Monday Morning Podcast - Monday Morning Podcast 1-2-12

Episode Date: January 4, 2012

Posted in PodcastPlay AudioBill rants about New Years and the yearly tradition of going to the Grand Daddy of them All!!

IKEA Tip of the Week Do you like to get a gift? You can count on us. Because until April 15, IKEA Family Lead gets a free children's menu at the purchase of a warm meal for adults. I understand. And you know, I appreciate all the emails I got where people genuinely, you know, genuinely, can't even say the word.

You notice how I couldn't say genuinely and then I tried to play it off by going, you know, everybody genuinely, you know, just sort of mutter through that word, I can't pronounce, that people genuinely showed concern. Where are you built? Did you fall down the stairs? I had a crazy weekend where I was working up in San Francisco, you know, working New Year's for the first time in like four years

because I go to the Rose Bowl every year on New Year's Day and I'm just like, fuck this, I'm not working. But how the Rose Bowl works is if the Rose Bowl, if January 1st falls on a Sunday, they bump it to Monday because they don't want to compete in NFL football. So that opened the door for me to work New Year's. And I'm like, well, I don't want to fly too far away.

I'll fly fucking, I'll go work in San Francisco. Sounds like a good deal to me. I'll fly out of Burbank Airport, this little cute mom and pop airport. You show up, there's like three people there. Some old lady gives you a fucking homemade cookie. It's one of those airports, you know, the time for God. And I was going to fly right up, 50 minutes,

I was going to land, me and my girl were going to hang out the night before, the night before, right? I'm going to walk around the city, have a good time, get one of their delicious burritos, and I was going to bang out the show next morning, wake up, jump on the first one, smoking, come right back to fucking LA, and it would have been done.

End of story. So here's what happened to that. We're driving over, right? I'm like, I'm only going to be gone for less than 24 hours. I'll leave the car at the airport. Everything's going to be fine. As I'm driving over to the fucking airport, a computer calls me, not a person, not a representative,

not somebody with a heart and some sort of life force pumping through, you know, pumping through the body. A fucking computer calls. I pick up the phone, I'm like, hello, and it's like, hello, William Burr. Your flight has been canceled. You are now leaving the same airport 24 hours later. Go fuck yourself.

And that was it. That was it. What the fuck? And they were going to try to make me leave at 6.30 p.m. My fucking show's at 8. You know, I can't leave that late. So I call up the cut down there, trying to figure out what the fuck's going on.

So what do they do? We hear we don't have any more flights on a bird bank. We can stick it down in LAX. What happened, United Airlines? Because we tried to change our seats and the whole fucking thing was full. Okay, since when do you cancel a full plane? What happened?

Was the pilot drunk? Was that what happened? Did he knock up one of those stewardesses? Is that what happened? Did they fuck right up in the first class cabin? There wasn't time to fucking clean up. I don't know what happened. So then they stick me on this fucking flight out of LAX.

I don't want to go out of LAX. No fucking reason of going out of bird bank is I don't want to go out of LAX. LAX sucks. It's the fucking worst. There's fucking 9 million goddamn people down there and they all stand there rolling their eyes at how long the security line is

and then when it's their turn, they're up to bat. Oh shit. And then they start undoing everything that they should have been doing in the fucking line. You know, it's like when you're in a traffic jam. It's like when you... Yes, it is like this. It's like when you're in a fucking traffic jam

and everybody's slowing down and slowing the fuck down and slowing the fuck down. You're like, what's going on? What's going on? And the traffic's so bad. You're like, I better see a fucking head lane in the road. The level of this traffic.

What happens by the time you get up there? There's just somebody changing the fucking tire. Okay? And here's the douche in front of you who you've seen. But looking at the back of their head, you see they're just as frustrated as you. What do they do?

They slow down and look at it. I'm always that guy banging on the horn. Go! The fuck is wrong? How did you not learn anything in this process? I do that shit too when the cops are standing there directing traffic after they've mopped up all the blood

and there's really nothing to see other than some twisted wreckage. Right? And Jesus Christ, you can go home and watch the footage of it on YouTube. By the time you get home, someone's going to upload it. And you've got a good chance

that the person who died was videotaping it. There's a couple of those on YouTube. People videotaping, racing with other people. They lose control of the fucking car. You know? I so want it tipped over. And they're sitting there driving like assholes. And it's weird.

It's kind of creepy, but there's also a justice to it. So anyways, the next morning I wake up and I'm like, you know, I... So my girls all bummed out because we were going to spend a night up in San Francisco. You know? Holding hands, walking around.

Tra-la-la. You know? And now that's out the window. So of course she's pouting because that's what women do. And we can't get going the way I want you to. Yeah, I'm going to act like I'm four. Right?

Then all of a sudden you feel yourself going and like, like, appeasing or whatever. Or entertaining that energy that she's putting out. Like, you're the one who canceled the flight. So you're trying to keep her cool while in the back of your head, you're getting fucking mad at her. Like, do you fucking understand?

I'm the fucking guy who's got to do the goddamn show with the fuck are you pouting about? Stop being mean to me! It becomes that. See? See, you can't be that guy. You just gotta be like, ah, honey, I know. Um, what's some other chick shit that we can do?

Hey, you want to go see the broad with the dragon tattoo above her ass? I'd love to see that movie. All right, let's go. So we go down the street. We go see the chick with the dragon tattoo above her ass. Right? Little fucking slut.

And I'm watching the movie. That's one of my things. I like action movies that have a female, a badass woman as the lead. You know? I think they've just done the guy too many fucking times. I'm a child of the 80s. I saw it a zillion times.

I saw every Schwarzenegger, every Stallone, every Chuck Norris, every Jean-Claude Van Damme, every... Who's the guy? There used to be this actor. Now he's a cop.

And he calls everybody Cuzz. Where's the gun, Cuzz? He speaks in, like, Good Times Jive in 2012. Steven Seagal. I saw all of his fucking movies. And, you know, once I saw

all, like, collectively those 200 movies, believe it or not, I started to notice a pattern. And things became a little cliche. They got, you know, so then they kind of backed off the badass guy movie for a while. Right?

Sort of became more about what the badass guy was saying, more the dialogue kind of badass shit. Tarantino shit came in. The reservoir of dogs, the pulp fictions. Then I got on board with that, but I still miss just the regular old ass

kicking fucking superstar. So one day they go, you know, what if we made the exact same movie, except the lead was a fucking lady? And then, you know what? I was right on board.

It became new again. It's like when they take an old white movie and then they just make it black. You know? It's the same movie, except now it's black people. And I'm fucking right in there. Guess who's coming to dinner this time?

Ah, now it's a white guy. Ah, I'm fucking sitting there watching it. I mean, there's only so many storylines. What is Hollywood supposed to do? Do you realize how fucking bad movies are going to be in the year? Fucking, what the hell are we? 2012, in the year 2100.

The only thing that's really going to change is the technology. The pics are the perfect storm wave. You know, at that point you'd probably have somebody throwing a bucket of water in your face as you're watching it, you know? That movie is so good.

One of my friends drowned, right? That's the only thing. But at the end of the day, it's going to be the same fucking movie. So I go down there. I go down to the little movie house down to the cinema. And I come walking in.

I go, let me get two tickets to the chick with the tramp stamp right above her asshole. And they go, sir, you can't use that kind of language. But the fuck you mean? You're showing rated-R movies. And she goes, oh, that's a good point. That didn't happen, but I wish it did. And so we got the tickets.

I go in there and get a big fucking kitkat. We sit out. We start watching this. I'm watching this movie. 20 minutes in, I fall asleep. Not because it's boring, just because I'm old. I'm at that level. You give me just a halfway comfortable fucking chair

and you turn the lights out. I mean, that's it. Suddenly my head gets heavy, you know? I'm like a fucking toddler. I can't hold this goddamn head up. I may be an infant. I don't know. I don't have any kids.

You know, you know when the head feels like a Nerf basketball at that age, all right? If you don't hold them up, the fucking little baby esophagus starts curving like a question mark, right? That age. That's what I feel like. So does anything make your girl matter

than if you fall asleep in a movie? Are you sleeping? No, no. I'm just really thinking about the plot. It's so deep, man. This movie is so heavy. So I thought the movie was all right. It was all right.

The chick was badass. And I don't know if they were actually fucking. If they weren't actually fucking, that girl should get an Academy Award for the best miming of intercourse that I've seen. I mean, I don't know that two people actually fucking could have moved better

than the way this chick was moving. It's ridiculous. And there's been a couple of movies too where like people just are now sticking their faces between chicks' ass cheeks. And I don't know if it's because we've all watched so much porn. I mean, it's fucking insane.

You sit there looking at going like, all right, maybe she's got some sort of special effects on Dizon. I don't know what, but his nose is up against her fucking. There's no way it isn't. There's no way it isn't. So anyways, we watched that fucking movie.

And you know, we come out of there. My girl's all happy again. I go, look, you know, we're going to take a plane out tomorrow morning out of fucking LAX. We'll be up there and nothing flat. You know, I paid for the hotel room for two nights instead of one.

That way, when we landed 11 in the morning, I could just fucking walk in there. Or 10 in the morning. I can just walk right in and check in. We don't have to wait. Sure, I'm sure you can't check in until three in the afternoon. Then you have to check your bags

and wander the city like a homeless person. You know, I'll try to put a rush on it, but go fuck yourself, you know. So anyways, wake up. We wake up the next morning. And oh, by the way, the United Airlines lady had a fucking attitude with me. Because she goes, you're all confirmed out of LAX.

I go, wait a minute, wait a minute. What about, I thought we had Burbank. She goes, sir, you just confirmed that. And I said, hey, sweetheart, easy with the attitude. You just gave me three different flights. One of them, I was going to Phoenix first. All right, you're playing flight three-card money over the goddamn phone here.

I don't need the attitude. And she said, I'm sorry, sir. And I go, all right, happy new year. And then I look, you know, and then I thought I hung up the phone, but I didn't. And I go to my girl. Jesus Christ, what a fucking cocksucker.

And then I just heard her like pushing buttons. I don't know. I don't know if she was still listening or what. Whatever, back to the story. So we wake up the next morning. Okay, whatever, we've been delayed 12 hours. Let's go down to fucking LAX, standing 800 deep line to go through,

to go on a fucking 50 minute flight. All right, we go on, check our flight. Our flight is delayed an hour, and we still don't have any seating assignment. And I was like, you know what, fuck this. Fuck this, we're driving up. All right, we're fucking dry. I don't give a shit that it's five and a half hours.

We're driving up. And then instantly, all the stress of the day went away. Because now, my destiny was back in my own hands. Okay, I didn't have to go down there and plead with them to get me a fucking seating assignment. You know? Like I was in fucking Vietnam trying to catch that loud. That's such a hacky reference at this point.

Like I was in Laos trying to get a fish taco on fucking Dictator Day. You know, I got to read more. That's what it is. Like I read. You know what, if Charlie Sheen made a movie about fucking Laos, then I would have had that fucking reference for you.

Wow, this podcast just died. Let me try to resuscitate it here. So anyways, so we end up fucking driving up there. We have a great goddamn time. I'm driving up in a four-door fucking Ram 1500 pickup truck that I rented for the fucking granddaddy of them all. You know? Fucking cruised up in that thing.

Cruised up. Oh and like fucking 90 the whole way. Anytime you see one of those signs that says when you're in the middle of nowhere and it says warning, your speed is being tracked by aircraft, it isn't. All right. What do you think?

Did somebody up there in a biplane with fucking a scarf flapping in the wind? Okay, from that tree to that tree was 5.6, carry the one. Don't fuck yourself. Has anybody ever gotten a ticket because some guy in an airplane figured out that they were going 70 and a 55? Huh?

Did ya? Well, send me an email about it because I'm not reading it. Yeah, so I just drove 90 the whole fucking way up. Ended up getting up there at like, I think like 12 noon. So it only took me as far as like time goes and only took like an extra 60 minutes. Because you know, you gotta get down there

an hour and a half fucking early. The flight's an hour and a half. That's three fucking hours. Then you gotta deal with another hour getting back from the thing. That's right there. That's four and a half hours. Was it?

Was that four? Whatever. Took me another two hours, you cunts. You know? But I had a nice big seat. I didn't have some fat fuck sitting next to me. And if I wanted to pull over and take a piss at a Dairy Queen, I could.

And you know what I got to see? As I drove, I got to see America. You know? I got to read these signs. Stop the Congress created Dust Bowl. And I was like, what the fuck is that? And they had something to do with they're not giving them enough water up there.

And I was like, oh, there's something else that I can read that's going to scare the shit out of me. Why are they fucking with the food supply? So anyways, Jesus Christ, where the fuck am I? So we go up. I do the goddamn show. And then I drive back. And everything was fucking great.

And then what? Then what? I get the whole day off. And I just start preparing for the Rose Bowl. The fucking granddaddy of them all. We're doing it up bright this year. We had the four door pickup truck. We had two grills.

We had marinated steaks. And we had like 36 fucking Budweiser's, two big things of Crown Royal and some Jameson. And ketchup, right? Ready to tailgate. So we pick everybody up. It's going down like fucking one of those Chuck Norris movies when he's picking up all his special forces, right?

Fucking three deep driving over to fucking Joe Bartnick's. Joe Bartnick's the heart and soul of our fucking tailgate. All right, we pull up. I call him. He tells me he threw out his fucking back. All right, boy, like, ah, this is Bartnick. He's going to be fine. He comes walking out of the side of his building.

I swear to God, you would have thought that he was walking on broken glass. And we see him, all right? Our enforcer hobbling up the goddamn street. And it just took the wind out of all of our sails. You know what I mean? It's like you're on the Celtics and Larry can't play. And he got the Lakers that day, you know? And he comes walking up and we're all legitimately concerned about him

because we can tell he's in a ton of pain. And he opens the door ever so gingerly. Before any of us can speak, he goes, you know what, boys? You play hurt today. And you know why? And then he screams, because it's the granddaddy of them all, baby. And then fucking makes a fist and starts punching everybody.

Instead of doing a fist bump, he's punching your fist. And then we knew it was on, you know? It's like somebody took away Christmas and then all of a sudden they go, just fucking with you and they flip the lights back on. And I got to tell you something. Every year I tell you guys all these hilarious fucking stories at the Rose Bowl. But this year, we drank so much, I really can't remember anything. I can't remember a fucking thing.

All I remember was we pulled up. They put us on, you know, you're in a golf course. We're on this grassy knoll and Lawhead's telling me, hey, you want to fucking pull up a little bit more? And we're like, no, no, no. We'll do the tailgate in front of the truck. All right? And everything was great.

We set up shop. Everything was iced down and I opened that first Budweiser. Huh? The king of beers at the granddaddy of them all. And I drank it like it was nothing. And I was like, wow, that went down really smoothly. And then I saw the Crown Royal sitting there and I just said, hey, I go, who wants a heater?

And that's really the last thing that I vividly remember. I had no nourishment in my stomach. I had a beer and I poured basically a quadruple. It was probably a little bit of trouble because there was a lot of ice in there. And I had both of those before I had my fucking omelet. And it's weird. Like, I don't not remember the tailgate, but I don't really remember it. We were there at 830.

The game didn't start till two. And I felt like I was tailgating for like 20 minutes. It's all I remember. I remember Bartnick at one point. We were unloading and all of a sudden he just yells at the top of his lungs. He goes, ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the granddaddy of them all. It basically scared the shit out of 90% of the people around our tailgate, which was great. He basically, he basically pissed on our whole territory and nobody fucked with us for the rest of the time.

What else happened? I remember this fucking hot chick came over this Wisconsin. I know, right? Hot chick from Wisconsin. Who would have thought? You know, they usually look pretty banged up. If it fucking banged up out there. You know, they're going to school and they're working on the farm.

Just taking all four fucking seasons right to the face. You know, the side order of cheese. I mean, that's hard living up there. Look at those people. They don't know any better. Look at the Green Bay Packers. Is there any fucking logical reason why they're that close to the Arctic Circle and they still play the game outside? I mean, I feel it should be played outside.

Apps are fucking loopy. You know, but the level of pussies that are in this country now. I can't believe they haven't, you know, we need some sort of retractable dome. They don't, they sit outside. It's showing up in ear muffs and a fucking fedora just like Vince Lombardi. They don't know any better. It's not because they're tough. They don't fucking know any better.

That's why they eat the way they eat up there. They don't know any fucking better. You know, it's the funniest fucking thing is bringing up any sort of healthy eating to somebody from Wisconsin. They immediately just fucking wrinkle up their goddamn noses. You know, and it's not even like, oh, that's gay. I'm not eating that way. Like they literally eating in a healthy way, disgust them. They react to vegetables the way most people react to like sardines.

So this fucking hottie shows up, right? She's got the, you know, they got the badge of red and white fucking overalls. She's wearing a pair of those with nothing but it's like a fucking tube top underneath it. You know, a little raven to haired cutie, but brown eyes, skin, all fucking tan, little sexy tattoo on the fucking side. And she comes walking over and goes, Hey, you guys want to do a dirty Sanchez? I'm thinking, what the fuck is a dirty Sam? I mean, I, I've heard of this, the, the, the sex one. What are you talking about?

And she had some tequila and she had a, and then she had this big jar of pickles. So they're fucking doing shots of tequila and right after you drink pickle juice. And I know that that sounds disgusting. I can tell you it was the greatest fucking thing ever. Cause I don't care how hardcore you are. There's no way to drink tequila without making that. I just drank some tequila face and I took a shot at the tequila and like an asshole, I was so drunk. I didn't get how she explained it to me.

I was trying to reach in and take out a pickle. I was going to eat it. She's going, no, no, you drink, you drink the juice. I'm like, well, oh, oh, that's how you do it. All right, let me try it again. So I did another shot and then I drank the pickle juice and I got to tell you it was fucking tremendous. You know, you take a shot at tequila and you feel like somebody punched you in the throat. And then you drink that room temperature pickle juice and it's like somebody gives you a hug.

Like, oh, sorry about that. I know that was your larynx and that probably hurt, you know. So I learned that. So there you go. That was the problem. I was drinking Budweiser's. I was, I was, I don't even, I don't even know what the fuck happened. I remember standing in a line at one point going, is this the line of the bathroom?

And they were like, no, it's the line to the gift shop. And there was this giant building with this huge sign that said Rose Bowl gift shop. And that guy, the guy I had that, please don't punch my wife or scare my children. Look on his face. And I was like, wow, I think I'm really fucked up. And I don't know. And then I went into the game. I was completely fucking wasted, but I remember the entire game.

It reminded me of the old like San Diego Charger Miami Dolphins matchups back in the day when there was just like no fucking defense. The fuck was the final score? It was like 45-38. And I was so bummed out when that dude didn't spike the ball in time, you know, because I was like, here we go. He's got one shot going down, you know, in the end zone, one shot in the end zone for the granddaddy of them all. Let's see it. And then they tweet. He didn't get it off in time.

And we're all sitting there like, you got to be fucking kidding me. And then they go to do a review of it. I'm thinking in my fucking head, there's no goddamn way they're going to let this fucking great game end on that fucking play. Right. And then they come out and they go, yeah, it's over. They shoot off confetti. I was like, what the fuck? Fucking awful.

So then we wander out to the truck, back out in the parking lot. We fired up the grill. And people started drinking again. I tapped out because I had to drive. And that was basically the Rose Bowl this year. I'm sorry. I usually have a bunch of funny stories, but honestly, I can't remember. I was so fucking excited that we had all this food next year.

I'm going to eat a little something first and I'm going to start with beers. Okay. And I'm going to not go to the whiskey for the first couple hours. I think that that was the big mistake. We were bait. It was like a one round knockout. That's what our tailgate. So first we were like out on our feet for the final fucking 11 rounds.

I remember one point talking to somebody's wife saying, you know, because, you know, the wife of course didn't want him to go. You know, I can't tell it's because, you know, probably because she was smart. And I just remember talking to her telling her what a great man her husband was and saying, hey, he's over there right now sitting down, just enjoying the sunshine and he, and he wasn't remotely doing anything like that. Sorry. Sorry.

Smoking a fucking cigar yesterday too. That was another thing. You know, and I was so drunk. I kept forgetting it was in my hand. So then it would go out and then I'd have to relight it and I was too drunk to fucking, you know, do the get it to go when I was actually inhaling. So I, I don't know. Yeah, we had four Ricky Riccardo's fucking smoke those up.

And I remember getting a pretzel. I'm just going to piece this whole fucking thing together. Like the guy who played hand solo, you know, with the one arm murderer, the fugitive. The fuck happened. I remember standing in line and getting a pretzel and I go, you want salt or no salt? I go, I'll take salt and it was so fucking salty. I just, I just remember just flicking the fucking salt off and it was getting all over my shirt because I'd already put mustard on it.

Trying to flip the salt. The fuck is wrong with me? Well, this is what I want to tell you guys. I'm taping another stand up special. The first week, first weekend in March, tickets are on sale yet and I'm not naming the city yet either because I got to wait till everything's all fucking legally solidified there. And, and I am now, I am in dry dock. Once again, I am off the booze.

That was it. I don't know when I'm going to drink again, maybe on my birthday in June. I like it. I had a great time drinking yesterday, but I am banged up and I don't need to do that again for a long time. So I'm definitely not going to drink right up to the special. And then by then I'll have a good fucking 60 days in and let's go for 100 days again. I did.

Let's go for 200. Then I'll try and break my fucking record. 367 days. And in the meantime, I'll keep the weight off. I won't become Billy Fat Face. That's what it's all about. I don't want to be Billy Fat Face walking around. Oh, look at him.

There's a guy I went to high school with. Look at his fat face now. I don't want to be that guy. I don't want to be a tub of shit. It's one of my big goals in life. Oh, speaking of which, do you guys make any New Year's resolutions? Who's kidding who? A New Year's resolution is basically, let's see how long I can do this before I go back

to being the same douchebag I was. Isn't that what they really are? You lie to yourself, I'm making a change. You know, and maybe you can stick it out halfway through February. By the beginning of March, what happens? You look in the mirror as you're brushing your teeth. You just, yeah, you're an asshole. It starts tomorrow.

Tomorrow I get back on the horse. So that's it. That's it. I'm done. I'm done with the booze. I'm done with the booze. Maybe until the Rose Bowl next year. Maybe that's what I'll do.

Once a fucking year. You know, everybody knows that guy who owns a fucking Harley in their neighborhood. And once a year, he gets a haircut and a shave. Everybody know a guy like that? Sure, we all do. Dead-Eyed Pete. He's got some sort of nickname. You know, maybe he killed somebody.

Maybe he didn't. You know, then he has some weird, really effeminate thing about him. You know, like he could literally choke a fucking sauce watch to death. Yet he likes to finger paint or something. Maybe that's what I'll do. Maybe once a year, I'm going to drink at the granddaddy of them all. I don't know what happened this year. I really don't.

And I don't understand how I so vividly remember the game. Yet was completely, I don't remember the fucking tailgate whatsoever. You know what sucks was for the first year I missed the flyover. I was in the tunnel when the flyover happened. And all these fucking Wisconsin fans were fucking walking and waddling their way to their goddamn seats. I was rooting for Wisconsin this year, by the way. Oh, by the way, congratulations to Oregon. Winning your first Rose Bowl since 1917.

That's fucking unbelievable. Unfucking believable. 95 years. I rooted against them because I didn't like their snow globe helmets. Those things were just stupid. You know, little hologram. Come on, you're a football team. Or you're writing greeting cards.

You know, it's bad enough you called the ducks. God damn, they were a fast fucking team. Jesus Christ, how many times did somebody turn the corner and you're thinking, all right, this is a six yard game. And all of a sudden he's at the 40, the 30, that 20 touchdown. It's fucking unreal. Did I even stay in the stands during the, yeah, it's all coming back to me. I saw the halftime show.

Some band went out and did a bunch of Van Halen songs, you know, because nothing says Van Halen like a hundred piece fucking orchestra. I actually got to tell you, I think it was Wisconsin that did it. There was constant band. That was the only thing that sounded worse than when David Lee Roth did the bluegrass version of Van Halen songs. But anyways, and so this is Christmas. Christmas is over everybody. I want to ask you this.

Have you thrown out your tree yet? Don't you always feel fucking weird when you do that? You get so excited for this fucking Christmas tree. You know, and then what happens? Like this is the day it's over. You just look at it like, like it was in a boy band in the, in the Justin Timberlake left. And now you, yeah, you're just looking at your Christmas tree like it's Lance Bass in fucking 2006. You know, so I actually pride myself in the way I dispose of my Christmas tree every year.

I do it the proper way. I do it the way you're supposed to. I don't just fucking, you know, put it in the passenger seat of my car like some fucking hitchhiker you met. Put two in the back of its head and you throw it out on the fucking medium strip of a highway. I don't do that. I dispose of it like the fucking Iceman. You know, do you guys ever see the Iceman when he talked about cutting up the bodies? That's what I do.

Get all the decorations, all the jewelry, cut out the fillings, you know. And then I take it out in the driveway and I fucking cut it up and I stick it in the, the recyclable. You know, unlike my fucking neighbors who just take the whole tree and stick it in the recycle bin. Fucking things sticking out. Standing there like that fucking old school Denver Broncos fan that wears the barrel around his waist. That's the only thing it's missing. When you just take the whole Christmas tree and you stick it in the barrel, you should just have some fucking suspenders going up and over attached onto it.

Is that what it should have, Bill? Oh, I think it should. All right, let's read. This is the Monday Morning Podcast, by the way, everybody. And hey, let's get down to some fucking of the bullshit here. I've actually finally figured out a way here to make some money off the podcast. Do you guys go to Amazon.com? Sure, we all do.

Anytime you guys go there, if you'd like to make a donation to my podcast, rather than going directly to Amazon.com, just go to BillBurr.com, click on podcast. I know this is a couple of extra steps. All right. And once you click on the podcast, you look on the right hand side of the page, right under where it says iTunes is Amazon.com. You click right on there. You go to Amazon and you buy something.

It doesn't cost you any more money, but I get, I get a percentage. They give me a little, but they give me a little kickback. Here you go, Bill. Don't tell nobody we gave this to you. Right? Just for driving people towards Amazon.com. So you're already going there. Now you just go there through my website, you know, and in that way,

you get to donate to the podcast without spending any fucking money. You know, I'm not telling you to go to Amazon.com and buy something you don't want to fucking buy. I'm saying when you go there, go through my website, click on the Amazon.com and you buy something. And then 10% of whatever I make, I'm going to give to the wounded warriors project. It's a way to support this podcast and support the troops and get yourself the fucking, I don't know, whatever the fuck, the Radiohead anthology, whatever the fuck you're buying over there. Who knows?

Oh, and speaking of that, I also have another, I have another sponsor. What is it? Stamps.com. That's the latest one. If you go to Stamps.com, you know what? I was too drunk yesterday to try and fucking remember how this one goes. I don't know how this one goes. I'll let you know about it next week, but it's basically Stamps.com.

You know what happens? You go down to the fucking post office, you got to stand in line to get stamps to go up to one of those grumpy people that's going to end up shooting up the fucking place. Right? What do they say? Go in postal. There's a reason they say that. Those fucking people are dangerous down there.

Now, I'm usually against that automated shit. All right? You know, I don't like that automated shit down at the grocery store, but those fucking, the goddamn people behind the register don't shoot up the fucking grocery store of your three goddamn days. All right? But this shit, you know, I fucking hate the post office. There are a bunch of cunts.

There. I said it. You go down there. You stand in the fucking line. You stand there for 20 fucking minutes. You finally get up to front just to buy a book of goddamn stamps and the douche puts this windows closed and then goes over and eats a fucking chicken salad sandwich where you can see them.

I hate those cunts to the point. I actually started using the automated machine down there. It's something else. I don't fucking like because when you stand in line, what it, where is it? Oh, automated machine is going to be so fucking easy. Right? No, there's some asshole up there sending out his Christmas cards to 400 fucking relatives. And he's got to weigh packages and all that shit.

And what's the problem there? He doesn't work at the post office. He doesn't know how to fucking do it. But if you go to stamps.com, everybody just fucking bang, bang, boom. Look at it. You get some goddamn stamps and you don't have to go down there and put your life in jeopardy. There. Stamps.com everybody.

Go fuck yourselves. How was that for a read? Did you like that? What the hell is my computer? All right. It's over here. That might have been the angriest commercial you're ever going to hear. We liked what he was saying is he could just not say it so angrily.

Right. Last week I asked the ladies to justify the divorce laws. Okay. And you know what? Not a goddamn one of them could fucking do it. So for some reason, some guy decides to write in. I was basically saying justify to me. Justify to me.

Justify to me. Why Kobe Bryant's wife deserves $190 million. Justify it to me. Don't say, well, because that's what the law says. Don't say that. Justify the reasoning for it. And I use the example. If I asked you, why is it illegal to kill somebody?

You wouldn't be like, that's what the law says. You'd be like life is the most precious thing on the planet. We all need to respect people's lives. If you do not respect somebody's life, we can't just have people go around taking other people's lives away like they're the Lord. Right. You could justify the reasoning for it. You know what?

Let's do it. Including this douchebag. This guy goes, Bill, here's why she deserves the money. And then he goes on and says marriage is nothing more than a legal and or religious fiction that makes two people partners. Wow. There's some new information. When two consenting adults get married on their of their own free will, they are volunteering

themselves into an official partnership where both parties agree that their lives and assets are now shared equally unless they agree on a prenup. Do you see the difference here? This guy is basically doing, he's basically in an elaborate way going, ah, that's not the law says. He's not justifying it. Justify to me. Why? Why does that law exist?

I know why I shouldn't kill you. I shouldn't take your life away. You're fucking, it's your life. You get one of them. I shouldn't take it away. It totally makes sense. It's logical that we can't have people going around killing one another. You know, unless they're evil doers.

Um, but it's, you can't, you can't on any way justify somebody getting $190 million of NBA championship rings and they've never even fucking hit a layup in the league. Did she ever even play basketball? There's no, you cannot logically tell me, you can't, you can't justify it. Sir, all you're doing right now is you're telling me what the fucking law is. I understand what the law is. I understand that I live in California and if I get married and I don't have a fucking prenup. Okay. She is automatically entitled to half of my shit.

She's entitled to half of my shit. It doesn't make sense though. I'm telling you to make sense of it. Don't tell me, you're basically going, you know, there's a law in Alabama. If you're in a car with a girl who's 17, she ain't got her shoes on that, that's Torah rape. And then I go justify that law to me. Why is the hot, what, where is the rape in that? And then, well, when two consenting adults get into a car and the one with the pussy takes her shoes off and she's 17 and under.

That's not justifying it. Then he goes on to say, why wouldn't any person who's worth substantially more money than the other agree to such an arrangement? Now you're just saying, Kobe's fucking stupid for doing this. That's, that's not my question, Brad. All right. He goes in the end, he goes, if Kobe had suffered a career ending injury when he married his wife, and then she went on to win the Super Lotto and at a hundred million dollars, I guarantee Kobe would want his split and he would deserve every penny.

Okay, why? Why would he deserve every penny? Tell me why. I'm not saying that he wouldn't ask for it. You're not answering the fucking question, Brad. Answer the fucking question. Why, what? You don't fucking deserve it.

You don't. You don't. If you go out and you marry the greatest composer of all time and that person composes this timeless fucking music that for fucking centuries people are going to be listening to and analyzing. And during the course of that, you made hundreds of millions of dollars. Okay, I understand why that person made hundreds of millions of dollars. I don't get why if he then gets a divorce from somebody who can just sit there on the couch eating fucking Doritos all day when they get divorced,

why they're entitled to half of the fucking riches. Stop explaining. I know the law says that that's what they should. The law says that they are legally entitled to. I'm saying what is the reasoning behind that? Okay, I get it. You don't want a bunch of guys going out starting families and then fucking walking away. I understand that.

But at some fucking point, you have enough fucking money. She should just write her check for 20 million dollars. 20 million dollars is more money than most people will ever make in their fucking lives. Most people won't even come close to that in their fucking lifetime. Will not come close to that. She's getting it all at once. You get 20 million dollars. You are set for fucking life.

But that's not enough for these cunts. They get 190 million dollars. This is what fucking kills me. They're worth nine figures. They haven't accomplished anything in their life. I understand why Kobe is worth 300 fucking million dollars. Do you see this guy this past week? He's got a fucking...

He's has an injury that most people would have sat out six months of the season. This guy is a fucking warrior. This is a Celtics fan saying that. That guy is a fucking warrior. Okay? They don't make guys like that. Guys like that come around once every two, three generations. That guy is the fucking man and he is worth...

I understand why he's worth 30 million dollars. I for the life of me do not understand. I cannot justify. Whatever the fucking law says. Fuck that law. Justify it for me. You can't do it. You guys had an entire fucking week.

Nobody can do it. And one guy named Brad basically just told me what the law was. But he didn't justify it. Why does that law exist? Why isn't there some sort of fucking... Oh, shut up Bill. We got it. Alright.

This fucking drives me up the fucking wall. These fucking goddamn bum ass fucking women. Can't even tie their goddamn shoes or walking around multi-millionaires. I saw one time this fucking lady. She was married to this guy in the NBA and the guy fucked around on her and they get a divorce. Yeah. Got a divorce. Okay.

Yeah, he fucked around. Yeah, he fucked up. You know? And then she goes out, takes all this fucking money and drives around in a car with a license plate that says his money. I just think like this, the arrogance and the self-entitled, like I am entitled. Well, you cheated on me. Therefore, I'm entitled to hundreds of millions of dollars. You're not.

You're not. But you are. Because that's what the law says. It's the stupidest fucking thing ever. His money. Can you believe the arrogance of that shit? That'd be like if you knocked your wife out. You know?

Your second wife out. And then you got a license plate that said two for two. You said two for two and then every guy on TV was going, that's right. That's right. Like totally backing it. You fucking bum ass broads. Go out and get a fucking job. Go invent something.

Earn your fucking money. Fucking cheated on you. Of course he did. He's doing what he's supposed to be doing. You get a fucking champion racehorse. What do they do? Does it go out and fuck one horse and that's it? No, they send it out to stud.

Because it's got that championship gene pumping through his blood. You know why there's so many mouth breathing fat fucks on airplanes? Because of the marriage laws. Because you only can bang one of them. And our great ones with that fucking thoroughbred semen are supposed to stick with one person. Are you out of your fucking mind? All right. That was ignorant and disgusting.

All right. Let's plow ahead here. Okay. The question is still open. Still on the table. Tell me why. Tell me why. Kobe's wife.

Justify why she deserves $190 million. Justify it morally. The way I can justify to you morally why you shouldn't kill somebody. Why you shouldn't steal somebody's stuff. I totally get all of that. I get all of that. You know, these same fucking broads who can't justify this can justify morally why a guy shouldn't fuck around on his wife. They wouldn't be like, well, because that's what the law says.

They wouldn't. They wouldn't. They would fucking just right off the top of their fucking heads could give you a 20-minute speech. And none of it would have to do with the law. It would all have to do with love and trust and relationships. And they could morally justify it. This fucking law, there's not a fucking broad out there. A guy out there that can justify somebody who sits around all goddamn day.

Not doing shit and then being entitled to $190 million of Los Angeles Lakers championship money. If you had an alien land on this planet, the first question would be, well, does this person play for the Lakers? Does she work for them? Did she draft the players? Did she design the uniforms? What does she do? Did she really? Really.

And then that would be it. You take out his little laser gun and he'd shoot her in the twat. And that would be it. But sadly, we don't live in a world like that. All right, advice for the week. Number one, Bill, my wife and I are both workout people. Triathlons, half marathons, et cetera. You guys are going to get his and her hip replacements in your fucking early 60s.

Last year we started attending a class. Oh, dude, this is fucked up. I remember this one. Last year we started attending a class to help with this, to help with this. Oh, we're working out. And the instructor seemed like a good shit. We got along great and he works for the same company we do. This is a huge company in, I'm not going to say where.

So it's not like he sits next to me or something. Anyway, we really enjoyed this guy's class and he would email all the people that took the class regularly, telling them what they needed for that day's class, weights, a mat, jump rope, et cetera. It's P90X oriented. So since we were both on the mailing list, we knew his email address. I started to see things happening. My wife was emailing him a lot. He was emailing her a lot.

It was a conversation between them via work email, which is okay. I guess. But then they started texting each other. Oh, and it was frequent and come downstairs and hear her phone snapshot. And I'd say, who are you talking to? She would always say, no one or just checking my messages, et cetera. Being that I'm a system engineer in technology, I called bullshit and proceeded to capture her passwords on the laptop downstairs. Jesus Christ.

He goes, I know, but I wanted to see what was up. So I got her password logged into her phone account online and lo and behold, she was texting this guy back and forth. First of all, dude, how did you capture her password? This is why I don't bank online. I don't do any of that shit. This is secure. It's a secure site. No, it isn't.

Um, anyways, so he finds out that she's texting this dude, both of them are texting back and forth. And he says, I'm not just saying, uh, during the day a few times, I'm saying throughout the day and up until 11pm at night, even after midnight. And while I'm lying in bed next to her, she would always get pissed if I said anything about who the fuck are you talking to at 11pm. Um, we became mutual friends with this person from the start. And I asked some girls I knew and some guys and some guys that I, that both knew him and they both said, yeah, you need to address it. So I called the dude one night and pretty much said, stop fucking texting my wife at night. Uh, are you, are you and I are going to have a problem? And he immediately shut it down.

This guy's five, seven, 150 pounds and not some stutter or anything. I'm six, one, 200 pounds and could easily stomp his ass out. Uh, he's an endurance runner, not some super jack guy. He immediately stopped and every time I saw him in the locker room or the gym, he was very cautious around me and way too nice. Almost like it was his way of saying sorry. Everything stopped after that. My question is, was I right doing this? Addressing it with him.

Uh, basically texting has blurred the lines between what's okay and what's not. Guys and girls always say, oh, it was just a text, but no big deal. But I think that's horseshit. Um, it's the, it's the same as a phone call to me. So if you want to call my wife while I'm in bed with her, go for it, but they won't. Texting is a bitch move, which is why so many people get busted doing it. If they were, if they want to email, email each other at work and discuss workout routines, I get it. But having that instant connection through your phone, no matter where they are, is a little odd, especially when I'm in bed right next to her.

Am I wrong for putting this bitch in line and telling him to stop it? Uh, yeah, dude. You know what? The only reason why you're asking me if you're wrong is because you busted your fucking wife and right now she's mind fucking you, manipulating you, trying to get you. She, she's basically almost done it, almost flipped it around. You're actually questioning, am I fucking wrong for fucking catching my wife texting with this other guy at 11 o'clock at night? There's only one reason you text somebody at 11 o'clock at night. Two reasons.

Either you ran out of gas or you're trying to fuck him. That's the only two reason people text at that fucking hour of the night. He's trying to fuck your wife. Alright? And I don't know what's up with your wife. Okay? Because you're going, who are you texting? Oh, nobody.

Right there, the fact that she goes, oh, nobody and slams the fucking phone shot. Right there. She knows she's doing something that ain't fucking cool. This is a very fucking touchy subject. Alright? Because this involves the woman cheating and guys solve problems with violence. So I'm not trying to fucking egg you on here, sir, but you definitely did the right thing. And that's really a what the fuck situation that you're in.

That ain't fucking cool. Alright? I'm going to step outside of your situation now, sir. Alright? Other than say that you 100% did the right thing and do not let her fucking worm her way out of it. Alright? Personally speaking now. Now I'm talking about me.

I'm stepping away from this story. If I caught my girl doing it, that's a fucking wrap. It's over. The relationship is fucking over. Go fuck yourself. Alright? It's over. It's over.

I know where the fuck this is going. I know where the hell this is leading. What the fuck are you texting this guy for at 11 o'clock at night? You want to suck his dick? Why? What was he telling you how to do the perfect jumping jack at 11.30 at night? He couldn't tell you that at four? He has to email you, text you.

Fucking 9,000 times during the course of the day to tell you how to do a fucking push-up. Give me a fucking break. You're flirting with this guy. You want to fuck him. So? Relationship is over? Happy fucking. Bum-ba-de-da, bum-ba-de-da, bum-ba-de-da, right?

Happy trails to you. Get the fuck out of here. It's over. That's, that's, that's how you got to handle that thing. The same way fucking Kobe's wife, when she busted him cheating. Rather than taking that big Tweety Bird diamond that she got from him. She, right there, the relationship, it's fucking over. It's fucking over.

Trust is gone. It's fucking over. But he's worth hundreds of millions of dollars, which for some reason, she's entitled to half of it. So she stuck around. She stuck around, put in her 10 years. Now, he has to pay for her fucking life for the rest of her life. He has to fucking support her, like she's a goddamn child and it's legal. Somebody please justify that.

I'll never get over it, people. I'll keep going back to it, till one of you motherfuckers can morally justify the reasoning behind that fucking law. Please stop wasting my time by telling me what the law is. In speculating, well, if the tables were flipped, Kobe would have done it. I'm not saying who would have done what. I'm saying morally. Tell me the reasoning behind that fucking law. Okay.

The only thing I can think of is that back in the day, guys would start families and then jump on the horse and say, I'm fucking out of here and they just left. And then you had this poor woman with four kids and they were in poverty. I get that. You want to fucking avoid that. Okay. If that's what the justify, if you're going to try and justify it that way, I get it. But what I would like to introduce is a new modification of that law with some sort of salary cap.

Okay. I don't think just because you married somebody who's rich, man or woman, that that gives you the fucking right to sit on your goddamn ass for the rest of your fucking life and get arrogant license plates saying his money, her money. I didn't pay for it. Ha ha ha. I mean, right there. You wonder why people get killed.

That's the kind of shit right there. That's two minutes for instigating right there. If he comes over and fucking slaps the goddamn spit out of your mouth. Why did you do it? Look at her license plate, your honor. Yeah, you know what? That makes sense. The fuck is wrong with you?

What do you have that license plate for? That's not how it works. I don't care that she's being a cunt. That's no excuse for treating her like one. All right. Advice number two. Dear Bill. Bill, I met you after a show in Pittsburgh.

The black guy with the hot Latina. We laughed about my shoes matching my outfit. Well, my beautiful girlfriend for the past three years has a little bit of insecurity, insecurity issues. A lot of those are absolutely gorgeous women do. And you know why it is? It's because they're level. I'm not even reading this shit.

The reason why I think a lot of them are fucking insecure is because they're beautiful. And that goes away after a while. So the clock is just fucking ticking. You know, if you just some regular douchebag like me, there's no pressure going back to your fucking high school reunion. I mean, the expectations are so fucking low. You know, it's easy to surpass him. Like, oh, jeez, he didn't get fat.

This guy's awesome. But if you're a fucking hot chick, it can just, it can only go downhill. And I also think that they have the same insecurity a rich guy has where a rich guy is like, this woman's just with me because of my money, not because of who I am. I think that they have the insecurity that this person is just with me because of my ass and today's hi. All right, for some odd reason, she feels the need for me to prove to her that I love her whenever we're in a public setting. So recently, during some Christmas shopping, she got upset that I wouldn't hold her hand as we walked through the mall. She proceeded to catch one of her spicy Latin attitudes with me.

See, now if you were white and you said that, and you said that on TV, you would have to apologize for nine weeks when you lose your job. Why does it have to be spicy? Are you saying that Latino people are like their peppers? All right, I'm going to stop commenting and just plow through this. Okay, so I handle the situation like a G parentheses gentlemen and completely ignored her ass until we got into the car and I finally had enough of her telling me how I don't love her and how she wants me to love her. Oh, I don't love her how she wants me to love her and how unaffectionate of a man I am. And you know what, dude, that right there is probably how you got this hot girl,

because you weren't the first guy sitting there with your tongue hanging out of your mouth. You acted like you didn't even give a fuck, which fed into her insecurity of like, oh my God, is the expiration date hit? Am I not hot anymore? Look at me commenting again. All right, I swear these bitches are so unappreciative. Why do you call them bitches? Why can't these bitches understand how much I appreciate their ass? Every weekend, Bill, we do something. Dinner, movies, plays, etc. But because she has a veg, she has to find something to complain about. I think it's because women have this trait where they feel a strong need to be miserable.

No, dude, you know what's going on is you're spoiling her. You're taking her to dinner, movies, plays every fucking weekend. Now she's come to expect it. You know what I mean? It's just become part of a routine. It's not special anymore. So now you have to do something extra special, because special isn't special. You know? That's what I, you know what? I'm not the whisperer of this shit. We were up in San Francisco, right? I lit up my credit cards this Christmas, all right? My girl had a great fucking Christmas, all right? It's three days later. We're up in fucking San Francisco. She wants to go shopping.

I'm like, for what? You didn't get enough? You know? So she knows I'm right. So what does she do? She tells me she wants a goddamn candle. Okay? Because it's not expensive, but she'll still feel like she got something, because I don't know what it is. They always got to get stuff. There's always got to be some sort of a goodie bag. I wouldn't get it for. I wouldn't get it for. Okay, you're done. No, I'm not. It's over. My credit cards are still glowing. I'm not getting you shit. And, you know, she's cool as hell. So she just kept laughing, because I was being unbelievably rude, and I was being really loud. I was just joking around.

And, but still, that's the thing. And I just kept saying, I spoil you. I'm, you know, we're shutting it down for a while. You're not getting anything until Valentine's Day. You know, you want something, now I'll get you a little bag of Fritos. What do you think about that? Maybe something to wash it down with. And then what they do is they immediately get mad. And then all you do is you don't take the bait. They want you to get mad, so then they can turn it into a fight about something else, because they know you're fucking right. All right? So let it be mad. All you got to do, you just got to stay fucking calm. Well, let's see what this guy does.

So anyways, he goes, so we are driving along the highway, leaving them all, and she's still bitchin'. And finally I tell her, you know what? If you don't like the way I express my love for you, then step off. Gotta read that quote like a black man. I can't. I'm not even gonna try to. So immediately, I actually read that. I read that like a douchey East Coast white guy. Fucking step off! Uh, how did you... If you don't like that motherfucker, then step off, bitch! How was that? Was that good? I know it wasn't, but don't ask me to do it.

All right, plowing ahead. You know what? I might have like a fucking substitute black guy for when black guys write some shit in here. So you guys can read it the way you're supposed to say it. Other than that, you're getting fucking a cracker ass read and you're gonna have to live with it. All right, so immediately after that, I said, after I said that, this bitch starts throwing these accurate and quick ass Pacquiao combos. She's punching you. Mind you, I'm doing 65 miles per hour down the highway, trying not to hit the guardrail while at the same time getting this crazy bitch off me. Luckily, I didn't crash my year old Mercedes. This guy is hilarious. Come on, dude. Do you love this girl or is she just another accessory? Like, my year old Mercedes with the Corinthian leather, I get pulled over.

Get pulled over or God forbid seriously injure us. I mushed the hell out of her and held her face against the passenger window. Totally acceptable. Totally ex- the mush is the gentleman move. You can't punch her. You just hold her head up against the glass, you know? So the people on the other side get to see what her face looks in a Funhouse mirror in order to decrease her reach while steering the car on the highway and absorbing her manly combos. Gotta give it to her. The bitch had a mean right. So if you can picture me driving, I can totally picture this dude. I've lived this. So you can picture me driving down the highway in a bright red Mercedes. Okay, I didn't ever had a Mercedes. It was more in a 83 Ford Ranger with black vinyl seats. Swerving like some drunk in and out of lane, staring with one hand and stiff arming the shit out of my girl as if I'm posing for the Heisman Trophy.

After she stopped beating my face and she had the nerve to say, I hit her and hurt her worse by pressing her face against the glass. Are you fucking kidding me? This bitch almost took both of our lives. Long story short, as soon as I was able to come to a safe and complete stop, I kicked the bitch out and haven't heard from her since. This was three weeks ago and it's all for the best. That type of girl can never be satisfied, which is something I've learned the hard way over the past three years. But this was the straw that did it. So my question for you is, was I wrong in this situation and do I owe her an apology? No and no. All right. All you can do is break down your game plan. All right. This is where you fucked up. You took the bait. All right. She kept bitching and bitching and bitching and bitching, trying to make you mad. She got you to do exactly what she wanted you to do. So that gave her an excuse to do what she wanted to do, which was fucking flip out and yell. All right. That's what they do when they know they don't have a fucking leg to stand on and they know they're wrong. What they then try to do, you know, not all of them and not in every situation, but when they're not going to be an adult and just say, you know what, you're right.

I'm being fucking crazy right now. I apologize. Okay. When they're not going to take that adult route, what they then do is they just push your buttons and they just try to make you mad and they just keep pushing you and pushing it and pushing it and pushing it until you then flip out and say something fucking crazy. Like, well, if you don't like it, then why don't you get the fuck out and then they flip out. All right. So what you got to do is in the future is you just don't take the bait. You got to recognize, you know, they're doing, they're doing the fucking Dennis Rodman thing to you. They're baiting you into a penalty. That's all they're doing. Okay. And the ref always sees the retaliation. That's basically it's the same fucking thing. So in the future, just don't get mad. It will drive them up the fucking wall and you won't believe the amount of arguments you're going to start winning because in their effort to piss you off, they're going to cross like 10 other lines. All right. Now, when they cross 10 other lines, if you take the bait and then go even further down the road, that's all that's remembered in the end. As you then try and piece together who said what, when, but if they go, if they cross 10 lines and you don't take the bait, they had 10 lines beyond where the fuck they should be and you got them dead to rights. You just have to maintain your fucking cool. Now, getting back to this other shit is you do not owe her a fucking apology.

All right. It's absolutely fucking ridiculous. It's absolutely childish and you can't as an adult expect somebody to not hit you if you're hitting them. All right. She's basically asking you to extend a common human to human courtesy that she's not extending to you. So she can go fuck herself. You definitely, I don't know if you made the right move. Now, I don't know if you walk around calling her a bitch and that type of thing. This is you just trying to be a tough guy going, then this bitch said this and this, you know, this bitch said that. That's another thing. Don't go around calling her bitches because that just kills your argument. Don't ever call them bad names. All right. Just hold your ground. Don't lose your fucking cool and let them go through their whole little fucking histrionics trying to get you to take the fucking bait. All right. And as long as in the relationship, you admit when you're wrong and you sincerely apologize, they don't have a fucking leg to stand on when you're right. And you're going to start winning arguments and you're going to be happier. There you go. All right. And other than that, I don't know. Stop dating psychos. All right. Here we go. You two videos of the week.

Um, drumming mom kills wipeout. I haven't seen that, but that's a classic drumming song and angry kid with both staff. You got to see this kid. I think Bruce Lee came back as a little blonde haired white kid. I don't know what, but this kid is tapping into Bruce Lee's fighting force and I'm telling you, you could fucking take over a small country with three of the three kids like this. Um, that's it. Oh, dilemmas real quick. Bill one, would you rather get your ass kicked by a flaming homosexual male or a raging bulldike woman? Oh, that's tough. Can I say both? Cause both would be fucking hilarious. A raging bold, you know, an arranging bulldike woman. That's not as funny as a flaming homosexual man. If I got like, you know, the Hollywood stereotypes, I apply like, Oh my God, I'm going to kick your ass. I would rather have that just because that would be fucking now. What am I talking about? Look for this, for the, for the hilarity of people around me, I would rather have it be a flaming homosexual male, but for my fucking ego, a raging bulldike woman, because at least I could have the excuse of, well, I didn't want to hit a woman.

Didn't want to hit a woman. You couldn't. You were knocked out. You asshole. And then I could, I could just, you know, I could go into some rant about society. Um, anyways, number two, hey Bill, should I bang my co-worker's girlfriend who is allergic to rubbers and has three baby daddies or remain a 29 year old virgin? Alright, that's one's bullshit. That doesn't exist. If you're a 29 year old virgin, you don't know how to get fucking laid and you would never have that fucking conversation with somebody. Pre-sex, you know, talking about condoms. Um, so I'm not even going to answer that one, but just in case it's true, should I bang my co-worker's girlfriend? No, you shouldn't bang your co-worker's girlfriend. You're fucking with your ability to have a job, pay your bills and eat. Who's allergic to rubbers? No, you don't want to get, okay, you're going to get some gentle awards out of that. That, that'll be the least of your fucking problems or remain a 29 year old virgin. Remain a 29 year old virgin, sir. Why don't you go to 29yearoldvirgin.com and find some other 29 year old virgin and you guys put on fucking raincoats and have at it. Why don't you do that? Alright, that really wasn't a dilemma. That was more advice. Um, that's the podcast for this week. Happy New Year everybody. And, um, like I said, if you want to go to amazon.com, if you're going to buy some, please go through my website, click on the merchandise button, click on, then click on the Amazon thing.

Um, you'll give me some money for the podcast. You'll donate to the podcast and 10% of it goes to the Wounded Warriors project. And that's it. That is the podcast. Um, you know what I haven't done in a long time? I haven't hyped any of my fucking dates. Let's see. Where's old Billy Fatface going to be? Oh, I just belched. I got fucking a hot bird. Um, events. I am going to be the next dates I have. January 20th. I'm going to be at the House of Blues in Houston, Texas. January 21st. I'm going to be at the Paramount Theater in Austin, Texas. And then we're into February, February. I'll be in Charlotte, North Carolina, Alabama, Birmingham, and Atlanta, Georgia. That's like the week of February 8th. I'm going to get those dates up today. Hopefully if my agent is back from fucking vacation, I'll get the actual dates, which he already gave me and I fucked up. And after that, I'll be February 17th at the Fox Theater in Connecticut. Uh, at Fox Woods and the Bergen PAC Center in Inglewood, New Jersey Theater at Westbury, Westbury, New York. Look at that. Look at that. Oh, and there it is. Lincoln, Lincoln Theater. Lincoln Theater. I actually already have it up March 3rd, Washington, DC. That's where I'm taping my special. The secret is out. That's it. That's the podcast for this week. Go fuck yourselves. Don't take any shit. Happy goddamn New Year.