The Best Comedy Routines of Comedian Jerry Seinfeld

 

 

Here are some of Jerry Seinfeld’s funniest routines:

 

 

I once had a leather jacket that got ruined in the rain. Now why does moisture ruin leather? Aren’t cows outside a lot of the time?
When it’s raining, do cows go up to the farmhouse, “Let us in! We’re all wearing leather! Open the door! We’re going to ruin the whole outfit here!”

“Is it suede?”

“I am suede! The whole thing is suede! I can’t have this cleaned…It’s all I got!”

I am so tired of having to come up with another little outfit for myself everyday. In fact, I will say this—and I think many people agree with me—I think eventually fashion won’t even exist. I think someday we’ll all wear the same thing. Because anytime I see a movie or a TV show where there are people from the future or another planet, they’re all wearing the same outfit. Somehow they all decided, “All right, that’s enough. From now on, this is going to be our outfit. One-piece silver jump suit, with a V-stripe on the chest, and boots. That’s it. We’re going to start visiting other planets and we want to look like a team.”

Have you ever called someone up and you’re disappointed when they answer the phone? You wanted the machine. And you’re always kind of thrown off. You go, “Oh, I uh, I, didn’t know you were there, I just wanted to leave a message saying, ‘Sorry I missed you’.”
So because of the phone machine, what you can have is two people that don’t really ever want to talk, and the phone machine is like this relationship respirator keeping these marginal, brain-dead relationships alive. Why do we do this? Because when we come home we want to see that little flashing red light and go, “All right, messages.” People need that. It’s very important for human beings to feel they are popular and well-liked amongst a large group people that they have no interest in.

I hate the waiting room because it’s called the waiting room so there’s no chance of not waiting. It’s built, deigned, and intended for waiting. Why would they take you right away when they’ve got this room all set up? And you sit there with your little magazine. You pretend you’re reading it but you’re really looking at the other people. “I wonder what he’s got.” Then the finally call you, and you think you’re going to see the doctor, but you’re not. You’re going into the next smaller room waiting room. Now you don’t even have your magazine. You’ve got no pants on. You’re looking at colon-cancer brochures, peeking out the blinds.
But medically speaking, it’s always good to be in a small room. You don’t want to be in a large room. Have you ever seen these operating theaters that they have with stadium seating? You don’t want them doing anything to you that makes other doctors go, “Well, I have to see this. Are you kidding? Are they really going to do that? Are there seats? Can we get in?”
I wonder if they ever have scalp tickets to an operation? “I got two for the Winslow tumor, who needs two?”

Dating is pressure and tension. What is a date really, but a job interview that lasts all night? The only difference between a date and a job is that in not many job interviews is there a chance you’ll wind up naked at the end of it.
“Well Bill, the boss thinks you’re the man for the position. Why don’t you strip down and meet some of the people you’ll be working with?”

One of the most popular procedures today is the nose job. The technical term for the nose job is rhinoplasty. Rhino? I mean, do we really need to insult the person at this particular moment of their life? They know they have a big nose, that’s why they’re coming in. Do they really need the abuse of being compared to a rhinoceros on top of everything else?
When someone goes in for a hair transplant, they don’t say, “We’re going to perform a cueball-ectomy on you, Mr. Johnson. We’re going to attempt to remove the skin-headia of your chrome-domus…these are the technical terms, of course.”

Can someone please tell me what is the deal with B.O.? Everything in nature has a function, a purpose, except B.O. It doesn’t make any sense. Do something good—hard work, exercise—smell very bad. That is the way the human being is designed. You move, you stink. Why don’t our bodies help us? Why can’t sweat smell good? Be a different world, wouldn’t it? Instead of putting your laundry in the hamper, you’d put it in a vase. Go down to the drugstore, pick up some odorant and perspirant. You’d have a dirt sweat sock hanging from the rearview mirror of your car. And then on a really special night, maybe a little underwear coming out of your breast pocket, just to show her that she’s important.

Let’s get one thing straight about dry cleaning right now. It doesn’t exist. There’s no such thing as dry cleaning. There’s no way of cleaning with dry. Dry itself is nothing. You can’t use it. You can’t do anything with it. It’s not there. Dry is nothing. Are you listening to me? And we walk into these places with the big signs out front, “Dry Cleaning,” and somehow never question how they were able to put this absurd concept over on us.
If I gave you a filthy shirt and said, “I want this immaculate. And no liquids!” what are you going to do? Shake it? Tap it? Blow on it? Give me a break. You almost can’t get something dirty with dry, let alone cleaning it.

And why does the pharmacist have to be two and a half feet up above everybody else? Who the hell is he? He’s a stock boy with pills as far as I can tell. Why can’t he be down there on the floor with you and me? Brain surgeons, airplane pilots, nuclear physicists, we’re all on the same level. But not him. He’s gotta be two and a half feet up. “Look out, everybody, I’m working with pills up here. Spread out, gimme some room. I’m taking them from this big bottle and I’m putting them in this little bottle.”
The only hard part of his whole job that I can see is typing everything onto that little, tiny label. He has to get a lot of words on there plus keep that small paper in the roller of the type writer. That impresses me. But putting pills in a bottle with a white jacket on, I don’t know why you need a diploma for that.

I was audited last year. I have been through an audit.
Even though I.R.S. kind of sounds like Toys R’ Us, they’re not fun people. There’s things they could do to liven up the audit. I think they should take all your receipts and put them in one of those big, lucite sweepstakes drums, and just crank it around—you know, give you a feeling like you might win something. Then they can pull ’em out one by one and go, “Oh, I’m sorry. That’s another illegal deduction. But we do have some nice lovely parting gifts for you… Jail.”

 

 

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