Is My Bow Too Big? How I Went From Saturday Night Live to the Tea Party by Victoria Jackson Page B
Authors: Victoria Jackson
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wouldn’t come.” He showed me a newspaper article in his wallet about the murder and said, “I keep this to remind myself not to do it again.”
Ten years later, I heard that Joe was arrested for faking charity events in order to steal money, and he had a restraining order from the local comedy club. That was the last time I got personally involved with charity work. Now I just send money in envelopes. It’s a lot safer. Then, one day at a comedy club somewhere (I forget where), I ran into the little girl I’d done the charity for. She was a beautiful young lady. She hugged me and thanked me, and said her mysterious disease was gone.
Lover
I was loved like a baby who is wanted and cherished
I was touched like a rose upon a cheek,
I was heard like a sermon on spiritually hungry ears,
I was looked at as a lady of the week…
D riving away from Connecticut in my convertible Saab, I sobbed and sobbed. My body was doing this. My mind didn’t want to. Moving out of my other home in Laurel Canyon was so difficult, I got a tattoo as a permanent physical symbol of my unbearable, emotional pain. Why am I leaving two homes and a stellar career ?
Because I’m in love.
Lorne said I could stay at SNL as long as I wanted, but my cast-mates, Dana, Jon, Jan, Nora, and Dennis, were leaving. We were burnt out. We had to write our own material and you can only have original ideas for so long. My contract was for five years, and I’d stayed six.
As a last hurrah, I wrote a piece for Update where I showed my diamond engagement ring and sang I Love a Cop , with the words written on my legs to display in a handstand. I had done a handstand as a Christmas tree and another with the American flag on my butt. The handstand theme was exhausted.
I was also going through a divorce and didn’t want my little Scarlet to be left with babysitters as her home split up.
I also had a “holding deal” with Gail Berman, Sandollar (Sandy Gallen and Dolly Parton) and Fox. I was being paid $60,000 to wait while they wrote me my own sit com: my original goal in going to Hollywood. George Clooney was cast as my boyfriend, the taxi driver. My character was a single mom from the Midwest who gets a job in Las Vegas as a showgirl. As the year passed, we read the “pilot” to the three big networks. They “passed” on it. George Clooney told me that this was his twelfth pilot. He then got the series ER , and the rest is history. I hear he’s doing well.
The first time Paul flew to NY to see me at SNL happened to be the night he shot and killed the first man of his career. Maybe he was anxious to see me, or something. Anyway, he had to stay up all night filling out paperwork and getting counseling. I guess that’s what happens when you kill somebody. Actually, a woman was being shot at by her husband because she wouldn’t “wife swap” anymore. She called 911 and the SWAT team arrived. The drunk husband aimed his gun at Paul, who responded by shooting him straight through the heart with one bullet from forty feet away.
Paul hadn’t slept all night, and when he came to the stage, I was getting out of an alien spaceship with eyeballs on my nipples because we were doing a sketch about a planet where women’s eyes have mutated to their breasts because men stared at women’s chests for so long. Remember that one? Kirstie Alley was our leader. “When it’s cold, we can see better.” I ran up to Paul and said, “This must be so surreal for you… to kill a man, and not sleep, and the spaceship and all.”
“Yes, it is,” Paul said in his deep, monotone, cop voice, devoid of all emotion. The voice he always has. The expressionless face he always has. Actors call it “deadpan.”
I took Paul upstairs and introduced him to the cast. I said, “Hey everyone, this is my boyfriend, the cop!” Paul stood there rigidly with all his ripped muscles and his deadpan face. Mike Meyers goes, “Hey, got any war stories? Hee hee!”
“I killed a man
Ten years later, I heard that Joe was arrested for faking charity events in order to steal money, and he had a restraining order from the local comedy club. That was the last time I got personally involved with charity work. Now I just send money in envelopes. It’s a lot safer. Then, one day at a comedy club somewhere (I forget where), I ran into the little girl I’d done the charity for. She was a beautiful young lady. She hugged me and thanked me, and said her mysterious disease was gone.
Lover
I was loved like a baby who is wanted and cherished
I was touched like a rose upon a cheek,
I was heard like a sermon on spiritually hungry ears,
I was looked at as a lady of the week…
D riving away from Connecticut in my convertible Saab, I sobbed and sobbed. My body was doing this. My mind didn’t want to. Moving out of my other home in Laurel Canyon was so difficult, I got a tattoo as a permanent physical symbol of my unbearable, emotional pain. Why am I leaving two homes and a stellar career ?
Because I’m in love.
Lorne said I could stay at SNL as long as I wanted, but my cast-mates, Dana, Jon, Jan, Nora, and Dennis, were leaving. We were burnt out. We had to write our own material and you can only have original ideas for so long. My contract was for five years, and I’d stayed six.
As a last hurrah, I wrote a piece for Update where I showed my diamond engagement ring and sang I Love a Cop , with the words written on my legs to display in a handstand. I had done a handstand as a Christmas tree and another with the American flag on my butt. The handstand theme was exhausted.
I was also going through a divorce and didn’t want my little Scarlet to be left with babysitters as her home split up.
I also had a “holding deal” with Gail Berman, Sandollar (Sandy Gallen and Dolly Parton) and Fox. I was being paid $60,000 to wait while they wrote me my own sit com: my original goal in going to Hollywood. George Clooney was cast as my boyfriend, the taxi driver. My character was a single mom from the Midwest who gets a job in Las Vegas as a showgirl. As the year passed, we read the “pilot” to the three big networks. They “passed” on it. George Clooney told me that this was his twelfth pilot. He then got the series ER , and the rest is history. I hear he’s doing well.
The first time Paul flew to NY to see me at SNL happened to be the night he shot and killed the first man of his career. Maybe he was anxious to see me, or something. Anyway, he had to stay up all night filling out paperwork and getting counseling. I guess that’s what happens when you kill somebody. Actually, a woman was being shot at by her husband because she wouldn’t “wife swap” anymore. She called 911 and the SWAT team arrived. The drunk husband aimed his gun at Paul, who responded by shooting him straight through the heart with one bullet from forty feet away.
Paul hadn’t slept all night, and when he came to the stage, I was getting out of an alien spaceship with eyeballs on my nipples because we were doing a sketch about a planet where women’s eyes have mutated to their breasts because men stared at women’s chests for so long. Remember that one? Kirstie Alley was our leader. “When it’s cold, we can see better.” I ran up to Paul and said, “This must be so surreal for you… to kill a man, and not sleep, and the spaceship and all.”
“Yes, it is,” Paul said in his deep, monotone, cop voice, devoid of all emotion. The voice he always has. The expressionless face he always has. Actors call it “deadpan.”
I took Paul upstairs and introduced him to the cast. I said, “Hey everyone, this is my boyfriend, the cop!” Paul stood there rigidly with all his ripped muscles and his deadpan face. Mike Meyers goes, “Hey, got any war stories? Hee hee!”
“I killed a man
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