- First off,
if--if your 50-year-old husband
comes in and says he wants to start a ska band,
just take him to rehab, just right away.
Just take him--if anyone wants to start a ska band today,
fucking take them to rehab. Bad time.
[dark electronic music]
♪
[man roars]
[both snarling]
[dark electronic music]
♪
[man grunting]
[gunshots]
[dark electronic music]
[zombie growls]
[gun cocks]
[zombie growls]
[gunshot]
♪
- Ladies and gentlemen, he's got his own podcast
called "Keeping 'Em Alive."
Please give it up for Mr. Greg Behrendt, everybody.
Let him hear it.
[dark electronic music]
♪
- I love this show.
And I love the idea that--
that you have an experience where you're like,
"This is not happening, right?"
Like, just, "This is fucked up."
You know, we all have those stories.
I mean, I have a-- I have a ton of them.
One I'm not telling today,
I saw the penis of the drummer from Meta--
like at a show.
That's not happ--No.
I mean, like you can't wrap your head
or anything around it; it's huge.
But also, sometimes you forget that you're the thing
that's happening to somebody else.
Like, you're the fucking "oh, my God, this is not happening."
Like, you're the event that somebody goes, "Fuck...
You."
So I would like to tell you a story
that has both of those elements,
uh, and it involves my sobriety,
which I have today,
uh, and I've had since 1996,
except for the two times that I got high, which--
So that-- that means not since 19--
so I broke it, but that's 'cause the--
that's not the rules.
So you don't get to just leave.
Well, you can, and I have.
But one time, it was my decision,
and the other time, it was also my decision.
So the--the first story--
the first story is this one.
So my wife and I, uh, we had a, uh,
a 19-year-old dog, okay?
Fucking 19-year-old German Shepherd.
That is fucking old.
Like, that is--that's done.
Like, that dog is fucking done.
Like, it literally just sat in the corner
of a room, it was like a fucking pillow
with bones in it and a head.
It just sat there.
Like, the dog wanted to be done.
Do you understand? Like, it was just being kept alive on pills.
That's it--we just gave it pills
to fucking keep it alive.
And you know, they're fuck-- they don't--
you know, they're not--
well, they are dumb, but they're not that dumb.
You know what I mean?
Like, the dog was just, like--
you could just tell-- it was like, "Fuck, dude.
"Haven't we done this?
"Haven't I dogged the shit out of it?
"What the fuck do you want from me?
"Fuck, I got the ball. Remember that?
"I got it a bunch of times, as I recall,
"and I fucking shit on the carpet
"and ruined that whole fucking birthday party thing,
"and then I took a picture for your fucking Instagram.
Please. What the fuck more do you want from me?" Right?
But you don't kill it 'cause it's a dog.
So like, here, take these pills.
We just gave it a lot of pills, right?
So anyway, we had this dog and it was very old
and it was being kept alive on pills.
So, uh, uh--and I didn't know what the pill--
I didn't pay any attention what the pills were.
I mean, I had--there was one--
that dog had no moves left, right?
Except for that they-- except it would fart. Right?
It'd just go, "Oh." You know what I mean?
But their butt holes are all worked out
so it just--you don't even know it's happened.
You know, their butt holes are all loose.
So it's just "Ooh." It just comes out.
It's like a cloud. Like, "Ooh."
Like, it just, "Ooh." It's just like ghost farts.
It's just a whistle, like you don't know it's there
until you know it's there, and then you're fucking pissed.
'Cause dog farts are like--
like, you know how some smells, you go, "Ugh!"
But dog farts make you pissed.
Like, you're like, "Fuck!
"What the fuck is this?
"Jesus Christ! Good god.
What the fuck's wrong with you?"
So anyway, uh,
there was one Christmas.
Uh, I love Christmas. I fucking love it.
I like Christmas so much, I'm gonna make you fucking hate it.
That's how much I like it. I'm that guy.
I like it so much, I ruin it for my whole family,
which is fucked up 'cause I have kids.
Anyway, so I have that.
It's Christmas, and uh, I'm overexcited about it,
and I'm also depressed, uh, because I have depression
and anxiety, which I'm not aware of.
And also, there was a sweater I wanted
and I'm not fucking getting it.
Like, even when my wife said, "You're not getting it,"
I'm like, "Like, in a surprise way?
Or I'm not fucking getting it?"
And not in a surprise way.
And then she's like, "It should be about the kids."
Fuck you. I dog-eared the catalog.
And then she's like, "I don't even know what a catalog is
'cause I live in the now."
The point is,
I was very upset,
and it was Christmas Eve and I was sort of--
I was having a panic attack and feeling shitty,
and not to get too dark,
but I was feeling, uh, suicidal.
I was struggling with some mental health issues
that I didn't know that I had, and anxiety,
and, um, uh, and then all of a sudden,
I remembered that one day,
when my friend was in the house,
he had walked past the dog pills,
and he had noticed
that one of the jars of pills
was like, "Oh, my--oh, fuck, you have those."
You know what I mean? He didn't say what they were,
but he made a face that went, "That's good."
Like, there's something in those pills
that might be something
a depressed person should take on Christmas Eve.
So there were two jugs of--
and dog pills come in, like, little, tiny jugs,
like tankards, not the tall orange ones.
So thanks for clearing that up, Greg.
You're welcome.
I walk past the dog pills.
I remember that one of them is potent, apparently,
and I'm not sure which, 'cause I also know
the other one's for the butt hole.
So I don't want to take--
I don't want to take the wrong one.
My butt hole's tight and-- you know what I mean?
I don't need a fucking really--
My sphincter's good enough. I don't need to really--
You know what I mean? It's for a dog that has--
Anyway, so...
Then there's a--there's a-- there's a--there--
on one of the jugs, there's the sleepy-faced guy.
Do you know the sleepy-faced guy on the pills?
Right, he's like--he's got, like, a nose,
and then he's like, "Oh." He's so tired
'cause he's taking these pills and he's not allowed
to operate machinery.
Do you know what I'm talking about? That guy.
If that guy's on a jar of pills, fucking ta--
if you want to party, but don't--
I'm saying no to drugs.
But if you're depressed and you don't know any better,
that's the one you go for.
And also, but why would a dog's pills
have a sleeping--what did they--
what is it they have to stay awake for?
Do you know what I mean?
If your dog's operating any machinery,
you don't understand pets at all.
Or you're missing a really fucking good
financial opportunity, 'cause fuck.
Your dog can drive a forklift.
So I take one of the pills.
I'm not really sure what it is, but I take one of the pills.
And then I read the j-- and I--and it fucking--
it's like a sweater for your insides.
It's magical. It levels me out.
I'm like, oh, my God. This is amazing.
Something called hydrocodone, right?
And I--and as an alcoholic, I'm like,
I'm never doing that again. Just the one time.
Just gonna do it the one-- just the one--
next week, I'll take one other one.
Later in the month, then two, maybe--five a day.
So like an alcoholic drug addict,
I escalated, and by that-- then, I was taking
seven a day, and at that point, I just had lost--it--
[sighs] fuck, one day-- here's a perfect example.
One day, I just fucking showed up in the kitchen
of my own house with a-- I had cut myself a Mohawk,
and told my wife I was starting a ska band.
If--that, guys-- if you--first off,
if--if your 50-year-old husband
comes in and says he wants to start a ska band,
just take him to rehab, just right away.
Just take him--if anyone wants to start a ska band today,
fucking take them to rehab.
Bad time. Bad time.
It's been played out, all right?
So I was super fucked up
and I did try and start a ska band because--
and I quit my other really reliable jobs;
comedy and writing books.
So...
I'd given up those opportunities.
Uh, my wife was very upset.
I was a total fucking mess. They took me to rehab.
So now, I go to rehab.
I pull my shit together. I move back in the house.
I can't live in the house. They put me in a--
I have a--we have a guesthouse, in a garage.
I live in the garage. There's a place--
It was on the other side of the ho--yard.
I lived in a closet on the other side of the yard,
but I--
Right? Hey, good night, everybody!
Anyone? So, uh, uh--
But I was living there.
But I really was, like, okay, I'm gonna pull it together.
I got on the right kind of medication
and I figured out that I had some problems,
and pulling my life together, and I'm feeling good.
And I kind of miss the ska band.
I really did want to be a rock star.
You know what I mean? But I had to give up the--
you know what I mean? Not for--I mean,
not that anyone noticed, but anyway, so...
I start working on my standup and my career.
I write a one-man show.
I make friends with my wife again--just friends.
Anyway, I, um, uh, I get my shit together
and I'm feeling very good about myself,
because now I'm not the thing that happens to you, right?
I'm the guy experiencing life.
I'm not gonna ruin people's lives.
I'm gonna be of service. I'm gonna be a good person.
I'm just gonna fucking just-- you know,
just take it day-by-day, have everything--
You know, and things are good.
My career's coming back.
My wife likes me again.
I get asked to go to Australia
to perform for 22 nights in-- in Melbourne.
Uh, a one-man show that I've written.
Very exciting. Career's on the comeback.
Got a big tour after that. It's all good.
I have a little stomachache. It's fine.
It's a little stomachache.
I went to the doctor before I left for Australia.
He said it was gas.
That's not good doctoring
when you find out what it was.
Eight shows into my run in Australia,
uh, I'm on fire.
My insides are burning. It's awful.
I go to the doctor, they give me some drugs,
which I--oh, my gosh. I remember these.
Uh, they had to--they had to give me some drugs
because I was in so much pain, I forgot even about drugs.
I forgot that there were--like, I was in "Kill me" pain.
I was literally like the dog-- just end this.
Just fucking end it. I was in so much pain.
They give me, um, I don't know, whatever.
Some sort of pain reliever.
And then they take a photo of my insides,
and then they wake me up, and they say,
"You have tumors in your stomach--you have cancer."
Fuck. I was on my way to a comeback.
Um, so that's what they said. You have a--
but it was in Australia, so I have to say,
and I'm not saying get cancer.
I'm against it. I'm against cancer.
I just want to come out right now and say I'm against cancer.
I don't want you to get it.
Should you think you have it,
go to Australia to get the diagnosis,
because just the way they say "cancer"
sounds a tiny bit less bad.
That's all. "Cancer." It just goes up at the end.
It just--"Cancer, mate. You have cancer, mate."
They say "mate" a lot.
It just feels cheerier,
like you're doing it together.
"Hey, you got cancer, mate."
"We all do?" "No, you do."
Anyway, cancer. They told me. I had it.
Uh, they thought I did.
I had tumors in my stomach,
they weren't sure what they were, but they were--
there was a cluster of tumors, right?
Just really--a lot of Rs. A lot of--
You find out there's a lot of Rs in cancer.
"Cluster," "tumor"-- lot of Rs.
So I-I--
They think I have cancer, and they say,
"You have to go home," and I was so high
on whatever it was they gave me, I'm like,
"To my apartment in Australia?"
And they go, "No, to America."
You have to take your cancer home.
You have to take it home. Can't have it there.
They--they don't want you dying there.
So, um, uh, so I say, "All right."
And they, uh, they say, "But you're gonna be in pain
"until you get to the hospital.
"You need to get there within the next 72 hours.
But here is a box of OxyContin."
I'm like, that could be a mistake.
A box. Not just a few.
A fucking box. Like, with trays.
Do you understand?
We're talking about a street value
of about a million dollars!
To a drug addict!
Who's already high from whatever it is they gave them--
I went out and bought a hat.
So...
Here's how high I was.
I had my manager with me. I said, "Take the pills.
"Give 'em to me, and let's be responsible about this.
"I just want to get home. I want to see my family.
If I'm gonna die, fair enough, but I just want to get home."
So, uh, I go, uh, to, uh, the airport,
and everything's fine, except for I accidently put a knife
in my backpack. That's--you don't--
you're not allowed to take a knife through customs.
I don't know if I'm sharing anything new with you guys,
but no knives at customs on an international flight.
They don't care for it.
So I had a knife in my backpack, and the lady goes--
she was very nice, and she said,
"Sir, this is a knife."
And I said to her, "I have cancer."
She literally goes, "Uh..."
I don't know what the next sentence is.
Like, literally, I don't know what to say to you.
So she's like, "Well, you still have to leave the knife,
but I'll give you a hug."
So...
My--my manager's with me,
so that's my thing. I'm like, "Just make sure
"that I don't overuse the drugs, 'cause I could,
"and because I'm dying, I probably don't care.
"So make me care and don't let me take all the drugs,
'cause I don't want to show up at home being that guy."
So I get on the airplane,
and they stick my manager in fucking economy
and they put me in first class, so I know I'm dying, right?
I know it's a Make-A-Wish thing.
"Put him in first class,
it's probably the last time he'll be on a plane."
So they throw him in fucking baggage
and I'm sitting in a throne or a--you know, whatever it is.
Just this massive thing where they give you backrubs.
And I'm sitting next to a guy who I don't know,
who turns out to be this drummer for the band Switchfoot.
Do you guys know Switchfoot at all?
Yeah? Yeah?
That's usually the response I get.
Yeah...
So, uh, anyway--
they're a fine band, they're a fine band.
I don't know them, but I know who they are.
But I--I know that they surf,
and I know they're Christian, and that's all I know.
Probably couldn't sing a song,
but the guy's super nice,
the drummer, and so we start talking,
I say, "Look, I'm gonna ask you a really weird favor,
"but I'm dying--maybe-- probably--
"and, uh, I have to take these pills,
"and would you give them to me and not let me
"take more than I need and make sure
I take them when I'm supposed to?"
And he said, "Yeah, sure." I said, "Thank you."
Also, if I get up-- like, if I rub your chest
or walk around the plane, or--
I don't know if any of you have ever been on OxyContin,
but it's not bad. Yeah, you feel--
you're friendly, and you like conversations,
and you want to talk to everyone about everything, and you also--
It has this amazing thing that never happens to me
in real life--it actually makes you want to listen to people.
So...
Like, you're genuinely interested in weird shit.
What kind of buttons are those?
"On my--on my shirt?" Yeah. They seem neat.
All right.
Anyway, the guy was super nice and I said, "Would you make sure
I don't overuse these?" And then I passed out
and I slept the whole flight.
You know. Uh, and, uh,
so, we get to Los Angeles,
and, uh--and uh, so it's cool.
I'm sitting next to a guy from a band.
That's neat, and he says,
"Let me walk you to baggage claim."
So the drummer from Switchfoot walks me to baggage claim,
gets my bags for me, and then he goes,
"Hey, man, I just want to tell you that I love you.
"I said a prayer for you.
You're gonna be fine."
And I was like, wow.
And I bent down to pick up my bags,
and I turned around, and he was fucking gone.
Gone--not, like, oh, in a crowd.
Like, fucking-- there was nobody--
he was gone!
I was like, fuck!
Did I dream that?
Were these my last moments?
I had a lucid dream?
Why the guy from Switchfoot?
Thank you.