09x05 - Fentanyl

[bunniefuu]

LAST WEEK TONIGHT
WITH JOHN OLIVER

Welcome to "Last Week Tonight"!
I'm John Oliver.

Thank you so much for joining us.
Time for a quick recap of the week.

Russia's invasion of Ukraine
entered its second month,

North Korea launched
its biggest m*ssile test in years,

and here in the U.S.,

the Senate held confirmation hearings
for Judge Ketanji Brown Jackson,

where she had to answer
some absolutely batshit questions.

On a scale of one to 10,

how faithful would you say you are,
in terms of religion?

I'm a Hispanic man.
Could I decide I was an Asian man?

Do you think we should catch
and imprison more murderers,

or fewer murderers?

Do you agree with this book
that is being taught with kids,

that babies are r*cist?

Senator...

I do not believe...

Okay, just stop.
Because just for a second,

don't focus on the stupidity
of the questions there,

just appreciate
how exquisite that pause was.

In it was contained
the strength and patience

of every Black woman
being stretched to its absolute limit.

In that pause was the divine calculus
where she had to balance,

"How much do I want this job?"

and, "How much do I want to cuss out
these preposterous people?"

Call it the Chisholm-Johnson formula.

And look, obviously,
those questions were not asked

because they genuinely
wanted to know the answer.

They were asked
to generate viral soundbites.

The proof of which
is in this image of Ted Cruz,

right after his questioning, where
he's checking his mentions on Twitter

in the middle of the proceedings.

Which is honestly kind of amazing.
Can you imagine being Ted Cruz

and wanting to hear
what people think about you?

On the internet? That is a doom-scroll
that will not end well.

But for now,
let's move on to the royal family.

They've had a tough year, compared
to no one else who's ever lived,

from Harry and Meghan
talking to Oprah,

to Prince Andrew
being stripped of his titles

after-will-will legal
let me mention the things he did?

They won't?
Even though he definitely did them?

Okay then, I guess forget those things
I mentioned that he definitely did.

This was supposed to be a big week
for the royals,

with Prince William
and Kate Middleton

embarking on an official visit
to the Caribbean.

The moments royal tours
are made of.

The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge
dancing with locals in Belize,

a visit officially to mark the Queen's


also being dubbed
a "charm offensive",

an attempt to sway Caribbean nations
to hang onto the monarchy.

"Charm offensive?"
It's certainly one of those things.

It looks less like a royal visit

and more like Beach Barbecue Night
at Sandals Belize.

But it is true that this tour
was for two key reasons.

First, to celebrate the Queen's


a milestone that she's definitely hit
because she's absolutely not dead.

Nope! No, don't do the dates!
Don't do the dates yet!

Why would you do that
when she's so obviously fine?

But this was a clear attempt to try
and keep the commonwealth together.

Especially as, just four months ago,

Barbados formally removed
the Queen as their head of state

and, during the same ceremony,
recognized Rihanna as a national hero,

proving Barbados is currently
making all of the right decisions here.

But instead of the fawning coverage
that the royals no doubt hoped for,

this tour has been a disaster.

Not quite the welcome
they were hoping for.

At one of the first places
William and Kate were supposed to visit,

protests forced the couple to cancel.

That was the first stop of day one!

Not a great signal
for the rest of your trip.

It's like getting to Disney World
and immediately being told,

"Sorry, theme park is closed to you,
your family committed genocide"

That is gonna set a tone
for the rest of your time in Orlando.

And things didn't get much better.

Before they landed in the Bahamas,
the national reparations committee there

released a statement, saying,
"The time is now for reparations",

ending the letter quoting
Bahamian artist Tony McKay, saying,

"I come to collect everything
that you owe me."

Which is a devastating way
to end a letter.

The only thing that could have made it
any more devastating

is simply adding the word, "bitch."

I mean, the bitch is implied there.
Don't get me wrong.

But it would have been lovely
to see it written down.

And then there was Jamaica,
where things continued going badly.

Protestors demanded an apology for the
royal family's role in the sl*ve trade,

and made
some pretty pointed criticisms.

Mr. William, I see you love to dance
with the Black people,

and you love to frolic,

but speak some truth on this trip.

Our goal is to loosen
and remove the hands,

the gloved hands,
of the Queen

from around our necks,
so that we can breathe.

How are these two young
white people now going to be here

saying we are going to kowtow to them,
and we are going to bend

and bow and kneel to them
as if they are gods?

Those days are done.
The monarchy is a relic.

Holy sh*t. William. Kate. Just go.
You just gotta leave.

If all those Black women have taken
time out of their day to call you

"Mr. William" and "those two
young white people," you're done.

You're just done.
It is over for you. All of it.

Having your entire thing in life
reduced down to "you love to frolic"

is f*cking brutal.

The people of Jamaica have said,

"These two white people are unserious,
and we do not require them.

Please go frolic somewhere else,"
and I do not disagree with them.

And look, William and Kate
tried to turn things around.

They played some bongos,
they sat in a Jamaican bobsled,

they posed
next to a Bob Marley statue

while somehow managing to look
more lifeless than an actual statue.

But it all felt desperate.
And perhaps their lowest moment

came during their audience
with the Jamaican prime minister

because as he welcomed them in
for their initial photo op,

before the cameras had got settled,
he dropped this on them.

Jamaica is, as you would see,

a country that is very proud
of our history,

very proud
of what we have achieved,

and we are moving on

and we intend to attain in short order
our development goals

and fulfill our true ambitions

as an independent, developed,
prosperous country.

sh*t! He basically broke up with them
before they could even sit down.

They didn't even make it
to the chairs!

It is hard to watch
that without getting flashbacks

to every time
you've been dumped.

Although, if you do need to break up
with someone in the future,

you should definitely do it like that.

"I'm sorry, Michelle, before we eat,
I just want to say,

I'm very proud of our history
and what we've achieved together,

but I'm moving on
and intend to fulfill my ambitions

as an independent, developed,
prosperous person.

Also, I hate every single one of your
friends, and I always have."

There were so many points during this
trip that it should've been abandoned.

How did no one on it
not look around and say,

"No one asked us to be here, everyone's
mad at us, we shouldn't be here."

Although to be fair, "No one asked us
to be here and now they're mad,"

is essentially British history
in two sentences.

The thing, though, is, even if
William and Kate were charming,

I'm not sure there is enough charm in
the universe to convince these nations

to stick with the monarchy.

This is an empire that invaded
their lands, robbed their wealth,

and enslaved and
m*rder*d their people,

and now the royals have the f*cking
balls to ask,

"Can you please keep us around?"

That has to be the single dumbest
question I've ever heard in my life.

Aside, maybe, from this.

Do you agree with this book
that is being taught with kids,

that babies are r*cist?

Exactly. And now, this.

And Now...

Yet Another Installment
of Coming Up on "Inside Edition".

Bugging out!

The President
att*cked by a cicada.

Watch out for the cicadas!

Then, the guy who says
he was swallowed by a whale.

This is it.

He says it also happened to him.
Then, baby dinosaur mystery!

And, you call this lunch?
What the heck is this?

- Then...
- Not bad for an old man.

Then, storage lockers!

Millions of Americans
are storing their stuff in them.

And freak out!

Then, their songs so beautiful!

Plus, gator girl.
Plus, wild goose chase?

Or has he been eaten by alligators?

Then, chiropractors for babies.

And champagne wedding toast.
This is not gonna end well.

Moving on.
Our main story tonight concerns dr*gs.

They're something that we've often been
told to avoid through PSAs like this.

- Don't do dr*gs!
- Don't you do it now!

- Don't do dr*gs!
- No!

Someone plays you for a fool,
when they say, "Come on, be cool."

Just be smart and heed this rule.

Don't do dr*gs!

Just tell him
you got better things to do.

Cool!

Everyone knows
the hottest spot to snort coke

is a bench on a residential street
in broad daylight.

These days, you can't hang out on your
split level porch in your poodle skirt

without seeing those teens blowing
that snow like it's Jackson Hole.

But despite
those very compelling arguments,

millions upon millions of Americans
still use illicit dr*gs.

And it is easy to see why
dr*gs can be a lot of fun.

Some, in fact, can be so much fun
they end up ruining your f*cking life.

Because the truth is,
that "Grease" fever dream

isn't entirely wrong to imply

that engaging with the illicit
drug supply can be dangerous.

This past decade has shown
a substantial rise in overdose deaths,

leading to alarming statistics
like this.

The CDC estimates
more than 100,000 Americans

d*ed from drug overdoses over
a 12-month period ending this April,

a record.

It's nearly 3 times the number of deaths
from traffic accidents last year,

and more than twice
the number of g*n deaths.

That is staggering.

And, quick side note here,
it is depressingly American

to be shocked that something
could cause more deaths than g*ns.

We are the only country
that would look at that and say,

"It's hard to believe that drug
overdoses are k*lling more people

than one of those natural
causes of death:

highly preventable loss of life
by loosely regulated weapons."

The fact is, street dr*gs
are an absolute mess right now,

as they've become so contaminated
one Yale researcher said,

"The whole supply
is absolutely f*cked at this point."

And the rise in overdose deaths
has been driven by the presence

of one drug in particular,
and that is fentanyl, a synthetic opioid

often used prescriptively for things
like surgeries or cancer pain.

But outside of medical settings,
illegally manufactured fentanyl

has become a huge problem.

Because it,
and other synthetic opioids,

were involved in nearly two-thirds
of all overdose deaths

during the past year.

And while it is true that fentanyl
is incredibly potent,

the bigger problem is actually that
there's a dangerous lack of consistency

in the way it's currently distributed
within the street drug supply.

You can either know you're taking it,
on its own or in something like heroin,

but not know
how potent what you're taking is,

or you may not know
that you're taking it at all.

What we're seeing is that this opioid

is being found in a contaminated pill
supply in the whole United States.

They're using pill presses
that look like pills

for pharmaceuticals
that are currently marketed.

One day, I admitted
three people into the clinic.

All three of them
said they were taking oxycodone.

None of those three people
had any oxycodone tested

in their urine that we tested that day.
It was all fentanyl.

That's not great, is it?

The only time you should be surprised
by what is in your urine

is when you forgot you ate asparagus
earlier that day,

or, worst-case scenario, the shrunk-
down Magic School Bus comes out,

after a biology lesson
gone horribly wrong.

So, if the current drug supply
is this tainted and this dangerous,

we thought it'd be worth talking
about the overdoses that it can cause,

and the things that we should, and
shouldn't be doing to prevent them.

And let's start by acknowledging
some past mistakes.

Because for decades,
we've been fighting a w*r on dr*gs

that was often fueled
by fear and misinformation,

directly leading to bad policy.

In the 1980s, for instance, the risks
associated with cr*ck cocaine use,

which were very real,
got cartoonishly inflated

into fear-mongering headlines
about a generation of cr*ck babies,

with stories like, "cr*ck Babies
Turn 5, and Schools Brace,"

which was obviously shitty
and r*cist at the time

but has also since
been completely debunked.

That hysteria led to policies

like mandatory minimums
that fueled mass incarceration,

and laws that criminalized
everything surrounding drug use,

from paraphernalia to even locations
where dr*gs were used.

Unfortunately, we're seeing a similar
panic today brewing around fentanyl,

which, again,
is dangerous if ingested or injected.

But to hear law enforcement tell it,
it's dangerous to be anywhere near it.

Take this video from the San Diego
County Sheriff's Department,

and before I show it to you,
know the officer involved is fine,

for reasons I'll get to in a minute.

My trainee was exposed to fentanyl
and nearly d*ed.

He found a white substance
that he suspected was dr*gs.

It tested positive for fentanyl. That
stuff's no joke, it is super dangerous.

A couple seconds later, he took
some steps back and he collapsed.

Again, don't worry,
that officer is completely fine.

And there should have been
a few immediate red flags there;

not only did the department voluntarily
release that body cam footage,

they also went to the trouble
of scoring it with music

that can only be described
as "funeral home slideshow".

But the idea that that officer could've
been passively exposed to fentanyl

and then overdosed
is completely absurd.

Experts say, "It is technically
impossible to touch fentanyl powder

and feel any effects from it,
let alone overdose,"

and "You would have to be
in some sort of wind tunnel

with massive amounts of fentanyl"
to accidentally inhale enough to OD.

And by the way,
"a wind tunnel full of fentanyl"

is quite the phrase there.

If you just add
"and roving gangs,"

you've pretty much got how
a r*cist uncle describes Chicago

after watching
too much Fox News.

And the thing is,
it's by no means just San Diego,

multiple police departments
have put out similar claims of OD-ing

through accidental ski-skin contact
or inhalation,

which again,
is basically impossible.

What those officers were much more
likely experiencing were panic att*cks.

Which makes sense, in a way, because
they'd just been exposed to something

they've repeatedly heard is deadly
to be anywhere near.

This has now become such a trope,
it was a plot point on "Blue Bloods,"

where Donnie Wahlberg's partner briefly
picks up a tray with fentanyl on it,

and then this happens.

- What she came in contact with?
- Perp said she got fentanyl.

She was fine one second,
the next minute, she's not breathing.

Fentanyl is a synthetic opioid,


The slightest exposure
can trigger an overdose.

Yeah, that is complete horseshit.

Not that you'd expect
any more nuance

from a show
that's basically adult "Paw Patrol."

But the point is,
it is deeply irresponsible of police

to keep perpetuating
a medical impossibility,

and for media outlets
to keep amplifying it.

For a start,
it might make people afraid to help

someone they see experiencing
an overdose,

why risk giving someone CPR if they
might be covered in powdered death?

And also,
when you treat a drug like a bioweapon,

you justify a punitive,
militarized response to it.

A couple years back, an Ohio man
received additional prison time

for as*ault on a police officer after
officers searched his car for dr*gs

"and found powder that later
tested positive for fentanyl."

And that exposure to fentanyl alone
constituted the as*ault.

And look, if fentanyl
really were smallpox in a bottle,

maybe it'd make sense for total
eradication to be our goal.

But it isn't. So, it frankly
makes much more sense

to focus on how to protect those
genuinely at risk of overdosing on it

and that is the people
taking it.

Which is to say the rest of this piece
is going to be about harm reduction.

Harm reduction accepts the reality
that people will use illegal dr*gs,

and that some either can't,
or don't want to, stop.

So, rather than arrest them,

we might be better off trying
to mitigate the damage done.

It's a concept that you
might already be familiar with

through things
like syringe services programs,

which give people clean needles
and are proven

to massively help drive down
the spread of disease.

And right now, if you genuinely want
o reduce the number of overdoses,

there are some important tactics
that we could encourage.

First, there is drug checking.

The simple act of testing dr*gs
to find out what is in them.

This can be done through things
like fentanyl testing strips,

or reagent test kits.

These are very valuable tools
to keep people safe,

and yet, thanks to those drug-w*r
era laws on paraphernalia

that I just mentioned earlier,

they're technically illegal
in all of these states,

making it a liability to carry them.

Which is just complete madness.

Thankfully, some states have written
carve-outs for specific methods,

like fentanyl testing strips.

And others are choosing not to enforce
their stupid laws criminalizing them.

The problem is, though,
police officers may not be aware,

or indeed care about,
those carve-outs,

and are still very much
arresting people,

or using testing equipment
as probable cause for further searches.

And all this means people
are still getting locked up

because they were carrying
a lifesaving tool.

Which is ridiculous, because if any
life-saving tool should be criminalized,

it obviously should not
be drug checking equipment,

it should be the Heimlich maneuver.

I'm sorry,
but let's get this very clear here.

If you see me choking,
that is frankly none of your business.

If I die, let me die doing
my favorite thing in the world:

not being surprise-hugged
by a stranger.

Do not touch me
under any circumstances!

Then there's the harm reduction method
you're probably already aware of,

and that is naloxone,
also known by the brand name, Narcan.

Naloxone, as this woman
who works in harm reduction explains,

can quickly reverse
an opioid overdose.

Pretend that like this, this is the
fentanyl coming in your system.

So, when you sh**t someone up
with Narcan, it's like a wall goes up

and so the fentanyl hits the wall,
it can't keep on going.

The more Narcan you put into
the system, the bigger that wall gets.

What you're saying is it's actually
quite easy to reverse an overdose?

Yes, it is.

Right. It's incredibly effective.

Naloxone has got to be in the
hall of fame for erasing mistakes,

right up there with the pencil eraser,
the control-Z key,

and starring in "Daddy's Home 2."

What a fun family!
What a cranky dad!

I wonder if there were any fun pranks
or voicemails on the set!

I bet there were.

The point is, though,
naloxone is a f*cking miracle.

Which is why it is so frustrating
that the FDA

currently has it
under "prescription-only" status,

something even the AMA
has said should be changed.

And while every state has adopted
some kind of workaround,

meaning an individual can theoretically
get it without seeing a doctor first,

it can be very difficult.

And for community groups
who want to buy it in bulk

so that they can distribute it directly
to the people who need it the most,

it can be basically impossible.

And look, there are certain things
you would want to go out of your way

to discourage people
from having in their homes...

n*zi flags, pet chimps, a TV playing
an episode of "Blue Bloods",

but Narcan
is absolutely not one of them.

But perhaps the biggest step that
we could make regarding harm reduction

is to properly support
overdose prevention centers,

sometimes called
supervised injection sites.

They're places where people
can bring their own dr*gs

and have access to clean supplies
and trained professionals

who can intervene
in the event of an overdose,

as well as direct them
toward tons of other services,

including addiction treatment,
if they so choose.

Here's a look inside one of them
right here in New York City.

When we were inside, there were
half a dozen clients using dr*gs.

No more improperly
discarded syringes on the streets,

near our schools,
in our subway stations.

You won't, you find way less...

Everything is done onsite,
safely, securely,

without having to worry
about overdosing.

The voice behind the divider
belonged to a man named Oz,

who told us he's a Marine Corps veteran
and was using heroin as we spoke.

I've gotten more help here
than I've gotten from the V.A.

That is incredible.

And I know that we, as a society, have
learned not to trust anyone named Oz

who is either yelling
at you from behind a curtain

or trying to talk to you
about something medical.

But we should make an exception here
on both counts

because this particular Oz
makes a very important point:

overdose prevention centers
provide crucial services

that keep people who use dr*gs
as safe as possible.

And yet,
whenever they are floated as an option,

people freak the f*ck out.

It's actually
a heroin sh**ting gallery.

It is a community center
for heroin addicts to go and sh**t up

under supervision,
which I think is-is crazy.

The best way to prevent overdoses
from heroin

is to have people stop doing heroin.

They called it harm reduction centers,

but in my way of thinking,
it's really harm enabling centers.

There's many other things to deal with
than letting people sh**t up safely.

It's like condoning doing dr*gs.
It's like, "Why don't I go do it?"

Okay, but that's not
at all what these centers are for.

They're not for the heroin-curious
to sample flights of syringes like IPAs.

They're to help people
who already use dr*gs

do so in a way
that won't f*cking k*ll them.

We know overdoses often happen
when people use dr*gs alone,

with no one around to help them,

and these facilities are designed
to make sure that that doesn't happen.

And politicians
who actually study these sites,

like the former mayor of Ithaca,
New York, come away impressed.

The first time I heard it,
I thought it sounded

like we were just enabling people
to use dr*gs.

But the truth is,
in the places where it's worked,

in Australia and Europe and Canada,
more people get off of dr*gs,

like people
who use supervised injection

are 30 percent more likely
to enter into treatment,

and they're 100 percent
less likely to die.

Underline that last point: 100 percent.
No one has ever d*ed there.

There has never been a recorded death
in any overdose prevention center.

That is insane!
People die everywhere!

People die at Chuck E. Cheese!
All the time, by the way!

The ball pit there is,
and this is true, mostly bones.

You want to know that rat's real name?
It's Charles Execution Cheese.

And yet, despite the fact that clip
was from six years ago,

Ithaca still doesn't have
an overdose prevention center.

Because when cities
float opening one,

questions around their morality, even
legality make it next to impossible.

Just recently, an OPC in Philadelphia
was prevented from opening

after a three-judge panel found it
violated a provision in federal law

known as the "cr*ck house statute,"

which bans facilities that operate
for the purpose of using illegal dr*gs.

Yet another 1980s law that we're still
suffering from which is just infuriating.

So often, the problem
facing all harm reduction programs

is that people are so angry
with those who use dr*gs,

they want to try
and punish them into abstinence.

But that is not
how any of this works.

And advocates have been trying
to tell us this for a long time,

like Louise Vincent,
who points out that for decades,

we've been going
at this completely wrong.

All we do is disconnect people
in the United States.

So, if you are found to be a person
who uses dr*gs and needs help,

we start with disconnecting you.

And I truly believe that addiction
is the opposite of connection.

So, what we do is everything
wrong to help a person.

We disconnect people
from their families,

we disconnect people from their friends,
we alienate people from work,

we disconnect them from community,

and then we disconnect
them from their freedom, finally,

and when people finally have nothing
left then they will use until they die.

Right. When people have nothing left,
they will use until they die.

It is f*cking dark, it's horrible,
and, right now,

you can make a pretty good case that,
deliberate or not,

it is the end-goal
of U.S. public health policy.

So, given that,
what do we do from here?

For starters, the FDA should remove
naloxone's prescriptiononly status,

and they should do that right now.

And crucially, not for expensive
brand-name nasal sprays like Narcan,

but for low-cost, generic naloxone,
which is 30 times cheaper.

As for state legislatures, they should
reexamine their paraphernalia laws

to make sure people aren't held liable
for holding basic protective tools

like drug testing equipment.

We need a full-throated endorsement
of overdose prevention centers

from the Biden administration,
because remember,

right now, as Philly is finding out,
they are arguably illegal,

thanks to that cr*ck house statute.

Biden administration could intervene
and take a stand in their favor,

which is frankly the very least
that Biden could do.

If you're wondering "Who is the guy who
authored the cr*ck house legislation?"

I've got some bad news for you.

I'm the guy who authored
the cr*ck house legislation.

Thanks for clarifying, Joe.
Nice Larry King costume, by the way!

And look, this administration
has done some real good

in being the first to broadly
endorse harm reduction tactics.

But advocates say
that much more is needed,

including making sure
that people who use dr*gs

have a seat at the table
during policy discussions,

and that funding gets
to community-based organizations

providing the most services
for them.

But we all need
to get on board here.

Our engrained stigmas around dr*gs
and the people who use them run deep.

And if we actually want to minimize
deaths and keep people safe,

the facts point
in a very clear direction.

We need to meet people
where they are,

help them transition
into safe drug use to stay alive,

and remove barriers for those
seeking addiction treatment.

And what we absolutely
need to stop doing

is spreading misinformation
and warehousing drug users in prisons.

Or, to say all of that
much more succinctly,

it is well past time to start paying
attention to the man behind the curtain.

And now, this!

And Now: Still More of Coming Up
on "Inside Edition."

Peacock invasion!

It sounds
like babies being tortured.

Then, the Brazilian butt lift.

Then, tortoise theft!

And you've been replaced
by a robot waitress!

Then, buddy, how's the fishing?

Plus...



And do face coverings
prevent women from getting catcalls?

Plus...

Is the baby in danger?

Then, the woman they're calling
"Hula-Hoop Karen."

And mask wars Karen!

And why these people
named Karen are fed up.

Plus, supermodel Gisele
saving the turtle!

Then, the loopy Taylor Swift patient

whose dentist
doesn't like Taylor Swift.

You don't like Taylor Swift.
Don't touch me!

Moving on. Finally tonight,
I'd like to talk about Alaska.

It's the single best place to see
a salmon jumping into a bear's mouth,

and, if you're really lucky,
a bear jumping into a salmon's mouth.

It's rare, but when it happens,
it's beautiful.

Specifically, I'd like to talk about
one of Alaska's greatest treasures,

the Nenana Ice Classic.

It's a yearly contest
that you may not have heard of,

but it's happening right now,
and it's absolutely incredible.

Here is how it works.

With the placing of the tripod
on the frozen Tanana River yesterday,

the Nenana Ice Classic
is off and running.

The Ice Classic
involves guessing when the tripod

connected to a clock
near the riverbank

will fall through the melting river ice,
with the closest guess winning.

It's true, every year, the people
in the small Alaskan town of Nenana

put a giant wooden tripod
on a frozen river

and place bets on exactly when the ice
will melt enough to break up,

and the tripod floats downstream.

And before we go any further,
let me just say,

if you are not intrigued by I just said,
turn this show off right now.

If you just heard me describe people
betting on ice melting

and didn't think,
"Sounds great, tell me more, John,"

change the channel,
shut your laptop,

close the YouTube video on your phone,
hit the "un-Roku" button on your Roku,

whatever you have to do,
just get this show away from your face.

This is not a program for you.
You don't need to watch it.

I don't want you to watch it.
I don't want to be in your life.

f*ck off!

Now for the rest of us,
the Nenana Ice Classic is

"one of the oldest continuously running
betting events in the United States."

It officially began back in 1917,
"when a handful of railroad engineers

decided to bet on the ice breakup
to help pass the long Alaskan winter."

And already,
I cannot help but wondering,

what else did they do to pass the time
before they came up with that idea?

"Let's see, guys, we played cards,
sang songs,

wrote letters home, drank heavily,
and experimented with cannibalism,

but we've still got
two months of winter left.

So, who's up for betting
on when that ice over there melts?"

If you're wondering how they determine
the exact moment the contest is over,

they've devised
a pretty amazing system.

We have developed
a mechanism that tells us

when the tripod
moves 100 feet down the river.

It consists of pulleys,

wire,

a cleaver,

two different types of rope,

there's twisted poly
and then there's braided poly.

Half of a 55-gallon drum
that's filled with rocks,

a clothesline,
and the special clock.

Excellent. They basically made
a Rube Goldberg machine

out of random items
to call this contest.

And honestly, I wish it was
even more complicated than that.

How about this: when the tripod
hits 100 feet downriver,

it pulls a rope that runs to the tower,
which is connected to a hook

that pulls up a garbage can
filled with Doritos,

and that releases a basketball,
which rolls down a wooden plank

and pulls a string attached
to a pair of scissors,

which cuts a clothesline,
which is tied thousands of miles away

to the back of Robert De Niro's pants
and it pulls his pants down,

which then pulls another string back
at the tower that trips a wire,

which drops a second garbage
can filled with Microsoft Zunes,

which lands on three dozen eggs,
the egg yolk runs down into a funnel

that flows into a cup, and once the cup
is filled, it pushes an air pump,

which fills a balloon until it pops,
the balloon's string pulls open a gate

that releases a marble,
which rolls down a spiral track

and hits a man named Doug in the head,
and then Doug unplugs the clock.

It might not be as accurate,
but it would be really fun to watch.

To recap, the moment the tripod
floats 100 feet downriver,

the clock stops,
and the contest is over.

Here is that glorious moment
from a past year!

Woo, baby!

Look at it!

Look at it go!

The clock has stopped!

The clock has stopped.

Look at it go,

I could not ask
for a better breakup, baby.

I've never witnessed this before.

You haven't?
What do you think?

It's good.

Don't you envy that woman?

Don't you envy
how much unbridled joy she felt

watching a giant wooden tripod
float down a partially frozen river?

She's got life figured out.

We're over here
running around like idiots,

being miserable all the time
about everything,

while she's up in Alaska
watching ice melt

and experiencing
a level of pure happiness

that the rest of us
will never feel in our pathetic lives.

That woman is living her best life,
and we are all dipshits.

The way you enter the Ice Classic is
by filling out a card with your guess,

and dropping it off
with the $2.50 entry fee,

into one of these
red Ice Classic betting cans.

Which are delivered to gas stations,
bars, and stores all over Alaska.

Each year, they sell over a quarter
of a million entry tickets,

with last year's jackpot
being over $230,000.

It was split evenly
between 12 winners.

If you're thinking "12 different entries
had the exact day, hour, and minute

that this giant wooden thing
floated 100 feet downstream?"

That is exactly what I'm telling you.
Keep paying attention!

One of the reasons for that is that
you are technically allowed to place

as many bets as you want,
as long as you pay the fee each time.

And the contest isn't just fun
for everyone who takes part.

It actually provides a valuable
source of climate change data

by measuring the river ice breakup
to the minute each year.

As one climate specialist put it,

"It's almost as perfect
a climate record as you could get."

And the final thing
that you should know

is the participation
isn't just limited to Alaskans.

Anyone in the world
can apparently place a bet.

Due to Alaskan gaming regulations,

they can't physically
mail the tickets out to you,

but "you can mail your list
of guesses along with $2.50 per guess

to the Nenana Ice Classic office,"

and they will gladly
fill out the tickets for you.

At this point, you can probably see
where I'm going with this, right?

You think I'd spend 10 minutes

talking about the single greatest
ice melting contest in the world,

and then say, "Goodnight then,"
and end the show?

No, that's not how we operate here.

Of course, we're betting
on this f*cking ice melting contest.

Of course, that's happening!

We decided to place exactly
one bet on this year's competition

for April 26th, 2022,
at exactly 2:17 PM.

Why? I just have
a really good feeling about it.

We could have placed more bets than
that, but it didn't really feel right.

'Cause what would stop
someone from placing bets

for every minute of every day
for the entire month of April?

Then it just becomes a contest
of "who has the most money?"

And that's already the general contest
for life in America.

And initially, we were going
to mail our guesses to Alaska.

Until we realized that's not entering
into the true spirit of this contest.

So instead, we decided last week
to go all the way to Nenana

and drop off our bet
in one of those red cans.

And when I say "we," let me be
very clear here, I don't mean me.

I did not go to Alaska.

You really think that this could
handle a harsh Alaskan winter?

My apartment's thermostat
is set to "dainty boy."

Thankfully, I know someone with
a perfect body for such an adventure.

Several years ago, in an attempt
to help celebrate Earth Day,

we introduced a new mascot,
Marshmallow,

the polar bear
with a broken penis.

Why was his penis broken?

I honestly cannot remember,
and I doubt it really matters.

But long story short,
the organizers of Earth Day

refused to adopt Marshmallow
as their mascot,

shattering his heart, like his penis,
into 1,000 different pieces.

As Marshmallow's been sitting around
with nothing to do for seven years now,

he was more than happy
to drop our bet off in person,

Which is exactly what he did.
Take a look!

They say the journey of 1,000 miles
starts with a single step.

But for this polar bear,

it began with a fond farewell
to his employer,

a 90-minute cab ride to Newark,
virtually no TSA line,

and an eight-hour flight.

But once in Alaska,
Marshmallow was ready to go.

Unfortunately, his luggage was not.

Feels like the fish bags
always come out last.

f*cking Alaska Airlines.

As he set out, Marshmallow faced
an omen of a perilous path ahead.

Here was a fate far worse
than a broken penis:

being stuck at the airport forever.

Marshmallow knew this journey
wouldn't be easy.

Trekking through a vast,
arctic expanse of snow,

sub-zero cold,
and winds that cut to the bone.

No one seemed willing
to lend a hand, or even a horn.

And when Marshmallow's paws
took him as far as they could go,

and he was at his physical
and mental limits,

he called an Alaskan Uber.

Now that's a five-star ride.

And soon, he'd reached
his destination: Nenana!

Home of the Ice Classic.

It was time for this bear
to fulfill his destiny

by placing a single bet for $2.50
in an ice melting contest.

April 26th, 2:17 PM.

The wager 100 percent guaranteed
to win this year's Ice Classic.

And with his bet placed,

a kind stranger said the nicest words
anyone had ever said to Marshmallow.

Thanks, Marshmallow.
Good luck to you.

And I hope your penis feels better.

So did Marshmallow.
But our bear's journey wasn't complete.

He had one more thing left to see.

And suddenly, there it was!

The mighty tripod
on the Tanana River,

as straight and sturdy
as Marshmallow's penis was not.

We all face a foreboding tundra at some
point in life that we must cross.

But it's the fire on the inside

that pushes us through
the bitter cold on the outside.

And as long as that fire
burns within you,

anything is possible.

Except for fixing a broken penis.

Ladies and gentlemen,
please welcome back from Alaska,

Marshmallow, the polar bear
with a broken penis!

Welcome back, Marshmallow!

Welcome back, old friend!

How was Alaska?

You can't talk 'cause your penis
hurts too much and you're a bear?

I'm sorry, I forgot
about that, buddy.

The point is, our bet for this year's
Ice Classic is officially in.

And when we win,
I'm proud to announce

that we will donate our entire prize
to the Food Bank of Alaska.

And if for some weird reason
we don't win,

we're going to donate
$10,000 to them anyway.

If you want to find out more
about how to bet on the Ice Classic,

there is information
on how to do that at this address.

So, have fun,
and may the best guess win!

That is our show, thank you so
much for watching,

thank you to Marshmallow here.

Good night!

We did it!
We did it, buddy! We did it.

Bye!

Bye!

Let's ride!