All language subtitles for Iliza.Shlesinger.Confirmed.Kills.2016.WEBRip.x264-FGT

Chicago, are you ready?

Party goblins, are you ready?

Ladies and gentlemen,

please welcome to the stage,

Iliza!

Chicago!

Thank you!

Thank you for having me.

I'd like to discuss something with you.

There are two kinds of hungover.

There's the kind of hungover
where you wake up the next morning

and you're like,
"What? I touched his penis over his jeans?

It's okay, I'm sassy." And then...

there's the kind of hungover
where whatever happened the night before

wasn't even your fault.

Because you weren't mentally present
for any of it.

For 'twas not you
that was is charge.

'Twas your party goblin!

Yeah.

Just so you know, your party goblin
sleeps in the back of your brain.

For those of you
that are unfamiliar with my work,

she sleeps in the back of your brain

- and she waits...
- on a pile of rags...

and regrets...
and old Tiger Beat magazines. She waits!

For the perfect opportunity.

She's back there in your brain,

sleeping her goblin sleep, just...

Channing Tatum, stick of butter.

And she will awaken...

when she hears you say...

"I guess I'll just come out
for one drink."

"I'll just come out for one

because I have to be up early."

Eat that sandwich out of the garbage

and text your ex-boyfriend
that you love him

then turn your phone off!

And by the way, there is zero culpability
on the part of your party goblin.

She's not there the next morning

like, "Oh, my God, are you okay?
Do you need Pedialyte?"

No!

She doesn't give a fuck.

She straight up ghosts at, like, 3:00 a.m.

when you're shit-faced
in the back of an Uber, right?

You scooped yourself
into the back of this car.

Your crowing achievement of the evening
is that you didn't die.

And we've all had that moment.

Anybody that's been out drinking,
you've been out, it's been loud,

there's been yelling, dancing, you stole
an ambulance, it's been a crazy night.

We've all had that moment
of solitary drunken serenity

where you get in the back of the car
and you shut the door

and for the first time all night
it's quiet.

And you think, "Oh, my God, I made it."

Followed by, "I'm gonna throw up."

And the car is going,
you're like, "Oh, fuck!"

You're trying to hold it in, right?

You roll the window down.
You're like, "Agh! It's too much air!"

You roll the window back up.
You're like, "Too much me!"

You crack the window. You're like, "No!"

The vomit's coming up. It's right here,
like A1 Steak Sauce, it gets you here.

You're like, "Uhh!" You're trying to focus
on anything to distract you.

You're listening to the radio.

For the first time ever,
you're paying attention

to the words of a Pitbull song.

You're like...

# Uno, dos, tres... #
We get it! We get it!

You look at party goblin, she's loving it.
She's got her head out her window like...

And you know
it's your party goblin that got you

by the manner in which
you wake up the next morning.

If you wake up. If you wake up, Chicago.

You wake up... When party goblin gets you,
you wake up on your couch.

Beds are for closers.
You wake up on your couch, okay?

You ever pass out on a pillow so hard,

you get a cushion scar
down the side of your face?

And you wake up, no idea where you are,
no idea where you were.

You check your wrist, it's just
a dirty patchwork of entry stamps.

Putting the pieces together

from the night before
is like the plot from Memento.

No idea.

You check your Instagram feed,
it's a blurry feed of pictures

you took of your own face from this angle.

It's just me and three girls in a bathroom
in East LA like, "Squad goals."

Who the fuck are they?

I don't know,
but I think I'm in the gang now, right?

No idea what you did the night before.

We... I... You know when party goblin
gets you by the amount that you sleep.

I slept for 15 hours the other day.

I slept so long, my muscles atrophied.

Okay? I turned to fucking stone.

You ever pass out

with your full body weight
on your hands, like...

No blood in, no blood out. Your hands
are just purple, bloated flippers.

I slept so long, I almost died.

Like, there was a point
at around 4:00 p.m.

where my soul was like,
"Should I just go?"

There's different kinds of drunk.

Some people think they get smarter when
they're drunk, some people wanna talk.

The Latin phrase is in vino veritas,
which means, "in wine, there's truth,"

which is why when girls get drunk,
we're always like,

"Can I just tell you a secret?"

"I don't have a neck."

I don't really make
a lot of drunk mistakes

but I worry when I make dumb decisions
when I'm drunk for this simple fact.

In my group of friends, I'm the alpha.

I decide what we do. Obviously.

I pick the restaurants, I pick the bars,
mostly because no one cares,

but I am the decision-maker.

And what worries me is,
if I'm doing stupid shit when I'm drunk,

what hope do the sheep who I lead have...

if that's my example?

So this is the story of one such night.

So, we were out the other night
and we were

shit-canned.

Like, the kind of drunk
where you can't even read.

And then you realize it's because...
you're in China Town.

Actually, you know you're fucked up when
you're in China Town and you can read.

Ohhh!

Ancient secrets, not so hidden. So...

We're drunk and we're walking through
China Town and we walk into a bar.

I'm reticent to say that it's a club
because I'm 33,

but there was a dance floor, a DJ
and I had on a little body glitter, okay!

You're probably wondering,
"Why are you wearing body glitter?"

I will tell you, Chicago.

Because my date was late to pick me up.
Gentlemen!

You need to know this about women.

When we get ready,
we have a list of things we do

to reach our most attractive point.

There is an apex,
nay, a pinnacle of beauty...

that women reach
when they're getting ready.

And every minute you're late to get us

is one more minute
we spend doubting ourselves,

dicking with our makeup,
and we get incrementally uglier...

as time goes on.

One time, my date was an hour late,
I grew a tail.

This guy was only 30 minutes late,
thank God.

He walks in, I'm on the ground,
there's caboodle shrapnel everywhere.

I've got a Wet N Wild lip gloss wand,

I'm like, "I'm a pretty girl!"

"Save yourself."

But what happens is, we have time,

so we start to add things,
doubt ourselves.

That's where I found that glitter.

"He's not here. What's this?"

In hindsight, it wasn't body glitter,
it was straight-up craft glitter.

But I was like, "I'm gonna put it
on my face, make it dainty."

Do you ever feel that? Do you ever feel
that you can make something work?

Do you ever feel that
because you're not trashy,

you can pull off
doing something that's trashy?

You're like, "I can wear
fishnet stockings, I went to Stanford."

Like it's okay for some reason.

That's how I felt about that body glitter.

I was like, "I'll just do a little bit.
I'll do a classy amount.

I'm just gonna do a little bit."

Fun fact, you know what body glitter
up close looks like? Conjunctivitis.

Like, real up close.

"I'll do a little." Five minutes later,
"Maybe just highlight the orbital rim.

That way when we're dancing,

the light will hit it and it'll be like,
'Bing, anime! Ah!'

Keep going. Keep going."

Five more minutes later,
"Maybe I'll bring a little bit down here

and highlight the jawbone so he knows I,
what, come from good chewing stock?"

Five more minutes later, sparkle fish!
So now...

I look like a goddamn road flare
and we're in public. So...

We walk into this bar and one of
the difficult parts about being a woman,

besides everything, is that...

It's really hard.

Is that you're constantly battling
with yourself.

In the long run, we're battling
our weight, hair color, wrinkles.

Minute to minute, it's just
an adjustment of your hair and your bra

and your underwear and your makeup

and your mustache,
braid it, bead it, set it.

You're always doing something.

Because if one thing is off,
then the night is ruined, Scott, okay?

One time,
I left my house without mascara on.

I did a U-turn on a four-lane highway.
Like, "No!"

"They will see the whites of my eyes!"

Everything has to be perfect.
And guys, it's exhausting.

It's exhausting being a girl.

Did you know, fun scientific fact
that I made up on the way here,

that women get four minutes
out of every night,

four minutes out of every night

where our brain sends a message
to our body saying,

"Everything's okay, stop messing with it"?

Four minutes out of every night

where your brain sends a message
to your body like,

"Homeostasis achieved." You're like...

And the rest of the time,
it's just mayhem!

Everything has to be perfect. So,
we walk into this bar, my first thought...

"I gotta fix my lip liner. Now!"

I'm not even a big lip liner wearer,

but in that moment, 'twas everything.

In that moment,
I believed fixing my lip liner

is what stood between me
and eternal happiness, okay?

I had to take a liner, I had to find
my liner and line my chola lips, okay?

That's what I had to do.

So glad that got a response.
In North Carolina, nothing. Okay.

Had to fix my lip liner,
had to be right then.

To the gentlemen in the room,

I don't expect you
to understand the urgency

with which I had to fix my lip liner.

The only thing I could liken it to
in male culture is, like...

when you feel
you have to adjust your balls.

Similar immediacy.

As we've seen, unfortunately.

When you feel that's gotta happen,
it's gotta happen now! Go! Go! Go!

In front of children, Christmas Eve,
family portrait, messing with my dick.

# Messing with my dick in public #

Wahoo!

# It's a dick puzzle
and I'm solving it now #

# Maximum comfort at any cost #

# This is my right,
Nancy, get off my back #

So...

So many guys right now have to adjust.
They're like, "I'm not gonna do it!"

I believe that's what Elvis was doing.

Makes sense.

Needed my liner. Now you understand
that I needed it, guys, okay?

Needed the fucking liner. That means
I had to find the liner in my bag.

However, I had a big bag.

There's a very specific way
that women will search for something

when we have a big bag.

What do you do?
You take a designated search claw...

and you plunge it.

Never breaking eye contact with your prey,
I mean your date.

Notice I haven't blinked, Chicago.
Dedication acting.

The constant eye contact
being a reminder that,

yes, I can multitask and keep talking.
I'll make a great partner. Marry me.

Meanwhile, to the outside world,

it looks like you're wrestling
with a very small bass.

If you're a pro,
you keep conversation moving.

Still haven't blinked.

If you're a pro,
you keep conversation moving.

"I'm listening. Keep talking.
Keep talking. I can look and listen.

Say FanDuel one more time, motherfucker.
I'm listening."

You're digging around in there.
Meanwhile, as a woman,

you're having to come to terms
with the seventh layer of hell

that is the bottom of your bag.

It's just a graveyard of dismembered pens,
there's coins.

Why is there always a Nature's Valley
granola bar crumbled... at the bottom?

You stick your hand down, you come up
with oats between your fingernails.

You're like, "Ow! Ow!"

Digging around.
A gym lock, a phone charger,

a concealer without its lid.

Why? Why can't we make them

with retractable lids
that don't break off?

Because you stick your hand down there,

unknowingly you come up
with one creamy finger. You're like, "No!"

"No!"

But it was expensive,
so you're like, "No!"

So now you look amazing.
Keep looking, keep looking.

Bits of paper. A sock. Keep looking.
Tampon out of its wrapper.

Maybe I keep it.
No, I'll get sick. Digging around.

If it's out of the wrapper, don't keep it.

Sometimes it's like, "I'll just..."
Don't blow on it and...

You're gonna get dysentery,
you'll never finish the Oregon Trail.

Seven or eight seconds go by,
I cannot find my lip liner.

Seven or eight seconds go by,
which in girl years is, like, forever,

I cannot find my lip liner.

So, what's a logical thing to do?

Maybe use the other hand

to add to the search, right?
To aid in the excavation.

Maybe get a cellular device
to illuminate the situation.

Not me!
I dropped to my knees on a dance floor,

dumped out the bag
and start sifting through it

like Helen Keller
learning how to spell water.

Fun fact. Girls,
if you wanna let people around you know

that you're absolutely not
on the same mental playing field as them,

a great way to do it, I found,
is to dump our personal property

onto a shared communal space, because that
immediately lets other bar-goers know,

"I don't give a fuck!"

"Where is it?"

This body language, this body language,

this feral-raccoon-like body language...

was enough to alert the door guy.

You're a door guy at a busy nightclub,
you've got a lot to deal with.

However, he found
my witch over a cauldron behavior...

threatening enough to leave his post,
flashlight in hand,

and walk up to me.

He was a big guy. He was, like, six-eight,
black guy, good-looking.

I had to say he was good-looking.

Because I said he was black.

Seems to be the face of thinly-veiled
political correctness in our country,

if you say someone's color,
other than white,

you must assign them an accolade,
deserved or otherwise,

to prove that you're not racist,
when in the first place,

I wasn't fucking racist,

I was giving you an accurate depiction
of the events that transpired.

I didn't see his face!
Dude had a flashlight in my eye!

I can tell you this much. Black, white
or other, there's no way he was hot.

He's six-eight. They get weird-looking
after a certain height, okay?

Structurally, it gets weird. Okay.

I am not wrong. #IAmNotWrong
Okay, so...

It's true.

There's no hot giants.

So he Shreks up to me...

And I feel his presence and I see
the ball of light and I hear his voice

and he goes,
"Everything a'ight over here?"

Fucking no, dude, everything is most
definitely not a'ight. I'm on the floor.

I don't exist on this plane.

Fun fact about being on the floor.

As an adult, when you choose to take it
to this place, you lose all credibility.

Nobody wants to hear the prerogative
of someone on the floor.

If you have to crane your neck up
to explain yourself, you are fucked, okay?

You don't believe me?

You ever tried to get the life story
of someone sitting on a curb? No.

Because they were sitting
on a fucking curb

and you didn't wanna talk to them.

They were someone who's drunk,
on a lot of meth

or like a really pissed off bridesmaid
just waiting for the service to be over.

But now I'm on the floor and I'm nervous
because that's an authority figure

and in my head I'm like,
"Oh, fuck, I'm gonna go a bar jail."

"What if they repossess my wedges?"

But I was drunk and in my head I'm like,

"It's cool. Be smart.
Explain what you're doing.

Whatever you do, Iliza,
just sound intelligent."

Instead, what came out of my mouth was,

"I gotta find my lip liner, man!" And...

what I feel he understood,
nay respected, nay...

Neigh.

Resonated with

wasn't that I had to find my lip liner.

What I feel he understood was
the sheer amount of white-girl crazy...

coming out from behind my eye.

Because he then gave me
the international verbal sign for,

"I respect you and fear you,
I'm going to back off," which is...

"A'ight, then." And he just walked away.

I never found my lip liner.
It was, like, in my other bag.

I didn't like that experience.

I didn't like being on the floor.

And I didn't like being on the floor
for a very specific reason.

As a woman, I didn't need a reminder

of how vulnerable women are
on a day-to-day basis.

Being on the floor,
it's a very vulnerable place.

I didn't need that reminder.

And women in our society are vulnerable

by virtue of the fact that we are
physically not as strong as men.

That's the root of the issue,
that's the root of the oppression.

And that's the root of oppression
of any side of war throughout history.

One side was stronger,
they get to make the rules.

Do you think for a second that
if women were physically stronger than men

we would've waited for the right to vote?

It's 1910, some jacked-up housewife
is just putting up weight in her garage.

She's got a shaker
of horse testosterone and creatine.

Her little husband comes in,
he's like, "You're not voting."

She'd be like...

"Out of the way, Jedediah."

"Mama's going to the polls."

It's physical strength,
that's the root of the issue.

Physical strength.
And they try to placate women.

They try to tell us
we're other types of strong.

Sure. But none that matter
as much as physical strength.

"Well, you're a woman,
so... mentally strong."

Mentally strong.
You put up with him all day, huh?"

Pfft!

Mentally strong.
Mentally strong? What do I do with that?

Mentally strong. What do I do
when a rapist runs at me? Math?

It's physical strength.

Physical strength is what counts
when it comes to protecting yourself

and women are only naturally
physically super-human strong

when it comes to two things.

The first is a recent one,
and that's CrossFit, which...

It's enough, by the way.
It's a cult. Okay?

It's insane. It goes...

Scientology, CrossFit, people without
celiac disease that don't eat gluten.

It's a cult, okay? It's enough.

"I can deadlift 600 pounds." Cool.

What Starbucks do you work at?
What are you...

Guard a village. Join up.

What are you doing with that muscle,
all the horse meat?

The workouts that they're doing,
it's all snake oil, I believe, okay?

Push-ups, sit-ups, pull-ups,
the foundations of a military workout,

these are applicable
in the rest of your life.

Instead, they've got a father of six
at 7 a.m. flipping a monster truck tire?

Why? When do you need that?

When do you need
to know the form for that?

What post-apocalyptic
gorilla playground...

are you gonna find yourself in?

Why don't we give you an empty suitcase
to throw around your cage, Peaches?

And the rope thing. There are other ways
to build up your pectoral muscles.

Men have been doing it for centuries.

Instead they've got you using a rope.
When are you gonna use that?

"Timmy's stuck down by the dock
under some boat rope!" "I got it!"

And the only time that women are
naturally, exceptionally physically strong

is when it comes to childbirth.
And that's amazing.

Yes.

It'd be amazing if those were all men
with, like, really high-pitched voices.

It's an amazing amount
of super-human strength

that unfairly women only get to tap into
when they're having a baby.

You only get to tap into that super-human
strength once, maybe twice a year,

but that second baby's gonna be very tiny.
You only get to use it then.

That's a disproportionate
amount of strength.

Mother Nature is playing
a cruel joke on us.

Do you know how many pounds of pressure
per square snootch inch it takes

to deliver a baby?

We're not even using our hands!

You're like python-like digesting a goat.

"Get out of there!"

Using fucking grit and rage and, like,
a mother's love, but just, "Aghh!"

Sparta! Just fucking going.

You can do that with your body,

yet the rest of the year, we have trouble
not doing push-ups on our knees.

That doesn't seem fair.

We're only exceptionally strong
when it comes to children.

We have something called
mama bear strength.

So that means when your child
is in danger, your child,

someone else's child, "Sorry, junior."
Your child...

"Lift the piano off your legs yourself,
okay, I'm not your mama."

When your child is in danger,
in that moment, through adrenaline,

you can develop super-human strength
and save the baby.

So if your child is trapped under a car,

you can go ahead and flip that Buick
like an orangutan, no problem.

Yet if you're a single girl
walking alone on a Saturday night

and some maniac runs at you,
what's your defense?

Like, "No, two plus two is four."

We're millennials,
we'd probably use our phone calculators.

That's why sexual harassment
is such a big deal.

It really has less to do
with the disgusting thing

a man feels he has the right
to yell at you

out of van or a truck.
Never out of a Civic for some reason.

But for the girls that might not know,
you can wear whatever you want.

It doesn't give someone the right
to treat you like an animal.

You can wear whatever you want.
You can leave the house out naked.

You will go to jail,
but you can do whatever you want.

But it has less to do with
what a man is yelling at you,

and nobody wants to say this, but I will,

what it has to do with
is the underlying notion

that if that man wanted to act on it,
he could.

And if you don't believe me,
every girl knows what it's like,

a guy yells something disgusting at you,
and because you're strong, you yell back.

He's like, "Nice tits."
You're like, "Fuck off!"

Immediately followed by, "What if he
kills me?" Like, there's that moment.

Hoping to God
that your bark was big enough

that you don't have to take a lady bite.

Being sexually harassed is the worst.

I'm sorry, let me rephrase that.

Being sexually harassed by an ugly guy
is the worst.

If he's hot, it's just plain old flirting.

No one's ever been like, "Get away
from me, you model!" That's fine.

It has to do also with
an unrequited, uninvited sexual energy.

And women are very aware of that.

Every woman in here knows what it
feels like to have a guy's eyes on you

when you find him attractive.
It's the best feeling.

When you see hot guys and you walk by,
you're like,

"Hope they're looking at my butt.
I feel so good about my little haunches."

When the dudes are gross
and you walk by, you're like,

"Please don't look at my butt,
please don't look at my butt."

Having someone sexually harass you,
it's their energy on you.

It feels like you're getting shot

with a dick gun.
That's what it feels like.

Minding your own business, like,

"I love being an independent woman."
"Nice tits!"

"Agh!"

Aw, he got a boner for free.

Women have to think about these things.
It's hard being a girl.

I haven't been a guy in, like, a while,
but it is difficult.

And we're constantly questioning ourselves

and we're constantly being told that what
we feel is wrong and how we look is wrong.

And we tell it to little girls
and it sticks with us.

Take a man and a woman shopping.

Nothing will fit
because fashion is the enemy, for sure.

But nothing will fit the woman
for negative reasons

and nothing will fit the guy
for positive reasons.

Take a woman shopping,
"Nothing fits,

my arms are fat, my thighs are big,
I'm fucking gross, I hate my body."

Take a guy shopping,
an average man of average build,

five-ten, 170,

"Nah, I can't buy off the rack because
my shoulders are so abnormally broad.

I'm tall. For my height, my waist tapers
at such an Adonis-like angle."

My dick is so girthy,
I can only wear JNCOs."

"It's hard for me."

These are good things.

Women are told to change.
It's okay if men are the same.

That's why we have stereotypes.

That's why you've got
the stereotype of your Grandpa,

"I sit in my chair, I drink my beer,
I've got the remote,

I fought in Korea,
don't fucking talk to me," right?

"I'm not moving, you move!"

Women aren't like that, right?
What do women do?

"I'm taking a class."

Love classes.

"I'm learning more about Cheryl."

"I'm meeting Cindy for the first time."

There's two women in this monologue.
I'm two different women, it's fine.

"I'm learning to breathe.
I'm getting a sense of myself.

I'm canning.

I'm canning my own beets."

For no reason.
I live in the middle of a city.

I just thought I wanted to connect.

I'm canning my own shit now.
I take it, put it in there,

I let it solidify, I make jewelry,
I sell it on Etsy.

It's nice pocket money."

"I'm learning about myself.
I'm learning to breathe.

I'm cutting my own hair."

"I'm learning to make my own tea,
putting the hair in the tea,

I drink my hair."

Changing.

We always wanna change
a little bit, right?

Always wanna lose a little bit of weight.
No matter what your body looks like.

"I just wanna lose, like, five pounds."

We think that's the answer.
"Just wanna lose, like, five pounds."

"Just wanna lose, like,
five pounds before lunch."

"So I can have more lunch."

Because we think being skinny
is the answer, right?

It's not even enough to be skinny, is it?
It's not even enough to be thin, is it?

You have to be the thinnest
out of your friends,

who you hate.

You don't believe me? Look at any
Instagram picture of more than four women.

It's a fucking pose-off.

Dudes don't care. They'll turn
around like gorillas mid-meal.

"Take the picture, I don't care.
Fucking..."

Girls, it's like a Mr. Universe, like,
"Fucking line up! Line up!

Make it pointy! Concave!
Make it fucking pointy!

Kisses.

Neck vein.
Look at the motherfucking neck vein.

Hamstring.

Happy birthday, Stacey."

It's not enough to just be thin, right?

You wanna be the kind of thin
where your friends...

are worried for you.

So thin. Horrible looking.

Stalking around Gap Kids.
"I wear a youth large, thank you." Right?

Fucking femur for days.

Right? Mr. Peanut Legs
coming out six seconds ahead of you.

Like an R. Crumb comic book thinner,
right?

Just walking around,
baby stegosaurus spine.

Clothes hanging like moss
off a willow tree.

A fucking clavicle
you can serve soup out of.

Yeah!

So happy!

I like my body, but I always...

Everybody wants to change something,
right? I just wanted have shoulders

that were so frail and tiny,
little bird shoulders.

Do they even have shoulders?
No, it's just...

That's what I want, I want no shoulders.
I want the kind of shoulders

where my bra strap just falls down.

Just floppy hair. "Ohh. Whoops."

Men love it. They love it. They go crazy.
One strap...

Because it's one less thing
they gotta do, right?

It's not my fault
I think that's attractive.

You see it on lingerie ads in magazines.
The women are on the bed, bra strap.

Men love vulnerability
and that's what that represents.

"Not me, I like a strong woman."
Bullshit. Vulnerability.

"Help me. Open this jar. Please help me."
They love it.

What does the bra strap down represent?

You're not supported. When your tits are
flopping around, you can't run away. Yeah!

I want that.

I want that bone structure, right?
I wanna have those shoulders.

I wanna look like the girl on the cover
of the playbill for Les Mis. Just...

"Oh, monsieur!"

It's a ten-year-old French girl.
Still, I want those bones.

They do, men love vulnerability, right?
That's why the thin thing is the thing.

That's why women are expected to be...

You can't have a baby if you're this big.
That's why we have to be... garden party.

Like that kind of thin.

Because if women are thin,
there's no nutrition,

so you're cold, you don't leave the house,
you don't vote. Yeah!

That's why every model
has that vulnerable look.

That's why models look like you uncovered
a refugee from under a manhole cover.

"Ohhh! Gucci."

They love vulnerability. And we do things
to make ourselves vulnerable.

Strong women are told
to tone it down, right?

But men are told to toughen up.
We don't let men be vulnerable.

That's not fair.

But I can't help you because I'm a girl
and I can only fight one fight at a time.

If you wanna come to my green room
and cry after, I will...

laugh at you. But, no...

But we tell strong women
to bring it down, right?

High heels? Why do you wear high heels?
So you what? Can't run from your attacker.

Good.

Smoky eye makeup?

Why does that make sense?
What are you doing?

You take the makeup, grind it
into your eye. Why is that attractive?

I figured it out. Smoky eye makeup
makes you look like you what?

Just choked on a dick and cried. Good.

I am not wrong.
It's a little off-brand for me.

I am not wrong.

It's not enough to be thin ever!

You gotta be gaunt
to the point of extinction.

The kind of thin where it's like,
"What up, bitches? Find me."

That kind of thin.

Maybe I'm being unfair.
Maybe it's a cultural thing.

I can only truly speak
from the perspective of what I am.

I'm an upper-middle-class white woman.
Hope I die that way.

And the expectation of being thin
has been put on us for about 100 years.

That's been the look. The like...
"Uhh, come, have some tea.

Yes, these jeans are high.
That's not weird."

We like that look.
And that's a hard look to achieve.

Some women die trying to be thin.

And it was only in the last...

forty years

that women of color and women
of other ethnicities rose to prominence

and made it socially acceptable,
nay attractive,

to have the body of a grown woman.

Jennifer Lopez came out of nowhere

with the backside
of a brontosaurus, like...

"Que paso?"

And it became attractive.

And somewhere, with everybody having
an agenda in our social conversation,

it became okay to tell white girls
to their faces,

"You're fat. Kill yourself."

Bullying us on Facebook.

Because you're white,
so life must be easy.

Which, I'm not gonna lie, it's great.
Being white is great. But...

It became okay to say that
because we are not spicy, right?

White women don't have a fire in them.
There's not a chili pepper here.

Inside here is a scoop
of Breyer's vanilla bean ice cream.

And we'll take it.
Your boyfriend tells you you're fat,

we'll be like, "I'm sorry, Chad,
please don't get out of the kayak."

"We're gonna have an afternoon.
I brought Jenga."

You know who has an unshakeable sense
of self-esteem? Black women.

You... Yes!

You cannot tell a sister on her something
isn't working. She won't believe it.

Try it. Say to a black girl,
"I don't like those jeans."

First of all, I dare you.

It will not rattle her for a second.
Be like, "I don't like those jeans."

She'll be like,
"Bullshit. I see you looking."

Girls, if you want respect,
you're gonna have to take it.

It's 2016.

Let's learn math, let's learn science,
let's drop the body issues, okay?

Don't let anybody make you feel less than.
Your bodies are perfect as they are.

And if you want respect,

you have to command respect,
not demand it.

Two totally different things.

Commanding respect is in the actions,

it's the way
that we speak about each other,

it's the way that you speak
about yourself.

If your whole agenda is to be sexual,

and confusing being sexual
with empowerment,

and talking about fucking and sex
all the time,

thinking that that's the reason that women
are empowered, you're fucking wrong.

It comes with the way you treat yourself.

Don't call each other whores.

Don't call each other sluts.

Because when you do that,
society looks at you and they say,

"Oh, it's okay to talk to women that way."

You teach people how to treat you.

Let's get rid of the phrase
"walk of shame."

What is that one? What is walk of shame?

I don't understand that.
I've never had a walk of shame.

What could that be?

Walk of shame.
What's there to be shameful about?

What's the shame in the fact that he and I
went out, we had the same amount of vodka,

he got too drunk to get it up,
so he passed out,

then I used his credit card to buy $100
worth of Chinese and stole his golf clubs?

Walk of shame!

We're starting from behind here, girls,
we've gotta say smarter things.

From now on... Let's make a pact.

From now on,

I don't wanna hear any more women

talk about how they wanna be... mermaids.

Okay?

Okay?

It's stupid.

And I'm not trying to be a bitch, but
it's probably not gonna happen for you.

Okay?

Literally,
you don't have the bone structure.

What worries me, I see it a lot

and it's not from children,
it's grown women,

like, "I don't wanna be adult any more.
I wanna be a mermaid."

You... The amount of escapism
that's in that sentence!

You wanna move to the woods,
you wanna make jam, fine.

At least you're still paying taxes.
You wanna be a mermaid?

That means all of your achievements
in life are gonna lead to you being

a fictional fuck toy for a horny sailor.
That's what you want?

That's what mermaids are! Read a book!

Because I see it a lot.

T-shirts, right? "I am a mermaid."

"Yo soy mermaid."

"Je suis mermaid."

Let's discuss the logistics...

of being a mermaid,

so that you have the information.

If and when
the job opportunity presents itself

on Linkedln...

you can make an informed decision,
okay?

If you are a mermaid, you don't sleep.

Girls are like, "Oh, my God,
I love sleeping."

"None for you. Just swim."

It's chugging Mountain Dew Code Red.

There are no beds,
but there is Mountain Dew Code Red.

You're some white-trash jacked-up mermaid
just swimming, swimming.

And by the way, you don't have fins.
Remember, you're half-human.

So you've got arms. You've got
these thick-ass traps, just swimming.

You can't stop swimming,
because if you do,

something will try to eat you,
fuck you or kill you, okay?

It's not dissimilar to being a woman
in a downtown area.

So just swimming, swimming.

Now, you're swimming all day,
you're probably pretty hungry, right?

How are you gonna catch food?
Remember, you're half-human.

We don't have
animal-catching accoutrements,

like claws and tentacles and lasers.

We don't have those kind of things.

We have big brains.
So I don't know what you're gonna do.

Maybe talk a crab to death.

Like, "Excuse me. Excuse me."

I was thinking of double majoring in
psychology and communications. Excuse me.

Excuse me. Are you a cancer?"

So now... you're hungry, you're tired,

you're like, "I don't care
because I'm gonna lay on the beach

like a mermaid."

No, you won't.
Sailors are gonna try to fuck you

and the Japanese will definitely
try to eat you just for funsies, okay?

You're swimming around like, "I don't care
because I'll have long, flowing hair."

No, you won't. You ever go in the ocean?

You guys aren't on an ocean,
you're on a lake.

You're a lake mermaid?
What are you, half trout? Kill yourself.

Ohh! Freshwater mermaid?

What if you got, like, the weird end of
the genetic pool and you were half turtle?

No tail but just half...

"Long flowing mermaid hair."
You're not gonna have that.

You ever go in the water
when there's waves?

You won't have long flowing hair.

You're going to have one giant mer-dread.

And it's just gonna follow you.
It's just one big old mer-lock

and it's getting caught on propellers,
it's getting caught on anchors.

There's sea lice living in your mer-dread

because that's a warm,
hospitable environment.

Then there's fish
feeding off those sea lice.

There's an entire sustainable maritime
ecosystem attached to your fucking head.

You drag it around.
Sea lice are nipping at your scalp.

You gotta get rid of it, right?
You're like, "I'll just cut it off."

Ain't no scissors in the ocean, all right?

I don't care
what the Little Mermaid told us

because she was a liar and a hoarder.

Hoarder!

We let it go because she was pretty,
but she was super-gross.

# Look at this stuff, isn't it neat? #

That's a used toothbrush.
Don't put it in your...

Ohh! Ohh!

Ohh!

You're gonna get sick!

Still gotta get rid of that mer-dread
because it's a hazard, so what do you do?

You have to get another fish to help you.

You have to do what they do
in the animal kingdom. You must what?

You must what? Who here took
marine biology? You have to what?

Form a symbiotic relationship
with other marine life.

Good. And have that fish...

come in with his fish tooth
and just saw off your mer-dread, right?

It's gonna be bad-looking. But now,
remember, you gotta pay that fish back.

That's the nature of a symbiotic
relationship, you must reciprocate.

How you gonna pay that fish back?
You ain't got no money, shell-tits.

I hate to say it,
but the only thing you have...

is fish sex

and I don't know if you have a vagina

because I'm not an ichthyologist
and I don't know how fish work.

I should've looked it up before the taping
but I'm just trying to tell you some jokes

and I think I've done a pretty good job.
You know what fish do? They poop.

You've got a fish butt.
So think about that.

So.

So now you're swimming around,
you're hungry, you're tired,

you've got a fucked-up haircut,
you're like a little sore, you're like...

"I don't care.
I'm gonna be a mermaid. I'm gonna swim.

Because I will swim like a mermaid."

Let's remember how mermaids allegedly,
because they are not real, swim.

They swim... like dolphins.

Hey, ladies,
do you love ab day at the gym?

Well, that's your fucking life, sister!

"37. 38." Just trying to get through.

Your entire existence
is that of an R. Kelly backup dancer.

Just swimming through the nineties.

So, you can be a mermaid

or you can always get a job
in front of a used car dealership.

No mermaids.
We can do better. No mermaids.

I worry for women. I worry for men.
I worry for our country.

Is anybody else
really worried for our country?

So I'm worried... And by the way,
I am very proud to be an American

and I love my country very much
and I want the best for it.

There's no joke, it's just a statement.
I love being an American.

What I'm scared for...

What I'm scared about
aren't so much the nightmares

clawing at our front and back doors,
both politically, foreign, domestic,

economical, ecological, whatever.

What I'm scared about
is the fact that, like,

my generation
is supposed to be grown-up and mature now.

I represent the millennials.
Perhaps you've seen our Instagram pages.

Yeah, we cheer for ourselves.
We're the worst.

I will say this as the Lorax
of my generation, mustache,

we... didn't ask to be spoiled.

Our parents loved us
and they gave us everything.

That's the job of the generation prior,

to give the next generation
a better world than they had.

So I'm gonna apologize to my grandkids for
the radioactive ball of foil and Diet Coke

that they're gonna inherit from us.

But that's what the people before you do.

And I believe that this wave of
entitlement started with our grandparents.

Our grandparents were called
the greatest generation,

and I believe that they were.

They selflessly gave
and they made this country

the idea of America that a lot of us miss.

White people. The rest of us,
it was horrible for most of them.

But in general...

The main points of it, okay?

Your grandparents had to fight.
They had no choice.

Grandpa had to fight in World War II.

Grandpa was straight-up drizafted, okay?
He had no choice.

And when he came home from the war,

all he wanted to do was have a family,
have a job, be a little racist

and live the American dream, that's it.

He fought, he got right to work.
It's not like guys today who'd be like,

"Oh, I just wanna backpack around Oregon
and find myself." No!

And they're allowed to say that
because, whether you like them or not,

our military does such a good job
of defending us on a day-to-day basis.

And I know that TSA blows.

But they do such a good job
that you're allowed to mentally check out.

Like, if you don't like
the war going on right now,

unlike it on Facebook.

You're allowed to do that.

There was no concerted effort.
You didn't have to fight.

My point is, there was no day
we all gathered in our town squares

and threw our iPhones into the center
so the military could use the scrap metal.

"What's this? A droid? Take it back,
freak." We didn't have that.

I think it's difficult to conceive of a
world where you have to sacrifice so much

and to understand what our grandparents
did because now they're old,

and when you think old, what do you think?
Cute, right?

Your grandparents are cute because
they're tiny, shrinking.

Pick them up, put them down,

they don't like it, sprinkle water,
"Get it off me."

And the whiter you are,
the greater a chance there is

that you've developed some weird
prerogative kitten-like nickname

for your grandfather.

Oh, it's not Grandpa anymore,
it's like, "This is my Nim-Nam."

"This is my Yippers."

"This is my Pip-Pop."

Pip-Pop doesn't give a fuck. He's like,
"I was a prisoner of war for six years,

call my Pip-Pop, I've had worse."

"Oh, my God, you guys,
my Pip-Pop is so cute.

Oh, my God, Pip-Pop,
he's so cute, you guys.

Sometimes at Christmas,
when Pip-Pop falls asleep,

we like to decorate him
with Christmas bows.

Isn't that funny? Silly Pip-Pop."

Pip-Pop's got 53 confirmed kills!

Don't think for a second

Pip-Pop doesn't remember how to repurpose
that Christmas bow around your neck

to get the intel that he needs out of you.

"Sit the fuck down,
Colton, Caleb, Ashton, Crashton, Crandon,

whatever your fucking hipster name is,
sit down!"

Pip-Pop came home from the war
and then they had our parents.

Our parents are called the baby boomers
because Pip-Pop came home from Normandy

and he was like, "I'm not dead.
Boom, Gladys, let's fuck."

And then...

The baby boomers, ask your parents,

were the first generation that were
allowed to be artists on a mass scale.

You didn't have to work on your
family business, you could take drugs,

rock 'n' roll, you could do and be
what you wanted to be in the big city.

The baby boomers had generation X.

I don't care about them
because I'm a millennial.

We showed up, got a trophy for breathing
and then we invented Instagram.

What's insane about Instagram is this.

We use hashtags, right?
Hashtag, formerly known as the pound sign.

She got a makeover.

What's weird about a hashtag... is this.

The more hashtags there are
under a posted picture on Instagram,

the less likely the last hashtag
is gonna have anything to do...

with that posted picture.

You got more than four hashtags
under your picture,

you are witnessing
a human thought process devolve.

By the end, it's just word association.
Free word association.

Bunch of people on the beach,
Fourth of July, right?

"Fuck, yeah! #FourthBitches

#Fourth #BeachDay #BDay

#lndependenceDay #lndependentWoman
#Beyonce" Yes!

"#Blessed #IPayMyBills
#BikiniBody #BeachBody

#BoutThatLife #DontNeedAMan
#DontWantAMan #NeverHadAMan

#SometimesToFeelAHumanEmotion
ILikeToDrinkMyOwnHair...

What? What? What?

Say something.

Talking about?

And then, because we're so hard on women,

we're mean to women when they're proud
of their bodies on Instagram.

We only allow women to post pictures
when they're a work in progress, right?

"Keep it going." If you're ever like,

"This is as good as it gets,
fucking check it out!"

it's like,
"You whore. You showy fucking bitch."

So instead of empowering women
and letting them be proud of themselves,

women have to shroud their pride
in misdirect hashtags.

So you've got a generation of girls proud
of their bodies in a bathroom like this,

and rather than be like,
"#CheckOutMyBodylmSoHappyWithMyself,"

instead she's like,
"#CheckOutTheGroutWorkOnTheseTiles."

Who's looking at that?

I broke up with my boyfriend
a couple of months ago.

Let me ask you a question. Have you ever
dated someone who is... so pretty...

but so stupid?

Notice, it's girls cheering.

All the guys are like, "Yeah,
I brought her here. Keep it moving!"

"I don't wanna get in a fight!"

So, men can do that. Women really can't.

And the reasoning isn't because men
are dicks, there's nothing like that,

it has to do
with the wiring of our brains.

Men are visually stimulated, women,
unfortunately, are cerebrally stimulated.

Men are visual creatures.
They have to be attracted to a woman

before they can get to know how amazing
she is inside. They have to be...

A dude will date a Popsicle stick if
it's got a wig. Like, it doesn't matter.

That's why it's tough,
because you wanna be a feminist,

like, "I don't have to get ready
for a man,"

but that's what they're attracted to.
Just the littlest bit.

Everybody's got that one girlfriend that's
like, "I don't get it. I volunteer

and I rescue animals and I'm very sweet."
It's like, "Yeah, but you're so ugly

so you have to... Just brush the hair!

Just, anything! One tooth."

You don't have to have it out there.

He cannot check out your personality
from across the room.

That's all I'm saying.

No man has ever done that.

No man has ever seen a woman
who's sitting there nibbling on her nubs

with, like, a gill...

and walked up and been like, "Excuse me,
you're hideous, but you look like

you might enjoy Tom Clancy,
light nipple play and barbecue.

Is that true?"

And women do stuff to make themselves
physically attractive.

Even if you're not trying that hard,

most of the stuff we do
is just to get men's attention.

Shiny hair. Why is your hair shiny?
It makes you look fertile.

Thanks, Pantene.

But that's why. There's no reason to have
it shiny other than to get attention.

You're not, like, deflecting a car light
when you're running.

Big eyes. "Look at me! My lips look like
a vagina and my boobs look like a butt

and my butt looks like boobs.
I'm a Mrs. Potato Head. Mate with me!"

You may not like it, but I'm not wrong.

Women are cerebrally stimulated.

That's why we say the number one thing
we look for in a man is a conversation.

"Someone I can talk to. Sense of humor."

I have dated gutter goblins who were just,
like, really funny and smart.

"I just wanna talk to him. It's sexy.

I just want someone I can talk to.
At. Just sit there and breathe, Steve."

We need that back and forth.
We have to be able to talk.

And it's something that we need,
and yet we're chastised for it.

You ever been called a "chatty Cathy"?

By an idiot, but still,
ever been called that?

"A couple of girls just yipping away, huh?
She'll talk your ear off.

Bunch of giblets in a henhouse."
No-one says giblets in a hen...

That means the chicken's already dead.

Women are always chastised
for talking a lot.

The reason women talk
goes back thousands of years.

The reason women talk a lot,
have a proclivity for speaking... Mm!

Is when men would go out and hunt
and fight and get animals,

otherwise known as hunting...

"Go get an animal."
Women stayed behind...

And we raised the kids
and we made food.

And because the world
wasn't really a thing yet,

we exchanged survival secrets.

We would tell each other things like,
"Oh, don't eat that berry,

it'll make your husband's dick fall off."

"Don't wipe with that leaf,

I found in my studies
that it really hurts your vagina."

You had to exchange this information
to keep your tribe alive.

Now, that's devolved to,
"What color lip gloss?"

but it's the exchange of information.
Girls gather and then share.

So guys,
when we're talking and it bothers you,

just know we're trying to make it
so your dick doesn't fall off!

That's what we're doing.

Trying to help you!

Trying to help you live!

Nothing wrong with it. I'll say it.
I'm a feminist. You know what?

I'll say it for the women
that don't know to say it.

And you might not be comfortable with it.

Because a lot of women are like, "I love
being a woman, but I'm not a feminist."

What are you, a horse?
Like, what are the other options?

Let me clarify it...

for the men and the women
who might not have a clear idea.

Being a feminist means
you just wanna be treated fairly,

you just want it even, no more, no less.
Maybe like a little bit more.

You just wanna get the same.

And a lot of women
don't like to say they're feminists

because they don't think
it sounds attractive, right?

Which is inherently an issue
in and of itself.

Because men think feminist,
they have a bad idea of it.

Guys think of some square-jawed broad
with three chin hairs and a power suit,

like, "I'm gonna kick you in the dick
and take your job!"

That's not what we want.

We just want it even.

If we're gonna be feminists,
let's start with something fun.

Wage gap, gotta close that.

But let's start with something everybody
wants to deal with. Yeah, for sure. Duh!

Let's start with porn.

Because even if you're a woman
and you love being a porn star,

it's still you taking it
for, like, three hours,

you're getting paid 30 percent less
and he's actually getting off,

so let's make some feminist porn.

Let's see a porn
where a girl kicks a door in, like...

"Who wants to lick it? Line up! Go!"

Go!

Next! Go!

Beat your best time. Go!"

That's so gross.

So off-brand. So gross.

Now, all the girls are cheering,
because in theory, that's empowering.

But in practice, horrific.

That would be horrible.
No woman could withstand that.

Halfway through the second guy, we'd
all be like, "Okay, okay, okay, okay!"

"It's sensitive! I need a minute!"

"I just need a minute!
I just need a minute.

Don't hug me.
I'm not mad, I just need a minute."

"Why don't you go order us a pizza?
I'll fire up my Pinterest page."

Let me ask you a question.
This is for the girls in the audience.

This is a very real question,
very real statement.

Have you ever been...

Have you ever been
having sex with your boyfriend

and you're not into it, like, obviously,
and then all of a sudden,

you start to get really excited?

Not so much from physical stimulation,

but because mentally you're like...

"This is almost done."

And when it is done...

we shall go to the farmers market!"

You plan out the whole day.

Guys, you have to make sure
her head is in the game,

no pun intended,
but, like, pun intended for sure.

I don't think we check in with each other
enough as opposite sexes.

Men think because she's making noises
they hear in movies, she's enjoying it.

Women are like, "I'm making noises,
let's fucking get it over with."

If you care about the girl, you gotta
make sure she's getting what she wants.

And girls, the best thing you can do,
if you have great sex,

the best thing you can do
the second sex is over

is... not talk to him.

Sounds horrible.
It's actually to your benefit.

That's not your boyfriend
lying next to you.

That is a husk of a man...

depleted of all bodily fluids...

incapable of giving you
the answer you deserve.

And I get it. You just had sex,
you're feeling great, oxytocin is flowing,

you just hosted a human being
inside of you...

You love him
and you wanna talk about the future.

He can't do it.

You look at him and say, "What are you
thinking about?" He's laying there, dust.

"Ohh."

Get him a Gatorade, give him five.

He can't answer you. You'll be like,
"What are you thinking about?"

He'll never, ever be like,
"You in a wedding dress."

But guys, if you love your girl, check in
with her. Because you're far away.

She's up there. You're here like,

"I'm amazing.
I'll bet she fucking loves this."

And we're down there like,
"I wonder if lavender is in season."

Still back there.

"Siri, is lavender..."

"Calling Mom Cell."

"No, Siri!"

"No!" Snap.

The moral of that story is
I was in a relationship

and I wasn't happy,
so I left the relationship.

I'm not advocating
for leaving the person you're with.

What I am advocating for is this.
If you're not happy,

there's no reason to stay
out of fear of being alone.

We like to scare women.

And I'm sure there are men
that feel this way.

But we like to scare women when they're
single and we like to be mean to them

and we label them.
We say mean things to them.

She's a spinster. Old maid.

Really involved with animal rescue.

We have names like that.

And we like to question them,
as if there's something wrong.

"Why are you single?"

"Because the last one was a dick
and I'm not stupid."

Like, that's why you do it.

Nobody wakes up married.

Nobody is born betrothed to someone.

We have to be kinder to women
and stop doing it.

And we have the audacity
to have magazines,

self-help books, articles,
posing the question,

"You're single. Now what?
You're single. Now what?"

What do you mean, "Now what?"

Now I shave off an eyebrow
and take up with wolves.

What do you mean, "Now what?"
What do you mean, "Now what?"

I got a mortgage.
How about fuck bitches, get money?

It's so stupid.

What upsets me is that women
spend so much time and energy

flogging themselves mentally
for being single,

and changing and trying different methods
and looking for guys.

And men don't have to do that.
They have the luxury of relaxing

because they don't have eggs.
There are no articles in GQ like,

"You're single. Now what?"
There's none of that.

The answer would always be, "Now I can
jerk off where I want. No-one bugs me.

#Sandwich."

The good part about traveling for
the last year, I've had time for myself.

More time from my research.

I don't do research.

I just watch TV.

But I wear a lab coat while I do it
for the tax write-off.

Before we get out of here,
before we conclude this TED Talk...

Does everybody here watch Shark Tank?

So...

All I want, all I want,

is a live episode of Shark Tank.

That's what I want. A live episode.

It's a reality show.

But if you watch it, you'll notice
it's heavily edited, heavily produced,

and what bothers me...

is the presentations from
the entrepreneurs are too polished.

There's no grit to them. They come out
like a fifth-grade Thanksgiving pageant.

"The natives called it maize.
We bottled it."

I don't wanna see that, okay?

I want to see you mess up.

I wanna see you trip.
Maybe you forget your words.

Maybe you chip a tooth. I wanna see you
crumble as an entity before my eyes.

Only then will I tolerate you rising
from the ashes with any degree of hubris.

That's the way to consume
American reality TV.

The sheer schadenfreude of watching
someone shit themselves on TV

and then building them back up.
That's what we like to see. Okay?

These are cattle farmers
from the middle of Iowa

and they get in front of a camera
and suddenly they're Winston Churchill?

I don't buy it, okay?

I speak for a living and even I mess up,

so there's no way
these two fucking dye jobs from ASU

with, like, a new take on cookies,
there's no way!

Flawlessly orating.

There are three archetypes of women
that they like to have on Shark Tank.

They love to have moms,
because most of us have moms.

But what's crazy and, like, creepy

is that all the moms on Shark Tank

have the exact same voice.

It's a little Stepfordian.

They all sound like this.

"Hi, Sharks.
My name's Nancy from Laguna Niguel

and I've discovered a new way to get
your toddler to eat their blueberries."

Then they have really smart women.
They do. They'll have brilliant women.

But it seems that the smarter the woman,
the longer the last name.

Like, they'll hyphenate their last names.

I can't stand hyphenated last names.

If you're in this room and you've got
a hyphenated last name, chop it in half!

Okay? You're not Spanish royalty. Chop it!

I barely care about your first name.

Let alone
the entire questionable heritage.

When you have a hyphenated last name,

all that makes me think is that
mama was a big old strong lesbian

and she didn't wanna
give up her family inheritance

so she begrudgingly married your father,
now they have separate twin beds

and are co-women's studies professors
at Wellesley.

It's also just so much information.

I'm trying to hear you,
your valuation, listen to the equity,

and you're coming up there
with a phonebook, like, "Hi, Sharks.

My name's
Michelle-Lida-Julia Freeman-Cereal."

"And I'm Rebecca-Lynn-Stacey
Fitzgerald-Yang.

And together, we sound like five dudes."

Like, it's a lot... of information.

Are you inventors or a law firm?
Like, what is that?

And then in the final category,

the toy category, we have the hot women.

Not attractive. Not cute.

Fucking hot. Teeth, tan, tits, hair.
"Sharks!"

Sometimes they do this.
They'll have very smart woman on the show.

Sometimes it feels like the hotter
the woman, the dumber the product.

And I believe it's done
to keep us in line.

But... a lot of the time, the women's
products have to do with two categories.

It's either wrangling your femininity.

"Sharks, it's a flap you put
over your vagina

so no one knows you have one."

"Move through the workplace with ease."

Or it's a product so stupid,
it will just confirm

any preconceived notions you might have
about female intelligence.

Like, "Sharks, it's a shower cap
that you can wear while you're cooking

so your hair doesn't smell!"

No!

You just set us back, like, a week
with that shit, Lexi.

But that's the one
that I'd like to see live.

The hot one.

Because I believe
watching an attractive woman

mentally unravel...

on national television
is the reason we all watch reality TV.

"Up next are two sisters
from Scottsdale, Arizona,

with a new take on popcorn."

Jiggle, jiggle.

"Hi, Sharks! My name's Madison."

Duh. They're always named Madison, right?

"And this is my sister, Michaela."

They're always named Michaela.
Fucking obviously.

"And together,
we are the inventors, creators

and CEOs of...

Put your back against mine."

"CEOs of...

Put your fucking back
against mine.

What the fuck are you doing?
What the fuck are you doing?

We do this then we do the product, yes?

Oh, my fucking goodness!
We haven't done the product yet.

We can't. We can't start over.

That's what that light is.
That's fucking live, bitch. Yes!"

"We can't... Can we start over?"
"No."

"I got nothing."

"Oh, my God, I'm not yelling at you!

I'm not yelling at you.
I'm not making it about me!

Do not do this here! It's fucking live TV!
I'm not making it about me!

You're making it about me
making it about you making it about me!

I am trying to make this... Oh, my God.

Okay. Just stay there. I will do it.
I will do it. Just stay there.

It's fine. Stay there. I will handle it.
Stay there, you fucking casualty.

Okay, the other day,

my sister and I were at home
eating popcorn and crying,

and we got down to the bottom of the bag.

And, shake, shake, shake,
what was left at the bottom?

All the unpopped kernels.

That's when my sister and I
decided that we should...

Put your fucking back..."

"Against mine.

Put your fucking back against mine!

What the fuck are you doing?
I am trying... No! No!

You're not gonna fucking do this
to me again!

I am trying to keep this family together!
Do you not understand that?

No, this is not about me!

I am trying to help!
This is nothing like when Daddy died!

You are being a bitch!

I am trying to keep this family...

She does this! She does this every time!

Everybody's gonna know
that you're a fucking...

I wasn't flirting with your husband!
You are so fucking insecure!

Because I slept with your boyfriend
in high school

and he turned out to be gay!

No, it wasn't your fault!
Big fucking deal!

He wanted to talk about your birthday

so that fucking Michaela could turn 40
for the third time!

You're a fucking bitch! I need a minute!

I need a fucking minute! I need...

I need a Madison minute! Hold on!

I'm fucking good.
I'm fucking good!

Let's fucking do it! You wanna go?

Shit. I don't care. I am trying...

I am not... I can't. I can't. Why are
the walls bleeding? I can't do this.

I can't fucking do this. I can't do it.

You being a... I shit. I shit my pants.

Oh, good news. It's not shit. It's blood!
It's blood, you fucking monster!

I am trying... I can't... No.
You know what? I am keeping it together.

I am the stable one!
I am keeping it... I am not...

I am not yelling!
I am not yelling. I am not yelling.

Huh? What? Yes, it's a hive.
This happens.

It happens every time you open
your fucking whore mouth! Yes, I know!

And I'm trying...

I'm a good feminist.
I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry.

I'm sorry!

I'm sorry! My tan is dripping off.

I am not..."

"I am not...

I am not...
I am not yelling. I am not yelling!

I am using..."

"I am using the vocabulary

that Dr. Goldstein told us to use."

"I am requesting..."

"that you...

hear... my..."

"desire... to communicate...

in an open way...

and put your fucking back against mine!

She's ruining it!
She's ruining everything!"

"She's ruining it. This is a big deal.

We put everything...
We put everything into this company!"

"Did you really?" "No, but my mom did."

"I am trying to keep it together.
Everybody depends on me

because we spent all of our money
on our first company and it shat the bed."

"What was your first company?"
"I'm gonna tell them."

"I'm gonna tell them
and you're gonna look like

the fucking psycho bitch that you are.
Everyone's gonna know. I'm gonna...

I'm gonna tell the cameras.
Is this camera still on? Good."

"Fuck you."

"Do you remember when...

Um... Fuck, it's, like,
stuck right here in my nose."

"Uhh!

Do you remember when, um,
our country went through a recession,

and everybody was losing their homes
and their money?

My sister and I decided that rather
than save up or go back to school,

we would do what every other girl
without a marketable skill did,

we... opened up a cupcake company."

"I don't know if you noticed,
but during the recession,

there was a fucking boom
in the confection industry!

That's because it doesn't take
a fucking rocket science degree

to shit out, like, an okay cupcake.

And, like,
no one's gonna say no to a cupcake.

People will spend their last dollar.
They're not gonna be like, "No,"

they'll be like,
"A cupcake. My day's okay for a minute."

And we were feeding people these cupcakes

and they were upside-down on their houses

and they were jobless and we were feeding
these depressed people cupcakes.

And it's a scientific fact
that obesity and depression

have a direct correlation, and we were
just feeding the belly of the beast

from within the belly of the beast
and capitalizing off of it.

People needed answers.
They needed a viable option for credit,

not a buttercream... Put your fucking back
against mine! I swear to Christ, Michaela,

if you ruin this for me,
I will fuck your husband!

Screw it! Cut!
I should've been a mermaid!"

Pack your hip!