Amy Schumer: The Leather Special Page #5

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Isn't that a relaxing thought?

Like, not anal.

But, like, men will f*** us, you know?

If they f*** us, they will come.

It's a beautiful, easy sweatshirt

that's available on my--

No, I'm just kidding.

I am the shittiest famous person, okay?

I'm a shitty famous person.

Yes, I know. I always--

I can't believe it's still going on.

I say what I mean. I dress like garbage.

Like, my sister and I...

And I tried really hard.

I'm like, "Okay, like, let's do our best

and tape it up

and spackle it down and..."

[groans]

But after I leave here, I will look like

a newly homeless person very quickly.

Very quickly, trust me.

My sister dresses the same,

but they'll still write about us

as if we're the Kardashians.

They'll be like,

"The Schumer sisters stepped out today.

Amy opted for performance fleece...

and a pleather jacket from Forever 21."

And my favorite thing

they ever wrote was,

"And Kim chose to wear

a bright red-and-gold beanie

to add to her ensemble."

It was a Gryffindor hat.

Like, look at this.

It's a f***ing Gryffindor hat.

The most disappointing people

ever to be photographed.

Look at this.

It looks like we were moving,

and we ran out of bags,

so we're like, "Let's just wear it all.

We'll just wear it all. Never a bra.

Never a problem."

Look at my sister's shoe game.

Can you check this out?

Ballet flats from Payless.

H&M zebra pants. What's up?

What's up now, Internet?

They photographed me once,

and this was the headline:

"Schumer buys pastry

so she can work out."

Kind of mean, right?

No, they hit the nail

right on the f***ing head.

That's what I do to work out.

That's what I do. Before I work out,

I go buy a scone,

and then I slowly walk

around a reservoir, and I eat it.

My workouts are like a woman in hospice.

Just, like, nibbling on a baked good,

looking at the trees and the birds.

"Mmm."

I'm so disappointing to them

as a famous person

that they'll try to make it sound sexier

than it is.

They're like, "Schumer flaunting her legs

in teeny-tiny shorts."

And you guys have eyes.

You understand that

that is not available to me.

Like, there's no separation

between church and state up here, okay?

This area does not--

There's no-- It's not happening.

I didn't even know what a thigh gap was.

I was like, "Is that like the wage gap?

Do we need to rally against this?"

Since I'm ten years old,

I can't wear tiny shorts.

If I take one step,

all the material shoots up my p*ssy.

I have to pull it out like a magician.

A f***ing dove. Just, like, "Fly!"

I have to lather deodorant in my crotch,

so I don't chafe to the point

of bleeding out.

Right here is when my thighs

stop touching for the first time.

Together. Apart. Together.

Apart. Together. Apart.

The f***ing teeny-tiny shorts. F*** you!

F*** you.

I got photographed paddleboarding,

standup paddleboarding, which--

Can we all just agree

to stop pretending like that's fun?

What do we-- Just what?

"Would you like the sensation

of being in a canoe,

without the comfort of a seat

or the safety of sides?"

"No."

"Have you often wondered what it's like

to work on a gondola?"

"I can't say that I have. No."

The picture of me,

I didn't even recognize myself

because, obviously,

I don't suck in anyway.

It was just, like--

I looked at it, and I was like,

"Oh, my God, Alfred Hitchcock is alive...

and loves water sports!

F***, yeah," you know?

I was so psyched.

Honestly, the only thing

that gets me through the night,

the only thing,

is that I believe in my heart

that Bradley Cooper wants to f*** me.

Now, no one else believes me,

especially not him.

But I believe it.

I believe it in my heart.

Now, maybe you're like, "Bradley Cooper

doesn't really do it for me."

Hmm. Shut the f*** up.

Yes, he does. He's the kind of hot

where when you see him,

you don't even mean to,

but your body just, like, pivots around.

And you just, like, grab your toes.

You're just like, "Okay."

By the way,

that's as far down as I can go.

That's it.

Look, we got a little more.

But I'm kind of tilted.

He's the kind of hot

where when he's talking to you,

all your holes get wet.

You're just like, "What?

Why here?" Like...

His eyes change color and sh*t, you guys.

So, he's talking to me at this event,

and I don't even think I'm registering

as a sexual person to him,

because I'm thinking of myself

like I'm on a mound, you know?

And...

I'm just like, "Sick party, right, Coop?"

Like, I'm not--

I'm trying to help him get out

of the conversation with me.

I'm like, "Okay."

Because all these gorgeous girls

are around, just foaming at the mouth,

just like,

"Oh, let me at that dick hole."

And...

And I tried to get him out of it.

I'm like, "All right. Have a good night."

And he's like, "Wait, Amy.

It's really good to see you.

Let's hang out."

I'm like, "Okay...

my new boyfriend."

Fully went there. And then...

Then we talk a little more,

and then 20 minutes go by, and I'm like,

"Okay, I'm gonna grab my seat."

And he grabs my wrist.

He goes,

"Wait. It's, like, really good to see you.

Why don't we, like,

spend some time together?"

[humming "Bridal Chorus"]

I, like, put my napkin over my head.

I was like, "I do!"

I called my friends from high school

on the way home.

I'm like, "Take me out of your phone.

I'm with Bradley now.

I'm at a new level,

and you're not coming with me.

You're out!"

And then the next night,

I'm doing a show in Reno, Nevada,

because you can have it all.

And I'm watching

the White House Correspondents' Dinner.

And they're like,

"And here's Bradley Cooper."

And I'm like, "Hi, baby."

And they're like,

"And here is his girlfriend."

And I'm like, "But I'm his girlfriend."

It turns out I am not his girlfriend.

He is dating an actual angel

named Irina Shayk.

She's a supermodel.

She doesn't resemble a person at all.

It looks like if a panther

f***ed a gazelle...

and then, like, they f***ed Gisele...

and just shot out the hottest piece of ass

you've ever seen.

She doesn't walk.

She, like, slinks around. And she's--

The way she talks, she's like,

"I'm from nine hours by dogsled

outside Moscow."

She can only see

through the tops of her eyes.

[moaning]

She's so f***ing hot.

You can just tell that she's always wet,

like, the way she moves.

Like, once a boyfriend brought out lube,

and she's like,

"I laugh at your lube, Bradley!"

And I'm just watching this

in f***ing Reno.

I'm like, "Bradley?

Bradley, it's me!"

Like, I was thinking I was gonna be

rolling around on a beach with him.

And, I don't know, is this me?

Is that my ass?

I know we have--

Definitely, there's a picture of me.

Is this me? Or is this me? I can't--

F***! Which one is me?

Is that me?

Or is that me? I don't know.

And I was like,

"You know what? F*** her."

That b*tch will never be brave.

Thank you so much!

I love you!

[music playing]

Oh, wait. Is that guy picketing my show?

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