Monday, January 24, 2005
This is the week that was
I waited and waited but no one from the mainstream media called to ask me my thoughts on the late Johnny Carson. When I worked at a program that was taping in a studio down the hall from The Tonight Show soundstage, I saw Mr. Carson many times. He would drive to work in his own car, like any ordinary shlep and he would park it in a space that had a sign in the front that read: JOHNNY CARSON.
I saw Mr. Carson a number of times in the flesh, so you can imagine how disappointed I became when no one from the mainstream media called me. They could have asked me how he parked his car or how he was dressed when he arrived at the studio. None of the celebrities talking about the great late-night personality even mentioned Carson's parking or his dress code for arriving at work.
Then, just when I was about to get over it, I got a call from an internet radio station operator who said the mainstream media called The Des to comment about Carson’s death. Well, I thought, what can I expect from a country where most of the people are all excited about a bunch of men jacked up on drugs knocking each other down for a ball that doesn’t even roll right?
I am sorry to hear Mr. Carson died. I will talk about it—if I don’t die—on my year end show in 2005. It is too early to promote that, so let’s just start the week out hoping no one else dies.
Except terrorists. They should die and often want to. And child molesters. They are the lowest form of humans and should die.
Maybe there are others too, who deserve, this week, to go to Abraham’s bosom, Davy Jones’ locker, into the fertilizer business, to their last account, the bone ground, the bone garden, the City of Forever Peace, the summer lands, the spawn pit, headstone gallery, Kavorkian's trophy case, the last plantation, Mother Nature’s acres, Necrophiliacs' singles club, the No Brain Hotel, Night's Plutonian shore or whatever they call it. But not Carson, not now. Not while Donald Trump is still around. I think someone “up there” made a terrible mistake.
Remember this: There is no Johnny Carson Ate My Balls website. That's gotta mean something.
I saw Mr. Carson a number of times in the flesh, so you can imagine how disappointed I became when no one from the mainstream media called me. They could have asked me how he parked his car or how he was dressed when he arrived at the studio. None of the celebrities talking about the great late-night personality even mentioned Carson's parking or his dress code for arriving at work.
Then, just when I was about to get over it, I got a call from an internet radio station operator who said the mainstream media called The Des to comment about Carson’s death. Well, I thought, what can I expect from a country where most of the people are all excited about a bunch of men jacked up on drugs knocking each other down for a ball that doesn’t even roll right?
I am sorry to hear Mr. Carson died. I will talk about it—if I don’t die—on my year end show in 2005. It is too early to promote that, so let’s just start the week out hoping no one else dies.
Except terrorists. They should die and often want to. And child molesters. They are the lowest form of humans and should die.
Maybe there are others too, who deserve, this week, to go to Abraham’s bosom, Davy Jones’ locker, into the fertilizer business, to their last account, the bone ground, the bone garden, the City of Forever Peace, the summer lands, the spawn pit, headstone gallery, Kavorkian's trophy case, the last plantation, Mother Nature’s acres, Necrophiliacs' singles club, the No Brain Hotel, Night's Plutonian shore or whatever they call it. But not Carson, not now. Not while Donald Trump is still around. I think someone “up there” made a terrible mistake.
Remember this: There is no Johnny Carson Ate My Balls website. That's gotta mean something.
