- She could be actively sucking
my dick at the bar while we're getting married
at the same time, and dudes would still be going, "What are you doing later?" <i> [dark electronic music]</i> <i> ♪ </i> [man roars] [man roars] [both snarling] <i> [dark electronic music]</i> <i> ♪ </i> [man grunting] [gunshots] <i> [dark electronic music]</i> [zombie growls] [gun cocks] [zombie growls] [gunshot] <i> ♪ </i> - Ladies and gentlemen,
so excited to bring him up. Finally doing my show. From the--the host of
"The Doug Stanhope Podcast," Mr. Doug Stanhope! <i> ♪ </i> - This story is about
relationships, and I'm pretending to read it out of my book
that just came out, called "Digging Up Mother: A Love Story." Foreword by Johnny Depp. There's a chick--
uh, a lady I used to date
in the late '90s. She was out of my league. She was a, uh, former child star. One of "People" magazine's 50 most beautiful
people in the world, but not one of mine. But she was, uh--yeah,
she was out of my league. Bu--we had nothing in common. I don't know if you remember
the old Coach & Horses. It's now called the Pikey. It was this shitty dive bar
down on Sunset, and that's where I hung out. I just lived there. Slumped over with
my seahorse posture at the bar and this fucking A-lister chick, she was hanging out
with the Kennedys and going to dinner
with Rod Stewart, and I'm not invited. I'm down fucking off
at the Coach & Horses with the schlubs and-- The relationship ended where she had--
she took some crazy flight-- "I'm going to the Cannes
Film Festival." Really? Can I come? "No." And I know that she has
this big shot, global A-list ex-boyfriend over there that... what, I can't come, but you're-- you're gonna be with that guy? And--and she came back, And the long version
is in the book. Doug Stanhope,
"Digging Up Mother," available now on Amazon. She comes back and she-- I said, "So were you with that guy?" And she goes, "Yeah, I saw him." And I said,
"Did you fuck him?" I just cornered her.
Just said it. "Did you fuck him?" And she said, "No." But then she continued on with, "But I gave him a blow job
in his car." You could have just stopped
after "No." Like, technically,
you wouldn't be lying. You wouldn't be
perjuring yourself. You didn't have to give me
the blow job in the car. I can't tell you who the guy is, but I'll tell you
what he does for a living. He's the prince of [bleep]. So I'll just leave it vague. That's not in the book, because the lawyers
wouldn't allow it. Now you know
the rest of the story. So I go out on--the--
you-- you get dumped like that, and you want to get
revenge pussy. Like, I'm gonna go
drop my dick into any vacant hole in town. Fuck. But all my sewer grade options
were-- They don't tally up with the
fucking prince of [bleep]. Gonna fuck a Denny's waitress-- No, you-- So I--there used to-- I don't know
if it still exists. There was a--
a club called The Union down on Sunset,
and they did comedy. So I went down,
I had a show scheduled, I show up for an 8:00 show,
but they're late. They haven't unlocked the doors. So there's a group of people-- I can put this book down now,
right, probably? The book, "Digging"-- You get it.
You get it. So I'm outside of this club, waiting to go inside,
and--and they're closed. But there's a group of
people gathered, and, uh, there's a girl alone that was probably, to this day, the most beautiful woman I've ever seen in my life. "People" magazine wasn't there,
you know. And she asked me
for a cigarette, which triples the attraction. Like, a girl that hot that's not trying? Like, fuck yeah! She's not a Hollywood chick-- this is an actual hot chick, and she bums a cigarette, and I start some small talk. I'm not good at it,
but I--I-- Uh, what comic
are you here to see? Hoping she doesn't say
the wrong name, 'cause the last thing
that you want to hear is a fuckin' hot girl say she's
here to see a shitty comic. That would just
break your heart. So we have a repertoire.
We're talking. And we carry this inside
the bar when they open it, and we sit down, and she's
drinking whiskey straight, and matching me or better. For every beer I drink, she's a whiskey or two
ahead of me. And I'm--
this it the fucking-- this is...perfect! And I didn't tell her
that I was a comedian or that I was doing the show. We're just sitting there
getting hammered, and drinking,
and I just waited till they announced my name, and then just, "Hey,
I'll be back in ten minutes. Just hold my seat." And I go up,
and I fucking destroyed. I just went, hey, hang on. I go--and then I go up,
I destroyed. It was like the scene
from "Anchorman" where he plays the jazz flute. And I just, "Oh, yeah, I'll..." And I fucking crushed. It was the best kill move. Came offstage, sat back down
at the bar beside her like nothing happened. So anyway, where were we? I'm not fucking smooth,
but I was-- If I can't close this deal, I don't deserve the paper. So we're shit-faced, I bring her down
to the Coach & Horses, which she loves,
unlike the girl that dumped me. Yeah, she's fuckin' all about
dive bars, and I introduce her
to all my friends there, and-- quickly, 'cause I don't want
them to steal her. And we spend the night together, and, uh, at my apartment. I wake up to a--
a noncommittal, but nice note
with a phone number. And, um... Rebound pussy... Sometimes you cling to that with ten times the zeal of the relationship you're recovering from just for fear of an empty bed. I need you back. And it turns out she just-- she was living three blocks
behind the Coach & Horses and she became a regular at my bar. With everybody hitting on her. And I have no claim to that. Like, I fucked her once,
so she's like, "Yeah, "fucked you, nice to-- Here's a note.
Fucked you. That was fun." So I--I don't have a claim,
but-- she's not my girlfriend,
but that's my rebound pussy, and everyone at the bar
is now hitting on her now that she's a regular, and even if I did
have claim to her, no one would have--
she could be actively sucking my dick
at the bar while we're getting married
at the same time, and dudes would still be going, "What are you doing later?" I got-- And there was one night
where I-- I didn't want to be aggressive
with her. Like, I'm hands-off,
but there was one night-- There was a group of regulars
back then at the bar that I knew. There's three levels
of regulars. There's the guy that you hug
when you come in, there's the one
that you high-five, and then there's
the one you nod at. This one guy,
Lorca was his name. Lorca, he was a nodder. He was a third level regular. And he was this brooding,
dour drunk. He was a runty little fuck, and--and when he'd get drunk,
he'd just-- he was always--
he looked like he was always at the edge of a fistfight,
and he just... But he was always sitting with-- Renee was the girl,
the beautiful girl, and he--I--I noticed
he's sitting with her a lot, and I thought--is-- is she fucking him? But I can't ask. She's just a girl I fucked, but she's everything I need. I need you now. I can't be alone
with the fucking carnival in my head
in my bed. There was a night where we ended up playing
cat and mouse, where... they were sitting together, and he'd get up
to get a drink, and I'd sneak in, and try
to get her over to my table, or she'd get up to take a piss and I'd strategically locate
myself by that end of the bar so when she came out
of the bathroom, "Hey, I bought you a drink.
Come over this way. Fuck that guy.
Come this way." And it was a--
it was a long night of drinking,
where I noticed Lorca was leering at me. And I've--I've seen him do this every night
that I sit at this bar, but tonight I think, is-- is he trying to mad dog me? I-is he--
or is he just fucked up? But he's just staring at me. He'd come up to my table
and lean on it. I was like, maybe
he's just fucked up. And at that point, uh, my, uh, friends Matt Becker
and big fat Ralphie May, if you know big fat Ralphie May,
they show up, and I go, I don't know
if I'm being paranoid, but is this guy trying
to start shit with me? Like, look at how
he's looking at me. And they're both
more paranoid that me. And big fat Ralphie May,
"Yeah, Dougie Stanhope. "Yeah. Yeah, that guy's trying
to start some shit. Fuck that dude, man." And I-- I--I-- But he has done nothing overtly for me to, like, step up to him
and go like, "Hey, you know, that--
the weird look "on your countenance
is disconcerting. Can you stop that, sir?" Like, I--
I have nothing to say, but I-- I-I'm sad that
I'm such a coward. Like, I-- Do I have to man-up
to this dude? Like, the--he's done nothing. I'm s--I'm--I'm sad that I'm so deluded
by this girl that I don't even know if I have
to be brave in the first place. I just--I just want the girl. So I just let it ruin my night while he's staring at me
and I'm staring at him and I'm staring at her and I don't know how to fuckin'
close the deal. So at one point, they call, "Last call. You're welcome to be invited to
get the fuck out of our bar." We all funnel out and I'm still
trying to figure out how I can close the deal. Or if I'm gonna have to fucking
fight a dude? I don't--I don't... So we walk out of the bar. Ralphie May,
Matt Becker, and I, we take a left to go to the car, and this dude Lorca
runs out behind us to try to cross Sunset Boulevard
in a hurry, and he gets killed by a speeding car. [shocked laughter] Literally knocked him
out of his shoes. [laughter] I didn't expect the story
to end like that either. Thanks. [cheers and applause] <i> ♪</i>♪
I love how the story was long enough and interesting enough to make you completely forget what the theme of the show was by the end.
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Prince of Bel-Air?