A Sample of BIG DUMB EYES
Introduction
The Most Words
I was on a call with the publisher, and they asked me what I wanted to call my book. So I’m like, “Okay. I got the perfect title. Big Dumb Eyes.”
And there was this silence on the other end.
Finally they go, “Uh, that is really not the kind of book we had in mind here. That sounds way too dark. Um. Kind of inappropriate, actually.”
So I try to explain, right? I’m like, “Well, the thing is, whenever people talk to me, they always speak real slow. They pause after each word, like I’m not all there. Like I can’t follow. And it’s all because I got these big dumb eyes.”
Then they go, “Ohhhhhh! Right. Okay. You talk kinda funny with that Southern accent. We thought you said ‘Big Demise.’”
From then on, they would only communicate with me over email. By the way, what does “demise” mean anyway? Wait, I’m gonna look it up.
Ohhhhhh. Demise. This book is definitely not that.
***
You might be a little nervous opening these pages, because I am very on the record about not liking to read books. It’s a big part of my act, going on about how every book is just the most words. How it never lets up, and there’s just more and more words until it’s like, “What are you talking about? Please, just make it stop.”
And here I am, writing one of my own.
But you’re in for a real good time. Real good. Because I have taken everything bad about books and made it the best. So I can personally guarantee that you will love this book. Or at least that it is, in fact, a book. Because that is what I’ve been told.
Now, is it perfect? Let’s not get crazy. I mean, it has a lot of pages. And I wanted lots more pictures. But it’s pretty darn close, because this is the very first book in the history of the world that was written to not be a whole complicated thing. I’m not saying I wrote it for cats and dogs, but I bet they could knock a couple chapters out if they put their minds to it. It’s light. It’s funny. It’s relaxing. It’s full of a bunch of stories about me and my hometown in Tennessee, my friends and my family, my old car named Old Blue, and how I flunked bowling my only semester in college. There’s another chapter about how I was almost a genius, but I swear that is not a contradiction. So, basically I talk about the same kind of stuff I talk about on stage, but with new stories that have more fun details and background on everything and everyone in what I like to call Nateland.
This book is never trying to say anything even close to important. At first, I had a thirty-page chapter right in the middle called “The Meaning of Life,” and I really do think I had it all figured out, but we got to the last draft of the book, right before publication, and I was like, “No! Too important! Delete.” And now I forgot it.
You can read this book anywhere or any way you want. You can read it in bed. You can read it upside down. You can read it in the car, but only when you’re driving. That’s a joke, in case that is not clear. When you’re done, you can leave it on your coffee table. I tried to tell the publisher to make it an actual coffee table, like Kramer’s book in Seinfeld, but they said I’d need to write a lot more words for a book that big, so that was out.
You can read this book from beginning to end, or you can open it to any random chapter you want and you’ll be just fine. There isn’t any real order. No rhyme or reason behind much of anything. I was trying to think of one big chapter that said everything I ever wanted to say about food, then I realized my one big idea was “I love food. I love to eat food. Food is good.” So instead I have a few smaller chapters about me and food I’m thinking of calling “Bites.” Or maybe “Snacks.” Or probably “Random Food Things.” Either way, you won’t need any special information to read any of it. You won’t need facts or opinions or, like, smarts. I promise, you won’t find that pesky stuff here. So just dive right in.
***
As I was learning to read, one of the most annoying things about books was having to keep track of all the characters’ names. It’s possible I shouldn’t have started with War and Peace. So in my book, I will always remind you who I’m talking about, even if you met them before. Like my friend P-P comes up in a few chapters, and I will always helpfully remind you that he’s called P-P because he got hit in the pee-pee by a football when he was in high school. Also because I love reminding P-P of that same story. How you doin’, P.1
I will make sure to have some breaks, a few blank pages to help you keep your head above water, just in case you’re crazy enough to read the book from front to back, which I don’t even know if that’s allowed. And I promise you there will not be lots of big words, because—I’m sorry, “’cause”—I don’t like them.
There is one thing I should clear up, and that has to do with how I talk. Actually, the publishers told me I had to add this note, I think because they still feel burned by the whole “demise” thing.
- When I write “golly,” it should actually be read as “gaaaaaaaahhhhhhhly!”
- Take any word that you say, and I probably say it different. Like “boil” is really “bowl.” Though come to think of it, I don’t think “boil” is actually in the book. But I do bowl. Whatever. Just read it in my voice and you’ll have way more fun.
- If you haven’t actually heard my voice before, I talk slow. It doesn’t feel slow to me. But you are not me. And I am not you.
And that’s all you need to know. If you forget, just come right back to the beginning, and it’ll be right here waiting for you.
(Caption: Proof that I let my daughter Harper write this book for me.)
The Biggest Little Speed Trap in Tennessee
I grew up in this tiny little town in Tennessee that thought it needed six police officers. I’d say no one knew why we had so many police officers, except we did know why. They were there to give us all speeding tickets.
That was it. That was the only reason.
They weren’t there to fight crime or stop bad guys from doing bad things. I’m sure there was some of that. But even if we wanted to do something bad to someone, we kinda couldn’t, because we pretty much all knew each other. If somebody broke the law, it would be like, “Okay, let’s talk about this at the church barbecue with the other twelve people in our town, half of whom are apparently cops.”
My town was so tiny it actually existed inside another tiny town. Seriously. You can look at a map of Tennessee and you’ll find a little blob called Old Hickory, and inside that little blob you’ll find an even smaller, blobbier blob called Lakewood, which is so small and so blobby I usually only talk about Old Hickory in my act. I do not know how it is legally possible for one town to exist inside another town—and I never will, because that would require me to read a book—but it must be legal, because Lakewood existed, and it was my home.2
My parents had moved us there in the early nineties—my mom says 1991 or 1992 or maybe 1993, and she’s the one in the family who’s good with dates. So I was twelve years old. Or thirteen. Or fourteen. Or fifteen or eleven depending on the month, which she says was definitely December or absolutely July. Whatever it was, it was a good year. And extremely memorable.
Our previous town was, in fact, Old Hickory, which was one or two miles down the road. So yeah. It was a big transition for all of us.
Lakewood is the kind of place where if you go to the school and look at old class photos, you’ll see pictures of your buddies’ grandparents when they were kids, because no one ever leaves. It’s the kind of place where if you fall down a cliff and get a concussion, your neighbor will pick you up and carry you back to your mom. I know this because it happened to me. It’s the kind of place where there are two different families both named Thompson, then they had kids, and two of those kids got married. Now I can’t figure out if that means there’s one Thompson family or three.
In the winter, if there was a half inch of snow, people would just go crazy. We barely ever saw any snow in the South, we had no idea what was going on. Everything would shut down. We’re talking schools, offices, grocery stores, hospitals, everything. Like you’d have emergency surgeries scheduled, patients flatlining on the edge of death, and the doctor would call in and go, “You kidding me? Have you seen those roads? I’m going sledding!”
And that’s what we’d do. The entire town would gather at the one big hill that was behind our church and right next to the golf course. Everyone would be there. Friends, neighbors, all three Thompson families—or two or one, or whatever—we’d all go. We’d take trays and trash can lids and we’d flop down on our bellies, me on the bottom, my sister on top, my brother sandwiched in between, and we’d bolt right down that single snowy hill, and after five minutes it was nothing but mud. Just pure slop. We’d keep going and going till we were totally covered in muck. Like, “Woohoo! It’s a winter wonderland!”
My dad got so excited one year he went out and bought one of those classic red sleds with the metal runners like something out of A Christmas Story. Got to the mud hill and it was like trying to slice through a Big Mac with a butter knife. I mean, slicing through a Big Mac with a butter knife would be insane to do. I feel dumb even writing it, because no one would ever try that. I don’t think a butter knife has ever even been near a Big Mac. But if you did try to cut one, and you used a butter knife, it would be as effective as going down that muddy hill on my dad’s sled. That’s all I know, and that is the kind of town I’m from.
It was also the kind of town that didn’t need any police officers, except for one reason, and that was to give people speeding tickets.
That was all the Lakewood PD did. The six of them would get to work in the morning and they’d look at each other and go, “What’s it gonna be today? Drug busts?”
“Nope.”
“Murder?”
“Uh-uh.”
“Grand theft auto?”
“Nah.”
“How about we park across from the Piggly Wiggly and catch anyone going 35 in a 30?”
“Sounds right to me.”
Everyone knew the speed trap was there, but we all kept speeding anyway. I don’t know why. There was just something about Old Hickory Blvd. that made you want to speed on it. I mean, it’s four lanes, with a lane in the middle. So is that five lanes? Whatever it is, you ain’t going the speed limit. But honestly, the whole thing was so ridiculous it was kind of fun.
One time they got us while we were driving to church on a Sunday morning. My dad was behind the wheel, drinking a Big Red. Big Red is a cream soda. It’s red and it’s delicious. It’s also why my dad has diabetes. He loved it so much he would go down to Kentucky on weekends and buy cases of the stuff, because that was the only place you could get it in old-fashioned glass bottles, and everyone knows soda always tastes better in bottles than cans.
This policeman pulled us over, looked at my dad and us kids all dressed up to go to church at 9 a.m., and he thought, “These people are up to no good.” So he spots the fizzy red beverage my dad’s drinking, and he goes, “What you got in there? Is that alcohol?”
My dad goes, “No, Officer, it’s a cream soda. It’s red and it’s delicious.”
The cop thinks about this for a second. “Well, I should prolly get a little sip. Just to be sure.”
He took that sip. And just like that he also got diabetes.
Once, the Lakewood PD tried to pull over my mom, and she actually managed to lose them in the neighborhood. I’m serious. This is a thing that really happened.
My mom heard the sirens, she saw the flashing lights, she said, “Nope, not today, Po-Po,” and she outran this cop behind the wheel of a used Mazda.3 She probably had to floor it just to get up to 35, that’s how fast that car was. And this neighborhood is like ten blocks long. You couldn’t lose your wallet on one of these streets. I have physically gone to this spot, put on a blindfold, turned myself around, and tried to get confused, and I could not do it. But my mom in her Mazda was able to lose this cop.
To be clear, she’s usually a law-abiding citizen, but she didn’t want to have to tell my dad she got us another ticket so soon after we got busted for driving under the influence of soda pop.
***
Eventually, me and my brother grew up and moved out, and my parents and my little sister moved to a different town, Mount Juliet, about ten miles away. It wasn’t that big, nothing in Tennessee really is, but it was still about twice the size of Lakewood. It wasn’t as blobby. It had more than just one muddy hill in the winter. Its police did real police things.
And eventually, Lakewood lost its police department. I don’t mean there was a budget cut or a downsize. Once the town became unincorporated, the cops disappeared. One second the Lakewood PD was sitting across from the Piggly Wiggly, shaking down families on their way to church, and the next second they were gone. Just like that.
It was all right, I guess. But still, we were kind of sad. They were our pointless, annoying cops, and now they were gone. Like maybe we should’ve made special trips back to the speed trap. Driven even faster. More dangerous. Just to give them more to do, even if it was the only thing they ever did.
To this day, whenever I’m driving through on my way to visit family, heading down that single main street where no one ever breaks a single law, I always put my foot on the brake and make sure I’m going under 30, in memory of the Lakewood Police Department.
Then, to be honest, I do speed up. Because the street has too many lanes to go that slow.
I Am Definitely Not Shopping Right Now
I am definitely not shopping right now. I am walking around.
Yes, I am walking around in a mall. Yes, I have some money in my pocket. Yes, I am going into shops and looking at shop-like things in those shops, and then going into more shops after that. But I am absolutely, 100 percent not shopping right now, even though my wife Laura says this is shopping. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t know what she is talking about.
Laura says that the simple act of walking around a mall and maybe—maybe—trying on a few things is shopping. That idea is so ridiculous that I just had a hard time typing it. Also, I am bad at typing. Also, I am not actually typing this, because it’s a voice memo. Who has time to type while you’re definitely not shopping? I am walking around. And voice memos are perfect for that. Obviously.
Shopping is not shopping until you buy something, and then it is shopping. The buying is the most important part. Laura says, “Shopping is shopping and buying is buying.” I say, when a couple fights over shopping, is it from one of them not spending money? No, because that’s absurd. Because if you fight over shopping, you’re really fighting about buying stuff, because that’s shopping.
Unless, of course, you’re fighting about what shopping is or is not, like me and Laura are doing—which, by the way, is definitely also not shopping. Is it walking around? I have no idea, because I stopped understanding what I was saying about five minutes ago.
But I can tell you one thing for sure—I am only walking around right now. I am not shopping.
I just walked up to the check-out counter at this sports shop and set down a box of new Nike shoes that I just tried on. Then I got out my wallet, and I took out my credit card. Then I started to hand my credit card to the lady behind the register. Then, right before she took it from me, I grabbed it back from her and said, “Nope.”
Was I ever really going to buy those Nikes? No. But that is exactly the point I am making. Because at no time was that actually shopping. When I started to buy, it was almost shopping. But as soon as I stopped buying, it became not shopping, and went back to being just walking around. It’s very simple. It was also probably annoying for the lady behind the register. Which I know it was, because she said, “Hey, this is annoying to me.” But it still definitely wasn’t shopping.
Laura’s like, “If I go to a store to get some shoes, but I try a few things on and decide not to buy anything, are you telling me I did not just go shopping? What exactly was I doing? Shoe-trying-on-with-maybe-shopping-but-not-actually-shopping?”
And I say “walking-around-and-trying-on-with-maybe-shopping-but-not-actually-shopping” would be the most accurate way to put that. In fact, I bet it’s already a word. I will look it up in the dictionary I don’t own when I get home from not shopping.
Now I just walked up to the same lady behind the register, and I showed her a nice hat I am definitely not shopping for. Just showed it to her. That’s all. Like, “Hey, look at this thing right here.” And she said, “Sir, are you gonna buy anything?” and I went, “AHA! Which is why I am not shopping!” She said, “I’m gonna get my manager.” I said, “Understandable.”
When I was growing up, everyone went to malls. That’s just what you did to pass the time. Malls were there, and they were big, and they had shops and fast food places and a few benches and fake plants, so you went there to walk around when you were bored. That’s what I use malls for now. They’re just a place to go and walk around and look at stuff when I’m bored. If they invent a mall that’s not shops, I will be more than happy to go there.
Then Laura says, “Yes, except a mall without shops is by definition not a mall.”
To that I say, “Prove it by looking it up in the dictionary we do not own.” And you know what? She can’t. Honestly, I would walk around at zoos if I could, except there’s not zoos everywhere. If people start building zoos every few blocks, if they make zoos that are easy to get in and out of, I will go to those zoos every single day and I will look at those animals. Is that shopping for animals? No. Even if they put a price tag on the fence in front of the giraffe, I am still just walking around.
Though I probably will stop and look at the price tag, because I’m actually kind of curious how much a giraffe costs. And if that giraffe happens to be wearing shoes and hats that I can look at and maybe also try on, all the better. I’m not making any demands here. I am just saying that I would find a giraffe wearing a cap and matching shoes and socks to be kind of interesting.
But I will not walk out of that zoo with that giraffe, or with the hat and shoes he’s hopefully wearing, so I am definitely not shopping right now.
I just finished trying on a dozen different hats, a dozen pairs of shoes, a dozen shirts, and a dozen gym shorts at the sports store. Then I folded and stacked them all directly in front of the lady behind the register and her manager, a large man who was standing next to her with his arms crossed in front of his chest. My stack was a very big stack, like, so big it almost tipped right on top of them. Then I said, “I’m just walking around.”
They yelled, “YOU CAN NEVER SHOP HERE AGAIN!”
And I was like, “Exactly. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
_______________
- We’ve always written his name as “P,” or if you wanna get formal, “P-P.” Some might argue we should spell it out, but I’ve never been good with biological terms. ↩︎
- I say “existed” because at some point they decided to make it unincorporated, which is a technical term my mom told me. So it kinda isn’t there anymore, even though we all still call it Lakewood. Anyway, talk to my mom. ↩︎
- For people who keep track of these things, this was not my old Mazda “Old Blue,” which we discuss in another chapter, but a different old Mazda that was red. If my mom ever called it anything, it was basically just “My Old Mazda” or “That Car.” She never was much for car nicknames. ↩︎
Excerpt from BIG DUMB EYES by Nate Bargatze. Available for pre-order wherever books are sold. Coming May 06, 2025.
AN INSTANT USA TODAY AND INDIE BESTSELLER
From one of the hottest stand-up comedians, Nate Bargatze brings his everyman comedy to the page in this hilarious collection of personal stories, opinions, and confessions.
Nate Bargatze used to be a genius. That is, until the summer after seventh grade when he slipped, fell off a cliff, hit his head on a rock, and “my skull got, like, dented or something.” Before this accident, he dreamed of being “an electric engineer, or a doctor that does brain stuff, or a math teacher who teaches the hardest math on earth.” Afterwards, all he could do was stand-up comedy.* But the “brain stuff” industry’s loss is everyone else’s gain because Nate went on to become one of today’s top-grossing comedians, breaking both attendance and streaming records.
In his highly anticipated first book, Nate talks about life as a non-genius. From stories about his first car (named Old Blue, a clunky Mazda with a tennis ball stick shift) and his travels as a Southerner (Northerners like to ask if he believes in dinosaurs), to tales of his first apartment where he was almost devoured by rats and his many debates with his wife over his chores, his diet, and even his definition of “shopping.” He also reflects on such heady topics as his irrational passion for Vandy football and the mysterious origins of sushi (how can a California roll come from old-time Japan?).
BIG DUMB EYES is full of heart. It will make readers laugh out loud and nod in recognition, but it probably won’t make them think too much.
*Nate’s family disputes this entire story.