Phil Wang: Wang in There, Baby! (2024)

[bunniefuu]

Yeah!

Yeah!

Yeah. So I think the main difference

between white people and Chinese people...

It is a big question, you know.

But from my observations,

the main difference

between white people and Chinese people

is that white people, uh, for some reason,

absolutely terrified

of reheating their rice.

They won't do it!

White people will not reheat rice!

Why? What happened?

Who hurt you?

They won't do it, man.

For white people,

rice has once chance to be food.

And if there's any

left over after the meal,

it becomes poison instantly.

Dad has to put on like a hazmat suit.

He picks up the rice, takes it outside.

Buries it in the rain.

"Sorry, kids, we can't go

in the garden anymore."

"Because your mother wanted a paella."

They won't do it.

White people will not reheat rice.

White British people, I should specify.

Turns out this is a British phenomenon.

I tried this joke out in America once

and it did not work.

Old Wang died

in front of those Yanks.

They had no doggone clue

what this pardner was talking about.

Because they have a mature relationship

with rice.

They don't have a mature relationship

with anything else.

They'll sh**t the rice

into their own mouth...

...with an as*ault r*fle

they bought at a pet shop.

But they'll eat the damn rice.

In the UK though,

white British people will not reheat rice.

Scared it'll make them sick,

is what they tell me.

It'll make them sick,

bacteria in the rice.

They don't want to be unwell.

You know British people,

those health freaks.

Scared old rice will make them sick,

is the reason.

For the sake of their body and health,

British people will not reheat rice.

They'll drink 15 Jgerbombs

on a Wednesday.

Finger a stranger on a bin, but...

But they will not reheat rice.

Because you can't be too careful.

I was astonished by this

don't reheat rice thing when I found out.

I was taken aback.

'Cause I'm Asian.

For those of you in the back, I'm Asian.

And Asian people,

we reheat rice all the time.

All the time. You can't stop us.

I'm reheating rice right now, backstage.

I've only come out here to k*ll time.

Chinese people especially.

Chinese people have turned

reheating rice into an art form.

I mean, that's what fried rice is.

I'm sorry you had to find out like this.

Traditionally speaking,

fried rice is not made with fresh rice.

If you've ever had fried rice

at a Chinese restaurant,

that was old rice.

We got you!

You probably left that rice there

yourself the week before.

Fried rice is how you reheat rice

and charge twice.

As Confucius said.

Anyway, I looked it up for you,

I went online and looked it up.

And two days. You should be okay

for two days on the rice.

Cook it a first time,

put the leftovers in the fridge,

should have two days to use again.

Uh, but don't take my word for it.

I don't want to be legally responsible

for anything that happens to you.

I did this show the other night,

and afterwards

someone messaged me on Instagram,

and he said, "Great show, Phil.

I'm gonna do it, I'll reheat some rice."

And I said,

"Nice one, brother, live your life."

And then I never heard from him again, so...

On your own heads be it.

I don't wanna play with fire here,

'cause maybe there's something to it.

Maybe the British digestive system

can't handle the reheated rice.

Which, you know, tracks.

'Cause I have noticed

that British people do love

to get food poisoning.

Some much food poisoning, man.

British always getting food poisoning.

I've never had food poisoning.

Asian people don't get food poisoning.

It's a white tradition.

There's no food poisoning

in Asian culture.

We don't have it.

We have food,

and we have poison.

We don't have, uh, this fusion cuisine...

of poisonous food that you have here.

British people are

always getting food poisoning.

All the time, especially abroad.

I don't know what it is.

You go on holiday with a British person,

you have to set aside two days at least.

For food poisoning.

Two days on the toilet, guaranteed.

Doesn't matter where you're going.

India, Morocco, Wales.

There will be food poisoning.

I just went on a trip recently,

I traveled around Egypt.

I was filming this YouTube series.

Went out with

an all-white British crew in Egypt,

those men had diarrhea every day.

Every day. I was fine.

But these guys were on

the Imodium Tour of Egypt, apparently.

It was incredible.

It was like an Arctic expedition.

Every day, a new man was lost.

I'd wake up, someone would run to me,

"Phil, it's James today."

"He touched a chickpea.

We have to leave him. We need to go."

"Don't be a hero, leave him."

It was insane, they were dropping

all around me. Nothing to...

"Oh no, my drink

had local ice in the drink."

"Oh no, my toast wasn't fully toasted."

"Oh no!"

I was just stood in the corner,

eating flies out of the air.

"Mmm. Sorry to hear that, guys."

"Hope you get better soon. Yum."

I've never had food poisoning,

Chinese people don't get it.

Yellow privilege. We don't get it.

Chinese don't get food poisoning.

We got bellies of steel.

Nothing will take down a Chinese person.

Absolutely nothing

will take down a Chinese person.

Uh, except alcohol or dairy.

Yeah, a drop of either and we're dead.

Don't know if you know.

Not good with alcohol, Chinese.

We get something called Asian flush.

Don't know if you've heard of Asian flush.

Basically, if a Chinese person

drinks a thimble of beer,

our face instantly gets very red

and extremely hot.

It's basically the Chinese body's way

of alerting the user

that productivity has been reduced.

Not very good with alcohol,

not very good with dairy either.

A large proportion of Chinese people

are actually lactose intolerant.

It's true.

If my uncle drinks a glass of milk...

...he'll sh*t himself.

Right there!

In front of the whole family.

On my birthday.

Can't do alcohol, can't do dairy.

Don't even talk to us

about Bailey's.

That's how you stop

the rise of China right there.

China's never invading Ireland,

I'll tell you that much.

My family actually have

quite a lot of dietary requirements.

My, um... My sister dropped

a real bombshell on us recently.

She gathered us around,

told us she's not eating octopus anymore.

I was like, "What?

Who is this person I thought I knew?"

"What about Tentacle Tuesdays?"

She's, uh...

She's not eating octopus anymore.

She said they're too clever, right?

They're too clever.

Not as in they keep

getting away from her, uh...

They're not too cunning.

Um, no, my sister says

they're too intelligent.

They've got too much dignity.

'Cause she watched this documentary

called My Octopus Teacher.

It's this documentary about this octopus

that becomes unlikely friends

with this South African, uh, weirdo.

Um...

In the documentary, this octopus

and this white creep become friends, and...

The octopus does some

really clever stuff on camera.

It builds a shield out of shells,

and it corrects his grammar

a couple of times, I think.

And my sister saw this documentary,

and she goes, "Oh wow."

"Octopuses are so clever.

I can't eat octopuses anymore."

"Me and octopus, done for good."

First of all, how much f*cking octopus

was she eating...

...that she had to go, "This has to stop"?

"Oh my God, no. Oh no."

What is she, a sea otter?

Natural predator.

It is a good documentary.

Second, what does it matter

how clever your food used to be?

It's not relevant anymore, is it?

I mean, it can't have

been that smart. Look...

We already give the animals of the sea

a very simple intelligence test.

Does this big net

full of your friends look safe?

If you flunk those finals,

you pass the entry exam into my mouth.

My whole life

I've come up against this argument.

People go, "How can you eat that animal?

It's so clever."

"How can you eat that? It's so smart."

"Oh, Phil. How can you eat pork?

Pigs are as smart as a two-year-old."

I'd eat a two-year-old.

That's why we have laws.

I guess it's never

been a requirement of mine

that my food be both dead

and stupid.

If anything,

I want to eat the smartest ones.

I wanna keep us in charge of this joint.

What are we doing letting all these

delicious geniuses wander around?

Planning their takeover.

I've read Animal Farm. No, thanks.

I'll have the Napoleon chops, please.

This philosophy of my sister's,

to only eat things that are dumb,

it's not very future-proof.

She's gonna paint herself into a corner.

You know? Like, what's my sister

going to do after the nuclear apocalypse?

When we all have to become cannibals.

What's she gonna do?

"Oh, uh, sorry. Where did he study?"

"Uh, business management at Portsmouth."

Two days for the rice, all I'm saying.

Two days, you should be all right.

Two days for the rice.

Lovely to be here. Thank you for coming.

This is pretty cool, huh?

What a beautiful place.

I love to be in a candlelit wooden room.

That's not tense at all.

I find that naked flame and wood

go together very comfortably.

Thank you so much for coming to

the beautiful Sam Wanamaker Playhouse

here at Shakespeare's Globe. Look at this.

I finally made it.

Now, I'm not originally from,

uh, Sam Wanamaker Playhouse.

I've come to call it home, of course.

I'm not even originally from the Globe.

Um...

Not from London either.

I'm from the south of England.

I'm originally from the south of England.

Malaysia. Really south of England.

Extremely south.

Just past Kent.

I grew up in Borneo,

which is East Malaysia.

Anyone in from Borneo?

Wow, really? There's a surprise.

I grew up in Borneo,

that's where my dad is from.

My dad is a Chinese

Malaysian man from Borneo.

And my mother is a white lady

from Stoke-on-Trent.

In the West Midlands of England.

But she left Stoke in the '80s,

she moved to Borneo,

she'd heard about the running water

and the electricity.

And...

She moved out to build a better life.

That's where I grew up.

I grew up in Borneo.

Then, when I was 16, I moved to the UK.

So these are the two islands of my life,

Borneo and Britain.

And I've come to realize

they're actually quite different.

The UK is a powerful, old nation.

It has a prominent role

in a lot of global events.

Borneo is a floating rainforest.

It's still very early on

in its development cycle, you know.

The two have very different challenges.

They face different challenges,

Britain and Borneo.

I noticed this most of all on Instagram.

On Instagram I follow both BBC News

and local Borneo news.

And I'll scroll through Instagram.

I'll hit BBC News, and it'll say,

"The Prime Minister is at the G7,

committing Britain to providing Ukraine

with more fighter jets

to aid Zelensky in his battle

for the soul of Europe."

Oh!

Scroll a bit further

and it'll be Borneo news.

And it'll say,

"Crocodiles at the shopping mall again."

I'm like, yeah, I remember that.

Some people like to say,

no matter where you are in the world,

all people really just want

the same things out of life.

It's not true.

Some people just want fewer crocodiles

at their shops.

Not even no crocodiles,

they're being realistic, just fewer.

Let's start with fewer,

work our way towards none at some point.

It's a very different life

in Borneo I lived.

So much so, I think I've compartmentalized

a lot of my Borneo memories.

Buried them a bit.

But from time to time,

one will re-emerge

to surprise me.

This happened the other day.

I remembered the other day,

once, when I was a kid in Borneo,

my dad gave me medicine

for ghosts.

I'm not making this up.

I got ghost medicine one day.

I was really scared of the dark as a kid,

I could never sleep.

And instead of going, "This is

a pretty common feature of childhood."

My father said, "My boy's got the gift."

He believed I was actually seeing ghosts,

because Malaysians are

quite a superstitious bunch.

A lot of Asia is still very superstitious.

No matter what age you are,

you don't grow out of it.

People of all ages believe

in demons and spirits and curses.

It was terrifying.

Do you have any idea

how scary it is to be a child

in a country where the adults

also believe in ghosts?

You have no one to turn to for comfort.

I imagine, growing up in the UK,

if you said,

"Mom, I think I just saw a ghost."

She'd go, "Don't be silly, darling.

Ghosts don't exist. Go back to bed."

In Malaysia, if you say,

"Dad, I think I just saw a ghost."

He'll go, "Oh sh*t! Where?"

"Sorry you had to see that, kid.

Thanks for the heads-up."

"I'm putting you on night watch."

"Coffee's in the kitchen.

See you in the morning."

So my dad went into town,

he went to the Chinese pharmacy.

'Cause we have traditional

Chinese medicine in Malaysia.

As opposed to Western medicine.

We have traditional Chinese medicine.

Chinese medicine is

different from Western medicine

in that it doesn't,

uh, work.

Not even a bit. It's all nonsense.

Sorry, hippies, it's all nonsense.

Chinese medicine is not so much a science

as it is a collection

of animal parts and hunches.

The main hunch being, apparently,

the more endangered the animal,

the better it must be for you.

You'll go down to the Chinese pharmacy,

and there'll be shelves lined with jars,

and in the jars will be,

like, dried seahorse.

And you eat the dried seahorse,

and that'll, like, increase your libido.

Or powdered tiger claw.

You mash up, eat the tiger claw.

That'll, like, improve your, um, libido.

Or bird's nest soup.

You drink the bird's nest soup,

and that'll amplify your, uh, libido.

It's mostly about the libido,

now that I think about it.

Eighty-five percent of Chinese medicine

is about giving you an erection.

My dad, he pushed past all that stuff,

went to the Chinese pharmacist, and said,

"Do you have anything

for the sixth sense?"

And he got it, and he came back.

He came back home, and he handed me

this ancient looking Chinese cup.

With this mysterious dark liquid in it.

And he said, "Drink."

"Drink, boy, drink!

Lest the apparitions overcome you, child."

In Chinese.

I looked at this stuff. I was terrified.

I had no idea what it was.

I was like, "What animal is this from?"

My dad was like, "It was very stupid.

Don't worry about it."

So I closed my eyes and downed it all.

It was bitter, it was disgusting.

It was horrible.

But to be fair, never seen a ghost.

Plus I had a cracking b*ner

for like a month. It was...

...incredible.

I was the talk of the island.

Who'd have thought,

a d*ck joke in a Shakespearean theater?

Anyway, two days for the rice.

That's all I'm trying to say. Two days.

I just don't want you to be

walking around scared of rice.

I grew up scared of ghosts,

I know what fear is like.

And rice is like

thousands of tiny little ghosts.

I get it.

There's enough fear in this country as is,

I don't need you scared of rice.

I travel this country touring,

and in the eyes of the British people

I see a lot of fear.

I look in the eyes of the British people

and I see fear.

I think maybe

because I look in their eyes so close.

People ask me,

"Phil, what are the public afraid of?"

"Is it immigration? Is it World w*r III?

Is it climate change?"

No.

From what I can tell,

the main thing that scares

a British person more than anything,

the thing that scares every British person

to their very core,

is when they say,

"Touch wood."

And then realize...

...there's no wood nearby.

I've never seen fear like it in my life.

Why do you think I picked this venue?

So you'd feel safe.

It's incredible,

the speed with which the fear descends.

They'll be having a perfectly decent day,

and they'll go...

..."I don't think it's TB.

Touch wood."

"Oh no, what have I done?"

They start getting desperate.

"Let me out of the car."

"At least crash us into a tree."

They start looking for loopholes

or getting cute.

"Touch wood?"

"Will you accept this?"

Poor people.

Here's a little tip, trick, life hack

I figured out, you're free to use.

Whenever I say, "Touch wood,"

and there's no wood nearby,

I quickly arouse myself.

I touch the result.

Not in a gross way.

I'm not creepy about it.

It's 2024, you have to be

subtle about these things.

All it is, just a quick spin of the heels,

a snap of the tip.

Back in the conversation.

No harm, no foul.

And the wedding can continue.

Anyway, that's me, Phil Wang.

Phil Wang, your Asian man.

European and Asian.

Half Asian, half European.

That's why I'm taller than people expect.

It's my European genes.

Made me tall. I'm 6'1".

6'2" after Pilates.

I'm tall.

This is the main feedback I get from fans

when they meet me in person

for the first time.

They always go, "Oh! You're so tall! Huh?"

"Why are you so tall?"

"What? I didn't think you'd be so tall."

"Oh no!"

"Oh no, you're so tall. Oh sh*t."

"Oh f*ck, no!"

"Why? Why are you so tall? No! Why?"

'Cause they've come to me

wanting to meet an adorable Asian nerd.

And instead they're met

with this f*cking unit.

And...

And I can see they're disappointed.

Disappointed and confused.

They look at me so confused.

"He's got the face of a dweeb

but the body of a bully."

"He take his own lunch money at school?

What's going on here?"

I was tall.

My mother's genes made me tall like this.

I was a freak.

I was the tallest member

of my Malaysian family when I was 13.

Tallest guy on the island,

pre-puberty, at 13.

I had to make friends with buildings.

When my ba*ls dropped,

people had to take cover. "Get down!"

That's me. That's 'cause I'm mixed race.

English, Malaysian, Chinese.

I'm part French as well.

Part French on my mom's side.

Which makes sense.

I love food and not going to work.

I know my languages pretty well.

I know some Malay,

I know a little bit of Mandarin,

my English is... How you say?

Uh, very, uh, nice.

Um, my French... I don't know any French.

I've given up learning French.

French is too hard.

French is so hard, man. It's too hard.

I swear, French is so difficult,

even French people

don't fully know French.

Have you noticed?

They always forget the words.

Mid-sentence, they'll forget a word.

Uh...

Uh...

Uh...

Don't look at me, Franois, I don't know.

I'm new here.

Still, it's a cool country.

I went on a really great holiday recently.

To Paris. Nice holiday.

It was a good holiday

because I went with people

who didn't mind being touristy.

I hate going on holiday with people

who don't want to be touristy.

It's like, get over yourself.

You're a tourist.

You're here to do the touristy stuff.

The touristy stuff

is actually the fun part of the place.

Otherwise, you're just living there.

"Oh, Phil, the Eiffel Tower?

It's a bit touristy."

Let's go to the dentist and do a big shop.

Like, what do you want?

Let's check out some local commutes.

These clowns.

Traveling's stressful enough

without these clowns in tow.

Travel can be stressful though.

Flying can be really stressful.

Those long-haul flights,

I can't stand those, man.

I'm tall.

I went to New Zealand on tour.

Beautiful country, but so far.

When I got there,

I was so tired, jet-lagged, knackered.

I landed in Auckland.

I got to my hotel, and I checked in.

And I got on the lift.

The lift was one where you

have to "bloop" it with your keycard.

Otherwise the lift

doesn't believe you live there.

You have to "bloop" it.

The lift went "bloop."

Then the lift didn't move.

I looked down, and I'd used my bank card.

Like, my credit card on the lift.

But the lift still said "bloop."

And I was so tired,

that for a second I thought,

"Oh no."

"Did I just...

buy the hotel? What happened?"

Can you buy a hotel on contactless?

That's over the limit, surely.

Flying is stressful.

I swear, flying has become

more and more stressful over time.

I swear, more and more

of the responsibilities of air travel

have, over the years,

been slowly handed down to me, Phil Wang.

Anyone else getting this?

They got me checking myself in.

They got me picking

my own seats on the plane.

They send me a blueprint of the plane...

I'm not a plane engineer,

but they send me a blueprint of the plane,

unannounced, and then I have to

tell them where I wanna sit.

I don't know, inside.

I turn up, it's no better.

I got to put the suitcase

onto the belt myself.

There's not even a person there anymore.

I'm gonna put it onto the belt.

I turn up, they give me a high-vis,

I just crawl into the machinery.

I think next time I go,

they'll give me the keys to the plane.

"It's not hard. Just press 'up, '

and when you get there, press 'down.'"

"You 'bloop' the key on the plane first.

You gotta 'bloop' the plane."

It's not good, man.

I think us customers, us passengers,

we need to resist

this ongoing encroachment

of responsibility from service provider

to passenger, right?

For example, I recently flew to America.

I flew to America recently

to try the rice joke out.

And I landed in JFK Airport, in New York.

And I got off the plane.

And in that tunnel bit

between the plane and the airport,

I was instantly greeted

by this big sign that said,

"Always remember,

keep an eye out

for human trafficking."

And I thought...

"You know what?"

"No."

"I'm gonna give myself

a break on this one, actually."

"I've just arrived!"

"I just got off an eight-hour flight."

"And already I have to

perform unpaid police work?"

"I haven't even got my suitcase yet."

"My magnifying glass

and trench coat are in there."

"I'm sorry I wasn't planning on

solving crimes immediately upon arrival."

Were they really expecting me to come off,

my first time in New York, going,

"Wow, here we are.

New York City. The Big Apple."

"Hey, freeze!"

"Phil Wang. British Airways.

Frequent flyer."

"Bronze Level, but I'm working on it."

"You're going away for a long time,

you sack of crap."

"Meet me after Immigration."

"I've got foreign passports,

it might take a while. Wait for me."

It was a dangerous country, America,

really dangerous country. So dangerous.

Even the places that are meant

to be safe in America are dangerous.

I went into this pharmacy in New York,

I was looking for ghost medicine.

I thought I'd seen Elvis

dancing in Times Square.

I thought, "Oh, not this sh*t again."

I went into this pharmacy.

They didn't have ghost medicine,

which gave me a headache,

so I started looking for some Ibuprofen.

And I found the Ibuprofen.

And this is how dangerous America is.

The smallest number of Ibuprofen tablets

I could buy in one go,

the least amount of Ibuprofen

I could buy in one go,

was, all together now, 1,000.

A thousand!

A thousand Ibuprofen just loose in a tub.

Like grain.

A... A thousand.

I don't think I've had

a thousand Ibuprofen yet.

In total.

I couldn't believe my eyes.

Why would I want 1,000 Ibuprofen?

I wanna end my headache, not it all.

A thousand Ibuprofen.

I couldn't believe my little peepers.

'Cause I'm British.

And as you all know, in the UK,

Ibuprofen comes in adorable bags

of 16.

Sixteen adorable little British tablets

in a pack.

That's what Sweet 16

means in this country.

It's the number of Ibuprofen

that comes in a bag.

And you can only buy, legally,

two packs at once in the UK.

Thirty-two tablets, that's your lot.

You try and buy

any more Ibuprofen in this country,

you'll get arrested.

MI6 will burst through the door

and Princess Anne

will chop your f*cking head off herself.

Then you'll need some Ibuprofen.

But in America you can buy

a personal silo of Ibuprofen.

No questions asked.

You can start an Ibuprofen maracas band...

...and go home with change.

This thing was $18 for 1,000 Ibuprofen.

Eighteen dollars.

You know, you can take it home with you.

One under each arm.

Sit them by the sofa while you watch TV.

Throw it in your mouth like popcorn.

No one cares.

Because that's how much confidence

America has in itself.

That's how much faith America has

in its own quality of life.

Every day,

America gives its citizens the opportunity

to top themselves.

At unbelievable prices, to be fair.

Eighteen bucks, that's pretty good.

Because they know they won't.

They know life there is too fun.

They'd be missing out on too much.

Super Bowl, Disney Land,

meat that comes in a spray.

In the UK, our government is like,

"Have you seen the weather

and the food here?"

"If we let these people buy,

I don't know,

thirty-three Ibuprofen...

they're going to take them all at once."

To rest us.

I think that is the fundamental difference

between Americans and Brits.

The Brits always expect

the very worst to happen.

And the Americans

always expect the very best to happen.

I went on tour in America,

and Americans would come to my shows

wanting and expecting to have a good time.

You're laughing at the very idea of that.

Do you know what is the best compliment

you can hope to overhear

from a British audience leaving your show?

"That was quite good...

...actually."

Some of you are gonna do it after this.

You're gonna go,

"It was quite good, actually."

What do you mean, "actually"?

You bought the ticket.

You decided to come.

And you're surprised

and a bit annoyed you enjoyed yourself.

They're just so positive in America.

Everything about it is positive.

Even their English

is more positive than ours.

The same language, but they have

more positive versions of words.

You know what they call this in America?

What they call these?

This little guy, you know?

Never seen one of these before?

They call this an a*s.

This is an "a*s" in America. An a*s.

Do you know what we call these

here in the UK?

An arse.

- a*s!

- Arse.

It's not the same, is it?

Doesn't conjure the same image.

How fun, how perky, how bright is "a*s"?

How sad, how dour,

is..."arse"?

How sexy is "a*s"?

Show me your a*s, I wanna f*ck it.

Show me your arse.

I need to search it.

An a*s is not an arse.

They don't conjure the same image.

An a*s is bouncy and pert and fun.

An arse... There's sh*t in an arse.

An arse is wrinkled and sagging and gray.

Jennifer Lopez has an a*s.

Gordon Brown has an arse.

They're so positive there in America.

I mean, the name of the country

is literally U-S.

U-S!

Yes!

In Britain, everyone is depressed,

all the time.

Our country's called

U-K.

U-K?

"Your arse looks

particularly droopy today, U-K?"

You know that joke

has been sitting there for 200 years.

Only Wang was strong enough...

...to draw Excalibur from its stone.

Crazy country, America.

But amazing cultural output.

You know, I can't deny that.

The films, the TV.

The music. I'm a big fan of the music.

I'm a big hip-hop fan. I don't need

to tell you, you're looking right at me.

Big hip-hop fan.

I went to see a really great

hip-hop show recently, Kendrick Lamar.

Kendrick Lamar at The O2. Yeah.

Real genius, Kendrick Lamar.

Really amazing musician.

Um, I really loved the show.

I do sometimes find it hard to relate

to some of the lyrics in hip-hop.

Especially Kendrick Lamar.

Kendrick Lamar grew up in Compton,

this really rough part of LA.

A lot of his songs are about

his difficult, dangerous upbringing.

Uh, I did not have a difficult,

dangerous upbringing at all.

I've been a thoroughly

middle-class boy since birth.

Grew up in a crocodile-free neighborhood.

I haven't done a day's work in my life.

I have the silky soft skin of a prince.

The other day, I cut my thumb on bread.

True story. You know bread, famously safe.

Not for this guy.

So I sometimes find it hard

to relate the lyrics of Kendrick Lamar.

I can relate to the lyrics in,

I don't know,

folk music.

The forest is nice

There's a river in the valley

I saw a boat

Yeah, the forest is nice.

These cats are spitting the truth.

Kendrick Lamar is like,

These roads is cold

Nearly froze me to death

The older I grow

The more I hope to forget

My dad told me

Respect would keep me alive

Couldn't keep me off the streets

But he tried

I'm there like...

Hm.

Uh, I'll have to

take your word for it, Kendrick.

Um, not ringing any bells over here.

But well done turning those lemons

into such fine lemonade.

It was a great show.

Kendrick Lamar at The O2, awesome.

It was really fun

to sing along with all those songs,

with other Kendrick Lamar fans,

live, with Kendrick Lamar in the room.

Now, of course,

I do have the same difficulty,

the same awkward issue

singing along with hip-hop

that all non-Black fans of hip-hop

have singing along with hip-hop.

I think you know what I'm talking about.

It's the *-word, right?

The *-word comes up a lot in hip-hop.

Obviously, if you're not Black yourself,

you can't sing that word when it comes up.

Some people get annoyed.

They go, "It's just part of the song.

Why can't I sing the song?"

Well, sure.

But a lot of a word's meaning

is given by who is saying it

and the context in which it's said.

15,000 Black people at The O2

singing the *-word, that's a concert.

15,000 white people

in an arena,

screaming the *-word together,

out of key,

that's a rally, isn't it? That's a rally.

That's the start of a w*r.

It's a fair distinction to make.

Now, everyone at the Kendrick gig

was a very good sport about this.

They had different solutions.

The most common one I saw was they simply

didn't sing the *-word when it came up.

Right? They sing along

with Kendrick Lamar song.

Then the *-word would happen,

and they'd go silent as the grave.

Wait for the word to be over.

And then pick up again

where they left off.

As if nothing had happened.

Perfectly reasonable.

They looked a bit like they've had a

Vietnam flashback in the middle of a song...

Perfectly reasonable.

However, in my opinion,

not an ideal solution.

You do lose a bit of flow.

Um, a bit of momentum,

stopping and starting like that.

I don't think

it's what Kendrick would've wanted.

I think a much better solution

is to instead replace the *-word,

for yourself, with a benign word

that simply rhymes

and scans the same rhythmically, right?

Now, you can choose any word you want.

I've gone for "slippers."

"Slippers" works surprisingly well.

It rhymes, it scans,

plus it makes the songs a little comfier.

And suddenly, I'm singing

about problems I have...

in my life.

Yo, where my slippers at?

Where them slippers that I came with?

How many more slippers

am I gonna lose in these streets?

So it was an amazing gig.

He's a real genius.

I have so much admiration

for hip-hop artists.

I literally couldn't remember

all those words.

That's how basic my own ability is.

You have to remember them all exactly.

Doing stand-up, you forget the words,

you just make it up.

If you're a rapper,

you can't be like...

Uh...

Maybe if you're a French rapper,

but that's not what I meant.

I've got a terrible memory.

I have such a bad memory.

I've always had a bad memory,

really terrible.

I've always had a bad memory, um...

I think. Uh, I've always had a bad memory.

I'm jealous of people with good memories.

Some people have amazing memories.

My friend Pete has an amazing memory.

Pete remembers everything.

And Pete once described his memory to me

as like having a filing cabinet

in his head, right?

Whenever he needs to remember something,

he simply goes through files in his head,

flicks through to the right point,

pulls out the fact

clear as the day he learned it.

f*ck Pete.

I don't know about you, but my memory

is not like a filing cabinet at all.

My memory is like a mist.

Just an enormous, endless mist.

An infinite blank space.

When I have to remember something,

I just have to

approach the mist like this.

Please!

Please, mist.

Please tell me, mist.

What is the name...

What is the name

of this lady that

I'm speaking to right now? Please.

Please, mist.

She told me five seconds ago. Please!

Then I just have to wait

for the mist to respond.

Maybe, eventually,

a figure will appear deep in the mist.

I'll get excited. Oh, here it is!

The figure's blurry,

but it moves slowly towards me.

Getting bigger and clearer.

I'm like, here it comes!

The figure gets closer to me,

then the figure comes out of the mist,

and it's just me naked, going,

"Uh..."

I thought you knew.

I don't know. What's her name?

Jipa... Gepa... Gep... Geppetto?

Geppetto? Try it.

I feel good about "Geppetto."

My brain sucks, man.

It don't work no good no more.

I've been reading up on psychology,

trying to understand my mind better.

Hasn't helped at all.

Psychology makes no sense.

Like, why is it called an Oedipus Complex?

There's nothing complex about it.

My mom's hot.

Seems simple to me.

I have to say, I do feel like society's

getting more and more sexualized.

I feel like porn is everywhere these days.

Can't escape it, you know?

It's on the TV, it's on my phone.

It's under my bed,

it's on my bookshelf.

Arranged alphabetically.

I'm like, give me a break, man.

Ah.

I'm a bit of a perv.

I'm a bit of a perv. Um... I'm a bit...

People think I'm a perv

'cause I'm tall

and I use words like "endeavor," but...

I'm a perv.

I'm a bit of a perv. I'm a perv.

I'm an ethical perv, you know,

I'm not a gross perv. I'm ethical.

No one notices.

It's just a little look for me.

"Oh!" Just a little something for me.

Just, "Oh!" No one notices.

No on sees. Just "Huh!"

Just a little something for me.

People only get hurt if they notice.

No beef if they don't.

Just, "Huh!" A little something for me.

Just, "Huh!" You know?

If a perv pervs in the forest,

and no one sees him perv, does he perv?

I've always been a perv.

I've always been a perv.

Hasn't been a time in my life I wasn't.

Even as a kid. I was a pervy little kid.

Creepy. Creepy little kid, I was. Creepy.

Pervy little boy, I was.

Pervy little fella.

Creepy. Real creepy,

pervy little boy, I was.

Pervy, pervy. Quiet, real quiet.

Shh! Real quiet, pervy little boy, I was.

Creepy, quiet, pervy.

People thought I was shy.

I wasn't shy, I was a perv.

Pervy little boy.

Pervy, quiet little boy.

Perving my little life away, I was.

Little perv.

Just sat in the corner,

perving all day, all night.

My mom's friends would come over to visit,

they'd see me perving in the corner.

They'd go, "Oh, Phil seems

like a... thoughtful child."

I'm like, "Huh, I suppose they

are thoughts, technically, Joann."

Mostly about those foxes

in Disney's Robin Hood.

Those are some sexy foxes in Robin Hood!

They're so sexy. The Robin Hood fox

and the lady fox, so sexy. Why?

Why? Why'd they make them so sexy?

It was a children's movie,

but they definitely went out of their way

to make those some sexy foxes. Why?

Why? They're foxes,

but you also wanna f*ck them. Why?

How did they do that?

How did they do it? How?

And why? More importantly, why?

Why did they do that? Sick men.

It's messed up my relationship with foxes.

I live in South London now.

Foxes are the bane of my life.

They sh*t everywhere,

they scream all night.

Because of Robin Hood,

whenever one's around, I'm like,

"Can they see me? Are they here?"

I'm a bit of a perv. Uh...

I hope that's okay.

Thank you for accepting me.

Hope you don't cancel me for that, uh...

I don't think I'm gonna get canceled.

I don't think I'll get canceled.

I mean, touch wood.

I don't think I'll get canceled.

It is something you have to consider.

Now that I'm a bit of a public figure.

I started getting recognized

when I'm out and about.

I get really excited about it,

I think it's great.

If anything, I'm usually

more excited about being recognized

than the person who has recognized me.

You know?

I'll be around town,

overhear someone whisper to their friend,

"Is that Phil Wang?"

I'm like, "You're damn right it is!"

"Come here!"

"Hey, slow down."

"Here, get in, get in, get in."

They're like, "That was his phone. What?"

It is mostly really nice.

People are mostly very cool.

There's a downside, of course,

being slightly recognizable.

And, uh, that is that I...

Now I'm too scared

to be an as*h*le in public.

You know? Now I'm scared.

I'm worried

there's just enough of a chance

someone in the vicinity will know who I am

and take a video

of me doing something problematic,

and put it online and ruin me.

Over nothing at all.

"Uh, look what Phil Wang

did to this pigeon. Meh..."

Then that's my career over.

Because I whacked a pigeon

with a golf club?

I'm just trying

to keep the train station clean.

How are you helping?

So I have to be on my best behavior

at all times now when I'm out and about.

I'm a walkover now,

I'm an absolute pushover these days.

People can do

whatever they want to me.

I mean, it's embarrassing.

I'm obsequious out there these days.

"Oh, no, after you"

"Oh, no, I'm sorry."

"Excuse me,

I think you dropped your baby."

Pathetic. I didn't use to be like this

back when I was anonymous.

It was awesome.

I'd walk around town being an as*h*le

to people, with no consequences at all.

It was fantastic.

Just walk around saying mean sh*t

to strangers in the street.

"Hey, you!"

"Where'd you buy your hat?"

"The bin?"

And he'd be like, "Hey!"

And then I'd just run into

the nearest Chinese restaurant.

I'd run into the kitchen.

Just blend in with the cooks.

He'd run in after me, like...

"Where'd he go? Where'd he go?"

Start spinning around random chefs.

"Hey, buddy!"

"Oh! It's not him."

"Hey, you!"

"Where is this guy?"

Meanwhile, I'm in the corner,

carving a carrot

into the shape of a flower.

Hey, y'all got any rice in that fridge?

I need to k*ll this guy.

Things are going all right.

I can't complain.

Things are going all right.

I finally managed to buy my own, um, sofa.

Thank you. It was a big step,

thank you very much.

It took so long to arrive though!

Oh my God.

I ordered it online, and it took

two months for this sofa to arrive.

Two months!

Why isn't Kendrick singing about this?

Two months!

I didn't have anything soft to sit on

in my house, at all, for two months.

I watched TV sat on a dining chair

like a Sim...

for two months.

Two months living that Sim life

on my own there.

But can't complain.

Things are going all right, going well.

Um, I managed to write a book.

I got to write a book recently.

Thank you, five people. I appreciate it.

I learned a lot about the writing process

I did not previously know.

For example, it turns out,

when you write a book,

you have to do

your fact-checking yourself.

I did not know that.

I thought you just wrote

whatever the hell you wanted

and paid someone to check it out.

Then they'd be like,

"Yeah, it's fine, whatever."

No, you do it all yourself.

It's not like that at all.

This put me in a bit of a bind

'cause I was writing my book,

my book's about being Western and Asian,

being Malaysian, Chinese, and British.

I was writing this part in my book

about how East Asian men

are often emasculated in the West.

You know? So, sexually ridiculed

in popular Western culture.

It's a really funny book.

As an example of this phenomenon,

I was talking about this joke in the West

about East Asian guys having small dicks.

People love this joke.

"Chinese guys, small dicks."

"Japanese guys, small dicks."

"Phil Wang specifically, small d*ck."

I was like,

"Enough of these broad generalizations!"

I sat down.

I was writing a response to this.

I was getting all sassy in my book.

"You probably heard this cruel joke,

dear reader, about my d*ck."

"Well, I'll have you know, dear reader,

that my p*nis is a perfectly serviceable..."

And then I wrote "Six and a bit inches."

Without thinking,

I wrote "Six and a bit inches."

I think I'd heard or read somewhere

that was the average length

of a full p*nis...

"Full"? Is that the right word?

A full p*nis.

...was six and a bit inches.

So I wrote "Six and a bit inches"

as a placeholder.

Making a mental note

to check that was correct,

in my case, at some point.

Now, as you all know,

with any big project

you lose track of the little jobs

as new ones pop up.

Eventually, a couple months down the line,

I was on the phone to my publisher,

and she was going, "All right, Phil,

it's your last chance to make any edits,

any corrections, it's your final draft."

"If you wanna change anything,

change it now."

"Also, we've type-set the book

on our system here,

so you can't just make the edits

on your Word file

and send us the whole book again."

"If you're gonna change

anything this time,

you need to call us...

...and tell us each individual change,

then we'll do it here."

An office of predominantly

beautiful, accomplished women.

And as of this point, I thought,

"Aw, f*ck, I haven't checked my d*ck yet."

You know, like an author.

I didn't say that out loud,

of course, I'm a gent.

I just started breathing really heavily

and hung up.

I thought, "Crap, crap, crap, crap.

What am I gonna do?"

I said six and a bit inches.

I don't know if that's correct.

I have no idea if that's correct.

So what if it isn't?

They won't find out.

They're not gonna

send someone over, are they?

They're not gonna send Margaret Atwood

over with a ruler, are they?

No, but I'll know. I'll know.

I'm a comedian,

an author, I deal in truth.

Not lies, not fallacies.

Well, it is phallus-y, I guess.

God, I'm so clever.

No, I'm getting distracted.

No, the post-truth era ends today.

Time to check my fact.

Phil will measure his wang.

And so I dropped my trousers,

and I walked over to the tool drawer.

Realized I should've

gone to the tool drawer first,

then dropped the trousers,

'cause the waddle added to the indignity.

I got out the tape measure.

Optimistic, in retrospect.

There was genuinely a moment I was like,

"Three meters, that should be enough."

I dropped my underpants,

and with a tape measure in my left hand

and my oldest friend in my right,

I performed my due diligence.

Now, like any good scientist,

I made a note of my starting point.

My control.

Three inches, flaccid.

Oh dear.

Oh dear, I've said six and a bit.

I've written "six and a bit" in the book.

That is more than twice my starting point.

But the journey of 1,000 miles

begins with one stroke.

Let's go.

And so I got going.

You know what w*nk*ng looks like.

You might think that writing a book

is a sophisticated endeavor.

It doesn't feel that way when

you're w*nk*ng alone in the living room.

Trying to give yourself a bit of length,

to give yourself the best chance

in the permanence of the printed word.

It wasn't fun, by the way.

I don't want you to think

I was having a jolly in my flat.

I don't know if you've ever had a wank

that was primarily admin, but...

It's not hot, actually.

Doesn't exactly get the blood flowing

to have a graph pad open at the same time.

But such are the responsibilities

of the author, apparently.

So I kept at it.

Now, after a moment,

I looked down to check where I was at.

Four inches.

A whole inch in no time at all.

I was like, "Wow!"

This is going better than expected.

I'll keep at it. Get at it.

Another moment, looked down again,

five inches. I was like, "Wow!"

Maybe it'll be more than six inches.

Maybe it'll be seven inches.

Maybe that's the change I have to make.

I'll happily call with that edit.

I'll call every day with that edit.

I'll call after it's published.

But as soon as I think that,

I look down again,

five and a half inches,

same interval of time.

Oh dear.

A deceleration.

Diminishing returns.

I start to panic. Keep going, come on.

Five and 3-quarters,

5 and 4-fifths, 5 and 5-sixths.

Starting to get really scared now.

- Don't make me make this phone call!

- Come on, you piece of sh*t!

I started getting desperate.

I started trying different positions.

Different rhythms.

I put Robin Hood on.

But nothing...

Nothing would help or work

or get me to that six inches I needed.

And eventually, after the best

slash worst two hours of my life,

I had to give up.

I downed tools, picked up my trousers,

and made a phone call I did not think

would be part of this process.

"Hi, Charlotte, hope you

had a nice lunch. It's Phil."

"Uh, just wanted to make...

Actually, page 135, um..."

"No easy way to say this, really."

"It's seven inches, actually. It's seven.

So just put down 'seven.'"

Bring on the Pulitzer.

Measuring your p*nis under duress

is the worst part of writing a book.

I think Mark Twain said that.

Otherwise, it's a really

enjoyable experience.

I was really glad I got to do it 'cause

I got to look back on my Borneo life,

I got to come to a new appreciation

for the British half of my life,

and look at it as a whole,

and see how far I've come,

and how well things have gone

and how lucky I am.

And to be here filming this special

with you wonderful people.

A Shakespearean theater

is about as good as I could ever hope for.

So thank you so much for coming.

I really appreciate it.

Well, actually,

I got some really exciting news today.

It's really cheesy to end on it,

is that okay?

I'm really excited

'cause I got really exciting news.

I know you're British,

ending on a positive note

is gonna make you feel ill.

But can I share that with you?

Is that weird? Is that okay?

Today I found out

that I landed an Apple TV deal.

And... thank you so much.

Three months free. Three months.

That's pretty amazing. Three months.

Not a penny for three months?

I thought it was very good, actually.

Someone's been touching wood.

Thank you so much for coming.

I'm Phil Wang. I love you all.

Thank you. Good night!