I was married for nine years to the mother of my kids. She is an amazing, wonderful person. Maybe a little too smart for me. She's an electrical engineer, and for nine years, I tried to understand her job. And after nine years, all I know is it has to do with electricity and engineering, and that's it. Because the part of my brain that should understand those things is completely dead. She would use giant technical words to try and describe her job that I have no mental pictures for. So she would dumb it down with smaller technical words, I have no mental picture for. And I would feel like some dumb monster just incapable of knowledge. Just me don't like talk now. Den Hart's sad. Den Hart cry. She would say things like, Well, right now, I designed the schematics for the downtown power grid voltage distribution system. What does the schematic do? The schematic doesn't do anything. It shows what a load's being carried. I'll show you what a load's being carried. Den Hart give Hart high five. A lot of times, I wanted to say, Look, stop, stop. Do you or do you not build robots? No, no. Then why are we talking? That joke's called stop talking and start building robots with lasers for eyes. I love robots. I wish I was a robot. I'm really into them. I get mad at the end of Empire Strikes Back when Luke gets his hand cut off by Vader and then like the next day gets a better robot hand. You knew about sweet robot hands and you waited for tragedy? Idiot. If those hands were going on the market tomorrow, guess who's cutting their hand off tonight? This guy. But just one, because now I have a new hand for hating and the old hand for loving. That joke's called one hand to keep my lady safe and one to keep her happy. That's the nerdiest, dirty joke you may ever hear in your life. I was supposed to be a counselor. I got a bachelor's degree in psychology. Before I went on to grad school, I thought I should see how good of a counselor I was and do some low-level counseling. Turns out, not very good. I can't stand complainers or keep a secret. Or not laugh inappropriately. Just being fascinated by insanity is not enough criteria to actually be a counselor. I like talking to crazy people. People who are really crazy, not people who say they are. That's annoying. That person's like, oh my God, you guys, I stayed up all night again by myself, watched the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy back to back to back. I know, I know, I'm crazy. Not the word I would use. Sad, lonely, creepy. Check, check, check. I'm only checking off crazy if you're staying up all night by yourself, reenacting the Lord of the Rings trilogy to a captive audience of mannequins and porcelain dolls who you crush for not appreciating your performance. That's crazy with a capital F. My favorite crazy personality, compulsive liars. How much fun are those people? People who, yeah, people who lie even when it's easier to tell the truth. A lot of people get annoyed by this personality because they try and catch them in their lies, which is a losing battle because they'll endlessly invent new lies to cover up the previous lies because reality is not an issue in their heads. The best thing you can do is act like you believe all their lies because it builds their confidence and the lies get better. Ask leading questions to take the lies in directions you'd like them to go. These people are build-your-own-adventure stories come to life. I knew a guy in college named Rick who was just like a Picasso of lies. Like, it was amazing what his mind could do with a story. I loved asking him about things I knew he didn't do to see what kind of adventure his mind would take me on. Knowing he didn't go fishing the day before, I could be like, hey, Rick, how was your fishing trip yesterday? It's good. Real good. Got about 60 salmon. That is pretty good. That's a lot of salmon. I would think five would be good, but 60, that's fantastic. That must have taken you all day. Took me about an hour. As his lies got crazier, he would lean forward more aggressively and make more direct eye contact. Like his body was saying, I dare you to call me on my crazy lies. I will jack you in the throat. You caught a salmon a minute for an hour. That's incredible. Like, what kind of bait do you use to catch a salmon? I don't use bait. I catch salmon with my bare hands. My God, you're like an animal. What, do you just wade into the water and just start grabbing the salmon? I stand on a waterfall. Fight the current with my ankles, which are stronger than a team of stallions. I wait for the salmon to try and jump and then I slap him to shore. You're like a grizzly bear. Mm-hmm. I have to fight off grizzlies while I catch my salmon. I'm up there for an hour going, slap a salmon, damn it, punch a bear. Slap a salmon, go on, kick a bear. Slap a salmon. Grab a bald eagle and fly to freedom. Slap a salmon, go on, kick a bear. Slap a salmon, go on, kick a bear. Slap a salmon, go on, kick a bear. Slap a salmon, go on, kick a bear. Slap a salmon, go on, kick a bear. Slap a salmon, go on, kick a bear. Slap a salmon, go on, kick a bear. Slap a salmon, go on, kick a bear. Slap a salmon, go on, kick a bear. Slap a salmon, go on, kick a bear. Slap a salmon, go on, kick a bear. Slap a salmon, go on, kick a bear. Slap a salmon, go on, kick a bear. Slap a salmon, go on, kick a bear. Slap a salmon, go on, kick a bear. Thank you. I know, I think horrible thoughts. You ever get worried that if people could read your mind, you'd be in a lot of trouble? You guys hear the things I say out loud. Imagine what I filter. Do you have any idea how many people I've killed in here? Over nothing. Strangers make me angry over nothing. Like last year, I was driving the day after a snowstorm. Snow piled so high, you know, the two lanes are reduced to one. Cars are slipping around. I'm just trying to get home. And in the middle of this chaos, one jackass decides he has to keep his jogging routine intact. Like he's running down the middle of this nightmare, making it harder for everyone. I didn't want to see him slip or fall. I wanted to see him die. He represented the injustice of the universe to me. Innocent people lead their lives safely every day, still die. This guy not only gets to live after so carelessly flaunting his life, he gets to go home and feel better than the rest of us for getting his workout in. Just, Mother Nature ain't gonna stop my six-pack. Ha ha, boom, boom! No, die, die. I wanted a meteorite to come down from the heavens and just rip his head off. That would have been a religious experience for me. I would have ran into the first church I could find and throw myself down in prayer. Dear Heavenly Father, that was fucking awesome. I am back on the team. That joke's called Even Jesus Hates That Guy. I know I think horrible things. Sometimes I do horrible things. I flipped off an elderly woman once. I'm kidding, I'm kidding. I flipped off an elderly woman twice. She deserved it once. I was stuck in traffic in Boston on a freeway overpass. No one's moving at all. Car to my left, behind me, in front of me. Little three-foot cement ramp barricade thing to my right. And then the car behind me starts laying on the horn. Like, I look back expecting to see some roid-raged teenager. Uh-uh. I see about 90 pounds of perm, wrinkles, and hate. Beating that horn like she has to keep moving her arm to keep pumping that last teaspoon of nicotine-fueled rage around her fossil. I look back. I'm like, what do you want me to do? And she goes, oh, that's all. You just want me to Dukes of Hazard it off the ramp to my fiery death 80 feet below so you can get one car length ahead, make it to the nursing home two seconds earlier in time to do what? Dye in your own bed? You're a thousand. Why are you in a hurry right now? You're obviously not going into labor. Take it easy, silver fox. So without even thinking about it, I just went, ting! But without that noise, because that's kind of weird. And then about 30 minutes later, traffic opened up, and I'd kind of forgotten about it. But then I noticed a car matching my speed. Yeah. Queen Skeletor. Furious. Just staring at me. Doing that thing people do when they're mad at you in traffic, and they wait for you to look at them. So then they know that you know that they know that you were naughty. And I thought that was adorable, and it genuinely made me laugh. And just to see a good look on her face, I flipped her off again. And then to my surprise, she started laughing, and flipped me back off, and sped away in a much nicer car. And I immediately thought, I love that crazy bitch. Like in one moment, she went from annoying old woman to role model. A lot of elderly people just fade out like sad little wallflowers. It's sad. This woman is living. She may be living on hate, but she is living. I hope she was speeding home to an equally old and obnoxious husband. Just, how was your day, sugar? Good. Rode some punk's ass on the freeway, gave him the only finger that mattered to let him hear what eight cylinders sounds like. Nice, mama. Up top. Headbutt. Now open those blinds and take your panties off. Let's show the neighbors what love looks like. That joke's called They Still Got It. And sometimes I wish I was still in college. Life was so, uh, so fun. Like, everything was fun. I had fun with every aspect of college. Classes, friends, drinking, ants. Ants were actually an important part of my college experience. My senior year, I had an ant infestation. Thousands of ants. We could have called an exterminator, but you don't call for backup after you declare war. Those ants were free entertainment, and they marched into a house of death. I used to lure them onto the kitchen counter with maple syrup. Maybe they'd think it was a sign of peace. They were horribly mistaken. When those ants gathered in their sugary booby trap, I'd get a can of WD-40 and a match. Yeah, that is homemade napalm, ants. Welcome to hell. This is war. I used to try and leave a few alive so I could watch them walk back into the wall and pretend they were sending a message to the queen. He's gone mad, your majesty. He burned Richard. That is exactly how ants talk inside my head. I even came up with a way to torture ants psychologically. Like if you want to mess with their minds but not hurt them, you take one ant, put them in a tupper or a container full of sugar, seal them in and start laughing. That's his worst nightmare. Watch him walk around and around, losing his tiny mind. All the sugar he could ever want. Know where to take it. After like an hour, you take him out, throw him back on the anthill and laugh some more because they're going to have questions he can't answer. We smell the sugar, Nigel. Nigel, where is it? I do not know, sir. I do not know. That joke's called All Ants are British because they colonize. One night, under the influence of a lot of free time and considerably more alcohol, I came up with another game you can play with ants called Lord of the Ants. Because it occurred to me that anthills are like their own little worlds, a whole little civilization, a hierarchy, people living, working there. And then I could stand on that world and declare myself a god of their kingdom. Sometimes I was a good god and I nourished my children with gifts of bread and Skittles and jerky. Eat, children. Your god smiles upon you today. Sometimes god was angry. And the ants had to face his foot of judgment. How dare you forsake god's precious jerky. I was turkey jerky. It was like half the sodium, more protein than regular jerky. Oftentimes, god had way too many vodka tonics. And a yellow laser would rip from the heavens. Flee, children. Here comes the flood. That joke's called Fine Tiny Noah. I've been thinking about getting a motorcycle recently, which is really a change of opinion for me because I've never really liked guys that have motorcycles. It really kind of started when I was driving thro
