I got my wife breast implants for her birthday. I've never been a big fan of plastic surgery, but I gotta admit, I've had a lot of fun playing with these things. I haven't given them to her yet...[Audience cheers] I just keep 'em on my tour bus and just rub 'em in my face...I'm glad they clean up easy. [Audience groans] WHAT?! I'm just glad they are not made out of corduroy, that's all I'm saying! I'd have to have 'em Scotchgarded. [imitates spraying Scotchgard on implants] I find it a little ironic that the product that I use to keep from ruining my sofa should spill my drink on it is actually called...Scotch-guard. [Audience cheers] Sometimes, things just work out perfect, don't they? "Yeah, I'm looking for a product that'll protect my sofa should I spill my Scotch on it. What'd ya have?" [imitates clerk turning to look at stock] "We've got Scotch-guard." "Yeah, let's go with that. Do you have Vodka-guard? How about Sperm-guard?" It's a busy couch.
American comedian
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Pulitzer Prize-winning author Norman Mailer died last year at the age of 84 years old. For the last 60 years of this man's life, he drank to excess every day. Uh, he was married six times. He smoked pot. He stabbed his second wife. And I've never read one of his books, but I gotta tell you I'm a huge fan.
One time, my wife said to me, [imitating his wife] "Honey, the dryer is broken." [as himself] Did you check the lint trap? [imitating his wife with a clueless face] Sit down, honey, I'll check it. [as his wife] "Was there anything in there?" [as himself] There's a quilt in there. Look! You made a sofa cushion.
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One day, I was picking up dog turds on my front yard, and I realized something: there are 6 people who work for me full-time, so I'm slowly reevaluating everybody's position at Ron White Inc., so that next time, I won't have to be the dog-turd-picker-upper. It's a tie between my pool boy and my tax attorney...and I'm leaning towards the tax attorney. But as I'm picking up these turds, I see one that's massive, even by Sluggo's standards, which are legendary, and I know it's his, because he outshits the Scotties 2-to-1. I'm looking at this turd – I'm admiring it, really – and I begin to think there's lettering on the side of it. I go in the house and get my glasses, because I can't read shit without my glasses. [Audience laughs] And it does. It says "Midland Park Golf Course". Sluggo had eaten and shat whole a golf glove, velcro and all...I rinsed it off and been using it for three weeks.
I'm staying tonight, or this week, in the Hotel 1000, and I would like to talk for just a second about their toilets. They've got the best toilets ever, man. They're amazing, you won't believe this if you've never seen one of these. Number one, the seat is heated. Now, that doesn't sound like a lot, but if you're used to a cold toilet seat and then you sit on a warm toilet seat, it's nice. It, like, relaxes your bowel muscles and kinda just helps you crap, you know? It's really nice. And then, on the wall, there's some buttons and one of them says Rear Cleansing and one of them says Front Cleansing; there's a diagram of a guy sitting on a toilet with a stream of water shooting up his ass. So I push a button...and all of a sudden I'm that guy! I am. I'm sitting on the toilet with a stream of water shooting up my ass, and it's amazing...how accurate this thing is. I don't know if everybody's butthole is in the exact same place, but this thing has got me dead cen–ter! And then there's another button below that button that says Oscillate and I said, "Why NOT?" Now I have a rotating stream of water shooting up my ass, and it was at that moment that I realized that 50 million gay men can't be wrong! [audience cheers] I'm singing songs to this toilet, I'm in love! [singing] "I honestly love you..." My wife caught me spreading cake on my ass, just so I could go wash it off. "Is that cake?!" "No, I gotta go to the bathroom...don't wait up."
I'd like to start off this show by asking you all a question, cause I don't know the answer. Uh, I lost my sunglasses and yesterday I went to the Sunglass Hut. Here's the question: Why does a pair of sunglasses cost more than a 25-inch color television set? I go to the Sunglass Hut. I see a pair that I like. I don't love them. I don't. I like 'em. $309. And I asked the guy, very politely, "How do you sleep at night, ya little prick?" [audience cheers] You know what I mean? Always just wonderin'. And I told him--and this is true--that two weeks ago, I bought a 25" color television set from Wal-Mart for $218. And he goes, "Well, apparently, sir, you don't get it." "...I'm listenin'." He goes, "These glasses block 100% of all UV rays." I'm like, "No, apparently you don't get it; this thing decodes a digital satellite signal it picks up from outer-fucking-space!" [audience cheers] And then it turned out the glasses got basic cable and I felt like a dickhead...
You ever see tape of the Kehoe brothers from Ohio, those two guys that get out of that white Suburban, it's been on Cops a few times? Those guys, folks, have a shootout with the police, at point...blank...range—nobody gets hurt. I would love to have been at that office the next day when that guy's being interviewed by the police. "And then what happened?" "Well, at that point, I unloaded my semi-automatic 9 millimeter weapon at point blank range." "And then what happened?" "They...left." Nice shooting, Elmer Fudd. There was a kid in Detroit a few years ago, shot 8 bullets, hit 9 people. These cops fired 22 shots, didn't even hit the fuckin' Suburban!
I got thrown out of a bar in New York City. Now when I say I got thrown out of a bar, I don't mean someone asked me to leave, and we walked to the door together, and I said, "Bye, everybody, I gotta go." Six bouncers hurled my ass out of a nightclub like I was a Frisbee. Those big ol' New York bouncers who thinks bouncing's a cool job. They just talk about bouncing. They get together with other bouncers and talk about bouncing. They go home and watch Roadhouse and beat off. [mentally deficient voice] "Patrick Swayze's hittin' another guy! [laughs stupidly]" for wearing a hat. I walk in a bar with a hat on; this guy, real pissy, goes "Take off the hat!" [proceeds to mock-flex, looking much like a gorilla] I'm like, "What's the deal?" "I'll tell you what the deal is- faggots in this area wear hats and we're trying to keep 'em out of our club." I was like, "Oh really? The only way we can tell down in Texas is if they have a haircut like...yours." And he got all pissed. Anyway, I took off the hat, and he walked away. About an hour later, I was drinking and I forgot. You ever forget? It happened to me. I put the hat back on, now, I'm between 6'1" and 6'6", depending on which convenience store I'm leaving, and I weigh about 235 lbs, and this guy is pokin' me on the shoulder with two fingers. He said, "That's it, you're outta here!" I said, "I don't think so, Scooter." And I was wrong. They hurled me out of that night club, and then they decided to square off with me in the parking lot. But I backed down 'cause I didn't know how many of them it was going to take to whip my ass, but I knew how many they were going to use. That's a handy piece of information to have, right there; overkill.
He hooks me up to the gas and I don't feel anything. I'm like "Dude, you need to turn this gas up. He goes, "There are regulations in the State of Nevada stating which, Code One, Section Four..." I'm like, Fuck! And I asked him, I said, "Where did you go to college?" He goes, "Brigham Young." Fuck, dude, turn it up to Catholic. Never let a Mormon set your buzz level. Never. Don't do it. And I'll tell you why. They don't understand "Fucked Up" the way you and I do. They don't. They're guessin', and they're shitty guessers. (4:32)
Some friends of mine asked me if I wanted to go to a strip club, and I didn't...want to go. But I ended up going, 'cause—back me up on this, fellas—once you've seen one woman naked, you...wanna see the rest of 'em naked. It can be an old biker chick, you know they're gonna hang down to here. "Wanna see my titties!?" "Yeah, I do!" [cringes] "All right, that's enough, roll 'em back up!" [imitates her rolling her breasts back up and sealing them in place.] The things that make you go [shudders]
Very politely, I said, "Lady, talking during live theater, as far as social skills go, is like shitting in the street." She goes, "You better mind your own business." I said, "You better quit shittin' in the street". She goes, "I'll have you thrown outta here". I said "IF YOU DON'T QUIT FLAPPIN' YOUR FUCKIN' COCK HOLSTER!" Everybody heard that. Before, it was a little disturbance right behind me. Very few people privy to that one. Then, 1,700 people hear me going, "If you don't quit flappin' your fuckin' cock holster!" All of this at a show called "Love", by the way...I had her murdered and buried in the desert. [Shrugs while the audience laughs] It's Vegas, baby. Be careful who you fuck with. (14:11)
They processed me through county jail. Now, for whatever reason, I had a bunch of cash on me. I'd been on the road for a while. And now they gotta count it in front of me, and this guy comes over and he goes. [redneck accent] "Hey, man, I'm gonna have to count that money and you're gonna have to watch". And I'm like [sarcastic] "Fuck, not you." This money is in banded $5,000 stacks and this guy picks one of them up and goes [slowly flipping each bill] "One Mississippi. Two--". He didn't really say Mississippi but he fuckin' could have. "Two Mississippi..." and I go, "You can't do it that way. It'll take forever. Just take the band off and start counting. One-two-three-four-five. When you get to 50, that's 5,000 and just start the next stack." And he goes, "That's a good idea". That's what he said. So he counts the second stack and he goes "Hey, buddy, wait a minute! Wait a minute! There's only 42 in this one." I said, "Oh, that's okay. Just get 8 more outta this one, put it in this one. Now you have two stacks of 50. That's $10,000." I'M TEACHING THIS MOTHER FUCKER HOW TO COUNT!
[imitating his cousin Ray on hunting deer] "Well, it was 4 in the mornin'. 22 degrees outside. 'Course, you weren't there...pussy. I'm in a camouflage deer blind, with grease paint on my face. I've got had deer urine on my boots—I'm not sure why. [as himself] I made that part up. [returns to imitating Ray] I've got a .30-06 rifle with a 12 power-scope and a bullet that'll travel at 2,500 feet per second. When that deer looked up to lick the salt sucker I'd hung from the danged ol' tree...caught him right above the eye." "Yeah? Well, I hit one with a van, goin' 55 miles an hour, with the headlights on and the horn blowin'!" Woo, that's an elusive little creature! If you ever miss one, it's because the bullet's moving too fast. Slow the bullet down to 55 miles an hour, put some headlights and a little horn on it, the deer will actually jump in front of the bullet!