Dave Chappelle Quotes

Like, see, I'd never vote for George Bush Jr., but I don't know George Bush Jr.'s politics. Only thing I know about George Bush Jr. is that that guy sniffed cocaine. That's right. Now, listen, we cannot have that shit in the White House. That might be fine for a mayor, but goddammit, not in the White House! Not in the White House. Mmm-mm. Know what I'm saying? The stakes are too high in the white house. Can't have no cokehead president, mmm-mm. He'd be selling nuclear secrets for twenty, thirty dollars and shit.

There's a few reasons you don't see black people at my shows. One is because, obviously, black people have slower internet connections. I mean, that would be my guess. I don't know.

Remember Paula Deen got fired from the Food Network? If you know anything about show business, it is really hard to get fired from the fucking Food Network. And they dropped that bitch like a hot potato. All because she called somebody an N-word thirty years before she had a show. I don't know who she said it to, but whoever it was was just looking at her like, "I'm gonna get you for this, bitch." That shit came back thirty years later like a Bill Cosby rape and sunk her battleship. And every black person was mad, but we weren't, like, that mad. It was more confusing than it was infuriating. I was just like, "well, how is this bitch gonna call me a nigger when she taught me how to fry chicken? That's not fair."

The fourth time I met OJ Simpson. The fourth time is not the funniest time, but it was the last time I'd see The Juice. For some reason, I was at the Kentucky Derby. It's a very long story. This is right after I quit Chappelle's Show in spectacular fashion. There was a party hosted by Michael Jordan, and every athlete I'd ever admired was in that room. Yes. And then I saw a familiar face by the bar, standing there, drinking alone. It was Chris Tucker. Now, you have to remember, at this time, we were both technically missing. And we went over and we're talking with one another, and motherfuckers were amazed to see us together. Seeing me and Chris Tucker at that point would be like seeing Bigfoot riding a unicorn. You wouldn't believe that's what you were seeing. And then, through all the gawkers, a familiar face pushed through the crowd. Here he was again. The Juice. He had his camera ready, he was like, "Dave, Chris. Good to see you guys. Hey, come on guys, let's all get together for a picture." And at the same time, me and Chris were like, "No. I can't do that. Sorry, Juice, my career is too flimsy to survive a picture with you."

Is it me, or do commercials have nothing to do with the products anymore? You dig? I don't even know what a fucking commercial is about until the end. Every one is a surprise nowadays. You seen that commercial where the lady got the black eye? This lady comes on TV with a black eye, she's crying, she's like, "I smoke crack. And my husband beats me." And then a voice came on and said, "Got milk?"

When you hear somebody call you "brother" too much, something terrible is about to happen. "Excuse me, brother. Brother?" And then I looked back, and the motherfucker had a tuxedo with the kente cloth tie. I said, "uh oh." He said, "I just want to ask you a couple questions." I said, "What publication are you with?" He said, "Me? I'm with The Daily Bongo." I said, "Daily Bongo? What the fuck? Who the fuck reads this?" He said, "Listen, brother, I just want to ask you a quick question. You understand that this year, this is a boycott for the Oscars. So I'm just wondering what made you, of all people, cross the motherfucking picket line and be here tonight?" I said, "Boycott? Nigga I haven't been working in ten years. What do you mean, boycott? I've been on strike, y'all niggas didn't stop working. I had to watch fucking Key and Peele do my show every night!"

My wife is Asian. She's Filipino. Alright, well, okay, so that explains it. Now you know why you see me at all those Filipino events. I'm not there picking up pussy, I'm dropping some off.

A black man would never dream of talking to the police high. That's a waste of weed. I'm serious. I mean, I'd be scared to talk to the police when I'm sleepy.

Phew. Well, it's the last show. Here we are. Los Angeles. The world capital of... rape and dick breath. The fuck has been going on out here? Keeps getting worse. Just when you think it can't get worse, they got Charlie Rose today. It's going to be a quiet morning on the news tomorrow. Charlie Rose? Who's next, Captain Kangaroo? Everybody is raping like hotcakes. I, for one, am starting to get worried. You know, I've been in show business 30 years. I had no idea how much danger I was in. It's really some scary shit.

You know how I know I'm getting old? This is embarassing, but... I was in my hotel room. I was... I'm not gonna lie, I was jerking off. And I was, like, really sweating it out. And this is when I knew I was old: I just gave up in the middle, like nothing even happened. Like, I don't like looking at my dick anymore. My dick looks distinguished. It's old, an old-looking dick. It's got salt-and-pepper hair all around it. My dick looks like Morgan Freeman in the 90s. Without the dots. My dick narrates, "Dave pulled me out and started jerking me around, jerking me around. But not with the same vigor as when he was young. He and I both knew nothing was coming out."

I got myself extorted, which happens in this business. I come home from the road. There was a FedEx sitting on the kitchen table, and it was addressed to me, so I opened it. I don't know who delivered it. And there was a videocassette inside, with a note written on it that said "Gotcha." Oh, my god. Can you imagine? I freaked out. I tore the whole house apart, trying to find a VCR. I hadn't seen a tape in, like, over a decade.

I know what you drink. See how quiet it got? Grape juice. Surprise, motherfuckers! You didn’t know I knew about grape juice, did you? Oh, don't play dumb with me. Like, "ah, what is it?" A lot of black people don’t have the privilege of knowing about grape juice, because they have grape drink. It's not the same formula that you get. Ain't no vitamins in that shit. You might have one of your black friends over: "Todd, Todd, would you care for a glass of grape juice?" "What? Nigga, what the fuck is juice? I want some grape drink, baby. Mmm. It’s purple." "I don't think I know what 'grape drink' is." "What?" "I have some apple juice, if you want." "What the fuck is juice? I want some apple drink. It's green." Remember that commercial for Sunny Delight when all the kids run in from outside playing and they all run to the fridge? "All right, I got some purple stuff, some Sunny D..." As soon as they say "Sunny D," all the kids go, "Yeah!" Watch the black kid in the back. If you ever see that commercial again, look at that black kid. He be like, "I want that purple stuff." That's drink, nigga, that is drink. They want drink. They don't want all them vitamins, man. They want drink. Sugar, water, purple. That's the ingredients: sugar, water and of course, purple.

I was at a party. Some guy gave me some shit. He's like, "Here, man. Take this. It's fucking mushrooms." I took it, I forgot all about it, you know. Then a couple days later I found that shit in my pocket. I'm thinking, "why not?" 'Cuz I'm thinking it's like weed. Some background shit. I planned my whole day out like it was weed. "I'll chew this shit up, then I'll go to the barbershop, get my hair cut and then I'll see a movie." I chewed it up. So far, so good. Then I was in the barbershop, like an hour later. And it's funny, 'cuz I was just thinking to myself, like, "Ooh, this stuff sucks. Tastes like athlete's foot. I feel sick, but I'm not really high." Then I looked in the mirror. I saw the barber's reflection. Man, it looked like a big penis was cutting my hair.

Everybody's mad at police now. I watched that - you see that shit on Netflix, Making a Murderer? The Steven Avery story? Yeah well if you haven't seen it, check it out. Steven Avery is in more trouble than any white person in the history of the United States has ever been in. In a justice system designed for him to thrive, he's failed miserably twice. I can't even wrap my mind about it. If Making a Murderer was about a black dude, that shit would be called "Duh!" Of course everything would go wrong.

Ebola was in Texas. Ebola made a visit. Killed that man in Dallas. Five days, that man melted to death. What happened to the brother in Dallas? "Where was the secret serum?" is what we all said. I remember in the beginning of Ebola, there were two American doctors that got sick in Africa. They flew them in a private jet straight to Atlanta, to the CDC. I didn't even know CDC saw patients. There, it was said, they administered what The New York Times called "a secret serum." I don't know what's in it. It's just like Colonel Sanders' recipe. But both of these motherfuckers survived. These doctors, thank god, are healthy. They are out there somewhere tonight, at Whole Foods, touching vegetables, walking around. Everything's okay. "Hey, Frank. How are you?" "Oh you didn't hear? I had Ebola last week. But uh, I'm doing alright now. I was bleeding out of my eyes and anus, so I got concerned, but I'm okay." What happened to the brother in Dallas? They just rubbed some vicks on that nigga's chest. "Good luck, little buddy."