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You won't believe how little humor there is when recording a comedy show.
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It's incredible. No one told me to have fun.
The last thing I heard before I came out on stage was,
"Don't fuck it up."
"Do not fuck it up."
All the way from Berlin for you:
Felix Lobrecht!
That's it.
That's exactly it.
I love this space here. I specifically chose this theatre.
I just think it's gorgeous. Too gorgeous for me.
To be honest.
And, honestly, for you too. No offense.
None of us should be anywhere near this organ here.
It's a disgrace that we're here.
It's too nice.
You've got really shitty seats up there.
Really shit to be you right now.
Up there, we've got a few first dates
where some guy's been showing off, "I got box seats for Felix!"
And boom, you're sitting up there.
"Yeah, it was a cool show."
"Can't feel my legs. I think I nearly saw him once."
"Wanna fuck now or what?"
Oh, God.
It's really nice in here.
Disabled people really irritate me.
Not because they're disabled. They can't help that.
Mostly.
It's true.
When you've been drinking, trying to impress some girl
by doing a wheelie on a motorbike, completely smashed,
and the motorbike whacks you in the chest leaving you paralyzed.
Then I'd probably say...
you may be partially responsible.
It didn't have to happen. It was unnecessary.
No, seriously, I get irritated with disabled parking.
That's why disabled people annoy me.
Honestly, I think that's true for most people.
I think most people wouldn't come out and say it on stage,
but I think everyone gets annoyed with parking.
It's just terrible marketing.
You're in your car, you wanna go home and you can't find anywhere to park.
You drive around the block 15 times. You just wanna go home.
You need a piss like a wild bear.
You need to piss like a bear, and finally you see a free parking space.
Jackpot! You're over the moon, drive in and see... "Oh, fuck!"
Disabled parking.
Then everyone would think...
"Bloody disabled people everywhere!"
It's not a nice thing to think, but you just think it anyway.
No one drives around for 15 minutes needing to piss like a bear,
finally finds a free parking space. Jackpot!
Then realizes it's disabled parking...
No one thinks, "Yes, inclusion is important."
"Keep it up!"
No, you think, "Well, then don't drive, you cripple!"
"I want to park!"
"Some people still have to walk the whole way home from their car."
"None of this Rollo Automatico!"
"No, I walkio myselfio!"
"Those fucking disabled people!"
Look at what disabled parking brings out in me.
Such an... apathetic
wheelchair tire slasher.
Disabled parking does nothing for their image.
I get that disabled parking is important.
You know, for disabled people, but...
Disabled parking is a sort of tool for disabled people
to disable their way into the lives of non-disabled people.
"Hello! I'm here now, too!"
"I'm Wheelchair Walter!"
"Yeah, well, I'm Brakes-Off Felix. Bye!"
"I want to park!"
Also, I think the ratio of disabled parking spaces,
the number of disabled parking spaces, is in no way proportional
to the number of actual disabled people.
Otherwise, they wouldn't always be empty.
It drives me crazy.
When someone parks there in front of me, I'm always thinking,
"If you haven't lost at least half of your spine...
I'm calling the cops."
Because I'm a wimp,
because I'm not empathetic enough to understand.
I haven't had much experience with disabled people in my life.
And that's probably the whole issue. I lack perspective.
I think it would really help to improve relations between us
if there was a real discourse between us.
A real discussion.
Maybe an open house for disabilities.
Or a disability experience day.
Just to get a feel for it.
For the ABC's of the disabled.
From "A" for "Ah, fuck! I've got no legs!"
To "Z" for "Zoinks! I need a permit to build a wheelchair ramp!"
I did that bit recently at a gig in Trier.
And this guy in a wheelchair rolled all the way out the room
really making a point in front of the stage.
Everybody saw it.
Utter silence. Everyone glared at me, appalled.
"Oh, he's gone too far."
"He's got carried away. Awkward!"
I was really embarrassed.
I turned red and started having these weird spasms.
Spaz, am I right?
Trying to save the mood.
Jumping about like some sort of clown.
Five minutes later, he rolled back in like "Sorry, had to pee."
I'm thinking, "Perfect timing, man!"
After the show I slashed his tires.
But just one of them.
Hashtag...
But in principle, wheelchairs make sense.
Right?
If you can't walk...
Otherwise they don't.
Otherwise it's a chair with wheels.
If you can't walk, a wheelchair's great.
Or rollators are good.
But you know those things
that look like rollators, but they don't have any wheels?
The ones like...
I'm not sure they help.
It looks like if you forced someone who struggles to walk
to always carry around a small commode.
"You have to carry that! It's good for your health!"
"Oh, okay."
"It's heavy, so heavy!"
There must have been a design meeting where that thing was the best option.
Makes you think, "What were the alternatives?"
"We could tie a chain with a stone around their necks."
"Like..."
Just to let you know, at this point, you can laugh at anything I say.
It's all just jokes. You're allowed to laugh.
We're living in a time of political correctness.
There's always someone who calls discrimination.
And in many contexts, that's right. But here, it's all just jokes.
Just to give you some peace of mind:
I've discussed each and every joke with the comedy police.
It's made up of Xavier Naidoo and Kollegah.
No concerns were raised at all.
Yeah, so...
You're allowed to laugh at everything.
On that note... Jews.
Just kidding.
You think that's funny?
"I thought the bit where he drank was the best so far."
You know what you'd love?
A bar.
"Look, he got himself a beer, too! Best night ever!"
Just a little joke on the side.
You know those teenage girls?
Teen girls that say stuff like, "Hey, age is just a number!"
And you think, "Yeah, one that'll send me to jail."
A pretty important number.
A buddy of mine has a rule of thumb:
"Felix, just make sure it starts with a two."
And then he adds, "And it has to be a two-digit number."
I'm 31 now.
So old, 31. Thank you.
Thirty-one. Thirty-one isn't a funny age.
Like, 31 is the sort of age where you get mail,
but it's never good news.
You don't get any letters from your grandma with ten euros inside.
When you're 31, your grandma's got dementia.
And she calls both you and your sister Sasha.
"Sasha, what's up with the pool here?"
"What's up with the pool?"
"What pool, Grandma?"
"Give me my money and shut up."
"I'm leaving now."
"Sasha?"
"Sasha!"
At 31, the mail's never good news.
Thirty-one is a pretty boring age.
You feel like you've done everything.
Now it's all just repeating itself. Boring.
As a kid, you experience new things every day.
It's all new and exciting. You learn something new every day.
"Wow, a tree! What's next?"
At 31, all of that's over. All the firsts are behind you.
Your first time having sex. Your first flat tire.
Your first holdup, murder and hit and run.
You've done it all.
It's all a case of repeating it.
It's a boring age.
So I was pretty happy recently when I had another first.
Basically, for the first time in my life...
I had a crow in my living room.
It's a weird situation, coming into the living room one morning,
not expecting to see a crow, and there's a crow.
An awkward situation.
As awkward as...
You know when you want to open a window fully,
but it's set to tilt?
And you've got this situation... And then...
you're standing under the window like a son of a bitch
fearing for your life.
That times four.
That's a crow in your living room.
The crow was stupid.
It wanted to get out, but it flew into the closed window.
Over and over.
It was panicking and it had shat all over.
It was so loud and it woke me up.
I came into the living room half asleep and thought...
"No."
"No, I don't want this."
I didn't know what to do. I had no experience with crows in my home.
I said to the crow, "Please leave, sir!"
"Please get out of my flat!"
But the crow just...
Then I said it in English, "Please leave now!
"Sir, I don't want you in my flat!"
Then I saw that the crow had come in from the balcony.
So I wormed my way over to the balcony
and opened the door wide.
Then you're standing there,
31 years old, on the balcony,
at 7:00 in the morning, in your boxers.
With a bit of a semi.
But not because of the crow.
It was just my morning glory.
So I'm standing there,
the fucking crow making its rounds of my flat.
Whenever it came near the door,
"No, sir, please it's... You have to... This direction!"
"You have to go this direction!"
The crow thought, "No."
"How about the hallway?"
Then that crow disappeared into the hallway.
So I thought to myself, "Right, that's how it is."
"This is a new situation."
"I live with a crow now."
"This is my new personality now."
Got a fucking crow for a lodger.
A real crowger.
I just waited there.
Waited, freezing. It was cold.
So fucking cold.
Hiding my penis from the neighbors.
Two hours later, the crow came out, too.
I watched the beast fly away and thought,
"That crow had no manners."
"Drops in, uninvited. No hello, no nothing."
"Makes an awful noise, shits everywhere."
"No manners at all!"
"I don't visit your home...
and shit all over the place."
"Fucking crow."
"He can go fuck himself."
Seriously, he can go fuck himself, man.
He can go fuck himself in his stupid feathery crow's ass.
Have you seen those horrible images on the news
of an oil spill somewhere,
pictures of seagulls with oil all over their wings?
That sad picture, it's always the same.
I want that to happen to the crow.
Recently, someone tried to break into my home.
I heard it.
I didn't know what to do.
Then I just called the police.
And those pigs...
didn't answer.
So it was 1:30, Saturday morning, in Berlin,
they were all sitting there in the station, thinking,
"Let's just not answer."
"First one to answer is the biggest asshole."
"If it's important, they'll call back."
I was alone in this situation. The first door was broken down.
I have two doors because I'm rich.
The second door goes right into my flat.
I had to do something.
So I just crept up to the door and looked through the peephole.
Two boys wearing hoodies.
I didn't know what to do.
So I just knocked on the door.
In my own home...
I knocked on the door from inside
to show that someone was there.
"I don't know if it'll stop you,
but you should know."
I was knocking for my life.
The boys fucked off.
I thought, "I just knocked them away."
Don't fuck with the knocker.
I didn't know if they'd come back with new equipment.
I called the cops.
After the fourth ring, they answered.
They're there 20 minutes later.
Two policemen.
One was old and mellow, the other was a young guy.
About my age. He kept looking at me like...
"You're the guy from Gemischtes Hack, bestes Hack!"
I was thinking, "Bro, that was unprofessional."
And I'm in my boxers.
I'm not going to do finger guns.
This is not the time.
They asked the usual questions. Not like it'll get anywhere.
But I think...
I thought about the suspect descriptions.
It must be weird for overly politically correct lefties
if they're the victim of a crime
and they have to describe the perpetrator.
Well...
"It doesn't matter what color his hair was."
"Nationality? He was a human being, okay?"
"Your binary thinking sickens me, you straight, cis, white man."
"I just can't believe it."
Extremely annoying for the cops.
"Dealing with a bloody hippy."
I'm not like that. I'm...
When a cop asks me,
"Mr. Lobrecht, how tall was the perpetrator?"
"He was a Turk!"
"Yes, but how tall was he?"
"How tall? Turk-height!"
"Six durum thirty!"
"Smaller than a German, taller than a Chinese guy. A Turk!"
"Go get him!"
That was burglary-gate.
That small experience was enough to bust some fundamental beliefs.
Right after, I thought to myself, "I need a gun."
"I wanna shoot some motherfuckers!"
"I need a weapon."
I can't get a powerful gun.
So I got an alarm pistol.
An air gun with blank rounds.
It's just loud.
"Hands up or it gets loud!"
"You're not in danger, but there will be a loud noise!"
"I have ear plugs in! Safety first!"
An alarm gun, like a wimp.
I've got it by my bed now.
If someone tries to break in again,
I'll go to the door again with my alarm gun.
I'll knock first.
If that's not enough, I'll rip the door open
and stand there with the gun.
That's the plan.
And my plan...
relies heavily...
on that being enough.
I'm not prepared for much resistance.
I'm ready for him to say, "That's not real."
I'm ready for that. I'll say, "Try me, motherfucker!"
"Try me!"
If he gets closer again, I'll say,
"Okay, I was bluffing. Come on in."
"The valuables are over there. Are you hungry?"
Alarm gun like a wuss.
I've got no luck with weapons.
As a kid, I was always armed.
Seriously.
I'm from Neukölln in Berlin. It's a bit like Harlem.
I'm from Neukölln.
It was a district full of armed kids.
Every ten-year-old had a knife.
A proper knife. For killing.
Not a pocket knife.
A proper knife with a blade as long as their arm.
A knife.
Everyone around me had weapons, so at 12, I wanted a knife.
So I got myself a butterfly knife.
You know a butterfly knife?
It's a three-part knife. It opens up by the handle.
Then you close it.
You can play around with it.
It's good fun.
It's fun to open. Then you kill someone.
Then it's fun to close.
What a concept!
First fun, then murder.
Then back to fun again.
Got myself a butterfly.
My strategy as a kid, if I was in a dangerous situation,
was to pull out my knife and play around with it openly.
So that everyone knew that the German guy's armed.
Ninety pounds you don't wanna fuck with.
That was my trick.
Then one time, I was sitting alone on the subway.
Four boys got on.
Let's not beat about the bush. Turks.
They sat down opposite me and stared at me.
I thought, "Okay, here we go."
Played around with my knife. Tried to look a bit psycho.
The boys stood in front of me and said,
"Let's see."
I gave them the knife.
They took it away from me.
It happened in four seconds.
There was nowhere to knock.
They stole the knife that was supposed to protect me from theft.
I have no luck with weapons.
I need a drink.
My mouth is dry.
Dry as my vagina.
Where did that come from all of a sudden?
"My vagina is dry."
"I'm complaining about a dry vagina."
That's a very strange problem.
Actually, exclusively a women's problem.
It sounds sexist.
But really, dry vaginas are 100% a problem for women.
And indirectly for men.
"I can't sleep with you, my vagina is too dry."
Well, have a drink.
Cheers.
It might help.
It can't hurt.
It won't get drier
if you add H2O to the woman.
You can really get me with vagina jokes.
Oh, you can tell.
Seriously.
Like it's lubed.
I mean it.
My pussy is dripping.
Anyway, I'm now 31 and I don't feel that age.
Being old is not what I imagined it would be like when I was a kid.
I don't feel old, mature and grown-up.
I can hardly believe I'm 31.
I'm not lying. There's evidence. It's not like I'm a refugee.
No bone measuring needed or anything.
My friends, they all act their age.
They really look like adults.
They're getting into family mode,
living with their girlfriends, having kids.
My buddy José is having his first baby.
I mean, not him.
His girlfriend is.
He's not that far left.
They're sticking to the old gender roles.
"Bear me a son, woman!"
"Now clean this up! I'm hungry!"
Women, right?
They have a completely different feel for the frying pan.
Totally different way of holding the broom.
You can't learn that.
So José is having his first baby.
And, I've gotta be honest, I'm not ready for that.
I'm not ready for José...
to be having a baby soon.
That might affect me, too, and I don't want it to.
I'm scared that I'll have to do stuff.
At some point, the baby will be there
and you have to go in and look at it.
And have some sort of reaction, but I don't know what.
I just think it's a mini José.
I already think the big one's ugly.
Everyone's excited. And José wants to give me his baby.
And I don't want it.
But I have to take it.
In situations like that, you can't just say no.
Scary.
Too much responsibility for me.
If José gives me his baby, it's like he's saying,
"Here, Felix, here is the most important thing in my life."
"It's fragile. Its health is entirely in your hands."
"And we're all watching you."
That scares me.
I'm scared this will happen.
What do you say to that?
It can happen.
It's human, but what do you say?
"Yeah, so..."
Awkward.
Just retreat from there without anyone noticing.
Fuck, stepped on it again!
Sorry!
It scares me.
What's the safest way to hold a baby?
What's the official way to hold it?
Instinctively, I'd grab a baby like a cat holds her young.
By the neck, just like...
I will be honest.
The responsibility that a helpless little creature brings about
scares me in a way...
I feel a real tightness in the chest.
Like the other day, when I saw a young mother
with her little baby on the street, and...
Well, a "young mother", I mean "young" in the sense of... "us."
Not like "in the prime of life" young.
She was not nine. Just...
Just a young mother with her itty-bitty baby.
And the baby could walk.
I don't know whether it was unusual that the baby could walk.
I don't know when babies start walking. After a day? I have no idea.
Well, whatever, anyway... The man could walk.
This mother with her baby, holding hands...
And then the baby went like this, tore himself loose.
And went like...
Ran off.
Started running like a little baby.
Frankly, a running baby...
I can't stand seeing that.
But when I do see it, two thoughts pop in my head.
First,
"Where do you need to go that fast, pal?"
You are one year old, pal, you have no appointments...
that you would need to keep without your mom, so what's the plan?
Do you need to repark your tricycle?
"Yes, diagonally on a parking space for the disabled."
"Screw the cripples, man."
"I'll park wherever I want, man. I am a baby, man."
"What are you gonna do, man?"
Babies can park wherever they want.
Babies, in general, can do what they want.
Babies are above the law just because they are cute.
And I think babies know that very well.
"I'll crap right here on the floor, and Mommy will give me a kiss."
"I'm a baby, man."
"I'll touch your lady's tits, pal. What do you want?"
"What will you do? I'm a baby."
"I'm a baby, man."
"Touch me, and you'll see what happens."
So that is my first thought when I see a baby run.
It's a long thought. And...
And my second thought is, I don't dare look when I see a baby run.
I'm always scared I might witness something awful
when I watch that.
It's always like... And then...
Always lifting its arms. It's stupid.
It doesn't know you don't have to lift your arms when you're running.
It just looks ridiculous and embarrasses your parents.
And then they speed up because they don't know what speed is.
Can't control it.
There is no question that a running baby will fall.
It's just a matter of how badly.
And in Berlin, the question is not whether it will fall onto something dangerous,
but how dangerous.
A broken bottle or a red-hot cigarette butt...
turns a running baby into a burning baby in no time.
Antiperspirant...
Burns like brilliant trash.
The prospect of a running baby dying is about 50%.
So a running baby may be considered alive as well as dead.
#Schrödinger'sBaby.
Once your baby runs, you might as well start wondering
whether you still have a shoebox at home.
Or a small bag from H&M.
Or a big lunch box.
Well, I tucked my baby in Tupperware...
I'm pissed off that my all my buddies are so grown-up now,
or they pretend to be, and I'm not there yet, like...
You guys do that shit. I'll celebrate my life.
I consider myself the last cool guy among my friends.
Kind of young at heart.
But I think... You have to be careful, because I think...
There is a fine line between "young at heart"
and "stuck in a rut."
It's a fine line between, "That guy is fun to go out with,"
and "What? He's still trying to be a rapper?"
I fear that in ten years' time, I'll be the one who got stuck.
My friends will have families in the suburbs and hold 9 to 5 jobs.
And me? Well, I...
I'll still go "Drink, drink," three times a week.
And all of a sudden, I'll want to look for some new friends to go out with,
and I'll just hang out with some guys who are way too young for me.
Some fucking college kids living in a shared fucking apartment
where you have to trick any domestic appliance into working.
Like, "Can I make myself some coffee?"
"Yeah, take the breadknife--" "Well, what would I need
the breadknife for in this scenario?"
"Easy. You just jam the handle of the knife
between the water tank and the coffee maker,
press the button
wait till it stops blinking--"
"Pull the knife out now!"
Like, "Is your toilet broken?" "No, why?"
"Because it doesn't flush."
"You haven't turned on the tap on the balcony, have you?"
"When you turn on the tap on the balcony, you can use the toilet as usual."
"But close it right away after or Lena can't open her window."
They grew up too quickly for me.
I had no acclimatization phase to grow into it with them.
It felt like from one second to the next,
as though my friends had all agreed, "I am grown-up now."
"From now on, my jacket is waterproof."
It felt like, one moment, we're standing together in a club,
my pal Russi vomits all over himself,
and then goes, "Bro, man."
"Let's grab another Vodka Red Bull."
"Or let's slurp another beer."
And to get me into the mood
he makes these slobbery noises with a bit of vomit still in his mouth.
Like, "Slurp a nice little beer..."
It felt like this one second, and in the next second,
he invites me to dinner at his home in the suburbs.
It's Tuesday, 5:00 p.m.
And then he opens the door with a joke prepared, like,
"We're not buying anything."
Just...
Just that kind of dad joke, "We're not buying anything."
"Man, piss off, it's cold."
"Just let me in. What is wrong with you?"
At times, I'm scared that this is a glimpse into my future,
that it is only a matter of time
before I open the door with a jolly line on my lips.
"That's not what we ordered, is it?"
And I'll just go like...
Because I think that's what young folks do.
Do it way too long, feel a cramp.
That scares me.
Frankly, I do notice symptoms of old age. I'm aware of...
I'm aware of my slow decay.
All of a sudden, my hair turns grey...
But not the cool George Clooney kind of grey.
More like, "Do you have AIDS?"
Grey hair, I know...
One drink and I'm hungover for six days. I'm becoming conventional.
Things I never cared about started getting to me.
Someone doesn't greet me and I'm done for the day.
"I regret what just happened."
I'm starting to get too conventional for Berlin.
It's strange, because I grew up in Berlin with all that shit.
I'm getting too conventional for it.
I don't get the whole Berlin techno, MDMA, hepatitis thing.
This Berlin-thing.
This touristy, hipster, newcomer-thing.
Like, "And then, seriously,
they started playing drums in the middle of the street."
"That is so very Berlin.'"
And I think, "No, that is disturbing the peace, you bastard."
"It is loud. It is annoying."
I'm too conventional for Berlin, honestly. When I go to the grocery store,
and on my way there, I see someone in broad daylight
take a crap in the street,
I am disgusted.
I am too conventional for it.
I'm not that kind of guy.
I would not know what to do.
I ended up calling the police because I wasn't sure...
"I'm not sure if this is of your concern, but I regret to tell you..."
Too conventional.
The other day, I saw a man who barked.
Just barked like a dog.
A grown-up man who planted himself in front of me like...
Felix, here is a man who barks.
The bum stared right into my eyes with his empty, lifeless eyes.
Fucking barking bum.
And by "bum" I do not mean "homeless."
That's two different pairs of shoes.
Which neither of the two owns, but...
It's not the same.
You just stand there being barked at.
Super annoyed,
not sure what to do, either. It's a new situation.
What can you say? "Stop barking, bro, please."
"No. Come here now."
Or throw a stick so he runs off.
"Done."
Too old for that shit.
Too old for barking men.
That sounds kind of gay.
Too old for barking men.
Sometimes, I wish I was gay.
I'm not gay, but at times I wish I was.
Or perhaps bi, for starters.
Just to get an idea.
In my ignorant, heterosexual imagination, it is quite awesome to be bi.
Being bi considerably raises the number of potential sex partners instantaneously.
When you don't end up in some crappy club at 4:00 a.m. thinking,
"Bummer, there's only men left here. Let's leave."
Instead you just think...
"Give the man a schnapps!"
"Schnapps and schlongs!"
No idea why the schlongs were that high up in this scenario.
I just like clubbing with tall men. So what?
Frankly, I don't know why anybody would not like gay people.
Okay, there is this thing about AIDS.
It is a bit of a killjoy, but...
Just kidding. Why would you not like gays?
Foreigners? That I understand.
In the sense, "We have different opinions and theirs are wrong and stupid."
I can, at least, understand the argument.
"The refugees ate my granny."
That sucks!
The man's got a point there. I'd be pissed, too.
I can understand that. I can't take it seriously, but...
And let's not kid ourselves.
None of us is free from...
None of us is free from these racist lines of reasoning
because we grew up in these structures together.
You have to reflect on your behavior and try to behave better.
I assume we all consider ourselves liberal and open-minded.
I consider myself liberal and open-minded.
However...
Here, this is for you.
What was that, man?
Sounds like you're strangling a dog.
Funny, some types of laughter always stand out.
There are some types that are so frequent, that I kind of categorize them.
For example, one kind of laughter that you all know,
I call it "the pig."
It's this...
And another one that always stands out, I call it the "lung carcinoma."
That is this...
Just straight past the tumor,
compressed air.
"I'm having fun."
And then a nosebleed.
I thought I knew all types of laughter.
But the other day, I had a woman in my show
whose laughter fucked me up completely.
This woman just laughed in a way like you had typed it in a chat...
and Siri was reading it back to you.
She went like this:
I thought, "What's wrong with you?"
I can imagine her cough. "Cough, cough, cough."
Did you swap your seat?
You are quick.
Quick like Hitler.
I have absolutely no idea whether Hitler was quick, but...
But if so, you'd have to give him that.
"Sure, mighty bad thing what he did, but he was quick."
Quick Hiti.
Sounds like a cheap ride at the funfair, at Bunker Land.
I totally agree that time passes faster as you grow older.
That really struck me in the last three or four years.
That is how long I've been on this job now.
Looking back, the last three or four years seem like a week.
Time just rushed past me and...
Let's be frank, these last three years went quite well.
I was quite successful, had a career boost, a kind of hype.
And by now, a bit of fame, too.
I do not want to brag, but... It's true, and...
I am not famous.
Nobody rolls out the red carpet for me, but a little bit...
With gritted teeth, I could participate in Come Dine With Me.
I'd be standing there, kitchen towel over my shoulder,
"Thanks for asking, Giovanni Zarrella, about this aceto balsamico."
Hilarious story.
That is my kind of fame.
Even with my small-scale fame, I experience stuff that is totally absurd.
Makes me wonder what it must be like to be really famous.
The other day, I was on my way to a club.
I was on the street waiting for a cab, when a car drove by, stopped and honked.
I turned around, and it was the cops. Police.
They opened the window, and one of them went,
"Felix Lobrecht!"
"I know you!"
I was already loaded, so I said, "Police, I know you, too."
"What's up? Where do you gotta go?"
"Going to another club."
"Hop in, we'll take you."
They opened the door for me, I got in at the back...
There were three of them in the car. Two up front, one in the back.
Would've been odd had they all sat in the front.
Exceedingly tight.
I got in the back, told them where I had to go
and the driver said...
"Let's go, shall we? With blue lights on. That's quicker."
Then we sped through the city at 60 mph,
added the siren at every red light and stepped on it.
And I thought, "Okay, boys...
that's super nice of you,
but don't you have to work or something?"
"Nah, no problem."
"Wanna try to shoot the gun?"
In my job, I learn a lot about Germany because I travel so much.
The other day, I did a show in Saarbrücken.
Fun fact about Saarbrücken...
Adolf Hitler...
and Joseph Goebbels
were honorary citizens of the city until 2001.
Until 2001.
With a mere 56-year delay,
somebody thought, "Well, maybe we should..."
When Zlatko won Big Brother,
Adolf Hitler was still an honorary citizen of the city.
That is late.
Always on the road. We were in Ludwigsburg.
For those of you who don't know it,
Ludwigsburg is a small university town near Stuttgart.
And I learnt that Ludwigsburg only has female inhabitants.
The university offers subjects which apparently only women study.
Some kind of teaching shite. I have no idea.
So there were only women.
I did a show, and in the audience, the audience was one tit.
A single, wobbly...
It was not a beautiful tit...
because, as I said, they were teacher trainees.
Only women live in Ludwigsburg.
That was funny because a few days earlier, we had been to Aachen.
And Aachen is all males.
Aachen is really one single cock, man.
There is a huge technical college, and only men live there.
After the show, a student came up to me and said,
"Hi, Felix, it's me again."
Which was funny 'cause we had never met before.
"Hi, Felix, it's me again. I just wanted to say,
as you mentioned in the show, there are only men living here."
"I must say, quite frankly, that is so true."
"Here in Aachen, when you go out
and there are fewer than ten men surrounding a woman,
it makes absolute sense to join the line."
Aachen is called "Me Too" in English .
In Aachen, every night is New Year's Eve in Cologne.
And I wondered...
I wondered whether Aachen and Ludwigsburg might find a way to cooperate.
Maybe some kind of sister-city arrangement where you organize bus trips...
and carry busloads of underfucked students of engineering
from Aachen to Ludwigsburg
just so they can do some freshman bitches.
Just a thought.
And then, they gather in the club...
with their triangle rulers...
dancing the German dance.
Germans dance the same way Islamists preach.
A lot has changed.
My personal circumstances have changed, too, in the last three years.
For the first time in my life, I have money.
I never had money, now I do.
And money... is cool, man.
I can recommend that.
I do recommend money.
What?
What is the time?
According to my 42,000 euro Rolex,
it is shortly after... I'm all good, thanks for asking.
Someone came up to me and said, "I liked the show,
but your wristwatch blinded me the whole time."
I thought, "Do you know what this is? Luxury problems."
You know what they say, "More money, more problems?"
It's not true! It's a lie!
The difference between being rich and poor is it sucks to be one of the two.
"Felix! That is so unfair!"
Sorry, I really do not speak "Poorish."
I don't want you to get the impression that I squander my money meaninglessly.
I do try to shop responsibly.
Just the other day, I bought a Gucci reversible jacket.
Two jackets for the price of 14.
No, money is good.
But money does change people, I realized that.
Money changed my brother.
My brother is my tour manager. He is always on the road with me.
And my money did change my brother, really.
My brother mutated overnight into a princess.
Like, "Felix, we don't do that kind of thing anymore, do we?"
"Just leave that to the poor little buggers, will you?"
My brother just became so unpleasant, that in the cities where I do a show,
we mostly stay in the most beautiful hotel there is.
My brother is not happy checking into a five-star-hotel.
My brother takes a look around,
takes an inspection tour...
And he jiggles. My brother jiggles a lot.
Oftentimes he jiggles furniture.
"Look here, it is already quite loose, isn't it?"
"It's a bit shabby."
"I'm not sure I can sleep here."
My brother snarls at furniture.
My brother has become a motherfucker, man.
He ran up to a local promoter with a cup of coffee in his hand and went...
"You."
"Come here."
"I just meant to ask..."
"I wanted to ask whether I had ordered cappuccino...
or lukewarm hog's pee?"
"This is the hog's pee, isn't it?"
"Sure, this is hog's pee."
"Sure."
"Drink it."
"Drink, pig."
"Drink your own pee."
Frankly, I find it quite absurd what's happened in the last three years.
The scale and the extent of it, it just exploded within such a short time.
It's almost confusing. It is so surreal.
These surreal numbers for the Hype tour,
which was sold out from the first show to the last.
We sold more than a quarter of a million tickets.
Within the last three years, I wrote a novel
that has become a bestseller, the audiobook as well,
and it is to be turned into a movie.
For some reason, I run Germany's most successful podcast.
I was...
Right now, I am recording this amazing special
in Germany's most beautiful theater. All my shows are sold out everywhere.
That's all I ever wanted, right?
And the funny thing is, now that I have it all,
I can't be happy about it or enjoy it for a moment
because I am busy being scared that I might lose it all somehow.
So, this is kind of my baby.
And I am scared to...
I have...
For the first time, I'm afraid of loss because I now have something to lose.
The tides change so quickly these days. One quote out of context is enough.
One moment, you do a show in front of thousands of people
and the next, you stand in front of the grocery store, barking.
The tides turn quickly. It scares me.
I'm trying to enjoy it all. But that's the thing about hype...
It appears all of a sudden, and one day, it is over.
My name is Felix Lobrecht.
Thank you for coming.
Thank you!
I love you all! The hype is real!