Jokes by Patrice O’Neal
AKA: Patrice Lumumba Malcolm O’Neal
Born: December 7, 1969
Death: November 29, 2011
Blue Meter: Dirty
In match-ups against other comics:
Won: 1960 | Lost: 1404
See Something Wrong?Is something missing or inaccurate about this comedian's profile? Write Dead-Frog about it here.
Patrice O’Neal on Sex as you Age
When you get a certain age pussy is not what it was when you was younger… I only fuck so I have a memory to jerk off to later.
Patrice O’Neal on Men’s Time
Here’s how to make your man like you and desire what you want, which is love. Equate how you feel about your vagina to how we feel about our time and our space… I can’t fuck you against your will, you gotta desire to want to fuck me. If I fuck you against your will, that’s rape.
Now if I’m on the phone and I say, “Look I got to go.” And you say, “Why you gotta go? I want to talk to you some more.” You are raping my time. You are taking something from me. No means no, bitch. I said I got to go. Why are you forcing me to stay on the phone and talk to you about nothing.
Patrice O’Neal on Ugly Americans
They hate us in other countries. Because we’re arrogant. We don’t know the name of nobody else’s president. Other countries know G.W. (Bush) They know him. But why they hate us because we don’t know and we don’t care. Because they’ll be like, “Hey, do you know the name of my countries leader?”
And you’ll be like, “No.”
“Well, his name..”
“No. Don’t tell me that. I don’t want to hear that.”
Patrice O’Neal on Littering
I don’t litter. I don’t throw garbage in the street. Not because I care about the Earth. But I’m afraid I’m going to be walking through the park drinking a soda and when I’m done, I just throw it over my shoulder, it’ll fly over a bush and land on some dead white woman’s head with my fingerprints on the can. Now I’m the Pepsi-Cola Rapist because I’m lazy.
Patrice O’Neal on Fat as a Disease
I don’t know when did fat became a disease where people feel bad for you. I’m watching Jerry Springer have a 1,000 pound man on… People in the audience, crying, “Oh my God. He’s a 1,000 pounds. What happened?” He ate. You don’t catch 1,000 pounds. Nobody stick you with a dirty needle and give you a 1,000 pounds. You eat.