Chocolate, Please

by Lisa Lampanelli

  Jeffrey Ross’s Introduction

  “Our final roaster tonight is an equal opportunity offender—your ears and your eyes. Here she is—batting cleanup, baby. The Queen of Mean, the big double L, Lisa Lampanelli.”

  Favorite Joke About Me That Night

  “We are here to honor a man that taught me that even if you are not talented, you can still put on a lot of makeup, over-market yourself, and make it. Lisa Lampanelli, take a bow.”—Jim Norton

  Joke I Couldn’t Do Because of a No-Show

  “I’m glad to see Richard Pryor made it here tonight. Oh, wait, that’s Downtown Julie Brown. Yikes! Look at you, Julie! I had no idea the ‘Downtown’ in your name was short for ‘Downtown Newark.’ Speaking of nasty old-ass black pussy, Paul Mooney is here.”

  Joke I Chickened Out of Doing

  “You’re an ugly, ugly man, Gene. But I gotta hand it to you. You keep trying. I loved the episode of Family Jewels where you got plastic surgery. Look at you! I’m not saying your surgery was a failure, but I can honestly say that Kanye West’s mother got better results.”

  Roast of SANTA CLAUS for LARRY THE CABLE GUY’S CHRISTMAS SPECTACULAR on VH1

  Date broadcast: December 5, 2007

  Roastmaster: Larry the Cable Guy

  Fun Facts About the Roast:

  My custom-made Mrs. Claus outfit, which cost me exactly $0, netted me more complimentary e-mails than my Grammy Awards dress, my Dirty Girl Comedy Central special dress, and my Flavor Flav roast dress combined. The cost of those dresses? Over $12,000 total.

  George Wendt, who played Santa Claus, was in a near-panic at rehearsal the day before the roast because he didn’t like the roast jokes written for him by the staff of the special. I immediately got the producer to kick in a few thousand dollars to have four professional roast writers I know write him killer Santa rebuttal jokes in six hours flat.

  Flavor Flav’s youngest baby (one of nine, I believe) attended the taping of the special. The baby’s mother was very pleasant and clearly in love with Flav. Who can blame her?

  The thigh-high patent-leather, five-inch-heel, lace-up platform boots I was supposed to wear with my sexy Mrs. Claus outfit had to be shelved because my foot simply could not bend that high at the arch. Having not packed any high heels for myself that week, I scrambled around backstage trying to find someone wearing size-10 black pumps. Luckily, one of the wardrobe women had a pair that fit, so as she watched barefoot from the wings, I performed in her Manolo Blahniks. Sadly, I had to give them back.

  Larry the Cable Guy’s Introduction

  “I would like to introduce somebody now who knows Santy Claus better than anybody. Please give it up for somebody who’s given it up for just about everybody else: Mrs. Santy Claus.”

  Favorite Joke About Me That Night

  “I see Mrs. Santa is sitting over there. I’m not saying she’s ugly…but if I checked into a hotel with her, I would have to put out the ‘Please Disturb’ sign.”—Tony Orlando

  Favorite Joke of My Set

  It’s a tie between:

  “Sex with Santa is kind of like Christmas morning—it only happens once a year, it goes way too fast, and when it’s over, there’s a huge mess to clean up.”

  And:

  “Look at you, Santy! You big tub o’ crap! Who ever told you that red was slimming? I hate that red suit. When Santa lays on a white sheet, it looks like the Japanese flag.”

  Roast of ARTIE LANGE for THE HOWARD STERN SHOW, Howard 100, Sirius Satellite Radio

  Date broadcast: June 9, 2006

  Roastmaster: Bob Levy

  Fun Facts About the Roast:

  The Howard Stern roasts are easily the most no-holds-barred roasts since the nontelevised Friars roasts of thirty years ago. There is no censoring, no editing, and no one is left out, even the King of All Media himself.

  The roasts are held at the Sirius Satellite Radio studios on Avenue of the Americas in New York City. There is a small, by-invitation-only studio audience that sometimes consists of contest winners or sponsors and Stern show regulars like Angry Black or the King of All Blacks.

  The Howard Stern roasts are the only roasts where microphones are stuck in the face of various folks on the dais as they are being made fun of so they can interrupt the person roasting—a huge source of frustration for any professional roaster.

  Since this roast took place the evening before it was to be broadcast, the roast had a more special and looser feel to it than roasts held in the morning.

  This was the most roast-intensive two-day period of my life. Having roasted Artie that evening, I headed back to the New York Hilton where I was staying, only to wake up early the next day for the roast of Jerry Lewis at noon.

  Bob Levy’s Introduction

  “We got Lisa Lampanelli coming up. She only dates black guys. Her career must be going well to be able to afford all that bail money. Let’s have a hand for my friend Lisa Lampanelli.”

  My Favorite Introduction of the Roast

  “The next person is a smelly cunt that wears bad makeup and has to yell ‘nigger’ to be funny. And it’s not Lisa Lampanelli. Let’s have a hand for my friend Yucko the Clown.”

  Favorite Jokes About Me That Night

  “Lisa has had more black hands on her snatch than the hood of a cop car.”—Sal the Stockbroker

  “Black guys shoot into Lisa like she’s a nightclub with a ‘no sneakers’ policy.”—Colin Quinn

  Favorite Joke of My Set

  “Artie Lange is a huge star. You know you’re big when Andrew Dice Clay takes the time to send a tape.”

  My Fake-Sincere Ending

  “Artie, I suppose what I’m trying to say is that yes, Artie, I am proud of you…Every morning you provide people with a much-needed service, you get them going in the morning. Each day, millions of people listen to you while they’re getting ready for work. Wow! They get to be entertained by you and take a shit at the same time.”

  Roast of DANIEL CARVER for THE HOWARD STERN SHOW, Howard 100, Sirius Satellite Radio

  Date broadcast: March 29, 2006

  Roastmaster: Bob Levy

  Fun Facts About the Roast:

  This was the tensest roast that I, and probably anyone else attending, had ever witnessed. Daniel Carver wore his full Klansman outfit and was put in Robin Quivers’s glass booth since he needed to be separated from the various minorities on the dais.

  This roast was proof that the old adage “We only roast the ones we love” is the way to conduct such an event. Since Daniel Carver—and most Klansmen, Nazis, etc.—are hated across the board, it is almost impossible to do an entertaining roast because the jokes contain none of the irony of making fun of someone who is well liked.

  Most of the black comedians on the dais had never roasted anyone before, and this showed in their lack of preparation. While all the comics who were there are inherently funny, the lack of specially written material was the final nail in the coffin of this roast.

  I had a very uncomfortable conversation with Daniel Carver in the greenroom after the roast, where he said he was right about “those people.” I am assuming he meant blacks.

  Bob Levy’s Introduction

  “We have Lisa Lampanelli coming up. She would do anything to get a black guy to fuck her. I heard she dips her tampons in barbecue sauce. She has fucked more blacks than slavery. She is known as the female Don Rickles. The difference is I would let Don Rickles blow me when I was drunk.”

  Favorite Jokes About Me That Day

  “Those brothers love Lisa’s pussy because that’s where they hide the television sets.”—Sal the Stockbroker

  “I wish I had a dime for every time I get mistaken for Lisa Lampanelli.”—Artie Lange

  Sweetest Things Ever Said About Me at a Roast

  “Lisa, I don’t care if you look like that. All I need is a female with a heartbeat.”—Hot chocolate comic Corey Holcomb

  “Give it up for my lady that fucks black men. I love you. Please be wit
h me. I will move you up like Weezie. If the shit don’t work out, you got to be Florence and clean for the other bitch, but you still in the house.”—Earthquake

  Favorite Joke of My Set

  “We are here today to honor KKK representative Daniel Carver. You and I have a lot in common. We both like to screw the black man. Of course, when you do it, they get lynched. When I do it, all I get is a rash and chapped lips.”

  The Comedy Central Roast of PAM ANDERSON

  Date broadcast: August 14, 2005

  Roastmaster: Jimmy Kimmel

  Fun Facts About the Roast:

  No news here: Courtney Love misbehaved. But what you might not know is that she misbehaved more than viewers saw. Taping had to be stopped more than once because the singer would not remain in her seat, plus she threw her shoes and cigarettes at various people who were roasting. Luckily, Courtney’s antics landed her on news channels the next day, hence the event’s enormous viewership. So, due to Courtney and her demons, awareness of me was heightened and my ticket sales increased more than I could have imagined. I am proud to say I partially owe my career to that crazy drunken bitch.

  When Courtney Love entered the makeup room, she asked the makeup artist to make her look like Marilyn Monroe. Seeing her on the roast, I think he thought she said “Marilyn Manson.”

  Since I was closing the roast and Courtney was wreaking havoc throughout the night, I spent most of the time up on the dais writing a long list of Courtney Love put-downs, intending to shut her up if she were to pipe up and try to ruin my performance that evening. If you look closely at the roast’s footage, you can see me furiously scribbling so that I would be armed and ready for Ms. Love. Ends up, all that effort was in vain. Courtney didn’t utter a peep during my set other than laughter and, in fact, gave me a standing ovation and a huge kiss on the lips afterward. As a result of the kiss, I was high for five days.

  This roast was my first introduction to Andy Dick. Andy said he’d heard about me and kept grilling me before the roast and during the other performers’ sets about what I was going to say about him. He asked me if I was going to say that he was gay, and he asked me if I was going to call him a child molester. I said no to both. I lied.

  Right before she went up to roast Pam, Sarah Silverman whispered something to Jimmy Kimmel. He immediately stood up, changed seats with someone, and held Courtney down, his arm firmly around her shoulder, throughout Sarah’s entire set so the singer would not ruin his girlfriend’s set. That, my friends, is true love.

  At one point, after a huge diatribe of unoriginal, unfunny stretched-out vagina jokes by a comic who did a mediocre job at best, I glanced at Pam Anderson to see if she was as shaken as I would have been. She was laughing but definitely phoning it in, and her feelings were clearly hurt due to the savage attack of this second-rate comedian. At the commercial break, as I watched, Tommy Lee stood up, went over to her, knelt in front of her, and asked her if she was okay. She laughed it off, but having noted his concern and her sensitivity, I cut out all jokes from my roast that included the words “whore,” “slut,” and “vagina.”

  Jimmy Kimmel’s Introduction

  “On this channel on September tenth, our final roaster tonight has a one-woman show about divorce, dieting, and dating black people by choice, not because she has to because she is fat. It is called I Would Rather Suck My Grandfather’s Balls Than Watch It. She is the reason Italian men beat their wives. Please welcome Lisa Lampanelli.”

  Worst Pun of the Evening

  “Wait! What is your name? Lisa Lampa-Dykey.”—Andy Dick

  Best Rebuttal Joke About Me Ever by a Roastee

  “Actually, Nick DiPaolo came up to me backstage and told me he was a huge Hole fan, so I introduced him to Lisa Lampanelli.”—Pam Anderson

  Favorite Joke About Me That Night

  “Lisa Lampanelli is here…How does someone that looks like that make fun of Pam Anderson? That is like a turd making fun of a sunset.”—David Spade

  Favorite Joke of My Set

  “Pam Anderson is a legend. She has dated Scott Baio, the singer from Poison, and the drummer from Mötley Crüe. Her life story should be a show on VH1 called I Fucked the ’80s.”

  My Fake-Sincere Ending

  “But all jokes aside, Pam, seriously, I would like to thank you for giving me the opportunity to make fun of you tonight. I think the reason the world loves you so much is that you are beautiful and famous, and you still treat everyone you meet with kindness and respect. As a woman not nearly as famous or as beautiful, let me say from the bottom of my heart: Knock it off, bitch! You’re making me look like a foul-mouthed cunt!”

  part two

  How the Hell I Turned Out This Way

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Macy’s and Hamburger’s

  I am definitely not my mother’s favorite. Check out the competition.

  My brother is an executive at ESPN, has six kids from the same wife, has a big house in Connecticut, and coaches Little League. My sister is a high school teacher, has two kids from the same husband, has a big house in Connecticut, and volunteers with cripples and retards.

  I, on the other hand, bang blacks, have a faggot for a best friend, and say “cunt” onstage for money. If my mother had to pull a Sophie’s Choice, I know she’d pick me to be the one to go.

  That is a joke I use in my act.

  Of course, the crowd loves it and whoops and hollers whenever I describe myself. Sure—I sound super-cool to them. But let’s face it: So many of them are gay, they clearly know the feelings of parental disapproval. However, up until recent years, before my parents gave me huge props for how I turned out as a career woman and as a person, I felt like I didn’t measure up. I joke that when people ask my mom about me, she says, “Poor Lisa has been a little off since the accident.”

  “What accident?” they ask.

  “Her conception.”

  But growing up, I couldn’t help feeling that I fell short when compared with my sister, Nancy, and my brother, Len. And who could blame me? They were amazing, brilliant people—and my sister, well, she put the brown in “brownnoser.”

  In short, Nancy was perfect. At two years older than me, she was smart, but not in an “I’m smarter than you” way, friendly but not fake nice. In short, she was exactly like my mom. So when I came along and the role of family standout was already filled, I didn’t know what to do with myself. Here I was the second kid, and my parents already had a good one, so what to do to get noticed? What to do? Perhaps I could make fun of colored people. That’s always funny. No, actually I didn’t stumble onto that until many chapters later.

  Then I hit on it—I’d alternately misbehave and go off missing and pout. Then I’d be sure to get some carefully maneuvered middle-child-earned attention. At the time I didn’t know this doesn’t work well with parents, but it is amazingly effective with promoters and anyone else you are paying to make you happy.

  One day when I was no older than three, I stomped up to my mother with a puss on. See, Nancy loved wearing dresses, complete with cute little patent-leather shoes and crinolines. She was the four-year-old Carrie Bradshaw of Trumbull, Connecticut. I, on the other hand, lived in pants and shorts. I glowered every time I had to put on my Sunday best, and one day on the way to church, I had had enough. Looking my mother square in the eye, I said, “Mommy, I’m mad at you.”

  Apparently, this was something she was used to from Little Lisa, because she responded, “What are you mad about this time?”

  I screwed up my face and said, “I’m mad at you because you knowed I wanted to be a boy and you made me a girl,” and clumped out of the room. (And no, this is not all leading up to me being a lesbian. Although if it did, it would give NPR’s Terry Gross something meaty to latch on to in my Fresh Air interview.) When this impossible demand didn’t yield the result I wanted (what was my mom supposed to do? Twitch her nose and have me sprout nuts and a penis? The only documented incident of that happening spawned Clay Aiken),
I trudged outside with my only friend in the world, Teddy, my uniquely named teddy bear. Even back then, I was big into stereotypes.

  “That’s right, Teddy,” I spoke loudly to the disheveled toy. “Nobody loves us. All we have is each other.” And then I added, “If you ever leave me, I will kill you!” Now that I think about it, the only difference between that and my relationships now is that, as I have grown up, I have replaced teddy bears with chubby gay men. So I guess I’m still hanging with bears.

  Of course, ever the attention whore, I spoke these plaintive words just within earshot of my sister, who I knew would run and tell my mother—she told her everything. I waited in the driveway for my mother to come rushing out, gather me in her arms Father Knows Best–style, and reassure me that yes, indeed, someone besides Teddy had my back.

  But remember: This was the Lampanelli family, and things didn’t always go the way I’d planned.

  Oh, don’t get me wrong, my sister spread the word to my mom, but instead of getting the desired result, what I got instead was a swat on the butt and a dust rag. That was the day I learned that playing the victim didn’t get me love and affection—it got me a sore ass and a roomful of furniture to polish. Needless to say, that wasn’t the last time my ass got sore in the hopes that someone would say they loved me.

  While my sister and I have a great relationship now, it wasn’t always that way. Ever the tattletale, she lived for the chance to get dirt on me and spread it to the powers that be. Of course, as the two girls of the family, we shared a bedroom on the second floor of my family’s colonial-style house. One night when I was around ten years old, I went to bed still infuriated at my sister about some disagreement or another we’d had during the daylight hours. My mother turned out the lights, and I lay there in the twin bed across the room from my sister, continuing the silent treatment I had begun giving her hours before. By the way, the silent treatment doesn’t work that well in bed and in the dark. The other person just assumes you’re asleep.