Jeff Dunham: Spark of Insanity

Walter:
All those kids and their hipping and their hopping.

Pull up your damn pants, you morons!

Jeff:
Second Comedy Central special, it's gonna be great!

No, Mommy. I don't want to wear the pink bow.

Peanut:
He even does this in his sleep. What a freak!

"Would you idiots give it a rest?"

Jose:
Would you like to see my stick?

JEFF DUNHAM:

SPARK OF INSANITY

Jeff:
Thank you! Thank you. Are you doing alright? Thank you. Thank you so much. Alright. Thank you. Thank you so much. Well you can't fool me. I know every bit of that it's all for the little guys in the suitcase. Thank you so much for coming out tonight. This is such a pleasure. Before we start, I must say it is a true honor to be in this theater with you people, in the capital of the greatest country in the world the United States of America.

And driving around the city the last couple of days I couldn't help but realize that here in D.C., just like everywhere else in the country gas prices suck! My wife and I live in L.A., and not long ago we were the proud owners of 2 big giant SUVs. We decided to do the economically and ecologically right thing. We got rid of one of the big, giant SUVs and got a Prius. I don't know why you're laughing, it's a great vehicle. You jump on the freeway and punch it, it goes: When you can drive

underneath an 18- wheeler and go: "That's really dirty",

and drive back out... That is just too damned small.

It's cool at the gas pump. On one tank you've driven 2 or 3000 miles. You fill up and go: "Oh, all done! I'll be damned." "10 cents? That's amazing!" I'm not used to a vehicle like this. I've had big trucks and SUVs. The one vehicle I refuse to get rid of, I've had it for 10 years.

I love this thing. I've taken good care of it. It's not politically correct to drive it. I don't care. H-1 Hummer. The real one, the big one, the military version.

I love this thing. It has a 38- gallon tank.

Gets 7 miles to the gallon.

Diesel, where I live, at its peak was $3.84 per gallon.

Yeah. I went to fill it up that week, it wasn't even empty.

It cost me a hundred forty-eight dollars. I pushed the vehicle home. As I rolled it into the driveway, I told my kids: "Girls, look at our new front yard ornament."

"Get in the Prius."

"You suck, Dad!"

I used to pick Priuses out of the grill of my Hummer.

During the holidays last year, we took the Hummer in for maintenance. Then we were driving home and my wife is behind me in the Hummer. I'm in front driving the Prius.

I was tricked somehow. I don't know how that happened.

She calls me on the cellphone, and she's laughing. Let me explain why. Our Prius is not a black Prius. It's not a red Prius, it's a blue Prius. But not really blue. It's more of a... blue... Prius. It's pretty. Sparkly! I did that a little too well, didn't I? While I'm driving, I'm holding in my

arm, my wife's 3- pound Chihuahua. You have to hold it while you drive or it'll fall down between the seats.

"Where the hell is this dog? Oh, there you are!"

"Let me put down the parking brake, that'll hold you, you bastard." "I've got to shift... Oh!" "That was your head? I'm sorry. I thought it was the shifty thingy."

"Same size. Leather, fur, I don't know the difference."

"I thought I was grinding the gears." Thanks for laughing at that. That's the stupidest joke I tell all night. That morning, I don't know why I didn't see it, my children had taken vinyl window holiday decorations, and put them all over the back window of the Prius. Christmas trees, Santa Claus. Snowflakes. It was so pretty. My wife calls me, laughing hysterically. "What's so funny?"

"Can you see yourself?" "You're driving a powder blue Prius, holding a 3- pound Chihuahua." "There's pretty Christmas decorations all over your car."

"And you make a living with dolls. You're gay!" - Click.

And I'm like, "B*tch!" - click.

And a Chihuahua. That's my wife's idea of a family pet.

The dog I picked out is Bill, our Golden Retriever. He's 80 pounds. Now that is a dog, ladies and gentlemen.

I named him Bill because I got him when Clinton was in office, and as a puppy, he was humping everything.

When it comes to dogs. I have criteria for what is and is not a dog. Here is what is not a dog: anything that bounces when it barks. Not a dog: anything I can easily

drop kick over my back fence. Not a dog: anything that is regularly terrified by a running leaf. That's not a dog, that's a yapping Beanie Baby, that's what that is. It's the Richard Simmons of canines, that's all I'm saying.

"Honey, what was that?" "I don't know!", Bill's sitting next to me: "I don't know either!" "You're a genius, do it again!"

Size does matter in the canine brain. Bill, Golden Retriever, very smart animal. If he pooped on the living room carpet, I stuck his nose in it. Three times later, he figured out: "I'm not supposed to crap here." Next two dogs, same thing. Now the brain dead Chihuahua comes along. She poops on the carpet, I stick her nose in it, three times later she thinks, "I'm not supposed to crap, ever." And that's why they shake. Another way Chihuahuas prove their lack of intelligence: Most dogs know when you find a stick in the yard and you run with it, you put the stick in your mouth sideways. I am not kidding. This little idiot dog found a stick as long as she was, and she stuck it in her mouth straight out the front.

This is all true. We're on the couch watching TV. She runs through the house, as fast as she can, stick straight out.

As she runs across the carpet she decides to quickly look down. Oh yeah. Stick in the carpet, crammed down her throat. With momentum, she actually pole vaulted over the stick.

Of course my wife and my girls are all... I couldn't breathe, I was laughing so hard. I thought, "Damn, if she'd been going a little faster, I'd have a new puppet.

A Chihuahua on a stick!" My wife started going nuts

with the Chihuahua thing. She named her Chihuahua Darby. After a year and a half my wife decided it was time to breed the dog. My wife got on the internet and

found the 3- pound... stud... Chihuahua. I don't know how you call anything that's 3 pounds 'a stud'.

We picked up little Jake. The owner wanted to get rid of him. So Jake came to live at our house. He was full grown, ready to go. Then Darby came in heat. Not long after that we had three tiny little Chihuahua puppies.

The two larger ones my wife gave away. The runt of the litter... The runt from two 3- pound dogs we decided to keep. Rusty is now full- grown, at a whopping 1.8 pounds. The cool part is he and 80- pound Bill are best friends. I don't know how you can be best friends, with someone who is the same size as your poop.

My kids question whether I'm funny or not. I pointed that out in the backyard to them. I'm a comedy genius now! The cool part is little Rusty picked me over everyone else to bond with. He likes me best,

we don't know why. I kinda like it. I come home, he runs

to the front door, I pick him up, take him to my office. I have a stuffed car, he sits in that car. If he sits just right, it looks like he's driving around my desk. People walk in my office, "It's a rat! Oh, it's your dog." The bond between Rusty and me has gone beyond just companionship. There's an emotional bond. This has happened 5 times. It can't be coincidence. The three Chihuahuas sleep in the bed with my wife and me.

My wife and I will get into an argument, go to bed angry.

You're not supposed to do that, but we're tired.

Rusty hears the argument, knows we're not happy with each other. But he takes my side. At 3 or 4 in the morning, he will wake up, and pee on my wife.

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