Name: Bill Burr-Shooting Craps In Vegas
Uploaded: 2010-06-29T08:59:43.000Z
Description: Watch the stand-up comedy video 'Bill Burr-Shooting Craps In Vegas' from Bill Burr Clips on Comedy Buff. Published 2010-06-29. Transcript available.

Watch the stand-up comedy video 'Bill Burr-Shooting Craps In Vegas' from Bill Burr Clips on Comedy Buff. Published 2010-06-29. Transcript available.

I don't know, my girl's like, let's go get something to eat.
And I said, all right, there's a fucking McDonald's right there.
And she's like, do you want to eat there?
And Soda was looking down at the ground all sad, you know.
Just doing that classic female manipulation thing.
She knew I wanted to eat there.
I just said there's a McDonald's there.
And then why would she say, do you want to eat there?
And look down at the ground.
This question is for all the young male listeners of my Whispering Podcast.
Why would a female do that?
Do, do, do, do, do.
I'll tell you why.
Because she doesn't want to, not only does she not want to fucking eat there,
she already has a place where she wants to eat.
She's already had this place that she's wanted to eat at
for probably a month before you ever went to Vegas.
But she's not going to tell you about it.
Because if she told you about it, that'd give you time to do research on it
and find out how fucking expensive it was.
So she's like, do you want to eat there?
She looks down at the ground.
So immediately, despite the fact that I know all this about females,
I take the bait.
Why?
Where do you want to eat, sweetheart?
This is Burger Place at Mandalay Bay.
I heard it was really nice.
Do you ever watch Top Chef?
Only when you're watching it, sweetheart.
I don't like that show.
The fucking show is annoying.
I hate when the chef starts screaming at those people.
It's a fucking foreign accent.
You call that a fucking grilled cheese sandwich?
Get the fuck out of my kitchen.
Hey, hey.
You think I'm fucking afraid of you?
You fucking douche.
You got a fucking problem with my grilled cheese sandwich?
You come up like a fucking gentleman and you take me aside.
Don't fucking be screaming at me when I got these fucking knives in my hand.
Stick it right through your goddamn trachea.
What do you think about that?
Huh?
I'll give you a fucking blowhole right out the front of your fucking neck.
Get out of my goddamn face before I take your fucking hair and mush your face
into this pile of shrimp.
Huh?
That I haven't taken the shells off.
So I'll give you a bunch of little razor cuts.
Sorry.
That's the good shit at Mandalay Bay.
The bad shit is we go to this fucking burger place.
I can't even remember the name of it.
We go in there and I order a $16.50 fucking Kobe beef burger.
And they're talking about how it's the greatest goddamn burger.
You know, the highest quality fucking meat.
Yada fucking yada.
My girl orders one too.
$16.50 and $16.50.
What is that, kids?
That's $33.
Plus fries, plus drinks, all that bullshit.
You know, the mob doesn't run Vegas anymore.
You can't go out and get yourself a $2 steak.
The whole fucking place out there now is a goddamn, it's a fuck over.
So whatever.
Cost me like 40-something bucks, 50 bucks with the goddamn tip.
I eat it.
You know what?
It wasn't even that good.
My girl's like, how's your burger?
You know what I said?
I said, it's good.
Just keeping the peace.
Keeping the water nice and smooth.
Nice and fucking still on the horizon.
Okay?
So anyways, I get back to my hotel.
My girl already tells me she doesn't feel too good.
That that burger's sitting in her like a goddamn boot.
And I'm like, you know what?
I feel fine.
I get ready to do my show.
Iron my button-down shirt.
Put a little conditioner in my hair.
What's left of it?
Shape it up a little.
And I head downstairs to go work the Orleans Casino.
The last place Carlin ever worked.
The place where the Smothers Brothers retired.
You know?
Smothers Brothers, who were so fucking edgy, they actually lost their sketch
show.
During the Vietnam War, they did sign.
I forget what the sketch was, but they had the balls to say no to the network
and do a sketch that was actually criticizing what the fuck we were doing over
there.
And they lost their goddamn show.
You know?
I don't know about you guys, but for me, that's lifetime respect.
So anyways, I walk down there.
And I'm going through the Orleans Casino.
And then all of a sudden, it just fucking hits me.
Boom.
Right in my stomach.
Like some capsule.
Some time-release CIA.
You're going to shit your pants.
Fucking capsule goes off.
And I know there is no question that whatever I just ate was not good for my
body.
And it was about to reject it.
One way or the other.
Without getting crude, people, when something goes into your stomach, if it's
coming out, it only has two options.
All right?
Anyways.
I just thought of a really, really bad joke for the fucking third one, and I'm
not going to say it.
But it involved stabbing yourself in the stomach, and you can fill in the blanks
on that one.
All right.
So anyways.
So I'm like, you got to be fucking, you got to be shitting me.
No pun intended.
So I go in the back way, the same way that Carlin used to go in.
Because I've already asked everybody every fucking question.
Literally, this is how much I'm into Carlin.
How did he leave?
Did he hang out?
No.
He'd say goodnight, and he would go right out the door, and he'd be in the car.
And he wasn't difficult to work with.
I guess he had arthritis at the end of his life.
And the sound guy was saying one show he forgot to take the bottle caps off the
water bottles.
And he saw that Carlin was struggling with him.
And when he got off, he goes, George, I'm so sorry.
I'm so sorry.
And Joe was just like, what?
What?
Oh, come on.
Come on.
I don't give a shit.
Don't worry.
He just walked out.
I guess he was a really great guy.
So, anyways, I'm walking through this legendary door, and what's worse is I
know it's going
to happen, but I know it's not going to happen for another 15 minutes.
And coincidentally, the fucking show starts in 15 minutes, and I'm going on
first.
All right?
And this guy, when you're backstage, literally says, 20 minutes till showtime.
20 minutes till showtime.
He, like, counts it down.
I never get nervous before shows, but this guy counting down the show is making
me nervous.
15 minutes till showtime, okay?
And it's starting to get worse, and fuck, it literally gets down to two minutes
before
showtime, and I'm questioning, can I make it through a half-hour set?
And I was like, you know what?
Fuck this.
The show can't start without me.
My opening music is Elvis Presley anyways.
The fuck do I care?
They can listen to that song.
I'm going to rub my fingers through your long black hair.
Slam your fucking face off the fucking sink.
I don't give a shit.
And I said, fuck it.
And I fucking ran into the bathroom, and I will spare you the details.
But you know when something either amazing or something amazing happens, they
make a statue.
If something horrific happens, a lot of times they will preserve the area.
You know?
Like D. Lee Plaza.
Fucking president gets his brains blown out.
All of a sudden, we can't change one blade of fucking grass.
The horror that happened in that fucking bathroom, ladies and gentlemen.
And I never do shit jokes.
They should have retired that fucking bathroom.
That's it.
They should have just fucking air sealed it and just put a glass fucking door
so people could look in
and realize why they closed that fucking burger joint at the Mandalay Bay.
And I got to admit, dude, I haven't...
This is Monday.
I'm finally back to normal.
So there you go.
This is my big shit story.
I had a burger over at the fucking Mandalay Bay, and it almost ruined my
fucking show over at the Orleans.
So if you guys saw me, anybody saw me Saturday night, all right, you want to
talk about a professional
because I extra fucking killed on that show.
If you knew what the fuck happened, just know that the next time you go to
Vegas
and you go to see Barry Manilow and he's singing that song, Mandy.
You something, you something, and you something, but I still want to fuck you,
oh, Mandy.
Right?
Just know that he could have just been shitting his fucking brains out
two minutes before he put on his rayon fucking slacks with his horrific plastic
surgery.
His yanked back face.
I bet, you know, I was going to say he'd need another facelift if he fucking
shit the way I did before my show,
but that's actually not true.
There's no strain.
There was no straining.
Anyways, all right, Bill.
Jesus Christ, enough already.