I started the interview the same way I start all interviews, by asking for a sperm sample:
Me: Hey, before we do this, would you mind doing me a favor?
Eddie: What’s that?
Me: (Reaching back over to the nightstand, grabbing a glass bowl with a lid, bringing it over, and taking the lid off.) I was wondering if you could put a little sample in here just so we can prove that you’re not shooting blanks?
(Eddie looks at me with a puzzled stare. One that only a blond white girl lying in bed next to you surrounded by lights and cameras could inspire. A stare that posed a dilemma: “Are we shootin’ porn?” or “Are you a cop?”)
Me: (Reassuring him.) It’s a family thing.
Any great stand-up knows a win-win when he sees it …
Eddie: Oh good. No problem. (Grabbing the glass bowl from me, he pulls up his T-shirt and slides his hand down his sweatpants. Sweatpants: the uniform of choice when attending a buffet, strip club, or press interview brought to you by Cotton, “The fabric of our lives.”)
Me: We just gotta send it to our lab …
(He starts fake masturbating aggressively under his pants. He seemed pretty committed, and I wasn’t about get in the way of art. At this point, I was just waiting for a Fox exec to charge in and shut it down. But, instead, I could hear her screaming laughter from the other room. Then, Eddie goes into overdrive.)
Me: Oh god!
Eddie: It’s gonna take a minute.
Me: Thank you. Thank you.
Eddie: All right, go on and ask the questions.
Me: Okay.
Eddie: Turn around and let me get some inspiration.
I turn around and bust out laughing as Eddie continued to mock-jackhammer his crotch. For someone else, this may have been the perfect example of the warning: “Be careful what you wish for…,” but I wasn’t someone else so I played along with this off-the-rails ridiculousness because I wanted to see how far it would go. Unlike the three guys behind the cameras who may have been wondering if they were about to add a porno to their IMDb profiles. After some interesting and very personal visual gymnastics only fit for the reaction shots in Skinemax movies, Eddie brought his robust performance to an energetic climax.
Naturally, after giving him a moment to gather himself, I thought it was time for some sweet, sweet pillow talk. He was sufficiently distracted and perfectly primed. So I snuggled up next to him and put his arm around me, and thus began the hilarious and filthy conversation the studio reps had come to expect. And as the interview came to a close, Eddie decided to give it an ending that blew all over the face of everyone’s comfort zone, gave everyone at Fox something they still talk about to this day, and risked setting back racial relations by thirty years. Here we pick up close to the end:
Me: The tits on the back. That could actually come in handy, No?
Eddie: No. Nah, you don’t wanna see the back of somebody’s head and there’s a tittie. You know. You just wanna see da ass ripple! That’s why brothas like a lotta ass. You know what I’m sayin’. You hit it. It fight back! You know what I’m sayin’. It fight back!! I like dat.
Me: What if it talks back?
Eddie: Shit … I make it talk … that motherfucker.
Me: Wooooo.
(We both see the “wrap it up signal” from one of my producers, and we lie back to make the final comment to the camera.)
Eddie: Now, y’all go on in and we’ll be back in a minute. But right now we gonna make some little niglets. (He rolls over and mounts me and starts going to town. Like I said, he’s committed to his craft.)
As it ended, Kourosh told me the Fox people finally came into the room with that look of: “Okay. So that happened” and were trying to make eye contact with me, looking for a social cue or the sound of a rape whistle. I, of course, was too busy hugging and thanking Eddie for being such a good sport and killing it. The laughter in the room had started with a hint of uncertainty but ended in uproarious celebration, with everyone drinking some of the champagne we had forgotten to use in the interview. From my perspective, Eddie did exactly what a great stand-up does: embrace a situation and throw it on its ass. I was just happy that we could do that together.
Full House star Bob Saget is one of those fearless comics. Penn Jillette once described him to me as the “filthiest motherfucker cocksucker that ever fucked the face of the earth!” He’s my kinda guy and I adore him. He came to NGTV once in the early days, and we spent a couple hours on camera together. When we bellied up to the Shark Tank, everyone in the office gathered around, knowing it was going to be a doozy. It was mostly young people along with the fifty-year old mother of one of my producers, who was visiting from Kansas and excitedly pulled up a chair right in the front row.
Unlike the rest of us, who knew Bob was dark and depraved, she only knew him as Danny Tanner on Full House and as the original host of America’s Funniest Home Videos. She had planned her trip around this date so she could attend her favorite TV star’s taping and get the chance to meet him up close and personal. It was such a gift to get a front seat to watch her baby daughter at work in her new Hollywood job! Too bad her daughter had failed to mention this was more of a Hollywood-adjacent gig … if you get my meaning!
What took place next, besides being fucking hilarious, was nothing short of a full frontal attack on this poor woman’s entire moral infrastructure. I can’t even begin to tell you how many shades of pale her mom turned during the interview. But you can imagine how her daughter, our producer, came face-to-face with her own mortality while witnessing this verbal assault. Of course, Bob was completely unaware. As far as he knew, he was appearing at some underground speakeasy. Her visit to a Hollywood taping was about to turn into a game of Cry Uncle. The only question was, how long would she last?
Some interviews take a while to build up momentum, but not this one: Right out of the gate, Bob came loaded for bear! He, Shark, and I started with a little anal sex:
Bob: How do you get the most exposure on the Web? I was talking to Lewis Black.
Me: I usually moon.
Shark: Take off your pants!
Bob: Lewis and I figured out the way to get on the Web with a billion hits is to come out with something on YouTube that says, and I told him he can have first billing, “Lewis Black and Bob Saget fucking.” I said, “Everybody’s gonna want to see that shit.” He said, “It’s the best thing that could ever happen to our careers!” So I think we’re gonna do it.
(Laughter.)
Bob: (Making physical gesture like he’s fucking.) “Whoops! I’m in your ass … BOIINNNGGGG!” That would be great on America’s Funniest whatever it is. When some guy falls into another man’s ass.
Me: Fat Man Falls on Ass.
Shark: Wah … wah … wah.
Bob: Fat Man Falls into Thin Man’s Ass!
Me: Bob Saget is the good guy that’s gone wrong.
Bob: Fuckin’ A!
Me: Danny Tanner is dead! No. He’s not. He will live on in the asses of a lot of men! I have to say that I am very proud to have you on the dark side.
Bob: I love your dark side. What? No … You can’t have a kid that way! You remember that!
It was at this point where Mom was starting to wiggle around a little in her front-row seat. Then to keep things going Bob hit up the happiest place on earth with a fun story about his Full House costar:
Bob: I like Disneyland. I’m a Disneyland kinda guy. It makes me kinda queer but what ya gonna do? Do you like the roller coaster?
Me: Fuck yeah!
Bob: I used to go there with John Stamos all the time. Two years ago we went together.
Me: Uh-huh.
Bob: And he’s one of the, “Sit with me on the fuckin’ Matterhorn.” And we did! It was the gayest thing I’ve ever done in my life; getting off the Matterhorn with John Stamos.
Shark: Did he hold you when it got scary?
Bob: He wouldn’t let go of me. When we got off, he was in me! It was odd. He made a log
flume in my ass.
Shark: That, my friend, is the Magic Mountain.
Bob: It is the Magic Mountain.
Me: Weeeeeeeeeee! It’s not a small world after all!
Oh boy, Mom was definitely lookin’ around! Of course, now that we had opened the Full House “back door”, so to speak, it was inevitable that someone brought up the Olsen twins, and party favorite, bestiality:
Bob: Don’t bring ’em up, dude!
Me: Ohhhhhhh.
Bob: No, I can’t, I can’t go there ’cause that’s the only thing that’s taboo to me. That … and fucking a chicken in the back of the head.
Me: In the back of the head?
Bob: You don’t Zapruder a chicken! No, you know what I’m sayin’. Some people believe in the “missing chicken fuckin’ theory” where there was a third cock going into the chicken’s head. What the? I’ve never, ever, ever talked about chicken head fucking and there’s a reason.
Shark: Why’s that?
Bob: Because it’s offensive. Chicken head fucking.
Right about this time, Mom realized she wasn’t in Kansas anymore. But Bob wasn’t done. It was time to take a quick sojourn into the world of snuff films:
Bob: You know … someone took, years ago, they took all the clips of all the sickest shit from Faces of Death and they had me narrating it from America’s Funniest Videos and they intercut it. It was like terrible shit, like the bullfighter getting gored by the thing and I was like, “Here’s another thing that happened.” (Makes a gun with his hand and puts it in his mouth and pretends to shoot himself.) It was fucking horrible! I laughed at it for like two minutes and then I realized that I can’t look at that footage. I can’t. I can’t look at snuff. I’ve stopped makin’ it! I can’t do it! The only good thing about snuff is there’s no second take. You get it … (snaps fingers) … you get it in one. It’s hard to get the tractors to rev up ’cause you get ’em to go zero to eighty … I’m sorry everybody … I don’t know. I just pulled up and thought I was supposed to be on!
I could see Mom was beyond uncomfortable and was attempting to signal our producer to get her out of there but not before Bob upped the ante, went for the jugular, and let loose with his semen:
Bob: I ejaculate gallons of semen a day!
Me: Yay!
Bob: Literally, it’s like the water cooler at the office. It’s unbelievable the amount of seed …
Shark: Seed …
Bob: I could be in a truck going to Palm Springs and you’ll know my path. It just drains all on the ground. You’ll think it’s some kind of a, you know, transmission spill. That’s how I roll. Always spotting, always draining, always dripping … all the time!
Suddenly, he stopped and looked at the old lady. “Someone’s mom is here!” he said, pointing right at her. Then, without missing a beat, he dove right back into his seed soliloquy. Mom was mortified, but wasn’t about to walk out and make a scene. But her daughter couldn’t take any more of watching her mom hear the vilest jokes that could never be unheard. She walked over to her and whispered in her ear and took her upstairs. Sorry, Mom!
Then, of course, there’s the interplanetary comedy collision known as Russell Brand. Disguised as a glam-metal junkie Jesus with his painted-on leather pants, long wavy brown hair, scruffy beard, a puffy pirate shirt with vest open to his navel, he was a funny motherfucker with no boundaries, whatsoever!! PERFECT! On top of that, the town was entranced with stories of him being a sex maniac who was fucking everyone and everything in sight, and they dominated the gossip rags and rumor mill. Minds, hearts, insecurities, and even the occasional “chi,” was being disrupted. If you were to believe everything being bandied about, then nobody’s body, mind, or spirit was safe. Every “whole” was in danger of being Branded!
I had been following his career (for the obvious similarities to mine) and was a huge fan for quite some time, so when I got the invitation to meet him and conduct an interview for Forgetting Sarah Marshall, I just wasn’t sure if I should. I didn’t want to find out that he was really a dick in real life. Let’s just say, I had had my fill of dicks at that point. His image didn’t bother me at all. From where I was standing, I got the impression that Russell had worked pretty fucking hard to cultivate it, a big part of which was his reputation as a lothario that had bedded countless women. Something he had attributed to a crippling addiction to sex. And in much the same way the mere mention of Diner’s Club International opens doors for high society’s elite, his admission to being a sex addict, while no laughing matter, only served to further enhance Russell’s brand. It was a stroke of genius.
But was I actually going to risk ordering myself another meet your hero’s butt sausage omelet, heavy on the butt sausage? I was filled with about as much titillation as I was with sheer panic. But I had to make a decision and I could feel the pressure rising inside me. With my bladder about to explode and my senses heightened, I almost felt like an omorashi fetishist caught in the desperate final moments leading up to a pissing orgasm doubleheader! I’m sure you’ve been there. It was a terribly odd feeling, though for a hot second, I would have to admit that I could, possibly, see the appeal of its sweet relief. Not that I would ever do it or recommend it. I mean … you know … not unless it was ABSOLUTELY necessary … medically speaking or what have you. But, you know, that’s not important right now.
So I thought about it for maybe thirty seconds, which was pretty much all that stood between Kourosh and a front-row seat to an impromptu show-and-tell on water breaking and the modern woman! At which point, I yelled out, “FUCK IT. YES! LET’S DO IT! I WANNA MEET HIM!” Before gunning it to the bathroom for a screaming orgasm … I mean, to pee.
On my way to Hawaii, where it was all going down, I felt myself getting really excited about the whole thing. I was well-prepared to do my thing with the cast, especially Russell, who seemed extremely intelligent and unpredictable. I was expecting a light and whimsical interview, but were he to suddenly segue into a discussion about Schrödinger’s cat, let’s just say, I had a pussy on standby. The studio seemed equally pumped and had specially requested an additional In Bed With shoot with Russell and Jason Segel, along with one-on-one’s with the cast. So the big idea was to create an Eiffel Tower with yours truly as Lucky Pierre!
No doubt, it was going to be a big and bawdy couple of days, which was just fine by me. I was always down to mess around with the talent and play these parlor games. Most of the time it’s super fun! Occasionally, they can feel a lot like getting caught up in some sort of sexual sacrifice ritual. Especially if the people setting it up get a little too excited about getting me together with the talent. That’s when you start wondering what looks off and hoping the talent turns out to be more like Ferris Bueller than Machine from 8MM. Fuck! Please, never Machine!
When I finally met this tall skinny dude with big hair and even bigger balls (not the ones between his legs) for the first time, it was kismet and a relief (he wasn’t Machine). It turned out we were kindred spirits. As I sat down and got comfortable for our interview, it felt like the peaceful beginning of a very wild roller coaster ride. I was very excited and looking forward to a few unexpected twists and turns. What came next is best described as a magnitude 10 earthquake with an English accent:
Russell: … there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to you. You strike me as an adventure playground for my cock. Now … you, young lady, you’re the reason I went through puberty … for women like you.
Me: Awww, thanks, that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me!
Russell: It’s not going to get any better than this. That’s it. You’ve peaked … carpe diem, seize the moment. You know what awaits us? The grave. All we have now is this moment.
Me: Isn’t that called necrophilia?
Russell: In a way, yah, only if you have sex with dead bodies. Which I don’t recommend. Not while you and I …
Me: But not in the grave?
Russell: If you had an asma attack now and keeled over, I w
ould take advantage. (Amused and amazed at how far he’s going with this, I start laughing.) I would decorate your corpse!
Me: Russell, you’re a sick fuck! (A little positive reinforcement never hurts.)
Russell: Yeah, well … let me tell ya! Sick in the sense that I’m jolly good. I mean I’m a jolly good fuck! I’ve got the moves … as it were.
Me: Well, yeah … I’ve heard that about you, actually. You show them off quite nicely in this film. There were things that you were showing the men how to do that I wasn’t quite sure of the positions and the angles. You can bend; you’re flexible!
Russell: Right, because being good at sex is what I do for a living. The comedy is very much a front for my sexual antics. I only do that to facilitate opportunities like this. Opportunities that I’m not going to let slip through my fingers. Although, you will slip through my fingers over the course of the next few hours, when I make bells ring in your stomach, when I make your eyes dance like fire, when I make you forget your name! Which I’ll never do, Carrie Carrie Carrie! A word that rhymes with marry! But why worry, why bother, why should we even take conjugal rights when we could have marital nights? Coital fireworks dancing between our thighs. Let me be shipwrecked with you. Let me be a pirate king. Let us dance subaquatically, let us lose our identities in a glorious union. Our nations aren’t so different. If we can attack Iraq, let’s attack back. Let’s open each other up. Let’s orgasm, let’s spasm, let’s fire, why deny her.
Me: (Pointing to my breasts with both fingers.) Can you protect this rack?
(He gets caught a little off guard that I didn’t back off from his advances but rather moved further in, and fumbles a bit to find a response.)
Russell: … Yeah … that is a … yeah … that, I mean … I must say, that’s part of the attraction.
Everybody Curses, I Swear! Page 43
