by Howard Stern
Is it my fault that this goldbrick defective
Didn't get his check from me until last week?
That wheelchair leech is a liar
Embarrassed me in the Enquirer
I'd like to roll him ... roll him ...
Roll him into traffic
"It apparently is lost on Stern that he's fuller of himself than Rush Limbaugh squared." -- Ed Bark, Dallas Morning News, December 7, 1992
RUSH LIMBAUGH
I gave this fat pig his whole career. He was so lousy at radio that, at one point, he had to give it up and take some lame job. Then he heard me and suddenly he was back on the radio trying to do me. But he blows. Look, anytime you see a guy who weighs like three hundred pounds, you know we're not talking about emotional health. As soon as one of these fatties gets thin, all his problems come spilling out. Typically, they'll say: "I used the fat to build a wall around me. I was abused as a young child," though I suspect that Rush's excuse is that he just likes to eat. There's
always a reason for someone being that fat and it ain't glands, man. There's a whole wave of conservative disc jockeys in our country who don't have a true agenda unless it's to be dull and boring. And Rush is one of them. One of his big subjects is women. Women are
Feminazis, women are wrong to have abortions....Blah, blah, blah.
I love these fat pigs who sit back and pass judgment on women. They all say things like "These women who say they're raped are just lying to get abortions." Let me tell you what I hope happens to any guy who's got a big enough mouth to tell women that they can't have abortions. I hope they, collectively, while walking down the street, get pulled into an alley, sprawled over a garbage dumpster, and boned right up their fat fucking asses. Then they'll be crying, "We got raped in the ass!" Good for you, you pigs. Then they'll be the ones screaming that they want to have abortions.
YOKO OH NO LENNON
One of the "celebrities" I've ragged on for the longest time is Yoko Ono Lennon. I just thought she was some wacked-out so-called artist at first. She would do crazy things like go on "The Mike Douglas Show" with John and call up random people on the phone and tell them that she loved them! Some artist! Some spender, too! I read in the Enquirer that she even went out and invested a fortune in cows.
After John was killed, it seemed as if she was putting out anything she could get her hands on: "Wait, I think John once recorded something while he was on the pot here in the Dakota. Where's that tape? Sean, don't touch any tapes. I take tape, I buy cow. Two tape worth two cow. Sean, stay away from tape!"
And she sponsored a little fucking garden in Central Park, across from where they lived, and she called it Strawberry Fields! On the anniversary of John's death, Yoko is compelled to run down there to make an appearance with the same seven retards who show up every year. Yoko takes three of her biggest bodyguards, comes out of her building, runs across the street to Strawberry Fields, says "hello," and scurries right back inside her multimillion-dollar apartment. A few years ago, I sent Baba Booey out to interview her for my television show and he wound up getting fantastic tape that we aired of Yoko almost getting run over by a car trying to avoid him.
But the height of Yoko's arrogance came when she went to the
United Nations for a live celebration of John's fiftieth birthday. She figured out a way to get the broadcasters of the world to simultaneously broadcast her hollow tribute on more than a thousand radio stations to more than 130 countries. Luckily for Listeners-Who-Seek-the-Truth, all this happened during my airtime.
I was pissed off at Yoko even before this phony ceremony got under way because she was interrupting a hot Lesbian Dial-a-Date segment. I had a semi-boner when, all of a sudden, we had to cut live to the United Nations to hear this bogus tribute:
"People of earth," Yoko the Martian began, "how are you? How's life been for you? Today would have been the fiftieth birthday of my husband, John Lennon."
I couldn't control myself. "The good news is he doesn't have to sleep with you anymore," I said. I talked over the whole ceremony.
"I would like us to remember and celebrate his birthday as a day of love, as he was a man of love,..." she droned on.
I imitated her droning voice: " I didn't know he was John Lennon when I met him. Yeah, right. She followed him around for months! HOMEWRECKER!" I yelled. "You STOLE John away from his real peace-loving wife Cynthia. You're a homewrecker, not a head of state! You're a rich foreign groupie, not the Pope!"
"Let's use the power of dreaming," Yoko continued.
"The power of dreaming? Okay, I dream that you would just shut your mouth," I hissed.
Yoko went on, making me vomit: "Let's dream of peace, birds flying in clear air, fish swimming in clear water, and -- "
"A stitch in time saves nine," I said in my best Yoko voice.
Yoko pretentiously went on . .. and on: "For a dream we dream alone is only a dream, but a dream we dream together..."
"Wasn't Cynthia Lennon dreaming that she could be together
with John? HER husband?" I yelled over her stupid droning voice.
Predictably, they started playing John singing "Imagine." This was too much for me.
"I don't have to listen to that! I've got a lesbian in the studio. Hey, lesbian, can I spank you during 'Imagine'?" I asked.
"We're supposed to be listening to John Lennon now," Robin, the cop, reprimanded me.
"I'm not listening 'cause Yoko's merchandising everything of John's. Coffee mugs, everything. Hey, Yoko, imagine there's no royalties! It's easy if you try. We'll just take 'em away from you. We'll see how much peace you're into.
"You think John Lennon, if he were alive, would put his name on mugs?" I was telling her off. I was the only one speaking The Truth. Then a moron listener called to complain that I ruined her John Lennon moment.
"How did I ruin your moment? You could have turned to another one of a thousand stations. I create four hours a day for you, you thankless bitch!"
She called me a "motherless fucker" and hung up the phone.
"I'm wise to the whole scam. I'm not getting suckered into this," I said. "Everybody else wants to kiss Yoko's ass? Go ahead, not me! Not this boy. NO WAY! Hey, Yoko, if you didn't rip off Cynthia's husband, you might be scrubbing men with a sponge for twenty bucks a pop, doing the Chinese basket trick!"
LINDA MCCARTNEY
Yoko isn't the only ex-Beatles wife we've exposed. A while back there was a bootleg tape circulating of Linda McCartney singing backup at one of Paul's concerts. There's another witch for you. Here's one of the world's greatest musicians, he married this photographer, now he can't pick up a guitar without this bim singing along and pounding on the piano. Apparently, this even pisses off their own crew, because, rumor has it, it was a technician who circulated this tape of Linda isolated from the rest of the group. She was so off-key it wasn't funny. We started playing it on the air and the next thing we knew, we got a cease-and-desist order from Linda's attorney. But the damage was done. I had unmasked another hypocrite.
"I'm actually a Howard Stern fan. I listen to him all the time. It's a voyeuristic show where you wouldn't listen to it in the car with someone else but 'Oh, great, I'm alone, I'll listen to Howard to see who he's trashing.' It was usually me." -- John Tesh
MICHAEL LANDON
Another show-biz hypocrite who pissed me off was Michael Landon. Did you see the homages paid to him when he died? All the news programs showed him walking down the road as an angel from his TV show "Highway to Heaven." When was this guy an angel? I'm sure at least two of his ex-wives thought he was going to hell. And he has this great image as a family man. Family man? This guy had nine children from three different wives. He was a guy in his fifties having children with his third wife. He wrote family shows, meanwhile his family was in total disarray. Three different wives. He was a families man. He made a bunch of sappy shows about the family he would have liked to have. He couldn't be an angel, so he acted as one.
PHIL DONAHUE
AND MARLO THOMAS
It's funny, but most of the celebrities I really hate are talk-show hosts. Take Donahue for example. I read that book by Phil and Mario's butler, Desmond Atholl. Phil had a wife and kids and did
what every other Hollywood guy does. He got himself the Hollywood wife. The trophy wife. But according to Atholl's book, she turned out to be a fucking shrew.
This is some woman, this Mario. All wrapped up in her little feminist causes. But when you think about it, what has she done for women? This yenta's always busy with the specials and the books about children's this and children's that. First of all, it's easy to write a children's book. I have to make up stories every night for my kids. Last night I made up one right on the spot for my daughters: Once upon a time there was a daddy who ripped out a cat's uterus. Then he ripped off its claws. Then he chopped off its head. And it lived happily ever after. The moral of the story is: Life sucks, shitty things happen to you along the way, but still you go on. Boom! You got a book. Big deal!
But what I love about this Mario character is she's an expert in
children's things. Hey, it was a good career move. She bombed as a movie actress so she does these dopey children's projects. But she's never had any kids of her own. She was on Donahue's show once and some nice woman in the audience asked her why she hadn't had any children and Mario got this disgusted look on her face as if she'd just been asked when her next menses was due to flow. She said something like "Is there a polite way of saying it's none of your business?" The whole audience gasped. All she had to say was "Gee, it's a very personal thing," or "I really don't want to talk about this," or "I got dust bunnies on my uterus," whatever. But "Is there a polite way of saying it's none of your business?" IS THAT HOW YOU TALK? WITH THAT RUDE MOUTH? WITH EVERYTHING HANDED TO YOU ON A SILVER PLATTER FROM YOUR FATHER? DON'T GO ON THE SHOW IF YOU DON'T WANT TO ANSWER THAT, YOU BIG JERK! AND IF YOU DON'T WANT TO ANSWER IT, AT LEAST BE POLITE TO PEOPLE!
Imagine how Phil's first wife would have felt if she had tuned in to this show. This hot bag of wind Mario was up there talking about how Phil loves women, meanwhile she was the actress trophy he'd picked up on his own show! Every once in a while the camera would flash to the old fat slobs in the audience. Why isn't Phil married to one of them since he can see right through to the inner beauty in people? Would Mario have looked at him twice before he was famous and successful? And she was up there pissing all over his audience and he was loving every minute of it. Yet when our friend Jessica Hahn was on his show and Phil was interrogating her about being raped by Jim Bakker and she said, "I prefer not to answer that," he pressed Jessica for answers. HYPOCRITES! These are the very same people in show business who thumb their nose at me. Hey, I sleep easy at night compared to you two.
JOHNNY CARSON AND HIS TWO ASSKISSERS
I'm amazed how reverential people get when they talk about Carson. "Oh, Johnny's a genius . . ." Hey, let's be honest here. Johnny's no genius. The guy who invented penicillin, Fleming, he's a genius. Johnny deserves his place in history as a guy who was a goofball on TV. Period. I look at Johnny Carson and I see just another Hollywood phony. I loved that crying routine on the air when
his son died off the side of that cliff. Let's face it, this was no Father of the Year. You love your kids? Well, how about that little mulatto love grandchild you've got whom you refuse to acknowledge? That's why you're crying -- you're guilt-ridden, in my estimation. And lay a few shekels on that first wife of yours, while you're at it.
I love slamming Johnny. He hates my guts. On my TV show we presented our own version of The Last Tonight Show, starring Johnny Carstern. I was made up to look like Johnny and one of my TV writers, Big Al Rosenberg, played Ed McFat. Dan Forman, my producer, played a bizarro Doc Severinsen named Dan Formanson, who led the All-Lesbian Orchestra, which was composed of the largest-breasted spokesmodels we could find. What a fitting tribute to a show-biz giant's career!
After I was introduced, I went into the monologue:
Hey, I haven't heard that much screaming since my first wife, Jody, didn't listen to me. Ed, you look particularly bloated tonight. I couldn't help but notice you broke wind tonight in your first HiHo! Thirty years, Ed, and your only contribution to the show has been four freaking letters, HiHo, you big leeching worthless no-talent fucking piece of shit. Hey, lefs welcome Dan Formanson, our band leader. What happened to you? That suit is the color of Ed's vomit.
Our first segment was the last appearance of the great Sternac the Improbable. Ed went into the intro: "From the East, a man whose ass is bright, wet, red, and chapped from being constantly kissed, Sternac the Improbable!
"Seem Salabim," I said. Ed handed me the first envelope.
"Punch and Jody," I said, holding the envelope up to my forehead. "How I spent most of my time with my first wife, Jody."
"HO HO HO HO HO, HO HO HO HO HO, HO HO HO HO HO!" Ed chuckled incessantly.
"May you be feeling up Jenny Jones when her breast implants explode," I said.
"The next answer is black-eyed peas," I guessed, closing my eyes. "What would peas look like if they were married to me?"
Ed went wild with laughter.
"Ed, you smell like crap," I said. "May your brother share Pee-Wee Herman's buttered popcorn, you fat fuck."
Ed handed me the last envelope. "The answer is cauliflower," I
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said and opened the envelope. "What did my first wife, Jody 's, ear look like after she lost the car keys?"
Then, to hammer home the point, we brought out my first guest, my first wife, Jody Carstern. A middle-aged nonbeauty of an actress came out.
"Christ, you're still a pig. I know exactly why I divorced you. How long were we married?" I asked her.
"Too long," she said.
I leaned over my desk and gave her a right cross to the jaw, sending her sprawling.
The segment ended with Ed and me both beating the crap out of her.
Heeere's Howie....as Johnny.
Howard Carstern with Zsa Zsa.
Then we brought out our next guest, Zsa Zsa Gabor. Mind you, our policy when we were doing the TV show was that the guests were completely kept in the dark as to what they were doing. So when Zsa Zsa walked onto the set, she had no idea she was part of a Johnny Carson sketch. She was floored.
"Take off that damn mask!" she hissed at me. Every time Zsa Zsa opened her mouth, Fat Ed started chuckling away like a banshee. I thought Zsa Zsa was going to belt him one. After I tried to get Zsa Zsa to model some S and M garb, it was time to end The Last Tonight Show.
" I can see by the liver spots on the back of my hand, it's time to go," I said. "You are such a big fat jerk, Ed, I can't say I love you. Over the years you've been loyal and faithful, though, and done what I've told you. I have one last request. I want you to kiss my bony ass one last time. But I mean really kiss it."
I came out from behind the desk and walked over to Ed and pulled down my pants. Zsa Zsa was so horrified she couldn't even look. Ed thrust his face between my butt cheeks.
"C'mon, you big marine! I want you to kiss it with your tongue." Zsa Zsa was hysterical. We went to a close-up of Ed and his entire nose was dotted with fecal matter. We faded to brown.
But what really got me pissed off about Johnny and his two no-talent asskissers was the way they dumped all over poor Jay Leno when he took over the show. Jay Leno is one of the nicest people in the world. But he made a grave mistake. He didn't mention Johnny on his first show. Who knows with Johnny? Are you supposed to mention him or not supposed to mention him? What a crime. So this disturbed little man, Johnny Carson, who should be having the time of his life in retirement banging away at that beautiful young babe he's got out there in Malibu, sat idly by while his two henchmen, Ed and Doc, went to the Arsenio show, where they kissed Arsenio and conferred the mantle of "The Tonight Show" on him.
These two ungrateful no-talent scumbags, Ed and Doc! Why did they do this to Ja
y Leno? "The Tonight Show" was so bad to them? Do you think Ed McMahon would be hanging around those nubile "Star Search" candidates if he hadn't sat on that couch like a fat lummox and brayed for thirty years? And that Doc Severinsen stood there like a brick, night after night, conducting that cockamamie orchestra. A gorilla could have conducted that stupid orchestra. THIS UNDERHANDED ATTACK ON NICE JAY REALLY BOILED MY BLOOD!
I got on my radio show and went after Johnny first. "I hope Johnny gets some sort of cancer. You know how his scalp is always pink, with the brown spots? I hope that it turns out that he goes to the hospital and they find out he's got brain cancer and it eats out through his skin. And I hope Alexis leaves him and marries me. Me and my wife. NBC made this guy a multimillionaire and Jay kissed his ass, and right away he's pissed at NBC and pissed at Jay Leno. How can you be pissed at Jay Leno? He's like a puppy. There couldn't be a better asskisser in the U.S. than Jay Leno but now Jay's his enemy."
I decided to get some help in my campaign against Johnny. I decided to pray to Jesus, on the air:
Jesus, my friend, who died on the cross for me. Jesus, dear sweet Jesus, please take away everything Johnny has except his liver spots. Amen, sweet Jesus. And make Alexis horny for Jay Leno. Jesus, if you please, Jesus my favorite nailed-up person, I pray to you to let that fat Ed McMahon burst open and let that Kuato from that movie with Arnold
Schwarzenegger burst out of his belly. I pray that Johnny loses all his money and his big Malibu house and that his wife gets pregnant with Branford Marsalis's love baby. Jesus, please grant me this, you've come through for me before. Dear God, I am a sinner. I give my life to you in Jesus' name. Jesus, my pal, stuff Doc's trumpet up Johnny's butt. Amen.
But it wasn't enough to go after Johnny on my radio show. I had to do more to address this injustice that was being heaped on poor Jay Leno. So I decided to do "The Tonight Show." It became, with all due modesty, one of their most memorable episodes ever.
I had insisted, as per usual, on the number one slot. After a lot of negotiating with Jay's then producer, Helen Kushnick, they agreed. But for a few days before the appearance, they were trying to get in touch with me for a pre-interview. I don't do pre-interviews. Pre-interviews mean one thing: Somebody is sitting there, editing your material. So I avoid them. In fact, I avoided it until fifteen minutes before the taping. They were frantically calling me at the hotel, but I had all my calls held.