y'all, during Ronald Reagan era.
Oh my God.
Y'all remember that shit?
Reaganomics, nigga, we were so mother fucking poor, no lie,
I had a dog named Popo.
When Reagan got reelected,
the nigga jumped out the back porch and committed suicide.
Don't look at me like that,
I didn't kill the nigga, killed his damn self.
That's why I don't understand all this new shit.
You know, when people going around
putting they pets down and shit.
The new shit, putting your dog down.
My friend called me like,
"Girl, I had to put my dog, Coco Chanel, down."
I'm like, "For what, bitch?"
Talking about she had breast cancer.
I'm like, "How the fuck you gonna kill a dog
who still got seven good titties to go?"
Ain't nobody trying to kill you
if one of your fucking titties go out.
I don't understand that.
She talking 'bout,
"How you know that dog didn't wanna walk for a cure?"
Bitch, that dog wore a t-shirt to say "I beat cancer" too.
That dog wanna hear "Heart of an Angel" his damn self.
Look at all you pet lovers.
How dare you, Ms. Pat, fuck you, you crazy.
And it is not cheap to put your pet down.
It costs you $799.
I be damned if I'm gonna pay you $799
to put my fucking dog down.
Nigga, not when I got a barbecue grill in my backyard.
Fuck you, heat is heat, bitch.
No matter who applied.
Oh, are you judging me 'cause I'm not gonna put the ashes
in a cupcake box with a picture on top?
Oh fuck you.
I can't stand you fucking animal lovers.
I fly every fucking week, y'all,
and I'm so tired of getting on Delta
seeing everybody with these fake-ass,
emotional support animals.
It can't be that many people out there
that need a fucking friend.
Did y'all see the lady who tried to get on the plane
with the short horse?
I'm like, who the fuck out here writing prescriptions
for short horses?
And what's the copay on this nigga?
But that just their way of flying shit free.
I'm gonna do the same thing with my faux crack babies.
I'm gonna show up at Delta with my faux crack baby
with them same vest on.
And I'm gonna tell 'em,
these are my emotional support niggas.
Don't fuck with 'em, 'cause they bite.
- Are there black people here?
Woo. Yes!
I got one right in the front!
Yes, Rosa sat for us all.
And it's not just buses.
Can I?
Can I ask you a question?
- [Man] Please.
- Okay, at the height of the Black Lives Matter protests
last summer, I don't know about you,
but every single white person I blinked at,
waved at, smiled at, kicked a leg up at, texted me.
I heard a lot of white laughter.
They were like, "Yes, I texted."
Did they text you? - [Man] Absolutely.
- Did the text message say,
"If there's anything I can do, let me know?"
Yes.
What the fuck, white people?
What the fuck?
I don't need to know that I'm your only black friend.
Keep that shit locked in your heart.
Also, I don't need anything, I'm alive!
But I do gotta say, I was deeply,
truly offended that the only white people
who didn't text me were all the white dudes I ever fucked.
I was like, "Excuse me.
Do black lives only matter when you're inside of one?"
Oh, come on, white people!
Come on!
Pack up your white guilt and send it via the postal service!
Do you remember before the election
when we thought post office was closing?
What a goofy-ass year.
We were all like, "We gotta go by stamps!"
For who? We're on Zoom!"