"So he wasn't mad, Ma?"
"Yeah, he's mad. He's eating me out right there in the parking lot in front of everybody. There's five people standing there watching this man just eat me out right there in the parking lot."
I went, "Mama, the expression is chewed me out."
"It's the same thing."
"Technically, no, Mom. The next time you tell the story, I would say 'chewed me out.' Especially if you tell it at church."
I think the most often asked question I have on my Web site is why I wasn't a bigger part of Blue Collar Television , which is Jeff and Larry and Bill's show.
And the answer is, my work ethic. It's questionable.
My grandpa used to say, "That boy's got a lot of quit in him."
And as a young man, the things I didn't quit, I got kicked out of. I got kicked off the high school debate team for saying, "YEAH, WELL, FUCK YOU!"
I thought I had won. The other kid was speechless. That's what I thought we were trying to do.
A nd Larry the Cable Guy, speaking of you can't fix stupid, let me tell you what he did. He spends the night at my house.
And don't ever let him spend the night at your house, by the way. Even if it's raining.
He spends the night at my house, and we get into the whisky deep, for no reason. It's a Tuesday night, we're just glug-glug-glugg ing away. We wake up the next morning, he gets on his tour bus and goes to who the hell knows where. I wake up with a living, breathing hangover that has its own soul.
I named it Chuck.
And I'm going through this house we just moved into, and I can't find one aspirin in the whole house. My head is exploding. So I gotta get in my car and face the morning sun, which I geared my entire career around not having to do. And I go to the store, and I go in, I buy some Excedrin.
I come back out to the car, and I pop a couple of them in my mouth. And I can't swallow them because my mouth is dry, right? I'm kind of choking on them, you know?
But luckily, in the seat where Larry was the day before, there's a Diet Coke bottle with about two fingers' worth in the bottom of it. And I unscrew the lid, and throw it back.
And slowly my brain starts to process information. Does Diet Coke make a wintergreen pudding product? Sort of a stringy wintergreen pudding?
And then it dawns on me, I'm drinking his fuckin' spit. I'm outside my car licking the grass to get the taste out.
The same thing happened to me later. Not the same thing, really, but the same kind of thing. I was on my way to the airport, and I stopped on the way for some iced tea with a wedge of lemon in it.
And I parked my car at the airport on the top floor of the parking garage, in the sun, and I'm gone for two weeks. I come back, and I get stuck in traffic on the way home. And I'm not even thinking, I just reach over and pick up this two-week-old remains of iced tea with lemon, and I chugalug it down.
And slowly my brain starts to process information. Is that lemon moss? Is that some sort of a citrus algae river product?
And I take the lid off the Styrofoam cup, and it's this nasty science experiment. And I open my truck door and throw up in the stalled traffic.
But oddly enough, two weeks later a rash on my nuts clears up. There's your silver lining right there.
I get chastised publicly in the media for my position on the death penalty. To tell you the truth, they don't even know the half of it.
Because in the Scott Peterson case, I'd want to be the guy that sets the execution date. And I'd set it for one a.m. the day they set clocks forward. Just so I could walk in and go, "Well, looks like you got about another hour, Scott. . . .
"Not. Spring forward, asshole!"
There is one piece of legislation floating around right now that I endorse publicly, and with all my heart. I believe if you're a convicted sex offender in this country, when you get out of prison, you should have to put a sign in your yard or on your door that says you're a convicted sex offender. Because I don't give a fuck about your rights