Everybody Curses, I Swear!

by Carrie Keagan

  Then, like the fully intact lightbulb removed from another frat bro’s taut butthole, I lit up with the realization that our culture celebrates the bizarre rituals of male bonding and virtually shuns the dark depravity of sisterly communions. As if to perpetuate the antiquated notion that depravity is the birthright of men, and virtue is the sole obligation of women. Well, if this book hasn’t already turned that fucked-up notion on its head, I’m here to reaffirm that degeneracy is not mutually exclusive—it belongs to all of us. The only difference is that, historically, women tend to be more graceful and clever with their filthy proclivities and don’t actively seek the spotlight the way men do. Or, maybe they do—but with greater panache.

  Unfortunately, the primary reason for that has less to do with women being more cultured and more to do with the fact that we live in a society where a woman’s reputation is not afforded the same flexibility and resiliency as a man’s. Men tend to get a pass for their indiscretions, while women must bear the shame as some sort of Scarlet Letter. Resulting in women adopting an endless defensive posture that has spread its roots far and wide. But the truth remains, to paraphrase the Irving Berlin timeless classic, (feel free to sing it with me), “Anything men can do, we can do better; we can do anything dirtier than you.”

  In my mind, one of the most offensive words used to control women is “reputation.” For centuries, it’s been a noose that men have placed around our necks when we become teenagers. We then spend the rest of our lives trying to avoid hanging ourselves with it. Very rarely is it a reflection of who we really are, but more of a subjective opinion about us that comes with a hidden agenda. And because neither a good reputation nor a bad one requires any sort of actual evidence to support, it’s one hell of a psychological weapon. In show business terms, as a woman, whether you’re on-camera talent, a producer, or an executive, the way your reputation is held hostage is a lot like an adoption gone wrong. You hand your baby off to an unknown group of industry insiders to raise as their own. But every time they don’t like the way you’re behaving, they shrewdly imply that your kid could get hurt. Leaving you in a constant state of paranoia and fear. Like winning a scholarship to study sense-memory acting with Bill Cosby.

  Take it from someone who knows firsthand. A woman in the business of being edgy and pushing boundaries is, basically, a Vegas casino’s wet dream: A gambler who goes “all-in” in a never-ending game of Let It Ride. (Not infamous booyah “all-in,” just regular “all-in.”) There are only two ways we walk away from the table: quit or die! The dirty work of trying to get us to quit could fall anywhere between a simple passing comment at the community urinal and an elaborate humiliating story leaked to the tabloids from an “anonymous source.” Oh, and in case you were wondering, in show business, an “anonymous source” is slang for “Fuck you, you fuckin’ fuck!”

  Of course, then there’s the lip-boxing that takes place behind your back or on social media. Short bursts of character assassination delivered with surgical precision, like papercuts to your genitals delivered with a spritz of fresh lime juice. Do any of these comments sound familiar? “That comedienne is too filthy; she has no real talent,” or “This actress wants equal pay; she’s an ungrateful diva bitch,” or “That presenter dresses too sexy; she’s a mindless slut,” and my personal favorite, “That girl who swears in her interviews is inappropriate and immoral.” It always starts small then grows into an endless barrage of unfounded bullshit. Not unlike going to a Westboro Baptist Church anti-gay protest where shoving your head up your own ass is not just a choice; it’s your calling. Except here, people eat it up because tearing other people down seems to be the national pastime. It can and often will tip the balance for or against you in conversations you’ll never know about, in rooms you’ll never be in. So it’s only natural to care about your reputation and want to protect it. After all, our parents and teachers told us so. But what they didn’t tell us is that it’s an anchor that keeps you in your place. To move forward, you have to let that motherfucker go.

  One thing I always try to do when I interview women is empower them. Some women don’t need it. Some sit down and are so confident in who they are and what they want to do, it’s perfection. While other women, quite clearly, are still kind of caught up in how they think they’re supposed to act or what other people might think. It’s painful to see that. But I get so much personal satisfaction from the experience of witnessing someone blossom in front of me. It’s become kind of a mission for me to do everything I can to help that happen. If I can be the one to help nudge someone out of that protective shell that’s been placed around them, I feel compelled to do it. Why waste precious time when those opportunities are so important and so rare? The few times I’ve gone against my gut and hesitated still haunt me. But none more than when I sat down with a member of the Jackson family quite a few years back.

  For me, regret is a Jackson named Janet. They’re like American royalty. We don’t have a royal family; we have the Jacksons! She’s a tough interview to get, and this wasn’t for NGTV; it was an exclusive fan event for a major brand that was backing her tour. Janet Jackson doesn’t do many one-on-ones, so I wanted to make sure that I got it just right. I knew what I wanted to talk to her about, but for some reason, my brain was telling me to treat her differently than I had treated everyone else I had interviewed. It could’ve had something to do with the people in my ear the whole week leading up to the interview, saying things like, “Ms. Jackson doesn’t like it when you do this…” and “Ms. Jackson won’t talk about that…” Everyone around me was so fucking freaked out that it started to freak me the fuck out! (It also occurred to me that, man, a lot of these people are nasty.)

  You know what it was like? Shots. Not doing shots but getting your shots, like when you were a kid. I remember the buildup to my doctor’s appointment freaked me out so badly that I would do anything to get out of it. Like putting the end of a thermometer on a light bulb so it would heat up and I could pretend that I had a fever (side note, that worked really well until the day I left it on the lightbulb a little too long and ended up being rushed to the ER, with a temperature of 105, by my panicked mother. That was not a good look). Or the time I pretended I was so scared that I faked passing out whenever someone said the word “shot.” And then there was my personal favorite, the “bulletproof” scheme where I told my mom I couldn’t go to the doctor because I was “waiting on a really important phone call” in my best business voice. Yeah … the whole being seven years old at the time made that one especially tough to pull off.

  I was getting so mindfucked by the overly intense production that I ended going against everything that I knew would work from experience. I’ve said it a million times: Most famous people respond the best when you don’t talk to them like they’re famous people. They get their asses licked on the daily, so when someone talks to them like a normal person, the hypnotic monotony of anus-tickling gets disrupted and springs them into action. Unfortunately, I decided to check my instincts at the door when I got to the shoot and got caught up in “Jacksonmania.” The producers wrote out all of the questions for me, all of which were written from a fearful and defensive place. They not only didn’t want to risk offending Janet or anyone in the world, they also didn’t want to risk creating something people might actually want to watch. A brilliant strategy from all perspectives. Honestly, why the fuck even bother?

  Now, I’m not saying Janet and I needed to drop trou’ and start freestyling dick jokes on our way to the local cunt-fest to get in touch with our lady parts. But did it have to be the most boring sterile interview of all time? This was Janet”Motherfucking” Jackson! One of the hottest most talented fascinating gender-barrier-breaking women on the planet! People should have been able to emotionally masturbate to this interview, but instead, it came across like listening to your friend talk to you about her gluten allergy … until the last question.

  During what ended up being the last question, it finally dawned on me that
I was blowing one of the greatest opportunities of my life because I’d decided to conform to what other people thought I should do. So I thought-whispered “Fuck it!” and went off script and started to talk to her like we were just a couple of girls laughing and shooting the shit. Instantly, her energy changed, she sparked, and a casual side of her I don’t think anyone but those close to her see suddenly emerged. It was subtle, but wow did she become a different person. And just when I had finally broken through, they wrapped us, and it ended. Oh, what could’ve been! I can only blame myself. I was an experienced soldier on the front line of oral battle. I should’ve let my instincts guide me. Instead, I allowed other people’s fears to control me. I had failed her, and I had failed myself. “Never again,” I swore to myself. Never again would I stop being me and doing what I do.

  My celebrity interviews are supposed to be a retreat from the status quo. A sanctuary to escape the arbitrary moral boundaries of polite society. A place to let your inner idiot get naked and run free without judgement. But, for women, it needed to be much more than that. It needed to be a place where they could stop being what our male-driven society was telling them they should be and start being who they really are. To accomplish this, an act of law was required, and since one was not available, I took it upon myself to create the Emancipation Dicklamation. A proclamation conceived to protect the rights of female celebrities wanting to break free from all the dicks in the world who try to manipulate them. The dicks who try to tell them who to be, how to act, and what to say. A sanctuary where they are given the power and support to NOT conform to what is expected of them. A retreat where they are encouraged to breach those gates and embrace the new “hot shit” in the streets called “freedom of expression!” Won’t you join us?!

  I’m here to tell you that our numbers are strong and that more and more women are bending rules and breaking balls than ever before! I have been freeing the hearts, minds, and mouths of women for well over a decade. Tweet me to declare your support and join our movement by adding the hashtag #EmancipationDicklamation. Ignore what you may have heard, forget what you think you know, and let’s celebrate the girls who go all the way!

  “If you don’t see Terminator Salvation, you are a cunt! I feel good! I never get to use that word, and I just think it’s so … it’s powerful!!”

  —Bryce Dallas Howard

  Some of my all-time favorite girls to interview are Cameron Diaz, Emma Stone, Kerry Washington, Rachel McAdams, Taraji P. Henson, Carla Gugino, Charlize Theron, and Drew Barrymore, and the list goes on and on and on and on and on … Why, you ask? Because they are down to play—open, vibrant, and fearless. They are bold, brilliant, and beautiful women who feel secure in who they are. They’ve realized that being themselves is the power move.

  And if anyone loves girl play … it’s me.

  Truth be told, I’m very proud to say I’ve had mostly positive experiences with female stars and vice versa. Kate Hudson, who I’ve had a ton of fun with across many interviews, did me a genuine kindness. I was there to interview her and Matthew McConaughey for a movie, and unbeknownst to me, the camera caught her whispering to Matthew, “Oh, you’re going to love her,” as I was walking into the room. Hearts came out of my eyes for like a week after I saw the footage.

  When I sat down with the lovely Carla Gugino to interview her for the movie San Andreas, she said she was so excited to see me because she had something she was just dying to tell me. And she literally blew my mind! One of our mutually favorite words is “fuck.” She started to explain to her castmate Alexandra Daddario, who was also in the room, right as I sat down. “And so when I had the one [fuck] in the movie,” she said, turning to me and smiling, “I thought of you. I actually honestly did.” I couldn’t believe it. I had made a lasting impression. I was so touched and filled with a sense of joy that I could only find the words “I love you.” It was beyond flattering to learn, firsthand, how my potty mouth had infiltrated the hearts and minds of Hollywood’s elite even when they were away from me on set. “Shit the fuck yeah!”

  When I get together with my girl Emma Stone, all bets are off; anything can happen and usually does. There’s a connection she and I have had from the day we first met at the Superbad junket, and it’s been all downhill since … in the best way! She’s a kindred spirit, always ready to throw down and go to town. I’ve done everything from putting honey on her lips to examining Spider-Man’s ass to playing the Asshole Game. But at the Gangster Squad junket, we decided to forgo our traditional shenanigans in favor of taping Hollywood’s first-ever Kegel exercises for the A-list. Once she knew I was getting men to do it, her curiosity got the better of her:

  Emma: How do men do Kegels? (Looking at me intensely.)

  Me: The same way I’m doing them right now. (I start focusing real hard, while I tighten and loosen my muscles. All the while maintaining eye contact.) There it is.

  (Emma then takes my cue and starts focusing while tightening and loosening, nodding her head with approval. This continues for a while, back and forth in an almost Zen fashion.)

  Feels good, right?

  (Emma starts laughing loudly.)

  Instantly this junket got better!

  Emma: You always take it to another level.

  Me: Why not?

  Emma: You always do.

  Me: That’s what today has brought me. So, you know, thank you.

  Emma: A lot! You’ve really milked today.

  Emma Stone, my eternal girl crush!

  For Bad Teacher, Cameron Diaz and I talked about so many dirty things, but the highlight was what it was like to dry-hump her then-boyfriend and costar, Justin Timberlake, or should I say “Timber-snake.”

  Me: You know Justin brought sexy back in 2006. And I feel like now he’s bringing dry-humping back.

  Cameron: We strived to make the least sexiest sex scene ever. And we succeeded, I believe.

  Me: Prince says there are twenty-three positions in a one-night stand. I’m wondering if it’s the same for dry-humping.

  Cameron: Let’s just face it: This is a PSA for safe sex. Okay? If you keep your jeans on, seriously, you can’t get pregnant!

  Me: Nobody gets hurt, well, except for the chafing.

  Cameron: I was going to say there’s a bit of chafing involved if I remember correctly back in the day when I was in seventh grade.

  Me: What were we doing back then? And why did we do that?

  Cameron: I know why we were doing it! It’s very clear why it was happening!

  Me: I was wondering, does it creep you out at all to know that the whole world has now seen you having fake sex?

  Cameron: Justin and I will clearly do anything for a laugh. There’s no question about it, obviously!

  Me: And that is to our benefit. Then, of course, the other benefit to dry-humping, just to close it out, cleanup is a snap.

  Cameron: Ain’t my problem, buddy! You deal with it!

  Forget the stereotype that girls can’t be as dirty as the guys. The actresses I’ve met over the years—and this started way before Bridesmaids and Broad City—are not delicate little flowers. They may be super-feminine, but they’ve taken Hollywood by the balls. They made it to the top, so they have confidence oozing out of their pores, can hold their own, and can do whatever the fuck they want. And what they want is to have fun and be themselves.

  And it’s not just limited to a handful of actresses who are trying to cultivate an edgier image. This isn’t about the pretend version of the actresses you see in movies; this is about who they actually are in real life. They’re just like you and me. They feel the same heights of elation and depths of pain. What’s better than language to do it with? Filthy, frosty, tasty, and delicious curse words. And by the way, it’s a proven scientific fact that cursing diminishes pain. So the next time you accidentally scald your hoo-ha with that steam-powered vibrator your aunt gave you, feel free to bust out “Motherfucking-cum-guzzling-cock-nibbling-sheep-shagging-sphincter-sweat!!!”

&
nbsp; Speaking of stupid shit, here’s a lesson in don’t-believe-the-hype. I’d been warned by other women that certain superstars—like Julia Roberts, Jennifer Lopez, Scarlett Johansson, and Halle Berry—have a reputation for being “difficult” with other women. But in my experience, they’ve been wonderful. In fact, J. Lo and Halle, who don’t need anyone’s approval to bust a verbal move, have a penchant for the word “motherfucker,” so deal with it! Don’t listen to a fucking thing anyone says. That’s that whole manipulation thing I was talking about earlier. I would suggest ear muffing that kind of chin wag and forming your own opinion.

  I interviewed Jennifer Aniston for He’s Just Not That Into You, right in the thick of the gossip mag bullshit that pitted her against Angelina Jolie and turned her into this pathetic victim. A few weeks later, I watched with awe as she stood onstage as a presenter at the Oscars, with Brangelina sitting under her nose in the front row. The tabloids were praying that “Jen” would lose her shit in front of a billion people, but she was all grace and poise. Balls, I tell ya!

  That day, she was teamed with Drew Barrymore, who is the original barnstormer who flashed her bewbs for David Letterman on national network television. Drew and I have gone many-a-round in the caged “Fuck-Fight” circuit; we’re both “profanity” professionals with masters’ degrees in “verbal atrocity.” The two of them were so funny and secure in themselves throughout a pretty dirty interview, as evidenced by their great advice about men giving a shit:

  Me: If he says he doesn’t give a shit, does that mean he actually doesn’t give a shit?

  Drew: If he says he gives a shit but isn’t behaving like he gives a shit then he doesn’t give a shit.

  Jennifer: Yeah, if he says he doesn’t give a shit, but then he doesn’t behave as though he doesn’t give a shit then I don’t agree with him.