Bo Burnham: what. Page #2

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looking for something to buy

But they only sold paintings

of the same sad guy

No, wait

This store sells mirrors

See what I did there?

Let's rock!

No.

The world's so sad, bros.

Pain, genocide, war,

sexism, racism.

But I got to remember there's

good things about it too...

like the fact that

none of that's happening to me.

Score.

Still, though, it's hard

not to be sad about it.

How do y'all do it?

I've been telling you guys

terribly sad things

this whole song.

You haven't been sad at all.

You've been--

you've been happy.

No, you've been laughing.

That's it.

Laughter--it's the key

to everything.

It's the way to solve

all the sadness in the world.

I mean, not for the people

that are actually sad

but the people like us

that got to f***ing deal

with them all the time.

Being a comedian isn't being

an insensitive prick,

capitalizing on the most

animalistic impulses

of the public.

It's being a hero.

The world isn't sad.

The world's funny.

I'm a sociopath.

I saw an old man

slip and fall

Hey, what a f***ing idiot

I saw a woman

at her daughter's funeral

Ha ha ha.

Classic comedy.

Everything

that once was sad

Is somehow funny now

The Holocaust and 9/11

That sh*t's funny 24-7

'Cause tragedy will be

exclusively joked about

Because my empathy

is bumming me out

Good-bye, sadness

Hello, jokes

Thank you.

[cheers and applause]

I got a really good joke

about video editors.

Video editors are so f***ing--

I think we should do a poem

right now, if that's okay.

This poem is a little bit sappy,

a little bit romantic.

So we'll get it

out of the way now.

And we will go back to the--

whoops--the dirty stuff,

you know, everyone loves

at a late show or whatever.

Okay.

It's called I F*** Sluts.

It's not a roll call,

but thank you.

Sluts, sluts--

Sluts, sluts, I f*** sluts.

Sluts get f***ed

when I f*** sluts.

No if, ands, and/or buts.

I f*** sluts.

I f*** sluts.

Nice girls are nice

but no good for nut-sucking.

They'll need a serene night

to green-light a butt-f***ing.

But that'd be easy with sleazy

old slut f***ing.

Boo to the nice girls.

Praise be to slut-f***ing.

I have a list.

A list?

Yes, a list of all the sluts

I've missed.

I've never f***ed or sucked

these sluts,

and thus my nuts

are f***ing pissed.

So, when I f***

the lucky slut,

my nut removes her

from the list.

Another dumb cumbucket

struck from my nut-sucking,

suck it, slut,

slut-f***ing bucket list.

Yes, you hear the influences--

Chaucer, Keats.

The pages are blank.

I know it.

Why am I lying to you?

Sluts can be white, black,

brown, pink, or almond.

They can be skinny with big tits

or be skinny with small ones.

Sluts can be perky, preppy,

or posh,

with their brains

and their clothes

all shrunk from the wash.

Excuse me.

But other sluts are pretty

and funny and smart.

These sluts can lift

all your thoughts

from your dick to your heart.

They can talk about science,

music, or art.

They can put you together,

or they can pull you apart.

But don't trust these sluts.

Don't. Don't you dare.

They'll force you to trust them

and love them and care.

And then they'll be gone,

and then you'll be aware

of that hole in your heart

that that dumb slut left there.

Thank you very much.

"So he was lashing out

with sexist language

"'cause he had

his heart broken.

We all learned something."

Thank you all for coming.

I know some of my bits

are a little bit fast and dense,

a little bit hard to follow,

particularly that one.

So I want to do something

a little bit slower

for the people,

maybe the older people

in the crowd or something,

so this is for you.

Here's a slow joke.

[slowed tone]

[deep voice]

What did the ear of corn say

when all of its clothes

fell off?

"Aw, shucks."

Get it?

Like shucks,

as in shucking corn,

and also "shucks"

the exclamation.

Am I right?

[normal voice]

Good, we're having fun.

My father recently told me that

I act too flamboyant onstage.

And I said, "Really, Dad?

Prove it."

He said,

"What about that joke

where you throw confetti

at the end of it?"

I said, "I haven't written

that joke yet,

"'cause it's based off

this conversation.

Gotcha."

Keep it.

Keep the struggle.

We're having a lot of fun, guys.

Don't worry about--

You don't have

to fill the silences

with laughter or applause.

I don't want you leaving

this show thinking,

"My hands hurt from clapping.

My stomach hurts from laughing."

I just want you leaving

this show thinking,

"All right."

And we're on our way.

I moved to Hollywood recently

from Boston,

where I grew up, and--

places.

And I heard about these sort

of wild Hollywood party nights

that people would have, and

I didn't think they were true

until I moved to Hollywood

and I started having them.

Anyway, this is a song

about a crazy night

that happened

a couple weeks ago.

It's called

What Did I Do Last Night?

[dance music]

Yeah.

Yeah.

Hey, hey, hey.

What did I do last night?

I cried myself to sleep

[laughter]

[cheers and applause]

It was a good one.

When did my mother

first describe gay sex to me?

Good question.

I was eight years old.

I was eight years old.

She brought me

into the dining room.

She sat right across

the table from me.

She said, "Do you know how your

father and I love each other?"

I said, "Of course.

You and Dad love each other

"more than two people

in the world

could possibly love

each other."

She said, "Well, two men

can love each other

in the exact same way that your

father and I love each other."

She said, "What happens when two

men love each other like that,

"what they do is they take off

all their clothes,

"they get into bed,

and they sh*t on the Bible!"

[laughter]

So I don't talk to her anymore.

Okay.

- Hello, patient 24602.

- Hi. I'm sorry.

- How are you feeling?

- Not great.

- Has the treatment

been working?

- No, it hasn't been.

- What are your remaining

symptoms?

- I just--I internalize

my feelings.

I just--I have trouble artic--

Like, other people and

relating to them is just hard.

- So basically you're still

a little b*tch.

- Real mature of you,

disembodied voice up there.

- I was just joking, nigga.

- We are right by Oakland.

Careful with that sh*t.

- I'm not human.

I can say whatever I want.

- All right, just get to the--

What's wrong with me?

What is wrong with me, please?

- Your emotions and your logic

are at war.

- Okay.

- Your creativity

and your analysis are at war.

And most simply your left

and right brain are at war.

- My left and my right?

- To fix the problem, we must

separate them from each other.

- Separ--

- Splitting your

neurological functions

in five, four, three...

- Let's just--

will you book an appointment?

You don't just start

counting down.

- One.

This may hurt a bit.

- I don't even know what it is.

- Zero.

- Just--

[dramatic music,

electronic whirring]

- Isolation complete.

This is Bo's left brain:

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