A Very Punchable Face by Colin Jost



            Then he kicked me fifteen feet across the mat, picked me up over his head, and threw me out of the ring and into the stands. I wobbled backstage, did a “postgame” interview that I have no memory of doing, and visited two “doctors” who turned out to be wrestlers Scott Hall and Kevin Nash. Let’s just say their “medical treatments” were not covered by Obamacare.



* * *



            —

            After it was all over, Che asked me, “Do you hate me? Was it awful?” And I laughed and said, “It was honestly one of the best moments of my life.”

            The whole next week, random people on the streets of New York would shout, “Hey! Saw you on WrestleMania! That was awesome, bro!” A hot dog vendor near 30 Rock yelled, “Dude! You almost won!” It was the most I’d ever felt like I was back in high school and had no awareness of show business and just wanted to feel like a superhero for a day.

                         Che talked me into wrestling and I talked him into hosting the Emmys. It’s pretty clear that Che has better taste.



                     *1 I’m using “guys” to encompass both genders, because for some reason when you write “guys and…” the next word is always “gals.” (Or “dolls,” which is even worse?) I’ll stop digging myself deeper!

            *2 That was the best part, actually—having a random friend from sixth grade text me: “Wait…why are you in the ring?”

            *3 We both walk pretty slow, so that might be accurate. Seth Meyers always said that during my first television appearance as a stand-up, it took me thirty seconds to walk to the mic.





Eggs in My Legs


                             “One must confront vague ideas with clear images.”

                —JEAN-LUC GODARD

                “Whoa. What is happening with your leg???”

                —DOCTOR #2





I had traveled to Central America about six different times and never had a problem before.

            Except for the time my girlfriend Liz and I were shaken down at gunpoint by the police in Guatemala, and they threatened to throw us in jail unless we paid them two hundred dollars.

            Or the time in Costa Rica when my friends and I bought “weed” from a bunch of teenagers on dirt bikes, who, after they sold it to us, openly laughed like Disney villains and then drove circles around us with their bikes. Maybe that was a subtle sign not to smoke the weed? But we did and it was clearly laced with something because we started hallucinating that our hotel pool was full of sharks and that the local teens were coming back to kill us in the night, so we moved all the furniture in our hotel room against the wall to barricade the door and windows.

                         Or the time I contracted a parasite in Honduras and had stomach pain for months until I finally pooped into a cup and sent it to a lab and they said, “Oh, this isn’t good.” And I said, “You mean it isn’t good to have a job where you receive cups of poop in the mail?” And they said, “No, the job itself pays well and you get used to the poop cups. We meant what’s inside your poop—it isn’t good, parasite-wise.” And I had to take several rounds of medicine and keep pooping into cups until the parasite went away. (I sent a couple extra cups after it went away, just for fun.)

            Or the time my girlfriend Nasim and I were taking the “scenic route” (my idea) through the Nicoya Peninsula in Costa Rica, and after about six hours of driving the bumpiest, dustiest roads you could imagine in a 2006 Nissan Sentra (also my idea), night fell and we were driving in the middle of the jungle when we came upon a river that had overtaken the road, and, horrified at the prospect of driving three hours in the direction we had just come, I decided we could make it (a great slogan for the Nissan Sentra, by the way: “You could make it”), and we drove into the river and stalled exactly halfway across, and then we were sitting in a 2006 Nissan Sentra in the middle of a river in the middle of the night, wishing we had cellphone reception so we could call a tow truck or google “Can snakes get inside your river car?” when miraculously a giant truck came down the road out of nowhere and the driver offered to drag our car out of the river, at which point I turned to Nasim and said, “Could I offer you a stay at the Four Seasons?”