Steev Letts: Endless Bummer | Full Stand-Up Comedy Special

Oh my god. You're- 13 year old you. Yeah. And you must be 50 year old me. Very funny. I'm 39, thank you. Damn, I gotta start moisturizing. What are you doing here? I'm here to calm you down. Hey, are we over six feet? Yeah, we're six foot two. Nice. Am I married? Yes, you are. To Lindsay Wilson? No, but you two are still friends. What is my wife's name? You know what? Don't tell me. I want to be surprised. Oh, I think it will be. Do we live in a big house with a swimming pool? No, you rent an apartment, but it's very spacious. And while it might not have a swimming pool, it does have a very large bathtub. What kind of car do I drive? We use a co-op car service and public transit. And when the weather is nice, we ride an electric scooter. But you are a professional stand-up comic, right? Not exactly. Like, I do get paid to do it, but I also still have a day job. Why? You're taping a special. An HBO special is a really big deal. This is for HBO, right? Not exactly. It's for something called YouTube, which is basically HBO for the future. You'll see. So wait a minute. You mean to tell me that at almost 40 years old, I won't own a home or a vehicle, I don't marry my high school sweetheart, and I'm going to have to work two jobs? Yeah. I mean, when you put it like that, it does not sound great. But it's actually not all bad. And we are six foot two, right? Hey, where are you going? I'm going back to 1997. The future sounds like an endless bummer. You're on your own, old man. No, come on. Take me with you. He is here for you tonight. This is the main event. You guys are ready, yeah? Thank you very much, Vancouver. I want to thank you all so much for being here on this beautiful day. I love the springtime. Summertime, not so much. Because as you can see, I am very white. I am also unreasonably sweaty. Summer is not a great time for me. Also, we live in a place where the summers are so short that there's so much pressure to pack all of that activity into such a small window of time. It's just so much pressure. I hate it. The other thing I hate about summer, it's pride season. I said it. That shit is exhausting. I'm over it. And I should love pride, obviously. Pride is for my kind, in case you can't tell, I am a business. That's who owns pride now. Pride has been growing increasingly corporate for decades. That's nothing new. But you can tell that there was really a shift during the two years where there were no pride celebrations. Because after the pandemic, every corporation came back gayer than ever. Holy shit. Pride month, it is out of control. Every single corporation is gay online. June 1st, every single year now. And it's not just the regular players like Disney and Netflix. Nowadays, everybody is getting in on the action. This last year, I saw the Arby's logo turned rainbow. Arby's. So I kept scrolling, kept scrolling. I see the Mr. Clean account. He's wearing a mesh crop top with pierced nips. What? So I keep scrolling, keep scrolling. What do I find? If you look really close, the Starbucks mermaid was getting fingered by Wendy. She was out of control. It was like, too much. A lot of corporations go too hard with their pride marketing these days. And one of them that comes to mind, Burger King. Yeah. Every Pride now, Burger King releases the Pride Whopper. What is the Pride Whopper? It's a regular Whopper, but with same orientation buns. So you order a Whopper, you get two top buns or two bottom buns. That is not a joke, you guys. That is a real thing that Burger King did. And it made me roll my eyes. That is so stupid. One, because it does nothing to support equality. And two, I know no gay people had anything to do with that decision. We would never pair two tops and two bottoms together. Congratulations, Burger King. You've invented a Whopper that satisfies no one. Especially the one with two bottom buns. That is a very passive-aggressive sandwich. Burger King's not even the worst of them. There's a food delivery app in the States called Postmates. Postmates released a bottom-friendly menu. As in a selection of foods you can eat if you're planning on getting buggered later on. And I have mixed emotions about this one, okay? Because on the one hand, it's bold to be associated with bottoming. Even in this modern age, there's still a big stigma around being a guy who likes to little spoon, okay? There just is. But on the other hand, it pissed me off because it's irresponsible marketing. There's no such thing as bottom-friendly food, you guys. It all ends up in the same place. If there was a bottom-friendly menu, it would have two items on it, okay? Imodium and flat water. That's it. That's all you can have. Not even sparkling water. Why? Because bubbles create gas. Even just the idea that you could eat a meal to clean your ass is hilarious. It's objectively... It's so lazy and uniquely American, isn't it? It's like... You can't eat a meal to clean your butt just like you can't douche to freshen your breath. That's not how your body works. I think all of this aggressive gay marketing can actually be traced back to one company. Tushy. The bidet company, Tushy. They've been coming hard for my disposable income for years and I am over it, you guys. You wanna know what Tushy's slogan is? Stay ready. The implication being that you can use a bidet and you're gonna be good to go for impromptu ass play at all times? No. Irresponsible marketing. Again. The miracle of squeaky clean butt stuff takes work and it deserves respect, okay? Really. You can't just use the bidet and do anal. Washing a door is not the same thing as cleaning a room. I have very exciting news from my personal life. Three weeks ago, I quit my day job. Thank you. Thank you very much. Although I should probably clarify, I did not quit my day job to pursue stand-up comedy full-time. I quit my day job because I found an almost identical day job with slightly better pay and benefits. Come on. Living the dream. I don't work my dream job. But stand-up comedy is not my dream job either. If I'm being honest, I don't have a dream job. What a sad concept. A dream job. The only dream job is no job, in my opinion. Fuck that shit. I think it's sad enough we spend so much of our waking lives at a job and I am a terrible sleeper. If I spent any of my precious dream minutes doing work of any kind, I would be furious. Don't work my dream job. I have a childhood friend who works his dream job. He is much more successful than I am. You're like, more successful than an amateur stand-up comic? Go on. But it's true. I have a childhood friend who's extremely successful. He's a commercial sea captain. He can navigate the seas by starlight. Seriously, it's like a big deal. It's a hard job to get. He's always posting photos of his globe-trotting lifestyle and all of the awards that he wins. And it often makes me feel insecure. But recently, my childhood friend won an award that made me feel great. Because the award my friend and his vessel won was for tug of the year. Not tugboat of the year. Just tug of the year. Which is an award for elite tugboating, but that's not what it sounds like. So he won the award, but I was given a gift that day. Because I got to fantasize about what tug of the year could mean. Tug of the year is what every man thinks to himself the first time he masturbates with lotion. That's tug of the year, right? What would be the difference between a regular tug and tug of the year? Well, boy, it all comes down to squeezing the mast and tickling the poop deck. Tug of the year sounds like a trophy you get for excellence in hand jobbery, right? That's what that sounds like. And there is no hand job Grammys or Grabbies. But if there was, the Lifetime Achievement Award would be called the Steve Letts Prize. I don't mean to brag, but I've pulled some pork in my day. I once gave a road tuggy while operating a standard transmission truck, okay? I was driving, yeah. You ever toss someone off under their parka while you were stuck on a chairlift? This gal has. I once gave a silent squeezer to a closeted neighbor while his wife slept on the futon beside us, okay? Where's my statuette? I, uh, for my day job, I work in the non-profit sector. Is anyone else not the primary breadwinner at home? I love working in the non-profit sector. There are a disproportionately high number of gay men working in the non-profit sector. I'm not sure why non-profits attract so many gay dudes. I guess it is a very bottomy business model. It's also a great place to work if you're an aging gay man like me, because no matter how old you get, you always feel like a hot young sugar baby, since it's literally my job to accept vast sums of money from corporate daddies. That's all I do. It's great. I knew when I left my last job that I wanted to stay in the non-profit sector, but I wasn't sure where I should apply. And my first instinct was to go with the SPCA. Because I'm a cat dad, I'm an animal lover, that was an easy pick for me. But a friend pointed out that that would actually be a difficult place for me to work, because I love animals so much, and I would constantly be surrounded by stories of animal cruelty. And she made a really good point, and I didn't think about that. But in order to be an effective fundraiser, you really want to be steeped in your cause by day. But you want to be able to take it off at the end of the day, so you don't feel overwhelmed by it all the time. So working for an animal shelter would be way too hard for me. I need to work at a charity that I can detach from a little bit easier. Which is why I accepted a role at a children's hospice. Perfect. I'm kidding, you guys. I do not work at a children's hospice. I could never work at a children's hospice, you guys. That would be so emotionally devastating, seeing how much attention they get for nothing. None of those sickly little fuckers can write jokes, okay? You're like, oh, they're dying. So what? I die on stage all the time. I never get to spend a day with John Cena, okay? I do work at a charity that does support children, and it's actually something that I really love. And also, if I'm being honest, SPCA never got back to me. Turns out dotting every I on your resume with a tiny paw print, not a surefire way to get hired, after all. I had someone tell me they loved my sexy dad bod. While we were fucking, so that was weird. It messed me up, it really did. Because I still don't know if it was a terrible compliment or a brilliant insult. Because as a compliment, sexy dad bod, not great. Doesn't make you feel great, doesn't make you feel sexy. But as an insult, it's brilliant. Because it's disguised as a compliment, right? And all the best insults come disguised as compliments. For example, have you ever told a woman her shoes look comfortable? That's what I'm talking about. I also think it was a smart thing for this person to say, I love your sexy dad bod. Why? Because if you're going to let someone fuck you in the ass, it's not a bad idea to make them feel a little bit self-conscious so they'd remember who's in charge. When you're in bed with someone and they say, I love your sexy, you assume the next word out of their mouth is going to be a body part, right? You think they're going to say, I love your sexy eyes. I love your sexy chest. I love your sexy perineum. You know, whatever, just a body part. And then they say dad bod and your whole world comes crashing down around you. You realize they don't love one particular part of your body. They just enjoy that you have the overall air of a man who knows how to change a diaper and can fall asleep standing up. Everybody's definition of a dad bod is a little bit different. My idea of a dad bod is a body that looks strong, but not healthy. Men who look like they can curl fifties, but will be dead of a heart attack by 60. That's a dad bod. That's how the men in my family age. That's how I'm starting to look with my shirt off. My body looks like it consumes way too much sodium and not nearly enough water, but it works very hard to support this family so you keep your fucking voice down when it's sleeping. If you're not offended by the term dad bod, you probably have a hot dad. Congrats. Congratulations to you and your hot dads. That wasn't the case for me. I don't want to take anything away from my dad. Back in his day, he had kind of a chubby-faced Kurt Russell thing going on. He was handsome by suburban standards. He was handsome enough to cheat on every wife he's ever had. Some friends of my mom in the back. Also, that doesn't make sense anyways. You don't have to be handsome if you're cheating with sex workers. They don't care. My dad's body started going to hell at a young age because he's got some addiction issues and he's always eating like shit. And as he got older and his body started to revolt against him, he never changed his behavior. You know what he did instead? He started traveling with a bottle of Pepto-Bismol in his jean jacket. That was self-care for straight men in the 90s. No therapy, no meditation. You just ate your feelings, traveled with Pepto, and every once in a while, you saw a sex worker in secret. My dad took such bad care of his body that if we ever got separated from him in a department store, my sister and I would locate him by closing our eyes and listening for the sounds of his indigestion. It was like white trash whale sonar. We'd be at the Kmart like, where did dad go? Hold on. He'd be like, uh-oh, he's in the candy aisle. That's not gonna help. I don't want a body like my father's. Even back when he was in his prime, I wouldn't want a body like my dad's. My dad played hockey his whole life growing up and he still has a flat ass. Do you have any idea how rare that is? Have you ever seen a hockey player's ass? Oh my God, they are magnificent, you guys. Google one after the show. They're incredible, seriously. Facially, they're all messes, but spin them around, 10s across the board. Oh my God. Broad shoulders, slim waist, big, meaty, half-medicine ball dumper muffins. Absolutely intimidating shitters on every one of these guys. Except for my dad. My dad's butt looks like it was beaten in with a hockey stick. My dad's the only hockey player I've ever met with the ass of a Zamboni driver, poor fucker. My dad just celebrated his 70th birthday, which is wild, because he doesn't take very good care of himself. So it's a wonderful thing. I take my dad out for lunch for his birthday most years. Usually, we go to Denny's. And the reason my dad loves Denny's, he says that it's because it's close to his apartment. But I know that the real reason my dad loves to go to Denny's is because he has no top teeth. And most of the Denny's menu does not require chewing. So I don't wish I had his body, but I sure wish I had his confidence. Because my dad is a straight, white, baby boomer, okay? A straight, white, male baby boomer. So no matter how withered and crusty he looks, you can't tell him shit. He knows he's a catch. When I take my dad out to lunch at Denny's, there's always one point in the meal where he leans over with a gummy mouth full of pancakes and says, you know, son, I look pretty good for 70. Which is objectively hilarious. I'm like, sure, dad, sure you do. He's confident enough to comment on the waitress's body. Not to her face, oh my god. That would be so scary. But she takes our order. She walks away to punch it in. My dad leans over, he goes, you know, she could have a nice figure. She just made better decisions. I said, if she made better decisions? He goes, yeah, I'm just saying, she could eat an apple. And I'm like, yeah, dad, she can eat an apple. Millennials are entering our midlife crisis era. And not a lot of us are talking about it. And I think that's because we're doing it very differently from previous generations. Because for baby boomers and Generation X, the midlife crisis was a big fucking deal. Because those generations started careers and families immediately out of high school. So when midlife crept up, they had a youth to reclaim. So they went big. They went way off. Those generations, they bought motorcycles. They got facelifts. They had affairs with the nanny or the pool boy or whatever. That was if you were rich. As I mentioned, my family was white trash. So my parents had very rural Canadian midlife crises. My dad bought a used Toyota Celica and started smoking crack. And not to be outdone, my mother started homebrewing Pinot Grigio and dating a string of toxic dudes named Gord. As an adult, I have dabbled with both crack cocaine and men named Gord. I don't recommend either, you guys. Just say no. My generation is having a reverse midlife crisis. And that's because we didn't start careers and families immediately after high school, right? We took our time. We waited tables. We did molly. We ate ass. It was great. And then one day we wake up in our late 30s, early 40s, realize we have no life savings and our skin looks like plywood and we get our shit together. That's our midlife crisis. It's been the healthiest period of my life, bar none, for sure. I'm using facial serum. I'm taking multivitamins. I've been cherry picking the convenient parts from my ethnic friends' religions. So much fun. Love it. It got me sober and it turned me into a bit of a gym rat, which is not something I talk about often, but I really need the gym in my life because I am an addict who gave up drugs and alcohol. And when you're an addict and you give up drugs and alcohol, you find yourself with a shit ton of energy and no hobbies. Because I only had one hobby and that was getting fucked up. So when I stopped doing that, I had to develop coping strategies and find new things to do so I didn't relapse, right? Because you have all of this energy and all of these raw emotions. The problem with me is I don't really care for sports or video games. I don't have the patience to learn an instrument or a fucking new language. So what does that leave me with? The gym. It's all I've got for my emotions and my energy. I got to break a sweat a day to keep the gloomy thoughts away. That's been my midlife crisis. Which is, I know, kind of lame, but there are worse types of midlife crisis than this, for sure. We all see people going through it online, I'm sure, right? People who are covering themselves in janky-ass tattoos, going crazy with facial filler, right? Some of them are being born again. No judgment, whatever gets you through these dark times, I guess. I'm not a church guy because I am a gym guy. So I don't need church because they're the same thing. The gym is just like church because it's technically a venue, but it's actually a lifestyle, right? The gym is just like church in that it doesn't matter how good it makes you feel about yourself. If you talk about it too much, you're going to lose friends. And the gym is just like church in that it's really not a safe place to leave a child unattended. I'm at an age now where a lot of my friends have adult children, which feels very strange. A lot of my friends have kids very young and they're all grown up now. I have one friend who has an 18-year-old son and he came out as gay a few years ago. It was a non-event, just like it should be. Recently she noticed that he has Grindr on his phone. And so she asked me if I could have a pep talk with him about how to safely use hookup apps. And I, of course, I said, apps are fucking lutely not, you idiot. What's wrong with you? No way. Like, could you imagine asking your guy friend to help your daughter get laid on Tinder? Give me a, you would never. That's crazy. What a recipe for disaster. And I'm not worried about me doing anything offside, but that kid is gonna fall in love with me for sure. I'm not saying I'm a 10 or anything, but I've got beefy arms and kind eyes and he's an effeminate loner who was raised without a father. He doesn't stand a chance. Also, I don't think anyone should get a cheat code for how to safely use hookup apps. We all had to figure it out. Sink or swim, motherfucker. If I think back on my first time using Grindr, it was a masterclass in how to get yourself murdered. I was not smart at all. I used this app. It was like 2 a.m., 3 a.m. on Saturday night, so technically Sunday morning. Not exactly the witching hour for good dick, my friends. The pickings get pretty slim after midnight on the day that was put aside for the Lord. Just go to bed. But I didn't. I invited this person over to my apartment and I hadn't even seen any photos of his face. Yeah, I'd seen some photos, but none of his face. And I didn't realize this until I had already buzzed him into my building. So when he knocked on my apartment door, I made him show me his ass through the peephole because safety first. So I opened the door and I was relieved because I hadn't seen his face yet, but he was cute. He was a good-looking guy and he didn't seem sketchy at all. And then he opened his mouth and he started talking and he had this incredibly deep voice, an icy, calm demeanor and Russian accent. Shook me up, right? I don't remember his name. I was so taken by his accent. We'll call him Vladimir for obvious reasons. And I will never forget the second thing out of Vladimir's mouth, which is when he looked me up and down and said, we take shower now. I had already showered. You know, I knew he was coming over, but he was very persuasive and it was not technically a question. I was like, yes, we take shower now. Climbing into the shower, like, well, at least if he slits my throat in here, it won't make a big mess. But he didn't try to kill me, thankfully. He did wash us both very thoroughly. Washed and rinsed us both very thoroughly, which was very strange. There was more intimacy than I was in for. I thought we were just going to fuck. And I would say showering with someone is way more intimate than fucking someone. And I say that because since that night, I've pounded it out with countless strangers, yet I can still count on one hand the number of lovers with whom I have bathed. So that part ends, we move into the bedroom and it becomes apparent quickly that the reason he washed us both so thoroughly was so that I would know that he was spotless and therefore I couldn't flinch when after two minutes of kissing, he very aggressively started moving his ass towards my face. And here's the thing, it's 2024 now. Ass eating's been on the menu for a minute. It's almost passe at this point, really. But this was 2008, okay? It was still a taboo. No one was licking booty before the Vancouver Olympics, okay? It's not a thing. But he moved so fast. And we learn a lot about ourselves in those moments of panic. In that moment, I learned that I am less afraid of pinkeye than I am of being known as a bad host. The thing that drives me crazy about the ass eating discourse these days is that it's run by straight men. The same jerks who used to make fun of gay guys for eating ass now brag about it to look tough. What has the world come to? What is going on? Every time I hear a straight guy brag about eating ass, I say, so what? You're eating girl ass. That's not that brave. You show me any straight couple in here, I'm willing to bet her ass crack is cleaner than his toothbrush, okay? I'm coming up on a big milestone. I am almost at five years off of drugs and alcohol. Thank you. I'm off hard drugs and alcohol. Cannabis is still in the building for now. We'll figure that out later. But I did get off booze and hard stuff about five years ago. And like, I was ready. I needed to. I worried about what it was going to mean for me as a performer when I got sober because I've always been a gay comic who talks mostly about sexuality. And I'm like, now if I become a sober comic who's always talking about recovery, where does that leave my audience? And then I thought about it. It doesn't matter. Either way, I'm just yelling about being a bummer. The hardest part about getting sober was telling my party friends that I was giving up that life. Because even though you're doing the right thing, it feels like you're delivering bad news. It's the weirdest thing. It feels like you're telling your friends that you've contracted a disease that's going to make you outlive them all, probably. My favorite part about getting sober, by far, is that I've always got a conversation killer locked and loaded, ready to go. In my pocket. I recommend this to anyone. If you're ever in a conversation that you want to get out of, but you don't want to be rude, just tell them you're sober and watch it do all the work for you. Yeah. You would not believe how good people get at finding reasons to leave until you start talking about your clean new lifestyle. This must be what it's like to be vegan or born again. People just scatter. It's not just my friends who don't want to talk about my sobriety. If I bring it up with my mother when I'm on the phone, she doesn't just change the subject. She ends the call. So we both win. It's perfect. Nobody wants to hear about your day-to-day life as a sober person. People are much more curious about what happened to you the day before you got sober. Because everybody wants to hear the big rock-bottom story, right? And I hate to disappoint you guys. I don't have one big rock-bottom story. I had hundreds, if not thousands, of tiny rock-bottoms over the years. Times where I lost a job, or I burned a bridge, or I woke up naked in a suburban basement suite next to a much older man who wasn't even rich. A lot of things change when you get sober. You know, you drift apart from some friendships, which you feel sad about at first, but then you realize you don't have that much in common, so you don't have to stress about it. Your relationship with food becomes a lot more intense when you get sober, which is something you have to be really careful about, because it's just like they say, sometimes when God closes a Coke problem, he opens an eating disorder. It's not all bad, though. It's not all bad. Some good stuff does happen when you get sober. For example, I've seen a 100% decrease in mystery bruises. I never have to apologize for things I don't remember saying, which is great. And I don't mean to brag, you guys, but I can't even remember the last time I had diarrhea. I actually get constipated now. What a trip. What a weird thing to have to worry about. Because for so many years, when I was drinking draft beer and doing blow every day, most of the time I poop without meaning to. Now I have to make sure I go at all, because bad stuff can happen if you don't, right? You could get hemorrhoids, or even worse, a fissure. Oh, we're gonna talk about it. Yeah. For those of you who don't know what an anal fissure is, I will break it down as gently as possible. An anal fissure generally occurs after a brief period of constipation when your bowel writes a check that your butthole cannot cash. So you break the bank. And it's embarrassing and it's painful. I can laugh about it now because this happened a while ago. The funniest part of my anal fissure journey was the internalized homophobia and slut-shaming that sprung up in the moment. Because at the time, I wasn't worried that I might, like, need stitches or surgery or have an infection or whatever. I was just stressed out that my doctor wasn't gonna believe me that this was an exit wound. Because, like, nobody likes to go to the doctor for ass trauma. Okay, nobody does. But when you're a gay man who's especially open, it's especially terrifying, you know? Even though I knew this was a non-sexual injury, I hesitated to call my doctor because he knows what I did with that rugby team in Red Deer. I've been trying a bunch of different forms of self-care since getting sober. This is something that you have to do to develop coping mechanisms so you don't relapse. And I've tried everything. I've tried daily affirmations, gratitude journaling, meditation. And you know what, you guys? It's all bullshit. Don't do any of it. It's garbage. Don't bother. It's all nonsense. There's only one therapy that has helped me at all, and you know what it is? Botox. Botox is magic, you guys. Get some tonight if you can. It is so good. Botox won't necessarily make you feel better on the inside, but neither will therapy. And at least with Botox, you're going to look better on the outside. Better to look surprised than sad, right? A lot of people are embarrassed to admit they get Botox because it's a vanity procedure. I don't give a fuck. Also, it's legitimate medicine too. Did you know that? Botox is used to treat a series of maladies for things like hyperhidrosis or lockjaw or chronic migraines. It's also used for not yet medically recognized conditions like the one I suffer from, party face. Party face generally occurs in people who have been awake for a few too many sunrises. Staying up late, making that face that white guys make when they've done cocaine. You know the face. The top half is Jack Nicholson. The bottom half, Robert De Niro. You do that every night for 18 years. It really puts the pedal to the metal, aging-wise. The good news is it's reversible. Party face is reversible. I think the most famous case of party face recently is probably Lady Lindsay of House Lohan. And I don't wish to disrespect the woman. I only bring her up because she's turned it around. She looks great. She's got that Hallmark Channel money. I'm here for the Lohan-a-sants, baby. All for it. But there was a time during the early aughts when things looked pretty dicey for Lindsay Lohan and myself. And that's because we have a lot in common. Me and Lindsay Lohan have a lot in common. We both have batshit crazy parents. We both had access to substances at a very young age. And of course, we're both on the ginger spectrum. Gingers tend to suffer party face at disproportionately high percentages. We can't help it. Even those of us who take good care of ourselves tend to age like avocados. We can go from underripe to rotten over a long weekend. It's crazy. We cannot do hard drugs and we cannot lay in the sun. That's the curse of being a ginger. Because the paler you are, the faster you age, right? They say black don't crack, well, porcelain shatters. They say the blacker the berry, the sweeter the juice, while the redder the tomato, the looser the skin. Non-traditional relationships are having a big moment right now online. A lot of people are talking about non-monogamy and polyamory and ethical non-monogamy, which is when you only fuck locally sourced fair trade side pieces. I think that's what that means these are all very big words. My husband and I do this old school thing called being gay. Which is not to say we're open. I'm not saying all gay people are non-monogamous. That is a stereotype, okay? There are plenty of us who are more traditional and prefer to have one partner who cheats on them. I think like, I've been in open relationships. I've been in monogamous relationships. I know people who have been in relationships that started open and then closed up. Why would a relationship open and then close again? For a lot of reasons. Maybe you moved somewhere that didn't have a lot of viable lovers. Maybe you caught two STIs in one fistful quarter and thought this game is too dangerous. Or maybe there was a pandemic, right? That happened. The pandemic forced a lot of open relationships to go monogamous, which might sound rough, but I hear it wasn't actually that bad. It's like revisiting a video game you've already beaten. It's nowhere near as exciting as the first time you played it, but it's nice to know you remember all the shortcuts and you can still get to the final boss in one try. No matter how many hands grip that joystick, you know you will always hold the high score you put in the hours. Open relationships are not for everyone. I understand why they work. I get the appeal of open relationships because I'm a softy. I'm a loyal person, so I benefit from the security that I get from a marriage, but I'm also a hot-blooded man, God damn it. Just because I said a few vows one time doesn't mean that I don't still get a thrill out of getting sexually rejected by strangers online. I think the hardest part of being in an open relationship is getting too attached to your side pieces. This can happen very easily if you think about it. Having a friend with benefits is like fostering a puppy that makes you cum. It's the best. It's just all treats and cuddles and slobber. It's wonderful. But it can't last because eventually they're going to find their forever home. And you feel a mix of emotions when it happens, right? You're happy that the stray got adopted, but you're sad you don't get to walk them anymore. And you're a little bit angry because you know you'll never get any credit for all those adorable tricks you taught him. My favorite part about being in an open relationship is that it keeps you on your toes sexually. Not with your spouse, obviously. But when you're with someone new, you try harder, right? It's not that you don't care to please your spouse. It's just that when you've been with them long enough, you don't really have to try anymore, right? You know their path of least resistance, how to get them off the quickest. And so that's what you do every time, and that is totally normal, okay? I hate the idea that we're always supposed to introduce like new positions and toys and stuff. What the fuck for? We know what we like, and we've both got shows to watch. But when a relationship is new, you put a lot more effort in because you're still trying to build a reputation with that person, right? I think the best example of this is how you perform oral sex. Because when a relationship is new, every blowjob's gotta be a masterpiece, right? You think about it beforehand. You avoid beef jerky and bubblegum the day of. Keep the jaw fresh. You do neck stretches. You bring your own water. Then you get that thing out of his pants. You hunch over it like you're about to build a sculpture on a pottery wheel. You're so focused. Like you can feel the ghost of Patrick Swayze behind you. Guiding process. You take your precious time because you are making magic with your mouth. That kind of care doesn't last forever though. My husband and I have been together going on 12 years. If you walked in on me blowing him these days, you might think I was performing CPR on his crotch. Because I am, okay? No one's trying to impress anyone. We're just trying to keep this thing alive. I appreciate you being here tonight. I've got a very big milestone. Birthday coming up next week. I'm turning 40. Thank you so much. I'm not freaking out about getting older generally because I did something smart. I married older than me. My husband is eight years older than I am. So at home, I'm always baby. Every once in a while, if I see some trend on TikTok that makes me feel old, I'll just roll over and I'll stare deep into his under eyes. Or I'll say, babe, can you put on some music and watch him melt down trying to use Bluetooth? I'm not freaking out about turning 40. 39 has been a weird age though. 39 feels weird socially because I'm no longer young enough that I can co-spy on Charm, but I'm not yet old enough that I can get away with saying what I actually think. So I'm supposed to be competent and polite all the time. It's like I'm not even white. I hate it here. 39 is also a strange age physically because my body has no idea if it's young or old at this point. Like I'm young enough that I still get emotional acne, but I'm old enough that when the seasons change, my bones hurt. This age has been good for one thing and that's hard-ons. Yeah. This is a good age for boners, you guys. Hear me out because I'm young enough that I can still get them without medication, but I'm old enough that I never get them by accident. That's the sweet spot. That's where you want to be. If I ever need one, all I have to do is think some sexy thoughts, but I can also go and get a massage. And when he asked me to flip over at the halfway point, I don't freak out. I know I'm fine. That doesn't make me feel old. That's erectile maturity right there. That's what that is. One thing I'm going to try to avoid on my birthday is comparing myself to my parents. This is something that a lot of us do as we get older. We think about where our parents were at our age and we compare ourselves to them and we have to stop doing that, especially if you're from my generation because I am a millennial and my parents are baby boomers. So our lives have been very different. Our access to money has been very different and so naturally our milestones are going to be very different, right? Like at 39 years old, I have never even bought a condo. By this age, my father had already built and demolished two separate families. They don't make them like they used to. 39 years old, my old man had already abandoned three kids. I've never even had sex with a woman. I have very exciting news from my family. My sister gave birth to a healthy baby boy six months ago. Thank you very much. So, so, so exciting for our family because my sister is 41 years old and this is her first keeper. So yeah, very exciting. So exciting. Our whole family is so excited for this child. Nobody is more excited than our mom because my mom is 68 years old and this is her first grandchild. It's amazing to me the different tune that a mother sings about unwed pregnancy when her daughter is 20 versus when her daughter is 40. Because 20 years ago, when my sister was 20 and I was one of those bright-eyed young homosexuals who seemed like they would start a family to impress their parents, my mom thought she had lots of time for grandkids. So she would harass my sister all the time. She would say, Ashley, you better not come home pregnant. Don't you get knocked up, Ashley. Babies are expensive and I am not fucking paying for yours. And look, she had some reason to worry. I mean, most Ashleys are slutty. That's the white ones anyways, right? It's white girl name science. If you run into a trio of wild white women, you know that the Samantha's a bitch, the Jessica's crazy and the Ashley puts out. That's just how we do. So the years keep going by. No grandbabies. You could tell that my mom started to get nervous when my sister turned 30 because she would get tipsy at family gatherings and she would let something slip. She'd be like, you know, Ashley, if you got pregnant, we'd figure it out. Love finds a way, honey. But the years kept rolling. No grandkids. No grandkids, right? And as I said, I did get married, but my husband and I decided not to have children. And that was actually a very difficult decision for us to come to because I'm just like anybody else, okay? I've always dreamt of giving my mother a grandchild and then keeping it from her. But the years kept going. No grandkids. And when my sister turned 39, our mom went into a full-blown panic. She got wasted at Thanksgiving dinner. And I'm not paraphrasing her. I'm quoting verbatim. She goes, all right, Ashley, enough is enough. I don't want to die with no fucking grandkids. Just get pregnant. I'll take care of it. She said all those words in that order, you guys. So if there are any young people in the audience tonight, that is how you negotiate free childcare in this economy. Just wait. Keep on waiting. When you're down to two eggs, your mom will cave. I promise you. This pregnancy made a fucking gangster out of our mom. And the reason my mom got gangster about this pregnancy is because it was a secret. Yeah, my sister did not tell the father of the baby that she was pregnant for several months after she found out she had conceived. Not for any scandalous reasons. He's not rich or married or a basketball player or anything like that. It was just complicated. He's involved now and everything's great. But for several months, he couldn't know. And I don't know about your mother, but ours is an Olympic-level gossip. She can't keep shit to herself. So my sister told her she was pregnant. I said, you know, there's no way mom keeps this to herself. And sure enough, two days later, mom admitted she told the aunties. Uh-oh, right? The aunties know. Game over. Everyone knows, right? That's what I thought too, but I was wrong. They closed ranks. They shut that shit down. It was crazy. I underestimated my aunties. Because all of them are mothers and they're all gossips in their own right. But my aunties are also Catholic. And nothing unites Catholics like a baby of scandalous paternity. So they didn't say shit. They didn't even tell their husbands. My uncle had no idea. When my sister decided to tell the broader family, it was over Easter dinner. And she's showing at this point. She's like, guys, I know you can tell I'm pregnant. Please don't post about it on social media. I'm not ready for the father to know yet. And without thinking, I said, well, what would you do if he did find out? And without flinching, our mom goes, how would he find out, Stephen? I don't see any rats in here. She was slicing into the ham while she said it, you guys. It was some godfather shit. It was terrifying. You know what I did? I shut up and finished my food. We all did. One thing I will not be doing now that my sister has given birth to this child. I will not be referring to myself as a gunkle. Many of you have heard this abomination before. For those of you who haven't, gunkle is a portmanteau of the words gay and uncle. Gay uncle is a gunkle. And I will never call myself one for two reasons. One, it is a sonically hideous word. Gunkle. It sounds like a wet willy feels. I hate it. It's awful. Gunkle sounds like the least popular lamp at Ikea. Everyone's like, not the gunkle. I mean, it's pretty, but it takes up way too much space. Gunkle sounds like an uncle who's obsessed with guns. And that is not this guy. I only ever play with skin pistols. Thank you very much. Not even safely. Several have gone off in my face. The second and more important reason that I will never refer to myself as a gunkle is this. My sexuality is in no way relevant to my relationship with my siblings' children. And it never will be. And I don't understand why gay men insist on doing that. Being gay does not prepare me for my duties as an uncle. It is in no way relevant. And it's only gay men who do that. You ever heard of a lesbian-ty? Because that is not a thing. And maybe it should be. Lesbian-ty. It's a pretty kick-ass word, right? It rolls right off the tongue and onto the fingers. I don't want anyone to think of me sexuality first, least of all my family. I hate the idea of my grandmother thinking of me as her gay grandson. You know? That's not who I am. I'm her grandson with chronic diarrhea. Always have been. I hate the idea of my grandmother hanging laundry in her backyard and someone pops their head over the fence like, Hey, how's your grandson doing? And she's like, Oh, which one? The teacher? The carpenter? The cocksucker? I wouldn't care if my aunts and uncles thought of me as their gay nephew because if you put a G in front of nephew it would still be pronounced nephew. It wouldn't matter. Be silent like gnarly or gnome. I don't want my siblings' children to think of me as gay Uncle Steve. I want them to think of me as funny, fun-loving Uncle Steve who buggers men. You know? I've actually had a neat choice in how they see me. I just want them to see me as one of the aunts. Aunt Steve. That's how I would like to be thought of. Because here's the thing, there's nothing wrong with being an uncle. I have five uncles and four of them are super solid dudes. Okay? But culturally speaking, no one has more capital than aunties. They are the most respected member of every family. They know all of the recipes. They know everybody's dirty secrets. Before Facebook, they made sure we remembered each other's birthdays. You know? Even the meat, like you might have a drunk aunt or a bitchy aunt, but you know what? She's still respected for the spicy flavor she brings to family gatherings. We love her. Your stereotype's about uncles though, right? You got your cheapskate uncle, your racist uncle, your pervy uncle. It's never an aunt who holds a hug too long and smells your hair, right? No one ever has a story about their aunt saying something creepy about their body during puberty that made them hate themselves forever, right? That's an uncle thing, exclusively. You think about their behavior at social gatherings. What are uncles doing? They're bloviating about gas prices and fucking watching sports. They're not helping anybody. What are aunties doing? They're preparing delicious food and teaching you foreign curse words and in some cases, helping you conceal a pregnancy. That's what they're doing. I got to go live with my sister and my baby nephew for three weeks when he was three months old, which was really exciting for me. I really wanted to like bond and imprint on this baby because I'm not having kids of myself, so I might need this little fucker to help me die with dignity one day. That's what it comes down to, really. And my sister's like, look, if you want to be a hands-on uncle, that's great, but you're going to have to change diapers. I was like, whatever. I'm not afraid of changing diapers. No big deal. So she gives me a tutorial. She's like, the first thing, you got to use the diaper to wipe her. It's a cute little rhyme. Make sure you cover his junk during so he can't take a sneaky piss on you mid-change, right? And she said, whatever you do, always make sure you wipe his entire swimsuit area because you don't want to leave him with poop on his penis. And I thought, okay, maybe there is one way that being gay has prepared me for my duties as uncle. You guys have been amazing. Thank you. Good night.