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 see… - Dave Chappelle

I was in Portland, Oregon, and I was checked in a hotel under the name Charles Edward Cheese. I came back to my room late at night, and there was a note; it was like a letter on my desk. It was addressed to "Mr. Cheese." So, obviously, I'm gonna assume that whoever wrote this letter must be an intimate friend of mine; this is not some kind of name that a person would just guess. But then I open the letter, and it turns out I don't know this person at all. It's a fan letter. You know, I'm not even used to the idea that I have fans, but I'm grateful for it. And uh, and even though I'm grateful for fans, I... I don't read those letters. Be nice if I did, but realistically, it's like, "What am I, Santa Claus, nigga? I don't have time for this. I got shit I wanna do. I'm trying to chill."

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.

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."