I have a thing for soda, I love it. [Points to the side of the stage] I know they gave me water, but- [Looks over to the side] Ooh-hoo, a soda! [Walk… - Gabriel Iglesias

A lot has changed, El Paso, a lot has changed. One thing's for sure, I'm still the fluffy guy. And I say "fluffy" because that is the politically correct term, for those of you who don't remember I used to say that there were Five Levels of Fatness. Reason why I say "Used to say" is because now there are six! Uh-huh, I met the new one in Las Cruces. The original five levels are Big, Healthy, Husky, Fluffy, and DAMN! People ask, "What could be bigger than DAMN!" The new level's called "OH HELL NO!" What's the difference? You're still willing to work with level five. Example, if you're on an elevator and you're with your friend and this really big guy gets on and you and your friend look at each other and you're like, "DAAAMN!" But you still let the big guy ride your elevator. That's the difference. Level six, you see walking towards your elevator, [Deep growling noise] [Pretends to be a shocked passenger and starts pushing the "close door" button.] "OH HELL NO!" [Growl] "NO!!" [Growl] "NO!!" [Pretends to kick the fat man out] That's the difference. The guy that I met was six foot eight, six hundred and fourteen pounds. Uh-huh, OH HELL NO!! And he was offended at my show. Not by anything that I said, but because of the fact that now at the shows I started selling T-shirts and apparently, I didn't have his size. Keep in mind, I go all the way up to 5X on the T-shirts and he was like, [Deep growling voice] "You don't have my size." I was like, "Dude, I didn't know they MADE you! I have up to 5X, I don't have [Growl] X!" A picture of a dinosaur on the back of the tag, you know?

You know when you're [driving] drunk, you're like [Imitates car driving and going over the bumps on the edge of the road], behind you, you hear [Imitates big rig horn] [slurring] "Shut up, stupid!" You know, if you hear the magical sound [Imitates police siren], one of two things will pop in your head. Either one, [slurring] "I'm okay, I'm fine...I can beat this." Or two, [police siren] "I'm gonna go to jail. Ima gonna jail. Hey, gonna hafta let you go babe, Ima gonna jail. Tell the kids I love 'em, bye."

My son, he's eighteen years old, but he still doesn't cuss at home. Okay? Now, whatever he does in public, I have no control over. But at home, he knows he cannot cuss. One time. One time in, like, thirteen years, I caught my son cussing at home, and I couldn't even get mad: He'd fallen down the stairs. [laughter] I don't mean to laugh but think about it. What am I going to do to him that's worse than what he just did to himself? I heard it, too. "AH!" [imitates someone falling down stairs] "Son of a bitch!" I ran over, I didn't even check his safety. I was like, "WHAT DID YOU SAY?" [Imitates Frankie looking worried at Gabriel] "Yeah, you earned that one." I said, "If you want to say the F word, next time let me push you."