little I mean to him.
All right, sorry, these damn tangents, back to the dream about Johnny Carson that I shared with him on the air . . .
So I’m on The Tonight Show, telling Johnny about my limo dream: I was in the passenger seat, Johnny was driving. He politely acted intrigued that I’d made him the driver. In the backseat were comedian Buddy Hackett, legendary drummer (and friend of Johnny’s) Buddy Rich, and actor Buddy Ebsen (Jed Clampett, Barnaby Jones). Three Buddies. Only a comic can dream in alliteration. I turned to Johnny, telling him and the audience, “This is true . . .” I said that a lot. And Johnny responded the way he did with most stories I’d tell him by saying, “I don’t care if it’s true or not, just tell it already.”
So as the dream goes, we drove into a ditch and water was pouring in and close to covering our heads. We would’ve drowned, except I saved everyone, Johnny first. He said, “Uhh, thank you very much.” And then, in order, I saved Buddy Hackett, Buddy Rich, and went back much later for Buddy Ebsen. I looked into the camera and said, “Sorry, Mr. Ebsen.” Then I turned back to Johnny and said, “Then we all went back to your house and you gave us your robes, slippers, and pajamas to put on and we sat around and had milk and cookies.”
Didn’t take a therapist to figure out I wanted to be accepted into show business. Many years and appearances later, Johnny had me on, for the last time, just two weeks before he left the show entirely. On that night I’d given him an engraved watch, thanking him for his “thirty years of great service.” He seemed visibly touched—until I whipped out another dozen watches and started handing them out to Ed McMahon, Doc Severinsen, the band, and later, Bill Cosby. Bill came out and said, “I want one of those watches,” so I gave one to him, and he stood at the center of the stage and stomped on it with his foot.
All in all, I was on The Tonight Show with Johnny thirteen times. After one appearance, Johnny passed my mother and father backstage and politely listened to my mom say, “It’s so nice to meet you. We think you’ve been doing a very good job.” Thanks, Mom. Man had been the king of television for thirty years and Dolly Saget thought he was doing a very good job. But he was the king. And my mother was, and still is, Dolly Saget.
So for around a decade I was floating as a panel guest with thirteen appearances on Johnny, and roughly the same number with David Letterman, and also with Conan O’Brien. I count talk show appearances like Rain Main counts lines in the sidewalk. In my early twenties, some of the first television I ever did was The Merv Griffin Show . Thirteen times on that one. Ask any comedian when they’re starting out how many times they’ve been on a talk show and they’ll know the exact number. Merv was very kind to me. He never touched me either. I’ve been relatively unscathed. Merv was very good to comics, as was Johnny. I appeared once on The Mike Douglas Show from Philadelphia but only because I was an intern on the show during college.
Any time I reflect like this on showbiz things from the past I feel like I’m dating myself. Well, at this moment in the book writing process I am dating myself. I’m gonna get to second base tonight. Second base is still “copping a feel,” right? I get to second base every time I say the Pledge of Allegiance. Or take a shower. Or massage my tits. Until they lactate. That’s always an unexpected buzzkill.
What’s third and fourth base now? Third used to be something involving fingers, and fourth was going all the way. I think fourth now is anal sex while both people are standing in front of a jet engine. That should be third base and then you could get your head blown off while you’re getting your head blown off. Best way to go—ever. I’d be shocked if anyone doesn’t flat-out agree with me on that one.
But back to The Tonight Show .
All right, sorry, these damn tangents, back to the dream about Johnny Carson that I shared with him on the air . . .
So I’m on The Tonight Show, telling Johnny about my limo dream: I was in the passenger seat, Johnny was driving. He politely acted intrigued that I’d made him the driver. In the backseat were comedian Buddy Hackett, legendary drummer (and friend of Johnny’s) Buddy Rich, and actor Buddy Ebsen (Jed Clampett, Barnaby Jones). Three Buddies. Only a comic can dream in alliteration. I turned to Johnny, telling him and the audience, “This is true . . .” I said that a lot. And Johnny responded the way he did with most stories I’d tell him by saying, “I don’t care if it’s true or not, just tell it already.”
So as the dream goes, we drove into a ditch and water was pouring in and close to covering our heads. We would’ve drowned, except I saved everyone, Johnny first. He said, “Uhh, thank you very much.” And then, in order, I saved Buddy Hackett, Buddy Rich, and went back much later for Buddy Ebsen. I looked into the camera and said, “Sorry, Mr. Ebsen.” Then I turned back to Johnny and said, “Then we all went back to your house and you gave us your robes, slippers, and pajamas to put on and we sat around and had milk and cookies.”
Didn’t take a therapist to figure out I wanted to be accepted into show business. Many years and appearances later, Johnny had me on, for the last time, just two weeks before he left the show entirely. On that night I’d given him an engraved watch, thanking him for his “thirty years of great service.” He seemed visibly touched—until I whipped out another dozen watches and started handing them out to Ed McMahon, Doc Severinsen, the band, and later, Bill Cosby. Bill came out and said, “I want one of those watches,” so I gave one to him, and he stood at the center of the stage and stomped on it with his foot.
All in all, I was on The Tonight Show with Johnny thirteen times. After one appearance, Johnny passed my mother and father backstage and politely listened to my mom say, “It’s so nice to meet you. We think you’ve been doing a very good job.” Thanks, Mom. Man had been the king of television for thirty years and Dolly Saget thought he was doing a very good job. But he was the king. And my mother was, and still is, Dolly Saget.
So for around a decade I was floating as a panel guest with thirteen appearances on Johnny, and roughly the same number with David Letterman, and also with Conan O’Brien. I count talk show appearances like Rain Main counts lines in the sidewalk. In my early twenties, some of the first television I ever did was The Merv Griffin Show . Thirteen times on that one. Ask any comedian when they’re starting out how many times they’ve been on a talk show and they’ll know the exact number. Merv was very kind to me. He never touched me either. I’ve been relatively unscathed. Merv was very good to comics, as was Johnny. I appeared once on The Mike Douglas Show from Philadelphia but only because I was an intern on the show during college.
Any time I reflect like this on showbiz things from the past I feel like I’m dating myself. Well, at this moment in the book writing process I am dating myself. I’m gonna get to second base tonight. Second base is still “copping a feel,” right? I get to second base every time I say the Pledge of Allegiance. Or take a shower. Or massage my tits. Until they lactate. That’s always an unexpected buzzkill.
What’s third and fourth base now? Third used to be something involving fingers, and fourth was going all the way. I think fourth now is anal sex while both people are standing in front of a jet engine. That should be third base and then you could get your head blown off while you’re getting your head blown off. Best way to go—ever. I’d be shocked if anyone doesn’t flat-out agree with me on that one.
But back to The Tonight Show .
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