Presenting the Internet phenomenon, Whindersson Nunes! Thank you, Salvador! What a beautiful thing,
what a wonderful thing! Thank you!
A round of applause for you! That’s it. Thank you so much,
I’m very happy to be here today. I came to do this show for you. The first trip I made
was to São Paulo, and then I started to travel more. Outside of the northeast, right?
With the shows. One thing I’ve noticed, anyone who’s not from the northeast,
tends to judge us. And that is fucked up, why? They think that here,
it’s always sunny and hot. It’s always sunny and hot. “Where are you from?”
“I’m from Piauí.” And the person goes,
“Holy Mary, my dear God!” It’s as if I brought the sun
in my pocket to throw at them. I don’t understand it.
I can’t feel hot in São Paulo. I can’t. If I do this,
there’s always a guy, “What’s up?” “I’m hot.” “How come you feel hot? Aren’t you from the northeast?” And I say, “I’m from the northeast, but I’m not the son of Satan.” The people… What? I’m serious, man. We have to feel it in our veins. They don’t believe
that you’re from Piauí, man. You have to be sunburned. Suffering. From getting water at noon
with a bucket on your head. My undernourished eight brothers. Janderson, Wilson,
Wanderson, all of them. All the names with “son” in the end,
to sound poorer. Nobody believes. “Where are you from?” “From Piauí.”
“Oh, doesn’t look like it.” And I go, “Why?”
“Because you’re very white.” I say, “In my house, I have a roof,
right? I have a roof.” And that’s it. I get asked
if I have ever seen a jaguar. “Where are you from?”, ” From Piauí.”
“Have you ever seen a jaguar?” Kind of like, if I go to Japan, I’ll see Goku
in the middle of the street. For God’s sake! No. That’s fucked up. And we are different. We’re different from others.
Very different. People make fun of us,
saying we have a big head. I don’t think that’s a flaw,
I think it’s an attribute. We are cute. We look like those bobblehead dolls
you put over the TV and they go like this. Isn’t it nice? It’s nice. I think it’s nice. And I like to be different
from other people. We’re not like outsiders.
Outsiders are completely different. We are a whole new thing. We rock. We are a whole new level. You must pay attention. Don’t scream
like this now, maybe later with me. Seriously, we are.
For every occasion we have a party. From any situation,
we make a carnival. Imagine Harry Potter
was visiting São Paulo, Harry Potter, the magician, passed by
across the street, and people said, “My God, Harry Potter! Brother, look! Harry Potter! Wingardium Leviosa!” Harry Potter left. They are like:
Oh, brother! My God. Did you see that? Now imagine the same in Piauí,
holy Mary! He was walking on the other side
and they go, “Hey! Harry Potter! I’ve watched you
since I was a little kid! What can you do? Can you transform
that pear into bread?” Then they take him by the hand and
introduce him to Mom, Dad, everyone. We like that. Fart? Holy Mary!
A fart is a celebration! It’s not like São Paulo. In Belo Horizonte, it’s like, there are six people, one farted,
and the first one to notice goes, “I’m going to get some water for us.” So he leaves,
then one after another goes, until there’s just the one
who farted left. Because he who farts
doesn’t abandon it. He stays and enjoys the breeze. “That took a lot of effort,
let’s smell it.” Now a fart in Piauí, the first one to notice
makes it a scandal! Maybe it’s not even stinky,
just the sound of it. Holy Mary! “They shit themselves!” They shit themselves.
If someone is passing by, we say, “Please don’t go that way.
Come this way. Come this way. They’re shitting themselves
over there.” We’ll conduct
a crime scene investigation to find the guy who farted. What for? To humiliate him. And you will forever
be labeled “the farter.” Are you eating vultures, fat boy? Your ugly ass is so rotten
it should be in the garbage. And we get creative. We spend 15 minutes
looking at the floor, expecting someone to ask what
I’m doing. “What are you looking for?” “The folds of your ass!
They should be here.” We have that. We are different. Farts are funny. A fart is funny. It’s a wind coming
out of your ass, out of nowhere. It’s very impressive. I’ll tell you something, now, it’s not a joke, its serious. I was home, watching the afternoon news,
just sitting. I farted,
and I swear it said “Michael.” I swear, I was just sitting there, chillin’ out, all on my own. I could feel that this fart
was going to be a good one. Could feel it building up. This is going to be good. I lifted my leg, so I wouldn’t contaminate
the couch with it. And when I did, I heard “Michael.” This fart went through the wrong ass,
I’m not Michael. Farts can speak. There is a kind of fart
that says the brands of cars. The kind that say, “Fiat.” They’re so nasty.
Those are the worst kind. Holy Mary! Ever noticed that when someone farts,
it makes people angry? Someone will fart and we say,
“Gross. Disgusting.” “You’re filthy, nasty,
I’m angry with you!” Hatred and bitterness rises up in us. But when we fart, then it’s funny. People will say,
“You’re filthy, nasty.” “Yes, that’s true. Get out of my way, I’m filthy.” So you get angry
when someone else farts. There is only one person
that can fart that doesn’t anger you. Your mother. Mom farts, and we smell it quietly. Mom has that thing
called “superiority.” “I’m your mother,
you shut your mouth.” When your mother farts… And it’s a rotten fart. Coming from a mother,
a fart can be deadly. Our farts are young farts. A 15-year-old fart is
“Coke and burger” fart. A fart of a 45-year-old lady is 45 years of hate. Makes your eyes sting. For God’s sake! That’s where pink eyes comes from.
A mother’s fart. And you cannot say anything. But we’re not stupid. We reveal that we know. Pay attention, no one’s home,
just the two of you. You are here, your mother there,
and you smell it. “Mother!” Only she’s smarter than us. You know what she does? Pretends that nothing happened. She knows why we’re calling her name. Because we’re suffocating. Not even a cat will want
to pass by her legs. How rotten is it? We’ll say, “Mother!” And she’s like, “What is it, son?” If I want to get her stressed I say,
“You farted!” “No, I didn’t.” We are alone here, I say.
She replies: Respect me, motherfucker! She speaks with such certainty
that even I believe it was me. People arrive asking what’s
this smell? I say, “I farted.” We take over for our mother. We forgive our mother. We’re not so forgiving of friends. We’ll both be hanging out
and suddenly you smell it. “Did you fart, motherfucker?” It’s just the two of us,
and he’ll be like, “Me?” “It’s just the two of us, here. Either you farted, or my ass is numb.” But a true friend cannot hide it. Cannot hide a fart, you know why? The smile. The ass has a bluetooth connection
with the mouth. When you fart,
a smile is soon to follow. And if you push him,
you will know who farted. “Was it you who farted?”
“No, it was me, really.” Stinks by the eyes. I’m angry at the fart. I have fart hate. Farts and sneezes. I get angry at sneezing. You cannot talk to people
who will sneeze, because it nullifies the sneeze. The person gets angry.
You have to wait for her to sneeze. The most ridiculous thing in the world is waiting for that person
to sneeze so you can then speak. Notice that, the person is like… It seems like they’re collecting
energy from the universe. And you say, “Let’s go there?” And you get like this. Already passed. Isn’t it annoying? I hate it. I hate that. I hate snot. I hate it much more. Because my nose is big. I think my nose is always dirty. So what do I do? I’m always wiping my nose. And when I have something… Snot has to be further studied
by science, because it is a glue
that is not normal. You pick and it stretches, right? Then when you go like this,
it sticks onto the other finger. And you spend 15 minutes
playing with the snot. And it will not go away. We wipe it on our foot
and say, “Damn it!” And when you look at your hand… It’s back on the finger. You can make a movie.
The Return of the Snot. So I created a technique. I created a very good technique
so that it won’t happen again. I do the following, I… I do not put my finger up the nose
when I’m going to clean. I squeeze the nose, here. I squeeze, I squeeze, I squeeze, and when I get to the tip,
whatever’s on the tip, I pick and drop. My friends complain,
“You do not stick your finger in the nose to clean it?” “When you wipe your ass,
do you stick your finger in it?” If it’s not at the edge,
then it’s fine. I never heard anyone ask, “Are you cleaning your ass?”
Then you hear… It doesn’t happen. I’ve never seen anyone do that. It’s not like that. I’m angry about that. I hate to shit
in other people’s homes. I just get nervous because
I want to shit, but just not there. If it’s not my house,
I get apprehensive. Because it’s hard
when you shit in other people’s homes, it seems the dung becomes your friend. It does not want to go away. It stays there with you. You flush it eight times. Flush eight times. Nothing happens.
You do it once, nothing happens. You do it two times, three times,
you flush four times, it’s in the same position. The position of one who is resting. When it does not go down
and it is like this. It’s resting, chilling, you know? It does not leave. At the ninth flush there she goes. And we get like… But after three seconds,
it comes back. Am I eating foam
so that it won’t go down? You do not want to leave?
Come back, then! It drives me crazy. I hate that. Bad thing. I don’t know…
Are there couples here? Are there?
Turn on the light in the audience. There is one, and another there. You in black, what’s your name? What? Vanderson, right? Nice. Vanderson! And the name of your wife? What? Use your mouth to speak. What? Repeat, please. Fernanda? Fernanda and Vanderson. Vanderson is a keyboardist name, yes? Vanderson! The cover photo is Vanderson,
leaning against the keyboard. The background has
nothing to do with anything. The back cover is Fernanda, like this. Very nice.
How long have you been together? One year? One year of sorrows, right? One year, very nice. One year. Have you already changed
sanitary napkins in his house? You can talk, we’re all friends. There’s hardly anyone here.
You’ve never? When you wrap the sanitary napkin,
do you leave it open or closed? You can tell the truth. Closed, right?
With toilet paper around to disguise. That’s really good, really good. It’s been a year, Vanderson. Pretty soon,
she will not be as careful anymore. One day she will leave it open
and you will see. And you will have to be prepared,
Vanderson. One day I got home. And I was not prepared, Vanderson. When I saw that slaughter
in the trash bin… When I saw all that blood, I thought my girlfriend
fractured her vagina. Fractured or injured it. I didn’t not know,
maybe she jumped and tore… Sometimes it is not stretched, right? I say, this is death. Death. Receive her soul, Jesus. After two minutes she passed by,
walking. Jesus is the greatest. Lost so much blood and she didn’t die,
maybe she’s one of the X-Men. I asked, “What is this?” And she said,
“It’s blood, can’t you see?” “Let’s do a blood donation campaign.” “For whom,” she asked.
“For you, you left all yours here.” “My love, it’s because
the absorbency is different.” I wanted to ask, ’cause I didn’t know
there were different absorbencies. And the women, Vanderson, when she knows
that you do not understand the matter, she will give you a lesson. They like to call us dumb. I asked, “Baby,
is there a difference?” “Whindersson, you’re so stupid. There are sanitary napkins with flaps. Without flaps. There are sanitary napkins
with the smell of field roses.” I asked, “What for? That does not smell
like roses from the field.” More like field roses that have died. No more roses are born in that field. “Okay. So I’m going to wear a tampon.” And I did not know what a tampon was. “But what is a tampon?”
And she explained it to me. “A tampon is also an absorbent. It’s just a little different. How can I explain to you?
I’ll give you an example.” The example she gave me was,
“You know what a sink is?” “A sink?” “Yes, a sink. When you don’t want the water
to drain out of the sink, what do you do?” “I plug the hole of the sink.” And she said, “Exactly.” We were talking about the little hole! This is good,
because it will help her, right, Vanderson? So she put the tampon in
because we were going out. And she put it in. We went to a romantic dinner. Excellent. Very fine. The dinner was very good
and I had some spaghetti in my mouth, and okay… I was chewing, I think she put
the fork too fast in her mouth, so that the tip of the fork
jabbed her mouth, just a little bit. Blood came out,
and she didn’t tell me, Vanderson. And I’m eating, peacefully, all romantic. Excellent. Very fine. Then I decided to kiss her,
so when I looked up, the blood was pouring
out of her mouth, and I said, “The sink is full! It’s going to overflow! Do something!” I don’t know,
women might be disturbed, man. Only women answer, yes or no, would you date a man who has a beard on only half of his face? So why do women only shave their legs
from here to here? Only to the knee? And you can’t lay a hand on her thigh,
otherwise she’ll get angry. “The hairs are growing.” She doesn’t like it, man! “Why do you shave only half of it?”
“Because I like to dye the rest.” Then goes to the beach in a bikini… From here to here, no hair,
and from here up is Goku. My grandmother was crazy. She was really mad. My 95-year-old grandmother
wanted to ride a bike. “Are you crazy?”
“I’m going to ride it.” If you think about it,
an old man, the older he gets, or an old woman, the older she gets, the deeper her voice gets. And an old man, the older he gets,
the more high-pitched his voice is. Like, “Granny, what are you doing?”
“Taking care of the boys.” Ask your grandfather,
“Where is the show place?” “You go this way, turn there…” An old man is like that,
totally different. Grandma wanted to ride a bike.
I told her not to, she insisted. Two minutes later,
she came back, pushing it, with a damaged tire, a purple eye, three teeth missing, and I said, “Granny, you fell down!” “You know,
my breast got caught in the wheel… So I pedaled to get it out,
but then the other one got caught.” I said, “Put them in your pocket,
for God’s sake.” Granny was deaf. Granny was very deaf. Very deaf. Granny was very deaf,
and my grandfather, twice as much. They lived alone. In the countryside, where every house was two miles away from each other. So they just talked to each other. One time I got there, at my Granny’s house, my grandfather was on top of the house
repairing a gutter, moving the tiles, and I was looking
at him, like a little boy. And my grandmother called
to my grandfather. “António! Are you repairing the gutter?” And he said, “No,
I’m repairing gutter!” And she said, “Oh, okay, I thought you were repairing
the gutter.” And she left. I wanted to know what it was
that they heard from each other. The answers were so certain. Everybody is crazy in my house,
my father is crazy. Do we have any parents here? Are you a father? What’s your name? Your name? Márcio? My father wakes up very early. My father has a problem. When he wakes up,
everyone must wake up with him. And you ask, “What for?”
“Just for the sake of waking up.” He does not want to do anything.
What time do you wake up, Márcio? What time do you wake up? Six? Oh, my God! When my father wakes up,
the weather man is still brushing his teeth. Nobody can stand it.
My mother is crazy. My mother is crazy.
My mother hates tattoos. I’m full of tattoos. I look like a public school chair. All scratched. I’m all scratched up. I went
to be tattooed for the first time. My mother hates tattoos.
I said to her… There is a moment in life. There’s a moment
teenagers think they call the shots. I got home and said, “Mother!
I’m going to get a tattoo.” She said, “You’re not my son anymore!” “It’s just a tattoo,” I said.
And she gave this excuse, “My son, those who are tattooed
beat their mothers.” My goodness, can you imagine
the condition of Johnny Depp’s mom? She gets eight punches a day. My mother is crazy.
So I told her I’m getting a tattoo. A little tattoo. And she said, “No!” “A little one.” “No!” “Just tiny.” “No! While you live under my roof…” She talks like that
because we have nowhere to go. “While living under my roof,
you will not get a tattoo!” But I left home at 16. I did not live under her roof anymore. I’m going to do it. But one day, I’d go back home. I’d go back home,
and she would see it. So I was in a dilemma. Should I show it or hide it? My brothers… Nobody hides anything
from your mother. It’s in the Bible. Vanderson, Chapter 3, Verse 4. Do not hide anything from your mother. You can get a tattoo on the ass, you go down to get your slippers,
and she asks, “My son, what is this?” She has a good eye.
Especially for the shit we do. But if she needs to read, she can’t. “I am dizzy,” she says. I’ll do that shit and she’ll find out, and she is going to be angry with me. You are bad and a rascal, excommunicated, drugged,
Guns N’ Roses, all that, so I will not do it. But I live 800 kilometers away
from my mother. I live in Terezinha and she lives
in Bom Jesus. I had an idea. I’m going to call my mother. Before getting the tattoo. And I’ll say I’ve already had it done, the tattoo. To see her reaction.
If she gets very angry, I won’t do it. If she gets just a little angry,
I’ll do it. I knew she would get angry. I called her, and she asked,
“What do you want?” “I do not want money.” “So, what is it?” “I got a tattoo.” “Mother?” A minute had passed and nothing. Two minutes pass and nothing,
three minutes and nothing. I was worried and my heart was racing. I was all sweating,
four minutes and nothing. Five minutes without saying anything. Five minutes without saying anything! Calling from different operators,
which is so expensive! Do you understand my concern
at that moment? I was worried about
the bonus call that was ending. And I said, “Mother!”
She answered, “Oh, my God.” “What’s wrong?” “My son is
a drug addict.” I said, “No, I’m not. I’m wearing earrings.” “You’re wearing earrings,
and a tattoo?” “No, Mother.” My mother is crazy. My mother watches television
standing up. Some mothers do this… Five couches without anyone. You ask her to sit down
and she gets angry. “No!” So she walks away
with the television on, and I go and switch it off. When I switch it off,
it’s like I threw a rock at her head. I switch it off and she asks, “Who was that?”
“It was me, nobody was watching, so I shut it off.” “I was listening!” From the other side of the house. They took my grandparents’ hearing
and put it on her. She can be in Japan. I drop the remote,
and her voice comes from Japan, “You broke it!” Out of the blue. “Don’t you know how expensive it is?” “No, I don’t.
It comes with the television.” How would I know, crazy? Crazy person. We can only take friends home
that our mother knows. Usually she knows three. We can have five thousand friends
but she only knows three. Usually we are not even friends
with the people she knows. She knows the name, knows his father,
his mother, and besides those three, any friend you take to your house, your mother gets
very suspicious about. Very suspicious.
“Mom, meet my friend Barack Obama.” “How are you, Obama?” “Okay.” “Wearing earrings, Obama?” I won’t say anything. She looks at your friend
for 15 seconds and it’s like this. “Son, come here.” The poor innocent boy
didn’t even ask for water. She asks, “Who’s he?” “He’s a friend of mine.” She says, “That’s funny,
but I don’t know that boy. I have for myself that
he is involved in drugs.” I have for myself?
What the hell is “I have for myself”? If you have it, it’s yours already. There are two things
that I will never understand. One is “I have for myself,” and the other is when
she is going to tell me about a dream she recently had, she says that, “It said…” She says, “Whindersson, I dreamed, and it said that I had a knife.” I ask, “Who said that?” “It said that
I got to the car, but…” “Who said? Is there a narrator in your dream?” It said… She’s crazy. They are crazy. There is a phrase that
doesn’t leave your mother’s mouth. “These boys
will drive me crazy someday.” No, we won’t. You know who goes crazy?
She does, herself. Mothers go crazy like this,
by themselves. She does not need kids to be crazy. I’ll give you a small example. You are having lunch, normally. Around noon, while you’re eating, she is doing the dishes, and while she is doing the dishes, she talks to another mother,
inside of her head. And starts going crazy on her own. I’m eating
and she’s doing the dishes, like this. “Some wash. Others eat.
You’re only good when eating! When I’m finished,
he comes with the plate, and puts it here,
for the royal donkey to wash. Yeah. You think I’m your maid. You’ll appreciate me when I die.” Apart from the things she says alone, she gets angry at what she thinks. She’ll talk to you. And you know nothing
of what she actually thought. She gets mad about anything.
She’ll go like this. “Hey, you! I’m not going to buy anything else.” And then she leaves, goes away. “The guests come,
I have nothing to offer. You ate everything. I do not have children. I have dogs.” That hurts, man. It hurts because it’s true. If they let us,
we’ll even eat the chairs. The child has an evil. The child is born with an evil named
“Knowing what we have.” When I was a boy, eight years old, I could not sleep just thinking of the powdered milk
on top of the cupboard. I couldn’t. I’d toss and turn in bed,
I couldn’t help it. I wanted to sleep, but also wanted the powdered milk
to pour into my mouth, and then spend the night
just tasting it with my finger. Sometimes I would forget,
and clean my ears, and then put my finger in my mouth. Oh! That horrible taste… Ear wax is a horrible thing.
Holy Mary. But kids like it
and they won’t stop until it’s gone. Until it’s gone. One day my mother came home. One day my mother came home
with a bottle of soda. I did not even look at her. For me, it was just
a bottle of soda floating at home. I was just following the soda. And I start to itch all over. She put the soda on the table. I asked the question,
like all children do, “We’ll open it now, right?” “No!” “Can you give me a little?” “No!” When the child
doesn’t get what they want, they speak very slowly
to see if the mother gives up. They’ll look at Mom and do this… “Just a little…” “No!” “You’re mean…” “No!” And then start the options.
“In the cup?” “No!” “In the cover?” “No!”
“In my hand?” “No!” Didn’t work.
But quitting is not an option. When a child cannot get what he wants
he starts talking nonsense. My mother sat outside
and I stood beside her. “It’s very hot. I think I’m thirsty. But not ‘water thirsty.’ My shorts are black. The same color of that thing
I saw in there. In the refrigerator. I want something with gas.” “The gas bottle is under the sink.
You can pick it up.” Didn’t work. Didn’t work. But when she gave it to me,
I gave it back my way. In a bad way. My mother would give me a soda and I would drink it
at the door of the house. Make other street kids jealous. The boys would be playing
and I would do this. “Someone likes Coke?
Well, you don’t get any.” Boys are bad. Children are bad. Have you seen a child
when he earns 25 cents? What does he do? Buy something? No. Keep it? No. Spends all day with the money in hand, and shows all human beings
who pass by. He even sings. “You don’t have… My father gave it to me. I took it out of his pocket.” Makes magic. You may be late
to catch a plane to Japan. It might be a job interview,
but he will stop you. To show you a magic trick he does. You’re in a hurry, but he calls you. You know what happens then? He loses the money. He’s really bad. There is only one person worse
than this child. The mother of that child. She learned from someone. Is there any mother there? Is there a mother here?
What is your name? Etiland? Stop kidding. Etiland? Let’s go to Disney? No.
We’re going to Eti. Disney is out of my budget. I’ll stay right here in Baía
with Etiland. How are you, Etiland? Etiland, right? Etiland. Very good. Etiland. Old person’s name, Etiland. When you ask,
“What is your grandmother’s name?” you never hear, “Kathleen.” Etiland, Raimunda, Peda,
names like that. Rosemeire. Etiland, there are only two types
of mother on Earth. Two. The mother of the rich
and the mother of the poor. The difference is the way
of educating their children. What does the rich kid mother do
when the child starts running? She asks someone to go get the child
so he does not get hurt. “Come on, Jarrod, please.”
No way, right? For God’s sake, no way. What does the poor mother do
when the child starts running? She calls someone over
to see her son fall. The boy starts running
and she calls someone to watch. “Come here next to me. Look at where he is.” And the other says, “Go get him then!” “Pay attention, you silly.
You’re going to miss it!” When the boy falls,
she says, “Didn’t I tell you? This child is the devil!” She lets the boy fall down. When the rich boy falls,
it’s a different story. Mom runs over fast to help him. “Come on, Jarrod. Where are your manners? I can’t believe it, Jarrod.” It’s such a beautiful thing.
It looks like a movie. If the poor boy falls
a mile away from his mother, she huffs all the way over. The boy falls down
and she comes like this. “You’re a disgrace.
You fell, already, Whindersson?” Holy Mary. The crying of children is different. The rich boy, when he hits his head
on the floor and cries, it’s beautiful. It’s as if he is in The Voice Brazil. The rich boy falls and it’s like… Makes me want to record an MP3
and send it to Spotify. It’s beautiful, it sounds good. Poor boy hits his head
and nobody knows if it’s a boy crying or if it’s an ambulance approaching. The way he falls… The cars pull over to the side,
giving way to him. It’s bad. And there’s more. The crying of poor children
is all the same. One cries,
and all the mothers come outside. “Is it mine?” “That is not mine, mine has snot. Leave it on the ground
if it’s not mine. Etiland, go get it.” I don’t know, Etiland. One thing I find interesting
about the rich boy, and I like it. There are two good sides.
Actually, one good and one bad. What’s wrong? You already know the jokes,
you’re laughing before I tell them? There’s one thing
I do not like in rich boys. When I was a child,
I wasn’t aware of many things. When I saw a rich boy
denying food, I’d get angry. We’d offer them a yogurt
and they’d say, “I don’t want it.” “Then give it to me! Give me that.
I’ll even eat the plastic.” Sometimes… What I like about rich boys
is that they are direct. When he falls down, he cries. The rich boy falls
and cries to warn that he fell. And the mother comes
to take care of the boy. The rich boy falls and cries to warn.
The poor boy doesn’t. When the poor boy falls,
he does not realize what happened. He thinks, “How come? I was standing
and now I’m on the ground?” He has a delay. He’s all like, “You can’t catch me!” Then he smiles, in a way nobody
knows if he’s laughing or crying. “It was because of this rock here. I don’t want to play anymore. It’s not because I fell down,
I’m just tired!” So he cries. It takes time. It takes time to realize
what happened. Wow, Whindersson… I want to shit… Etiland. When my mother goes out to work, usually in a poor house, when mother goes to work,
each child has his duty. It is a mission that the mother
gives to each one. This work is performed
according to the age. The older you get,
the harder the task is. “You’re going to wash, you will clean and you will arrange.” It’s like a small business. When she goes out, the house is dirty.
When she’s back, it’s clean. But there is a more important task
than the others, which is to fill the water bottles
in the fridge. This disgrace was always my duty. I’d get angry
because this task was easy. So we’d take it for granted,
it’s not like sweeping the house. Those who sweep the house
know how hard it is. And you know what time it starts
and at what time it ends. The one who fills the bottles
is there doing nothing, while others are sweeping
and cleaning. “Whindersson, go fill your bottles.”
“Shut up, keep sweeping.” My mother warned me
that we were going to fight. My mother warned me about five times. And she didn’t warn me
like you see in the movies. “My son, fill the bottles please,
so we can have fresh water to drink. Go, my son, go.” No. My mother used to tell me,
“Whindersson, how many bottles are there? Four, right? Oh, Whindersson. Don’t make me break your neck
when I get home. I’m going to work now. I will not tell you anything else.” She would leave,
and frighten me so much that I would get to work immediately. But when my friends saw that my mother
was going to work, they would call me over,
because they were afraid of her. My mother would pierce
the balls that fell in the yard. I have so many friends
who want my mother’s death, you can’t even imagine. They were afraid of my mother
and when she left, they came to the gate. And when I went to fill the bottles,
they knocked on the gate. When I opened it,
it was like a vision of hell. Those boys were so ugly! Nature was not very friendly
with these boys. They came from the worst sperm
in my city. Holy Mary! They were just ugly things,
even their names. Their nicknames. Turnstile, Placenta, Vanderson, all ugly names. I did not know, I swear I did not know
how to deal with those boys, they were all crooked. Arms and legs. All groups of friends have a leader. A leader. And the boy came and talked to me,
all crooked. “Hey, sucker. Let’s play?” I said, “Yes. Play what?” “You choose.” Do you know Street Baseball? There are other names for it,
like Stick in a Can, Taco, Takiball, and some others. I’ll explain. Two cans of soybean oil, from Etiland’s time. One here, another there. In front of the can… It’s windy. In front of the can we have a stick. A stick that we found
and split in two. Behind the can, a person with a ball,
to knock out the other can. And whoever with the stick
goes like this. I was the one with the ball. I had good aim. It was amazing,
I did not miss anything. I was like the Neymar
of Street Baseball. I was excellent. I played hard. I was always messing with those guys who wear Beats headphones
and walk funny. I liked playing with them. But there was a different boy. Pretty, blonde, maybe not my friend… Pink feet, so definitely not my friend. My friends’ feet were gray. There was no moisturizing cream
that was able to treat those feet. Holy Mary! The boys with gray feet and sandals. He’d stomp his feet
and there’d be a light. “What’s that? A transformer?” I thought, that’s nice.
The boy wants to watch. He grabbed the stick. He got the stick and I asked,
“Are you challenging me?” He took the stick and looked at me, so I filled my heart with hate. I’ll show this Mongoloid
how to play this. This is my expertise. I took the ball
and with all the strength I had, I threw the ball
at 350 miles Fahrenheit, and I said, “Catch it.” My friends, sometimes God lets us be the best. God lets us think we are the best. Later, when we are so high in the sky,
he shows us there’s someone better. I threw that ball so well, so precisely, with such power… This boy hit it, so rudely, so assertively, that it was like
the Earth was in slow motion to me. I threw the ball
and he went like this. I looked at my friends
and they were all like this. I looked at the leaves
of the trees falling, and they were falling like… There was a woman skateboarding. When he hit it… Her shoe had a nail that made sparks, it was like Back to the Future. And her hair was like… Very beautiful,
and everything in slow motion. An old man was passing by,
at his normal speed. And when the ball came,
I said, “This is mine.” I was going to catch it,
I felt it at the tips of my fingers. Only it kept going up… And it went up and up and up,
and when it disappeared, I looked at the street
and my mother was coming home. I remembered the bottles. I looked behind and there was nobody. Where are the cans and sticks? I took my shoes to play,
and now where are they? Etiland, I was alone. Abandoned and without friends. I did not fill any bottles, and when I was ten, that was the first time
I talked to Jesus. I swear, I looked up and said, “Jesus, Jesus? You know that your father
is my father, too? Help me, please!” Etiland, right away. It was immediate,
my mother stopped the motorcycle. Started talking to her friend,
and I said, “Thank you, Jesus. You are really Jesus, aren’t you? Blessed children. A thousand bottles
will fall to your left, a million to your right.” Nothing’s going to happen.
I went very slow. Put the light here for me.
I went very slowly, leaning against the wall
so she did not see me. So I passed behind the bike, but when I was behind my mother,
her friend saw me. “Shut up!” I stood behind my mother like this. “I’m very dangerous.” I arrived at the gate
and they kept talking. I got behind the gate. The gate had not been oiled
in 15 years. My mother’s name is Valdenisse. I move one centimeter, and I almost heard my mother’s name. I pulled and it was, Valdenisse! I waited a little while
to disguise myself. After ten seconds,
I felt a hand on my shoulder. I hope it’s Jesus. I will not miss an opportunity
to see Jesus, but when I looked, the nails were painted,
and Jesus does not paint his nails. I looked up and it was my mother. I froze inside. I got up and tried to hide my fear. I was confident. I entered slowly and on guard. I went through the gate
and started to close it. And when I closed it,
my mother said, “We’ll talk inside.” I was really frightened, Etiland. Because the worst part
is not someone hitting us. The worst part is knowing
that it will happen soon. We start thinking about things. Who is your daughter, Etiland? She is there by your side.
Did you ever hit her? Hard or light? Light, right? My mother beat me light, too. My spine is slightly crooked,
I saw in the X-ray. But it’s really light.
Like six inches. Sometimes it’s good to be beaten. Not for the person doing the beating,
but for the person being beat up. Etiland, the beating
is the payment of a debt. Payment of a debt. Think about it. For example,
you just now beat your daughter, but after one minute
she is already playing and smiling. The beating is the payment of a debt.
When you break a dish, you owe your mother. When you get beat up, you then owe her nothing. That’s why she plays and smiles. There is a difference
between crying before the spanking, and then after spanking. The crying before the beating is a sort of staging that even
the best actor in the world can do. When my mother came in
and asked about the bottles, I was like… “What is that?”
“Are you going to hit me?” “Whindersson, come here.” “No!” I hid myself in a corner
and when mother came to pick me up, she brought me
to the middle of the room. She was pulling me the whole way,
and I was like, “No! No!” Then she stopped and did this. “It didn’t hurt, I’m leaving. I’m going away.” Very nice, Etiland. There was nothing for me. Have you ever slapped in syllables? You take them by the arm and you say, “You-will-learn-how-to-…”
Have you ever? My mother hit me so hard
that I cried in syllables. What was it? “My mom hit me!” And the poor boy when he stops crying,
it’s like he is starting a motorcycle. “My-mother-hit-me…” You can ride him
to Piauí at 120 miles per hour. A child is not ashamed. I was not ashamed and I was dumb. I’d say, “Hey Mom! Tomorrow I went to school.” “It’s not tomorrow, it’s yesterday.”
“No, yesterday I’ll go, too.” I changed things. It was dumb. Etiland, one day I was caught
jerking off. Don’t laugh, it’s no joke,
I didn’t have anything to do. I had no entertainment.
Yogurt, crackers… A video game… I had nothing. Damn child. The boy is damned but the girl is not. Until she reaches age 13,
when she discovers someone likes her. Then she gets disgusted. Angry. But a three-year-old boy, he’s going to piss like this. He knows where the fun is.
He’s not stupid. He measures it, with his friends. “Mine is two inches.” “And mine is three!” Children are different. They’re innocent, not like adults.
Adults are smart. Adults are very smart. Have you ever seen
an adult watching porn? He watches, but he knows
someone can come at any time. He gets like this. Ever watched a child watch porn?
It’s like this. He picks it up, and sees if it’s seasoned. It’s very good… It’s good. It’s a good smell. If the father catches him,
he doesn’t notice it. He does not see
that someone is behind him. When the father sees the boy,
he helps him. He has been through this, Etiland. He’s having a blast. “I’m going to drink some water.”
And the boy sees him. Changes the channel
and turns up the volume. With the mother, it is not like that.
It’s like a bomb. “What are you doing?” The boy gets scared
and his penis goes up his ass. He has to squat to take a piss. It’s so bad! It’s hard. Isn’t it, Vanderson? It’s hard, man. The day I got caught, it was strange. I was smarter back then
and I would place my finger on the channel button. I had nothing to do. It was midnight, parents were sleeping, I turned on the TV. Ciné Privé. I was ready. My finger on the button. If I was cockeyed, it would be better. An eye on the television
and on the door. No one ever caught Luan Santana. And it was all nice, just chilling, the smell. My mother’s voice came from the floor. I heard my mother’s voice. The one when she catches you,
you know? It starts pitching up… “What is that!”
And I pushed the button. I changed to the Universal Church. “What are you doing?”
“I’m attending church!” “Attending church?” “No, I’m learning sign language.” “You’re not learning anything,
you bum. Get out!” I went to my room angry. Wanted to break everything. But I couldn’t, or I’d get beat up.
I get to my bedroom and go like, “This room is mine. Mine!” I took my computer, “Mine. Mother bought it,
but gave it to me. It’s mine.” I got my headphones, put them in my ears, got onto my site, www.xvideos.br. It was almost mine.
I’d watched them all. I always look for movies of dudes
with smaller cocks than mine, so I won’t get embarrassed. So I searched, “Vanderson… Vanderson with little people.” But I won’t play it
on volume 1. I put it up to 50. No problem because
I have the headphones. No, lets put it on 80. So, 80. No, 90. Well, just only 10 more… We’ll do 100. Max volume. It was late in the night. No one was awake. In the entire world. That silence. The middle of night silence, which makes you jump
when your bones crack. You go to drink some water
and your bones crack. I pressed play and it started,
and only on the headphones… Only on the headphones
without disturbing anyone. In the middle of the night,
without anyone awake, full silence. And on the phones… And Vanderson with the little people. Sometimes it was like… I turned in bed, and the headphones unplugged
from the notebook. It echoed all over the town. Just picture it. It was like this… “Oh, yes! No! No! No!” Oh, my brother! You wouldn’t believe it.
It was very serious. Very serious. I closed the notebook so fast, that Windows XP turned into Windows 8. But it kept going,
closing it didn’t turn it off. “Shit. This is bad.” My mother is a light sleeper. “This is bad. This is bad, shit. I’ll just pretend to be sleeping. I’ll pretend to be sleeping
for a long time.” After 15 seconds the door opened… And I was like… My mother just said, “Whinds?” So I pretended that I was sleeping. So she screamed, “Whinds!” So I pretended
that I was really just waking up. “Whinds, did you hear anything?” So I got a hold of myself. I swear I looked at her and said, “What noise? You’re going crazy, go to sleep.” And she did. It’s very easy to fool my mother. It’s all okay to her. It’s true. She thinks it’s a spirit. It’s just a spirit. “Did you go
into the kitchen yesterday? I thought it was a ghost. I heard a noise in the sink.” “And the ghost would come
from heaven to wash the dishes? You’re crazy.” I was a bad ass when I was a child. Very bad. I was running a lot.
Children love to run. Children make friends
while running, you know? It takes only 30 seconds
for a child to find 98 friends. Without even knowing their names. I don’t how it is. Someone passes by,
and he just goes with him. Then comes back and says, “Look, Mom,
this is my long-time friend.” “What’s his name?” “What’s your name?” Then he gets to know him. But there is a great phenomenon
called “missing leg.” Sometimes a child runs… He runs so much
that his chest passes his legs. And the legs try
to keep up with the chest. Sometimes you’re talking to a friend
and a boy passes like this… And you can’t stop him. You can only presume
where he will fall. Once I ran a lot because I was
having class in the morning. My class ended at 11:40
and Dragon Ball ended at noon. On these days I had to run. I ran like there was no tomorrow. I ran like… A marathon runner at the finish line, trying to get a ribbon. I really ran. I flew. When I was near home,
my legs were missing. It’s complicated to walk around
with a school backpack. And the backpack flaps. The first mortal leap
of a child is with a backpack. “I’ll just tie my shoes.” It’s the first mortal leap
for that kid. And I was coming like… And when I was missing my legs,
I was in front of the house. So many places in the world
for me to fall, and I fell in front of my mother.
She is going to help me, I thought. No way. I was picking myself up, and my mother was coming.
She stopped at the door. Stopped at the door. There are three things
I’m afraid my mother will say. “When we get home, we’ll talk.” Especially when she grabs my arm
and speaks without moving her lips. Sometimes I’d be running
at a birthday party, and everything’s all good. And I run into someone,
who drops all the glasses… We stare at
that beautiful cake, right? Then they hide the cake, then bring the cake back
wrapped in foil. That’s bad,
so you throw it on the floor. Your mother pulls you by the arm, “When we get home, we’ll talk.” She still looks at her friend
and says hello. She’s pulling me,
and I know my life is over. The second thing is, “When your father gets home,
you will see.” After one minute, you call your dad. “Dad? Where are you? What time will you arrive? Did Mom talk to you yet? Oh, it’s nothing. When she calls again, don’t answer. Okay. Dad, I love you.” To try to escape the scolding. The third thing I’m afraid of
is not a sentence, it’s a verb. It’s when my mother says,
by the door, “Get in.” “My mother will beat me.” My mother was so cynical
with a belt in her hand. She’d say,
“I’m not going to beat you. Get in.” And I’d say, “Put down the belt!” “Get in.” I didn’t trust her. I named my mother Yu-Gi-Oh. When she lost the belt, the shoe was already in defense mode. With Mom, it didn’t work.
I had to get in. What could I do? I lived there. So I was preparing to go in. I was running, with replay. And now,
for the first time in São Salvador, in slow motion, the same scene, but now in super slow motion. All the details you missed
with the naked eye. I was looking at my mom. As I got in, I was celebrating. There was my father,
and he said, “Look back!” When I looked, there was the belt… It didn’t work. And my mother, she was like Megazord. Megazord strikes and makes a pose. It was like my mom. Sometimes she would let me pass, and was like, “My God…” Just exploded. It was beautiful. My mom. My mom was great. You either hit or got hit too much. That’s okay. You paid,
you’re going to laugh until you die. Some people are just like that.
They pay 70 bucks and… “Chair!” “Ah, chair!” Laugh, my friend. Laugh. It’s a good thing to smile. When I was young,
I didn’t like English. I thought people
were making fun of me. I thought people were making
fun of me. They’d say, “How are you?” “Are you is your mama, that bitch.” I didn’t like it. No one can sing in English.
We say we know, but we don’t. Who has already tried this? Right? It’s the most beautiful English
in the world. It’s very nice to sing like that. And we only know the chorus. The “no” we know, right? But the… We don’t know that. Thank you very much, Salvador! See you next time! May God bless you all! Have a safe trip home, Salvador! Let’s make this a nice photo. On the count of three, now. Everybody put your hands up! People from Salvador! Thank you Salvador! We’re together! God bless you all! This rocked! Bye, Salvador! We’re together! We’re together!