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.