All language subtitles for Hasan.Minhaj.The.Kings.Jester.2022.WEBRip.x264

You guys wanna know a secret?

Yeah!

For four years, my wife and I
couldn't get pregnant.

And it was my fault.

For years!
The secret was killing me, man.

I was at The Daily Show.

Every day, Trevor Noah would come up to me
with those cute-ass pimples.

"Hey, friend, what's going on?"

"What's going on with you and Beena?"

"You're like Indian Barbie and Ken."

And I'm like, "I know."

And much like Ken…

…my parts don't work.

Do you know what it's like to be a guy
and find out your balls are broken?

It's humiliating!

Dude, I felt lied to my entire life.

Growing up, they told me
my sperm is radioactive.

Remember sex ed?

Yeah!

Do you remember the way
they would horrify us young boys?

One morning you're sitting there,
Mrs. Lettington just bursts in.

"Watch out, boys."

"Your pre-cum will get girls pregnant."

"Don't look at anyone!"

"Your pre-cum will get girls pregnant."

"Hasan, the cum before you come
can conceive a life!"

You're like, "Mrs. Lettington, I'm nine."

"This is terrifying."

"Good!"

"Now, let's watch a live birth."

You're like, "Nooooo!"

"Why did my parents sign the waiver?"

And anyone going through
fertility problems,

you know it loads the relationship

with all this pressure, you know?

Me and Beena, we'd be up late at night
having these really tough conversations.

You know, "Is this gonna happen for us?"

"Are we gonna be able to have kids?"

Then I was like, "Babe, what if we adopt?"

"What if we adopt a white baby
just to flex on these motherfuckers?"

Just to show people we made it,
you know what I mean?

Reverse Angelina Jolie power move.

We'll show him off at parties,
just this chubby white kid with asthma.

You know what I mean?

He's just like, "Hi."
"I'm Bradley Minhaj."

"I'm a proud member
of the Indian-American community."

"This is my son!"

"Bradley."

"We saved him

from a war-torn part of America."

"Detroit."

Everyone's like, "Oh, wow."

Beena's like, "I don't want a white baby."

I'm like, "Whatever. You're racist."

"All Bradleys matter."

She's like, "Hasan, I don't want
a white baby, don't you understand?"

"I want a baby with you."

Aww!

I know!

That's Beena, that's why I married her.

Family is everything to her.

She's a Patel.

She has 961 cousins…
at this show tonight.

And she's a motel Patel.

So that family shit runs deep. Yeah!

You ever notice that
every motel you've ever stayed at,

all owned by Indian people?

Look at the name tag: "Patel."

They're all from one part of India
and they're all related.

If you've stayed at a Hampton Inn,
a La Quinta Inn, a Quality Inn,

a Comfort Inn, a Super 8, you have been
supporting this Patel cartel.

For centuries we have been debating:

Indian, Asians, Jews,

"Who is the cheapest of them all?"

Motherfucker, it's Indians.

Only Gujarati Indians would choose
a family business you could live at.

That was Beena's kingdom, man.

The kingdom of La Quinta Inn.

And now she wanted
to start a kingdom with me.

Dude, I'm gonna be honest with you guys.

I was kind of glad
we were having fertility problems.

I didn't want to have kids.

I was like, "Come on, babe,
I just got verified on Instagram."

"Let me enjoy this clout."

She's like,
"I don't give a shit about clout."

"The only reason why we can't get pregnant

is because it took you
ten years to propose to me."

"Yeah!"

"I went to the doctor."

"It's not my ovaries, motherfucker,
it's your balls."

"Go get your balls checked out."

I'm like, "Hey,
don't bring them into this."

'Cause here's the thing, I'm at that age
where I don't like going to the doctor.

'Cause a lot of doctors are my age.

And they're Indian,
which means I might know them.

So we're sitting there
in the waiting room at NYU, right?

Door opens, nurse comes out.

She's like, "Dr. Gupta will see you now."

I'm like, "Oh, this better not be
Arjun Gupta from Sacramento."

Then I hear a familiar voice,
he's like, "Hasan Minhaj!"

I'm like, "This is Arjun Gupta
from Sacramento!"

"I know this kid, he's a fucking idiot!"

He failed out of the Caribbean med school.

Twice!

I go, "Arjun, how are you licensed?"

He's like, "I don't know."

"That's why I'm a jizz doctor
with a basement office."

"Yo, drop your pants. How's Auntie?"

I'm like, "Don't talk
about my mom, Arjun!"

"Beena, he's not even an MD!"

"He's a goddamn DO!"

"Oh, boo, boo it up, DOs."

In the back.

Doctors of osteopathic medicine
hate that joke.

So, MDs and DOs,

they're basically the same,
they're both good doctors.

The only thing is, a DO's sense of humor

stops at their MCAT score.

You see those seats way back there,
those are the DO seats.

These are the MD seats.
Do you know what the difference is?

It's five points on your MCAT, okay?

So this dude is all up in my merchandise.
He's like, "Aw, bro, I know what's wrong."

I'm like, "Stop saying 'bro.'"

He's like, "Son, oh…"

"You got too much blood down there,
it's lowering your sperm count,

so we're going to do a dangerous surgery
called varicocele repair."

"But don't worry,
I'll be doing the surgery."

I go, "Arjun, I'm very worried."

"You're in a lab coat and Jordans."

Pulls out a trimmer,
"Let me shave you down right now."

"Let's do this right here, right now."
I go, "Arjun, back up."

"I'm not ready."

He goes, "Listen, man."

"If you don't get this surgery,
you can't have kids."

"Ever."

I go, "Are you serious?"

"Me and Beena, we can't have kids?"

"Like, you're telling me
we can't start a family?"

See, that's the crazy thing
they never tell you about adulthood.

Life gets very real when
"don't want" becomes "can't have."

Isn't that right, DOs?

So I'm sitting there naked,

and Beena is looking at me.

And I turn, and Arjun is looking at me.

And he pulls out the manscaper.

And I go, "Fuck it, give me the fade."

"Make the bottom match the top."

He puts the Darth Vader on me, right?

I wake up six hours later, naked.

I look down, I'm in a huge diaper

with four huge blood stains on the diaper.

And I look up and I just see Arjun,

and I go, "Arjun,
I only have two testicles."

"How did you mess up two extra times?"

He's like, "Don't worry about it, bro,
we figured it out."

"Just give it six weeks."

And, DOs, he was right.

He was right.

Six weeks later, me and Beena,

we have hot, monogamous action.

Beena gets pregnant, finally,
four years in the making.

I know!

I'm in the delivery room,
she pushes the baby out.

I didn't know this.
Now they just throw the baby on the dad.

They're like, "Do you love it forever?"
I'm like, "It's wet."

They're like, "Kiss it."
I'm like, "It's not done yet."

"Let the yeast rise."

"It's not even brown."

Did you know that?

Brown babies don't come out brown,
they're Caucasian.

I'm like, "It looks like Bradley, return."

They're like,
"No returns, it's not Costco."

They put the baby on the boob.

Then they put the baby on me.

And I'm holding the baby.

And Beena's holding me.

And she goes, "Can you believe it?"

"We're finally a family."

Awww!

"Promise me, Hasan."

"Promise me, you will always
protect this family."

And I was like, "Of course."

"I need you."

"For material."

"Stand-up doesn't write itself."

Three days later, the bread had leavened.

It finally browned.

And I'm holding this little gulab jamun,
this little brown ball.

Yo, and here's how I knew
my daughter was Indian.

She wouldn't stop staring at me.

I was like, "Oh, you're one of us."

"You're not respecting
personal boundaries."

"Welcome to the tribe."

We lock eyes,
and it just hits me right here.

Parents, you know this feeling.

I was like, "Oh, my God,
I've never felt this before in my life."

"But I love you so much."

"I've only known you three days,
but I would do anything for you."

"I can't believe how much I love you."

And I know I've said that
to Beena before, but…

I was lying.

I was lying!

And she was lying to me!

Here's how I know we both
unconditionally love my daughter.

She's four now, okay?

Now, as you know, we could not
adopt a white baby, my wife is a racist.

But…

But we now live in a white state.

We live in Greenwich, Connecticut.

Ooh, yeah, it's Get Out white.

Everybody there works at a hedge fund.

And I can feel your judgment, Brooklyn.

Oh, you're judging me.

You're like, "Really?"

"You're gonna take your daughter
and raise her in Greenwich?"

"You're gonna spoil her like that?"

Nah.

I want her to see how gritty and grimy
and corrupt the real world is.

Every morning she wakes up
and she sees bankers and traders

in Patagonia puffer coats.

And I go, "Look, babe, criminals!"

"They're the reason
Daddy doesn't have a pension."

"Look at 'em!"

So, I'm taking her to school,
and we pull up in the Honda Odyssey.

I'm not trying to brag,
but your boy's really doing it.

Look, I used to own a black Toyota Camry,
but I had to get rid of it

because people would just
get into my car at intersections.

We pull up to school.

All the hedge fund dads are like,
"Hey! Welcome to Photo Day, Dad."

I'm like, "They still do Photo Day?"

I have a thousand photos of my daughter
in my pocket from yesterday.

We're still doing one photo
like it's the goddamn 1800s?

"Just today we shall take one photo

of your daughter!"

"Come, sit upon the wooden stool."

"Turn, look back at it."

"Here is a photo
of your firstborn blinking, no retakes."

I'm like, "That seems fair."

"$89.99. Thank you, Lifetouch."

"What a deal."

"I'll put this in my wallet
that I don't own anymore."

I put it on her stool, right?

She drops her mask.

She has snot all over her face.

Just, ckckck…

All the hedge fund dads are like, "What?"

Then I hear one of the dads.

I will never forget
this motherfucker's name.

His name is Connor.

Oooh! Oooh!

And Connor audibly goes,

"Yuck."

And all of the sudden, it hits me here.

I'm like, "Oh, this hedge fund criminal

thinks my daughter
is a gundi little brown girl?"

"Nah, not on my watch."

So, I'm drinking an iced coffee, right?

And I pull the green straw
out of my iced coffee.

And I walk over…
and I tilt her head back and I…

…suck the boogers out of her nose.

And I swallow that shit like a real man.

I would never do that for my wife.

Look, man, I got a thousand photos

of my daughter
in my pocket from yesterday.

But this photo is my favorite.

Aww!

Because for four years, I never thought
that I would be ready to be a dad.

But on that day…

I could taste it.

Thank you.

-Thank you, Brooklyn.

I'm sorry, look, listen.

When I see that photo of my baby girl,
I get emotional.

She's not like us, she's the future.

She's second generation.

She doesn't carry our trauma,
you know what I mean?

When I look out here tonight,
I see so many broken dreams.

So many IT consultants.

So many premed majors.

So many dudes that work at Deloitte.

My daughter has something we never had.

Choice.

She can choose who she loves.

She can choose her major.

She can choose whether or not
she goes to Kumon.

Anything is possible.

She's in control of her life.

The only thing that ever
gave me control was comedy.

Thank God I have comedy.
I have no other discernible skills.

Dude, I remember the first time
I found out I was funny.

I was a junior in high school.

I was 16 years old, it's 2002.
I'll never forget this.

So, I'm a junior,
and during fourth period,

my dad pulls me out of school
and he takes me to Friday prayer.

And I'm in the back of the mosque,

and in the middle of the sermon,

this super-ripped white guy
shows up to the mosque.

Just bald, all trap, no neck,
barbed-wire tattoo.

Dude, he looked roided out.
He's just like…

"Hi."

"I'm Brother Eric."

"I'm here to convert to Islam."

And my dad's like, "Hasan, you see that?"

"It's a miracle!"

"That's the power of Islam!"

"Eric!"

"Blue eyes, strong."

"He wants to be a Muslim."

I'm like, "Dad,

Eric is a federal agent."

"He's spying on us, I'm sorry.
He's just not that into you."

He's like, "No, he's into me."

Eric converts, my dad's like,
"Shabash, welcome to the faith."

"Come over for dinner!"

I'm like, "Are you insane?"

Now, I don't know what your junior year
of high school was like,

but have you ever had
chicken biryani with a narc?

This dude was a narc!

He's in our living room eating Indian food
with a fork and knife.

I'm like, "Motherfucker, use your hands.
Commit to the role."

"Convince me, Eric."

"If that's even your real name."

He knows I don't trust him, right?

So he puts his arm on my shoulder,
he goes, "Hey, bro, what's up?"

"What's going on, buddy?"

"You wanna work out?"

Which sounds weird.

But if you saw me at 16,

you know the answer unequivocally was

"Yes."

"I want to work out, Eric."

Zoom in. This is me flexing
as hard as I possibly…

Yo, I thought I was
killing it with tricep.

There's no tricep.

All right, zoom back out.
Look, I look the same, right?

This is my best friend,
Will Moroski, okay?

This is what Will Moroski looks like now.

Blow up!

Yo, Will Moroski is built
like a Greek God.

Pecs, abs, bulge.

I cannot stop thinking
about Will Moroski.

Dude, sometimes
when it's late at night, I'll be in bed.

And I will pull out my phone.

And I will slowly…

scroll through Will's… profile.

And Beena will wake up,

and she'll be like, "Are you looking at…

…OnlyFans?"

And I'm like, "No, it's

only Will."

"I'm really happy for him."

"But this is so depressing."

But it's still not as depressing
as that goddamn photo

of Kumail Nanjiani.

Fuck this photo.

Don't clap,
don't you dare clap at this photo.

This is a personal attack, no!
This is a personal attack!

When he dropped this photo,

he low-key-tagged
every brown dude in this room,

do you understand?

He tagged all of us. He's like,
"Hey, what's up, man? I'm Kumail."

"What's up, man? I'm from Karachi.
What are you doing with your life?"

I'm like, "Fuck you, Kumail!"

"How dare you show white people
what we could look like?!"

That's why I love Aziz.

I love Aziz!

He set the bar right where it should be,
do you understand?

Five foot two, built like a laddu,
he's eating pasta all day, right?

He's just like, "Ooh, yummy, ooh!"

"Ooh! Pasta. Ooh, rigatoni."

"Yes!"

"Rigatoni!"

Just keep eating, fatso!
Stuff your mouth!

You think I can eat pasta
when this exists?

This is cyberbullying!

Oh, cancel Kumail.

Cancel him.

So we're at 24 Hour Fitness, and…

it's me, Brother Eric,
all my friends from the mosque, right?

This dude is power cleaning 400s.
He's like…

I'm curling 15s.

I'm like, "All right, slow and steady
wins the race."

"Progress isn't perfect."

"You can do it, yes you can.
Come on, Hasan, do it!"

He's like, "Stop, get over here!"

I'm like, "What's up, Eric?
You got creatine, glutamine, I'll do it."

He's like, "Shut up!"

"Everyone from the mosque,
come here right now."

All these brown, double desi kids
in basketball shorts are like,

"What's up, Eric?"

He's like, "Shh! Come here, boys.
Come here."

"Let me ask you a question."

"You boys ever think about…

…jihad?"

I was like, "What?"

"I thought you were gonna molest us."

One of my best friends, Imaran,
freaks out, he runs to the bathroom.

I'm like, Imaran, what's wrong?
He's like, "Dude, this is crazy!"

"Hasan, this is crazy!"

"Hasan! Hasan."

"Did Eric radicalize?"

"Imaran, Eric is a cop!"

"He's a kamala, he's entrapping us,
what are you talking about?"

"No, we should call the police."

I go, "No, no, don't call the police.
Let's go fuck with Eric."

I run back out,
this time I pick up the 20s.

I go, "Hey, Eric." He's like, "What?"

I go, "Hey, Eric? Do you know
what I wanna do one of these days?"

He's like, "What's that?"

I go, "I wanna get my pilot's license."

Then I hear a police siren. Whoo!

I look outside,
15 police cars are in the parking lot.

Imaran called the cops.
They bum-rush the 24 Hour Fitness.

They run past Brother Eric, they grab me!

They drag me outside, they slam
my head against the hood of the car. Boom!

Now shit is getting too real.

I'm not built for this,
I'm just a smedium.

And my head is against
the hood of the car and I look out,

and I see all my friends from the mosque
lined up on the curb.

And I can hear
the walkie-talkies going off.

They want to bring me in for questioning.

Now it's a whole scene,
and I hear a car door open.

And this girl from my high school,
she notices me, Elena Cervantes.

She's super fly.

She's like, "Hasan?"

You know how hard it is to holler
at a girl when your head is against a car?

I was just like, "Elena."

"What's up, girl?"

"What are you doing here?"

She's like, "Are you selling…

…drugs?"

I'm like, "No!"

"Terrorism."

She starts laughing.

Everyone in the parking lot
starts laughing.

The cops aren't laughing.

And that is the first joke I ever landed.

And it felt amazing!

I've never felt in control of my life.

The moment I landed that joke,
I was in control.

Eric could feel everybody laughing at him.

He's just like, "Fuck!"

"This kid isn't al-Qaeda."

"He's an asshole."

That's how he knew I was American.

I was an asshole.

A few years later, right?

I'm back at home, I'm with my dad,
and my dad is doing that thing

that every retired dad does.

He's hate-watching the news.

Right?

And that night he happens to be watching

an investigative report

about how, after 9/11,

the FBI used to embed
with the Muslim community legally

through a law called "The Patriot Act."

And sometimes they would get kids
to give false confessions.

And that night they were doing a story
about an undercover agent

in Irvine, California.

And I go, "Papa…

…what a crazy story
of mystery and high jinks."

"What do you think about that?"

And he goes, "Hasan,
who would be dumb enough…

to let a federal agent into their home?"

Craig Monteilh is a human
chameleon and a convicted con artist.

He pretended to convert
to Islam for the FBI

in order to work
the counterterrorism beat.

As a personal trainer,
he'd wear people down

to get them to open up.

I go, "Well, well, well, Papa,
look who it is."

"It's our good friend Brother Eric!"

And he's like, "Hasan,
are you not paying attention?"

"His name is not Eric."

"His name is Craig!"

Now, as the years go on,
I come to find out my hunch was correct.

Through the Patriot Act,
the feds were watching us.

And they were getting kids
to give false confessions.

In Dearborn, Michigan.

In Chicago.

In New York City at NYU.

Then I find out, in Lodi, California,
one town next to me,

there was a 16-year-old kid,
his name was Hamid Hayat.

He gave a false confession.

This kid served 20 years in prison.

He just got out of prison this past June.

Man, he's my age, he's 36.

I think about Hamid all the time.

I'm like, "What if I complied
that night like Hamid?"

Dude, being a smart-ass saved my life.

That's why,
when I finally got my own shot

to do my own show on Netflix,

I named that shit Patriot Act.

It was my middle finger to Brother Eric,
do you understand?

I'm gonna name my show after
the same program you used to spy on us.

And on Patriot Act, I was in control,

so I thought, "Hey,
why not go after everybody?"

It's my show, right?

Dictators, autocrats, religion.

That's why, when Washington Post
journalist Jamal Khashoggi

got murdered
inside of that Saudi consulate,

I thought, "Hey,
this could be our first episode."

And I had a crazy take.

You remember this?

I was like, "Saudi, hear me out.
It's your boy, Hasan."

Hot take!

I think murder is bad.

And the kingdom was like,
"You have gone too far, Minhaj!"

Netflix under fire today
after its decision

to pull an episode
of a comedy show that was critical

of Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman.

Saudi Arabian officials cited article six
of their anti-cyber crime law.

I was like, wait, what law did I break?

It was in Arabic, so I cut-and-copied it,
put it in Google Translate,

and it turns out I broke article six
of their cybercrime law,

sentencing me to five years
in Saudi prison.

I know.

Somehow CNN got the story right.

Now, as crazy as that sounds,
here's where the story gets even crazier.

That wasn't the first time
I messed with the Saudis.

I haven't talked about this publicly,

but way before
the whole Netflix kerfuffle,

I tried to interview
the crown prince of Saudi Arabia.

I'm serious, he came to New York City,

and he was taking
all these weird meetings.

Dude, he met with Michael Bloomberg

at the Starbucks in Times Square.

Do you remember this?
Look at Bloomberg's goofy ass.

He's just like,
"Welcome to Starbucks, Your Highness."

"If you want to take a shit,
the code is 2-3-3-2, my liege."

All right.

Crown prince in New York.

Your boy in New York.

Let me shoot my shot.

Let me slide in the DMs,
it will be funny.

Now, Beena has a slightly different take

because she has a PhD.

And I do PowerPoint comedy.

So she's like, "Hasan,
do not antagonize the Saudis."

"It's dangerous."

I go, "I know."

She goes, "I'm serious."

"Don't do the interview."

And I go, "I won't."

And I meant it.

But then she left the room.

And I'm like, "Come on,
let me write a letter to Santa!"

So I was like,
"Dear Kingdom of Saudi Arabia."

"My name is Hasan Minhaj, I would like
to interview the crown prince…"

Send! They hit me back immediately.

"Dear Hasan Minhaj, we read your letter."

"Please come to the embassy."

I go, "Huh!"

Well, that seems cordial.

Now, look, I'm not an idiot.
I didn't tell Beena about this, okay?

I'm not a moron,
I'm not gonna tell my wife.

I told Jim, one of our producers.

Now, I have to be honest with you guys,
there is a slight difference

between an embassy
and a consulate, but, fun fact,

you're not supposed
to get murdered in either.

So me and Jim, we go from New York City
all the way down to Washington, D.C.

Three blocks away,
Embassy of Saudi Arabia.

Me and Jim, we're about to walk in,
I go, "Jim, let's fucking go!"

"Let's fucking go, Jim!"

"Let's interview the Saudis."

"They set the fucking gas prices,
let's fuck with them."

He's like, "Stop dancing, you idiot!"

"We're about to walk
into a new country, you moron!"

"Show some respect."

I go, "Jim,

you show some respect."

"This is the goddamn
United States of America, Jim."

"Yeah, they're not gonna
fuck with me, Jim."

"I'm a U… S… citizen."

He's like, "Stop grabbing your nuts!"

"It's literally a new country."

"When we walk through that door,

it's like a green tunnel
in Super Mario Bros."

"You understand?"

"We're in America."

"We walk in, Saudi Arabia."

"America… Saudi Arabia."

And it really was like that.

It was like…

Saudi Arabia.

We walked in, it was Saudi.

Gold, chandelier, marble.

Indian servants.

I'm like, boowah.

"You did it."

"Indian servants."

I mean, the authenticity just…

Because you know this,
in the Middle East,

Indians, Pakistanis, Bengalis,
Sri Lankans, we're the help.

Right? We're the Mexicans
of the Middle East.

Even brown people
have their own brown people.

That's how those buildings got there.

The only people that love shitting
on Indians more than the Saudis

are the Brits.

The only difference is,
we love when the Brits shit on us.

There are Indian uncles here tonight
that are like, "Wow, London, dēkhō."

"Look at London, man!"

"My cousin lives in London!
Look at the queen."

I'm like, "Fuck the queen,
what are you talking about?"

This is insane.

Bro, in my mom's bedroom, this is true,
she has a wedding photo

of me and Beena on our wedding day.

Directly next to that photo,
it's a photo of Princess Diana!

I go, "Ma!"

"She's been dead since 1997."

"I'm your son."

"How are we the same?"

She's like, "Hasan,
you don't know Princess Di."

I'm like, "Do you, Mom?"

"She was so beautiful."

"And her mother-in-law was mean!"

"And her husband was cold."

I'm like, "Ma, are you
describing your marriage?"

So we're in the Saudi embassy,
me and Jim, sitting down.

Saudi delegation walks in.

Fifteen men, they represent
the Saudi royal family.

They set the gas prices.

Head of the delegation circles me,
sits across from us.

"Mr. Minhaj."

"Thank you so much

for your letter."

"Why do you want
to interview the crown prince?"

"Have you ever even been to the Gulf?"

Jim's like, "Don't be funny."

I go, "Jim, why would I be funny?"

"Yeah, so…

one time I got asked to go work in Dubai,

and as soon as I landed,
they handed me a mop."

"Oh, you like jokes?"

"You like noticing things."

"Well, here is something
I have noticed, Mr. Minhaj."

"You see, the country you are from
is not like the country I am from."

"You see, we, Saudi…

…we were never ruled by the British."

I go, "No, no, no."

"No, no, big misunderstanding."

"See, my parents are from India, okay?"

"But as for me…

…I'm an American."

"Like I said, Mr. Minhaj,

we were never ruled by the British."

"We don't get lectured or ridiculed

by anyone."

"Good luck with your show, Mr. Minhaj."

"We'll be watching."

They escort me and Jim
out of the embassy.

Now we're sitting on the train.

We're not talking.

We get back to New York City,
I open up my phone.

Everybody at the office is texting me,
"Are you okay?"

"Are you watching the news?"
"What the fuck is on the news?"

"CNN breaking news."

"Washington Post journalist
Jamal Khashoggi

murdered inside of a Saudi consulate!"

I go, "Oh, shit,
I was just in one of those!"

I run back to the apartment,
I close the door, I put the dead bolt on.

"Yeah, that'll stop 'em."

I turn, I see Beena, Beena sees me.

She goes, "Oh, my God, Hasan,
were you watching the news?"

"Jamal Khashoggi got murdered
inside of a Saudi consulate."

"Thank God you didn't meet
with the Saudis, right?"

I was like, "Right."

"That would have been crazy."

Now I feel like a piece of shit.
I have this weighted vest of guilt.

What do I do with this feeling?
Oh, I know what to do.

Once you do something bad,

all you have to do is
immediately do something good.

And then that gets rid of the bad thing.

So I see a pile of dishes, I go, "Cool."

"The harder I scrub these dishes,
the less bad my lie is."

And I'm going to town on the dishes.

I'm like, "You're not a bad person,
you're helping!"

And Beena sees it,
and she's kind of into it.

And she's like, "Hey…"

And I'm like, "Hey."

Then she squeezes my arm,
and she's like, "Hasan… hey."

And I'm like, "Hey!"

Then she squeezes even harder.

She's like, "Hasan, I'm saying 'heyyy.'"

"This is like a 'heyyy.'"

She rips my clothes off,
she pushes me on the couch.

I'm nunga putunga on the couch!

I am butt-naked on the sectional.

And it's all just for dishes,
that's how low the bar is.

But this whole thing is built
on a farce, it's all a lie.

But what do I do in this moment?
Do I beat on my lady, "Stop it"?

"We cannot consummate this act."

"For I have the tongue of a serpent!"

No!

You have got to take the shots
you are given in life.

Even if they're built on a lie.

So we do the damn thing.

Hot,

monogamous

action!

The next week, I go,
"Put up the Saudi episode!"

Later,

the Saudis see it.

They ban it.

The next morning I wake up next to Beena,

and I open up my phone
and it's trending around the world.

Then I open up Twitter,
and I go, "Oh, shit."

"I'm in trouble."

Then it starts climbing the charts.

I go, "Oh, shit!"

"I'm getting fired."

Then I become bigger than BTS,
and I go, "Oh, shit!"

"I think I'm getting…

…famous."

Likes, comments, retweets,

give them to me!

Everyone in the world, care about me

for no particular reason.

For one day,
I knew what it felt like to be

Pete Davidson!

Oh, fuck!

Oh, my God!

Social media fucked with my head so much,
I didn't care about the death threats.

I open my phone, they go, "Hey,
don't you ever come to Saudi Arabia."

Sword emoji. Sword emoji. Sword emoji.

Peach.

"Khaled, do you wanna hang?"

"'Cause if you stick your sword
in my peach, they'll kill us!"

For the first time
in my life, I had clout.

My dream came true.

And when you have clout,
everybody wants to be your friend.

The next day I get a call
from the editor of Time magazine.

"Hi, I'm the editor of Time magazine.
Is this Hasan Minhaj?"

I go, "This is he."

"Would you like to be one of the Time
100 Most Influential People in the World?"

I go, "I love lists."

Me and Beena,
we get to the Time 100 dinner.

The editor sees me,
she's in a ridiculous gown.

She goes, "Oh, my God, sweetie.
Thank you."

"Thank you so much for coming

to our nonpretentious dinner."

"We have 100 chairs for 100 influencers."

"You are one."

I go, "Yeah, cool, uh…

why is this chair empty?"

She goes, "Sweetie,
that chair is for Loujain."

I'm like, "Who?"

"Loujain. She's the Saudi
female activist…

that's being tortured right now
for driving in Saudi Arabia."

"She can't be here, obviously."

"So, we thought we would
honor your bravery."

"My bravery?"

"Hey, why don't you
give a toast after Dwayne?"

"Who?" "The Rock." He gets up there.

"Hi, I'd like to give a toast
to Teremana Tequila and my traps."

Everyone's like, "Yeah!"

"Future president!"

"Everyone give it up for Hasan!"

I'm like, "Hey, everyone."

"Thank you so much for inviting me
to your Illuminati dinner."

"You don't know me,
but I did an episode about Saudi Arabia,

but we should be honoring
the person who can't be here."

"Her name is Loujain.
She should be sitting in that chair."

Then I hear the side door open.

And from the shadows
emerges an individual.

And into the room steps

Jared Kushner.

Who, by the way, is WhatsApp friends

with the crown prince of Saudi Arabia.

And he sees the empty chair.

Loujain's symbolic chair.

And he walks over
and he sits down in her chair.

And now the Adderall is hitting.

And I go, "Oh, I'm gonna light
this motherfucker up."

And Beena sees my Adderall eyes.
She goes, "Hasan, do not cross that line."

I go, "Too late, Beena."

"Ladies and gentlemen,
crazy turn of events."

"You know…

I know we're talking about Loujain,
but hypothetically,

what if someone here
knew the crown prince

and could get Loujain out of prison?"

Then I look directly at Jared Kushner.

And, you know, I know there's a lot
of very powerful people here,

and it would be crazy if,
I don't know, if there was just

like a high-ranking official
in the White House that…

could WhatsApp MBS and say, "Hey, maybe…

you could help that person get out
of prison 'cause they don't deserve it."

"And here's the craziest part,
hypothetical person."

"You could totally get away with it

because WhatsApp
has end-to-end encryption."

"So no one would ever know."

"Good night."

And I sit down and no one is laughing.

We get back in the car, Beena is livid.

She goes, "Hasan, you are out of control."

I go, "Baby girl…

shhhh!"

"Open your phone!"

"Likes, comments, retweets!"

"I am trending number one again!"

And I am letting the comments roll in,

and I go, "Come to Papa, give it to me!"

"Give me all the glory!"

"Fill the hole that was never filled
by my parents!"

"Yummy, yummy, yum-yum."

"Ooh, tasty!"

She's like, "Oh, cool,
so you did this for the activists."

I go, "Yes."

"The feed is active."

"I love how you only care about these
issues when there's a camera on you."

I'm like, "I know, right?"

"Pics, or it didn't happen."

Don't judge me, Brooklyn.

You're just like me.

Yeah, I've been watching you all night.

You're fucking tweaking
without your phones.

I like your voice.

I'm talking to you right now.

He can't even record this moment.
Did it even happen?

You have to remember it in your mind
like a fuckin' loser?

What's the most amount of likes
you've ever gotten on a photo?

Eighty-six.

Eighty-six?

Eighty-six.

If I only got 86 likes on a photo,
I would kill myself.

Do you know how many likes
daddy got on his Kushner dunk?

Oh, daddy got 347,391.

Oh, and once you get a taste
of the cocaine clout,

oh, the social media meth.

Facebook fentanyl.

I had to go harder in the paint.
I'll die for these likes!

Oh, I know, let's go after
every single dictator in the world.

Bolsonaro in Brazil. Let's go after him.

Duterte in the Philippines,
let's go after him.

To fuck with Indian family members,
I went to the Trump/Modi rally in Houston.

Oh, come on.

I am!

Everybody wants clout!

Even Indian uncles want clout!

I put it up on Instagram,
it goes platinum again!

I get back to New York City.

I'm pushing baby girl in the stroller.

Everybody knows your boy.

I get to my apartment building,
even my doorman sees me

and he goes, "Hasan, stop!"

"You need to respect Modi,

India

and Hindus!"

I go, "Carlos, you're Puerto Rican."

He's like, "I know,
but I saw that shit on Instagram."

"It was funny."

"Yo, you got fan mail."

I go, "Gimme my fan mail, Carlos."

He grabs a stack of letters,
he hands them to me, I rip it open.

I flip it over and all this white powder
falls into the stroller.

And it falls on my daughter's shoulder.

Her neck, her cheeks.

And she's staring at me.

And I run upstairs and I tell Beena.

And this time I can't lie.

We rush down to NYU,

but this time we go through
the emergency room.

And the moment they see the baby,
they just rip the clothes off her

and they take her away.

And me and Beena, we're sitting
in the waiting room for hours,

and we're not talking.

Finally, around midnight, nurse comes in
and she's holding my daughter.

But she's with an investigator.

And the investigator
reaches into his pocket

and he pulls out a plastic baggie

filled with white powder.

He goes, "Mr. Minhaj, you're very lucky."

"This isn't real anthrax."

"But I've been in this department
long enough to know

this shit just doesn't come
out of nowhere."

"So I have to ask you something,
young man:

who on earth have you been antagonizing?"

"Everybody."

"Do you have to do that?"

I'm like, "I don't know."

"I don't know why I'm doing this."

They give the baby back to Beena,

and I reach over to hold my daughter.

And Beena won't let me touch her.

And it kills me.

We get home, she puts the baby down,
then she finally talks to me.

She goes, "Okay, we're going
to talk about this once,

then we're never going to talk
about it ever again."

"The only reason why we're here tonight

is because you chose clout over our kids."

I go, "Kids"?

Did you say, "Kids"?

She goes, "I'm pregnant."

I'm like, "The sequel?"

"Arjun was right?"

"I mean, he's just a DO."

"You get to say
whatever you want onstage,

and we have to live
with the consequences."

"Hasan, do you even have a line?"

"Because this is crazy."

"I don't give a shit that Time magazine
thinks you're an 'influencer.'"

"If you ever put my kids in danger again,
I will leave you in a second."

-Whoo!
-That's her cousin.

That shit is real, man.

Beena's right.

It's crazy because the first joke
I ever told saved my life.

And now my stupid-ass jokes
almost cost me my baby's life.

I'm like, yeah, fuck this.
This is out of control.

I don't want to be the Tupac of comedy.

I'm serious, man, I'm trying
to live to see these retweets.

If anything, I want to be
the Puffy of comedy.

I wanna live while
more talented people die around me.

That's the dream!

Beena goes, "Do you know
what the saddest part is, Hasan?"

"Everybody knows you, huh?
You're the Log Kia Kahenge guy."

"Oh, yeah, you don't care
'what other people think' about you."

"Motherfucker, I know you."

"You so care what
other people think about you."

I go, "How can I not?"

Every time I pull out my phone, I can hear
what all you guys are saying about me.

Every time I open up my phone,
I just see it:

"Yo, why does Hasan Minhaj
look like a raccoon on Adderall?"

I see that!

"Oh, why does this cartoon
look like Hasan Minhaj?"

I see that!

"Oh, brown girls be fighting
over diet Hasan Minhaj."

I see that!

And it hurts my feelings!

Because it's accurate, you assholes!

I do look like a raccoon on Adderall.

But do you know what that means?

If I can hear what you're saying about me,

then so can kings.

Think about it.

Vladimir Putin.

Narendra Modi.

Brother Eric.

The crown prince.

The Fresh Prince.

They don't like being made fun of.

That's why I love being a jester.

Because no matter how much money
or power or fame you have,

you can't buy your way out of ridicule.

But Beena's right.

I gotta have a line.

So I go, "Babe, let me make this up
to my daughter

the same way every shitty dad does."

"I will buy my way back into her heart."

Everyone in the Honda Odyssey--
me, Beena, baby-- we get in the car.

We pull up to school the next day.

Guess what day it is?

It's not Picture Day!

It's the Scholastic Book Fair!

Yes! Do you remember
the Scholastic Book Fair,

that carnival of capitalism once a year?

The doors would open,
the Scholastic Book man would walk out

and go, "Hey, kids,
how much do your parents love you?"

"Some of you will get books,
most of you will get rulers."

And you're like, "Noooo!"

I go, "Baby girl,
Daddy's buying out the bar."

"Let's get all the books."

Baby-Sitters Club, all of them.
Goosebumps, all of them.

Dr. Seuss, all of them,
even the racist ones.

And I grab 'em, I go, "Look at this shit."

"Connor, look at it."

And he goes, "Good for you, Hasan."

I go, "Connor, what is your problem?"

"I've been trying to connect with you
all year and you will not let me in."

"What do you even do?"

"Well, Mr. Comedian, unlike you,
I have a real job."

"I work for Alden Global Capital."

"I work in strategic acquisitions
and leveraged buyouts."

"I don't know if you've seen my LinkedIn."

I go, "Connor, I'm a comedian."

"We're not on LinkedIn."

"What do you do?"

"We use debt to buy companies."

"We gut them, fire almost everybody."

"Then we flip that asset for a profit

thanks to moi."

I go, "Oh, cool. Stealing?"

"You're gonna lecture me about stealing?"

"Perhaps you and Beena
should lecture your daughter."

"Your daughter is a thief."

And I turn around and baby girl's
putting books into her backpack.

And she's walking
out of the book fair with the books,

but he can't say that, only I can.

I go, "Beena, what do we do?"

She grabs me, she goes,
"Hasan, light this motherfucker up."

So I go, "Connor, no,
she's not stealing."

"She's actually doing
a 'strategic acquisition' of those books."

"We're looking for a profit.
Now, I'm on one."

The next day I run into the office,
I go, "Producers, everyone in my office!"

"Tell me everything there is to know
about Alden Global Capital."

"This episode is for my family."

Producers go, "Alden Global Capital
is involved in leveraged…"

"Buyouts?"
They're like, "How did you know?"

I'm like, "I learned it
at the Scholastic Book Fair."

They're like, "Yeah, great, um…"

So it turns out,
Connor and his boss, Randall Smith,

they're gutting local news
all across the country.

They fired almost everyone,
they sold off the real estate

and then flipped it for a profit,

and Randall Smith used
those profits to buy 16 mansions.

One of which is down the street from

Jeffrey Epstein.

Now the Adderall is hitting you.

I go, "Producers!"

"Joke idea."

"Let's put up billboards
in every major market

that Alden Capital is gutting

and have them read
'Randall Smith Loves Pedophiles.'"

"In Salt Lake City, Utah;
in Raleigh, North Carolina;

in Miami, Florida."

"Put 'em up!"

The next day, Sam,
the head attorney at Netflix,

calls me, shitting his pants.

"Hasan, are you out of your mind?!"

"Cancel the billboards.
That is not funny!"

"That is defamation!"

I go, "Sam, calm down."

"You're a liar."

"You don't even know what's funny."

And it kills him, he goes,
"That may be true,

but you cannot do that."

"Do not cross that line!"

I go, "Why not, Sam?"

He goes, "Great question, Hasan."

"You see, according to American tort law,

there is something called
'the reasonable person standard.'"

"It says that a joke
is clearly not defamation

if it's clearly a joke
to a reasonable person."

"And the Supreme Court
has ruled repeatedly

that most Americans are reasonable
and of average intelligence."

I go, "Sam, I don't know
how the math works here,

but I think the average American

has below-average intelligence."

"That is not what the court thinks."

"They think more of people."

"And frankly, my friend, so should you."

I go, "Sam, it would be great
to live in that world."

"Because it's the kind of world
I want to live in."

I want to perform for reasonable people.

I want to be able to switch
between satire and sincerity

and trust that you know the difference.

Trust that you won't
take me out of context.

Everything here tonight is built on trust.

Why do you think I'm performing
in this LED skate park?

I look ridiculous!

Everything here is built on trust.

You trust me, I trust you.

That's why I locked up your phones.

I had to!

I don't know you!

But I know you.

And there's so many things that I think
and believe, but I'm too afraid to say.

But I have to trust you.

-Can I trust you, Brooklyn?

Can I really trust you?

All right, hear me out.
Fine, I'll say it.

I know everybody likes Starbucks,

but I hate the fact that they have
a drink called Chai Tea!

Chai is tea!

You're saying tea-tea, you dum-dum.

"Hey, man, you want some naan bread?"

"Fuck you!"

"Fuck."

Priyanka Chopra's wedding was fake.

Why can't we say that?

Who marries Nick Jonas unironically?

Malala follows me on Instagram.

And I don't follow her back!

Two years ago, somebody asked me
my gender pronoun

while I was in a meeting,

and I got scared.

So I just said, "Me."

I'm sorry!

But I am me!

And you are you!

And this is us!

And I believe that.

I believe it's unethical

to use money that's not yours

to buy something that's not yours

and then somehow make money
that is yours…

and then fuck over poor people
along the way.

So I go, "Sam, fine."

"I will take down the billboards."

"But what if I do a 30-minute deep dive
about how vulture funds are bad

and then I say the joke this way?"

He goes, "Yeah…"

"That works."

Put up the episode!

The next week,
I'm pushing baby girl in the stroller.

Carlos sees me, he goes, "Hey, bro.
You got mail."

I go, "Fuck you, Carlos,
you open the mail."

He rips it open, he's like,
"Aw, shit, you're being sued."

What? "Dear Mr. Minhaj, we are writing
on behalf of our client Randall Smith

regarding your 'comedy' show
Patriot Act."

I'm not even offended I'm being sued.

I'm offended they put "comedy" in quotes.

Like I'm not a real comedian,

like, "Oh, this is my son, he's a 'DJ.'"

"Your 'show'…" It's a real show!

"…falsely accuses Mr. Smith
of being a pedophile."

I never said that.

"This letter constitutes a request for
retraction of the defamatory falsehoods."

"We look forward to hearing from you."

I go, "Sam, you promised me,
all Americans are reasonable."

"I should trust them.
What the fuck do I do?"

He goes, "Hasan, calm down.
Come to my office."

"I live for these moments."

I get down to his office,
now the Adderall's hitting me.

But it's called cocaine.

Check it out!
"Dear Randall Smith & Counsel."

"We are the legal team
for comedian Hasan Minhaj."

I go, "No quotes! Nice, Sam!"

"Any defamation claim brought by
Mr. Smith would fail as a matter of law."

"Allow me to explain to you

the jurisprudence

of jokes."

"First, Patriot Act is a comedy show."

"Reasonable viewers understand
Minhaj peppers commentary with jokes,

satire, parody."

"The second fatal flaw of your letter
is its inability to understand context."

"Mr. Minhaj delivers all his jokes
with eyes bugging, arms flailing."

"As you know, many people
have said Mr. Minhaj looks like a…

raccoon on Adderall."

Be reasonable.

"As you know, the Supreme Court
has ruled the audience…"

you…

you are no dullard.

You can tell the difference
between satire and sincerity.

You know when I'm joking,
you know when I'm being serious.

DOs…

I know you're good doctors.

But 86 likes is shitty!

"Finally, we suggest you rewatch
the episode you take issue with."

"If you would like Mr. Minhaj
to retract his statement and say,

'I am definitely not, not saying that
Randall Smith hearts pedophiles,'

please let us know."

"We look forward to hearing from you."

I go, "Sam,

send that shit!"

And guess what?

We never heard from
those assholes ever again.

I run back home to Beena,
I'm holding the letter.

I go, "Beena, babe, I was wrong."

"Even though Sam
is a lawyer, he is funny."

"Frame this letter."

And she looks at it and she goes,

"This is a good letter."

"But I'm not afraid of the good letters."

"I'm afraid of the next bad letter."

"And the next letter after that."

"That's why I worry."

And I go, "I don't think
you have to worry anymore, babe."

"You know, you asked me a long time ago

do I have a line?"

"Well, I know my line."

She goes, "Oh, yeah? What's that?"

I go, "I'm only willing to take the joke

as far as I possibly can,

legally…

up until the point

that it hurts our family."

That's my line.

I've lost a lot of things in my life,
I cannot lose my family.

And she starts smiling.

And she squeezes my arm.

And she goes, "Heyyyy!"

Brooklyn, thank you so much.

Thank you.

Appreciate you guys.
Thank you so much.