<i> - I didn't even say anything.</i> I just leaned
out of the kitchen... Showed him the jar... And right there,
next to his girl, he's all-- [giggling] "Fuck you." <i> [dark electronic music]</i> <i> ♪ </i> <i> [cheers and applause]</i> - Welcome to
"This Is Not Happening." I'm your host, Ari Shaffir, and today, all the stories
are about karma. [cheers and applause] A veteran of the show.
You guys have seen him. If you've seen the YouTube
clips, you've seen this guy. He's absolutely hilarious.
I'm glad he's back. Please give it up
for my friend and yours, <i> Mr. Sean Patton, everybody.</i> <i> [cheers and applause]</i> - My first-ever apartment
was in New Orleans in the year 2002. My roommate and I
paid $535 even. Not individually. One lump sum, all utilities included. A two-bedroom, two-bath, two-balcony apartment. And I still remember, like, confronting our landlord, like, "Hey, can you shave off
that extra $5? Give us a chance to survive?" And I--we mo--
I moved in-- I think everyone's first
roommate is a friend. Mine was not; I went
to high school with this guy. Didn't really know him. We moved in
in the morning, 'cause it was all his shit. Nothing was mine. or is that roommate, like, you got the couch. You have the TV;
you have the table. I have the mattress
and the box that I will reuse. But the previous tenant
had left us a gift, okay? Now, by a round of applause,
who is not familiar with what is known
as Tony Chachere's? Not familiar, no. Tony Chachere's--
it's a creole spice. It's, like, a Louisiana, New Orleans version
of an Old Bay. It's a--you put, you know, you put it on a old tennis shoe, and make it taste like
a filé gumbo. You know what I'm saying, y'all? You put it
on a rubber band sandwich, make it taste
like a shrimp po' boy. Montalayo. [laughs] Jeez, I can't... side note--wait, let's put
the story aside for a second. That's a really fucking
annoying thing about being
from southern Louisiana, is people are like,
"But where's your accent?" Like they want you to-- "Oh, man, I tell--
boy, I tell you, "the other day,
I went down there gator huntin', "and I cut me open a alligator, "and it--its tummy was
full of crawdads. "It was full of crawdads "that were hidin'
from Hurricane Katrina. "I was like, that storm done
gone all the crawdads, "and then that gator
came back to life, "bit my hand off
like I was Captain Hook. "Jesus, I had to drive to-- "I had to drive to the hospital
with no hand, drinkin' beers, "and the sheriff done
pulled me over on a boat. "He pulled me over
on a damn boat. "I said, 'Sheriff, how you got
that boat on land?' "He said, 'I didn't. You got
your truck in the water.' [scoffs]<i>
Laissez les bon temps rouler."</i> [chuckles] I'm disappointed too. I wish I spoke like that. Truthfully, a true
New Orleans accent just sounds like--
take a fuckin' East Coast guy, "Why you askin' where I'm from? Why is it your business?
I'm from Hoboken." Take that guy, give him a Valium. "Now you got
a New Orleans accent. "I don't remember
where I'm from. "What's a Hoboken? You can fish on it?" All right, back to the story. So the previous tenant
left behind a gift for us. It wasn't Tony Chachere's. I just like talking
about that stuff. It's delicious. But it was a spice. He left behind
a jar of cumin. Right, cumin.
You know it. It's very com--
if--if you ever had a curry or a chili--it's--
if you--if you've tasted chili, you've tasted cumin. And here's a little secret:
if you--if you're broke, and you got a hot dog,
but you can't afford a chili, just sprinkle some cumin
on that hot dog. It'll make it taste
exactly like you rolled it in dirt. It's not a good
stand-alone spice at all. It really isn't. That's probably why
he left it behind. But upon discovering that jar, I said to my new roommate, "Hey, look at this big-ass jar
of 'come-in.'" It's spelled c-u-m-i-n, and I know how it's pronounced, but first of all,
'come-in.' It's, like, an ejaculation joke, and I was in my early 20s, when ejaculation jokes
were very funny. Now, in my 30s, ejaculation jokes
are extremely funny. They've gotten funnier. But also,
one of my favorite gags is to purposefully
mispronounce things, because I love rousing
the grammar dragons. [growling] Gnash your teeth,
grammar dragon. "Hey, look at this
big-ass jar of 'come-in.'" I expected him to,
you know, worst-case, be like, "Shut up.
It's pronounced cumin." Or who knows? Best case, now we got
a new inside joke between roommates that we can have
for the next six months unless we extend our lease
to a year. You know how it goes. So I said it. "Hey, look at this big-ass jar
of 'come-in,'" and he goes, "What? "What? "It's cumin! "God damn it.
It's cumin. Don't say that shit." Exactly. I was like, "Oh." Whom did I just move in with? And now, I was obsessed
with that moment, and before I knew it,
it was lunchtime, and he ordered a Hawaiian pizza, and I was like, "Oh. "Hawaiian pizza. "You know what's delicious "when you put it
on Hawaiian pizza? Some 'come-in.'" And right away,
like clockwork, "Seriously? Don't fucking
say that to me again. "It's cumin. You say it right,
or you don't say it." And then, "Grow up." And I was like,
"Well, now I'm never going to grow up, am I?" You just Peter Pan-ed me. I am a boy for life. Later--later that day,
his girlfriend comes over. It's, like, evening time. The--it's her first time
in the new apartment. They're sharing a pint
of ice cream, and I didn't even--
I didn't even say anything. I just leaned
out of the kitchen... Showed him the jar... And right there,
next to his girl, he's all-- [giggling] "Fuck you." And she's, of course,
like, "Huh? What?" And he explained it. "He thinks it's funny
to pronounce cumin 'come-in.'" And then she starts laughing. Because she has
a sense of humor. And then he turns on her,
like, "God damn it. "That's not funny! It's cumin!" And he's yelling, and I didn't see much of her after that. And I had to leave,
because their fight got pretty loud
and pretty awkward. And I went out drinking
with friends, and we're--I'm like,
"You got to see this. You got to see this shit." And I bring them back
to the apartment. It's, like, 3:30 in the morning. I'm like, "Welcome
to the new digs, fellas. "Can I offer you... some Ritz Crackers
and 'come-in'?" And like clockwork,
he comes out of his room. "Hey!
What the fuck? "It's cumin. Say it.
Say it." And we're all laughing
our ass off, and he's like, "I fucking hope
you all die one day." Well, we will. Nice one. Nice one, man. And all he had to do was just not react
just once, and I'd have forgotten about it, but now I had no choice. I was having dreams about how I was gonna
mess with him. And so the next morning,
we're both up early. Our new--our first day
in the new apartment, first morning, okay? He's up early,
'cause he was still in class-- in school--he had
to go to class. I'm up early to go to work, and he's sitting down
to a fresh plate of scrambled eggs, and I was like, "Hey." "You know
what would be delicious on those scrambled eggs?" And he gives me a look that I can only describe
as murder fuck. It's a look you give someone when you want to murder them and then sexually violate
their dead body so their soul
can't go to heaven. Murder fuck. It looks like...
[growling] So he gives me that look. [growling] So I know I can't say "come-in." Got to throw
a knuckleball at him, so I said,
"Some Tony Chachere's. I bought some last night.
It's in the kitchen." And then, he went from, like...
[growling] To "Ah." Smiling, because that's what
a Tony Chachere make you do, baby. It's so delicious.
[laughs] You put it on a crazy person, turn him into a friend. [laughs] <i> Enchanté.</i> And now, he is in the kitchen,
digging around, and I hear him opening
and closing all the cabinets. He's like, "Where is it?" "Oh, it's--uh, it's in the--
it's in the cabinet." "Which one?" "The one above
the George Foreman grill." "Where?
I can't find it." "It's in the top part. There." "Where?" "Behind the 'come-in.'" And what normally followed
that word, as I established, was a fit of rage. Only this time,
that's not what happened. This time, it was total silence, which was scary. 'Cause after a while,
I was like, "Oh, God, am I gonna
walk in there "and find him just on the ground "with his wrists slit? Bleeding it out." Like, "You went too far. "You went too far. "It's pronounced cumin, and now you'll never forget." [groaning] "Oh, Lord, I'm come..." [applause] Thankfully, no,
that's not what happened. Instead, he comes out,
holding the jar, staring me down with the hatred
of a thousand men, and then throws it at me, 'cause he just didn't--
it--it was--it was like he just released too early, and it bounced off the wall
and just landed, like, right there
between us on the carpet, and I look up at him,
and he's now crying. Hatred.
Hatred tears. You can tell
when they're hatred tears, 'cause they're boiling
with rage, and they evaporate mid-cheek. And he says,
"I'm--I'm going to class, and then I'm fucking
moving out," and he storms off. Now, I had just been attacked for no reason. First order of business
in that moment was to eat those scrambled eggs. They were fresh,
and I was hungry, and I doused 'em
with that Tony's. It was right there
by the microwave. I'm surprised he didn't find it. Second order of business, call into work sick. I couldn't bus tables. I was traumatized. I couldn't handle silverware
in that mental state. Third order of business, a little well-deserved R and R. Plop down on the couch-- his couch, mind you. Turn the TV on--
his TV. Didn't know if any of that stuff was gonna be there
by the end of the day. I'm watching TV--oh, look, a "Saved by the Bell" marathon. Oh, wow, season three, while they're at the Malibu
Sands Beach Resort. Oh, they're in bikinis. Well, I've earned this. A little release. And there I am,
furiously masturbating on his couch,
watching his TV, and right as I near climax, that jar catches my eye. It's still laying there
on the ground, and now--I--
that's why I was in this moment, so it was like a lover to me, and I exclaimed,
"Oh, 'come-in,'" right as I began...
[chuckles] Comin'. And I shouted it, so the furniture would know
what was going on. And then the front door
swung open, and there's a UPS delivery guy
standing there... Holding a package. Sees me holding my package, and says, "Oh, fuck no," and slams that door. Couple of things. Yes, he caught me masturbating. Fine. But he scared me,
frightened me, and it happened right
as I began orgasming. Have you ever been frightened right as you begin to come? Oh, man, is it great. Oh, man, is it so badass. Just--oh, it's so much semen. Spew forth from my loins. I don't know what happens. Maybe your brain senses danger, and orders a mandatory
full evacuation of your testicles. Run, evacuate, go. Save the seed.
The mother ship is in danger. There was so much. And then I just had to sit
there quietly, like, "Is he still--
is he still there? Oh, God." And I finally went
and looked out of the peephole, and yep, he's standing there, sort of swaying, and I was like, "God damn it." So I lit a cigarette. Thought it would make me look
more badass--lit a cigarette. I'm like, "Okay, let's do it,"
and I open the door, and right away, he's like, "Listen, I'm not into
no goddamn gay shit. "I got a wife;
I got a family, and you're too young." I know, right?
Why--why--what's that for? But now, I'm defensive. Puffing on my cigarette,
like, "Hey, man. "It's a fucking
private apartment. "Why don't you try knocking? You ever heard of knocking?" And then he doesn't say
anything, and angrily goes, "I didn't knock,
because you said 'Come in.'" "Because you said,
'Come in.'" [cheers and applause] That's the kind of coincidence
that made man invent God. If I were a religious person, that would have been
my mind-set--like, well, the Lord clearly does not want
me touching myself. Thus why he sent
this brave soldier to interrupt me whilst doing
the devil's diddle. Like, I couldn't stop--
like, in that moment, like, he was about to knock. I didn't say "Come in." I was--I was--
having sex with a spice. I said, "Oh, comin'," which sounds exactly
like "Oh, come in." Gee--all I could think about
in that moment was my roommate. Like, he's right. I should have pronounced it
correctly. If I'd have been like,
"Oh, cumin." He'd have heard that and been
like, "What'd he say? Oh, cu--
I should knock." And I would later find out,
by the way, the reason my roommate
got so pissed is because his--his childhood
pet was a cocker spaniel named Cumin. And so when I said, "come-in," it reminded him of Cumin, and he got sad
that I was mispronouncing it. Fuck you. And then this UPS guy, he slams
this clipboard in my chest. He's like, "You have
to sign for it," and now, I'm just backpedaling. I'm like, "Look, I thought
you were my girlfriend," and he interrupts me;
he's like, "You ain't got no damn
girlfriend." "You're right.
I do not." And then he gives me
the package, says "Have a nice day,"
and then finally I looked-- finally looked at the package.
It wasn't addressed to me. It was not addressed
to my roommate. It was addressed to who I assume
was the previous tenant, so that meant
it was addressed to me now. And I open it and almost collapse at what I see before me. Can you guess? - Cumin.
- No. It was a spice rack. If the previous moment
made me believe in God, that made me believe that God is capable of bragging. Thank you guys very much. [cheers and applause]
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