Everybody Curses, I Swear!

by Carrie Keagan

George: And fighting. What’s important to us is that we help the children of America.

  Me: You are a good man.

  George: That’s right, kids, smoke at home.

  Me: And make sure you use the F–bomb with Mom and Dad as much as you can!

  George: (Momentarily perplexed.) F-bomb? I thought you can say it if you wanted to? (He’s antagonizing me.)

  Me: (Playing along.) Oh, well, you could say fuck. Say fuck to your mom and dad as much as possible! No Good TV has no rules.

  George: (He looks directly into the camera with eyes wide and an open mouth like a child on Christmas morning.) I just like hearing her say that! (With a BIG smile.)

  Me: Sometimes it just feels good! (Laughing.)

  George: It’s better that way, okay.

  Me: So, you actually manage to sleep with Renée Zellweger on the first night [in the movie]. How did you manage to do that?

  George: Yeah, you gotta get her really drunk in the train!

  Me: Well, you know, when people are watching and hoping … (Implying the audience wants to see him get nasty.)

  George: And bouncing you around. (He puts his hands up and makes a cranking motion.)

  Me: Yeah!

  George: You really don’t have to work that hard!

  Me: Normally, I get paid extra for that. (Implying that I could sacrifice myself for art’s sake.)

  George: Yeah. (He pauses, taking in what I just said … then he looks up to the ceiling … assuming it could get gymnastic … and considers how to respond.) But it’d break the ceiling, the mirror on the ceiling …

  Me: That would be bad.

  George: Very dangerous.

  Me: Okay, so what is with the rules? Rules tend to just ruin everything, do they not?

  George: They seem to, and yes. I think that’s true. Do you agree?

  Me: (Exhilarated.) YES!!

  George: (He looks straight into the camera and winks.) That’s right!

  Me: That’s why I don’t have any rules.

  George: I have no rules.

  Me: No Good TV has NO RULES!

  George: (Inquisitively.) You have no rules on No Good TV?

  Me: None! You can do anything you want …

  George: Really?

  Me: Yep!

  George: So, wait, where are you?

  Me: (Whispering.) Everywhere.

  George: That’s what I hear. Yeah. But we’re talking about the show.

  (Wake the kids, phone the neighbors—did he just flirt with me? It didn’t trip me up because I’m a professional.)

  Me: Ohhh! We go out everywhere. Actually, everybody can get it, especially, like, preschoolers. We’re big with the preschoolers.

  George: Gotta be very big and preschool … you know … finish your cereal, and say FUCK!

  Me: It really goes over well.

  George: (Laughing.) It does … I bet!

  Me: You know … Cap’n Crunch and …

  George: Here’s the problem. (He puts his hands up, demonstratively.) You’re the first interview I’ve done after lunch, right? So now you set the bar—the dirty-word bar—here. (He holds both hands out, like the top of a bar at eye level.) So the next guy comes in from, you know …

  Me: CNN?

  George: The Disney Channel …

  Me: Right!!

  George: He’s … I mean … literally, he’s fucked!! I mean there’s no way around that. He’s gonna be like, “Hey, you know Mickey Mouse…” and I’m gonna be like, FUCK MICKEY MOUSE!

  Fuck.

  Mickey.

  Mouse.

  It was a “drop the mic” moment. For years we couldn’t get George Timothy Clooney, and now he gave me one of the best quotes in the history of NGTV. The best part about “Fuck Mickey Mouse!” was that it was pretty scandalous coming from a man that has been in/produced a bunch of Disney movies. Yo, Disney got served, muthafucka! And what if George wanted to run for president of the United States of America one day? I can just imagine Fox News running “Fuck Mickey Mouse!” on a loop for a week straight with an angry panel, including the Parents Television Council, Elisabeth Hasselbeck, and Megyn Kelly, saying he hates children. But, of course, none of that did or will ever happen because George was fucking around and having a fucking blast in the safe confines of the No Good TV sanitarium. Where we never hurt with hypocrisy. We only heal with humor.

  And that was the beauty of it. When an A-lister like George Clooney is allowed to be totally spontaneous and uninhibited, the result is unexpected, magical, and most importantly, relatable. I’ve done my job. And I deserve a drink … or ten. My selfie stick is waiting.

  12

  THE LAP DANCE

  Failure is unimportant. It takes courage to make a fool of yourself.

  —Charlie Chaplin

  Dutch Scratching.

  If you know what it is then you’re probably making a breathy but resounding “OHHH” noise accompanied with a purposeful grimace. If you don’t know what it is, let’s just say it was a great motivator for me. More on that in a minute. Why do I bring it up? Well, it’s really quite simple. Now, I’m no different from anyone who gives a shit about what they’re doing every day with their lives. Everything I’ve ever done has been about reinvention and trying to be different because what the fuck else is there? My colorful repertoire was slowly but surely altering the landscape of the junket world, and it was only a matter of time before my inability to sit still would also make its presence known.

  So let’s get physical. No, you did not just reference Olivia Newton-John again! Oh, but I did. Have you ever fantasized about running your fingers through Jared Leto’s silky hair? Rubbing your cheek on Jon Hamm’s Fred Flintstone-like five o’clock shadow? (I’m pretty sure that’s not what you want to rub your cheek on but I’m trying to keep it classy!) Cupping Kim Kardashian’s Internet-breaking ass in your hand? Actually you’d need two hands. Or hands as big as Uma Thurman’s.

  Well, I’m sorry, but you can’t. Touching a celeb is a big no-no. They’re like rare jewels behind a fragile glass case, and if you dare get too close, there’s an excellent chance you’ll get tackled by four former Israeli Mossad agents and have your neck snapped in half. With all the crazy-ass stalkers out there (shout-out to my #Keagals), it makes sense. That’s why, since I have a certain amount of access to our favorite stars, I feel a personal responsibility to touch them for you, so you can live vicariously through me. I know. I’m so selfless. You’re welcome.

  Nowadays, physical interaction with celebrities is such the norm on chat shows that if you tune into Fallon and see that it’s just two people talking, your first instinct is to think that something’s terribly wrong. Your second is to start screaming, “Oh, lord, why hast thou forsaken me?” But back in the day when I started doing interviews, nobody got out of the chair. And to be perfectly honest, at junkets today, it’s still a bit of an oddity. It’s as if our asses are made of iron and the chairs are super magnets. Granted, junket interview setups aren’t exactly designed for a game of Twister, but I still wanted to find every way I could to change things up. And where there’s a will, there’s a way.

  Now, before you give me an award for my philanthropy, there’s a small problem with this idea. It was kind of forbidden for me to do it, too. It’s not written in the junket bylaws in hieroglyphics on a cave wall in Egypt or anything; it’s just very much implied. Publicists already get their panties in a bunch about smaller things, like having green M&M’s or scented candles in the green room. So imagine the hysteria if their clients are manhandled without prior warning, releases being signed, Xanax being popped. You get the picture?

  “My dick’s in everyone’s ass in this fuckin’ movie!”

  — Aubrey Plaza

  Now, I grew up watching Harold Lloyd, Laurel and Hardy, Charlie Chaplin, Lucille Ball, Peter Sellers, French and Saunders, John Cleese … the list goes on. I live in their shadow and dream of one day having a fraction of their skill and talent. They are the dog’s bollocks! I
love physical comedy. Sometimes it’s subtle, sometimes it’s extensive, but it is always entertaining. I like getting in there and getting my hands dirty. It can be risky, and more often than not, you fall flat on your face, but when it works, it’s a thing of beauty.

  I was never going to be able to stay in that chair. It was only a matter of time. Junket after junket, I would stay seated, grit my teeth, and keep it together. But eventually, staying in that seat started to feel like what? Being Dutch Scratched. See, I brought it back. I knew that getting out of the seat had the potential to backfire and put everything we’d accomplished in jeopardy, but once I get a pickle up my ass about something, I’ve got to get it out of my system! Remember the scene in Casino Royale where Daniel Craig as James Bond is sitting naked in a bottomless chair being viciously tortured by having his balls smacked with a knotted rope? Well, welcome to the wonderful world of Dutch Scratching! I know it sounds extreme, but that’s what it felt like to watch opportunity after opportunity pass me by during the interviews. Just like James Bond, my interview balls were being compromised, and I really needed to get out of that motherfucking chair!

  As you’ve probably gathered so far, I’ve never been big on following rules. When I’ve bent them a bit, knowingly or not, that’s when the best stuff happens. When I get my back-gina out of the chair and move around, it changes the dynamics of everything, and what you end up with is pure unadulterated comedy.

  Or sheer panic. Sheer panic is what happened on one such occasion when I dared make illegal contact with rapper Nelly during the junket for The Longest Yard. See how I created that football metaphor there? Grammy Award–winning rappers rarely show up to these things, so it was a breath of fresh air to have him in a room. Nelly was huge at the time, after his singles “Ride Wit Me” and “Hot in Herre” blew up. It all started with a misunderstanding that tested the strength of our relationship with Paramount Pictures, who released the film. But ultimately, it served to build a lasting trust with the cool folks over there that would someday be tested again when the shoe was on the other foot.

  It had been an amazing day of funny and dirty interviews with Adam Sandler, Chris Rock, and the rest of the cast. My final interview was with Nelly, and from the moment I walked into the interview room, sparks flew. We’re talking Walter White in an underground meth lab kind of chemistry. I’ll say this until the day I die: Pound for pound, hip-hop artists give the best interviews. They like to have fun, fuck around, and get crazy. They’re not just selling songs with their music; they’re selling a lifestyle. So they intrinsically understand that attitude, charisma, and spontaneity are the necessary ingredients of creating a fucking crazy moment on camera. Take it from me, nothing travels faster or sells better. Right on cue, Nelly looked up at me and smiled like the cat that ate the canary.

  Me: Just so you know, we’re completely uncensored, so we get to have some fun, okay? Are you ready!?

  Nelly: I am so ready!

  I don’t know what came over me, but I popped out of my chair, went over to him, and climbed onto his lap. His eyes opened wide with wonderment and joy, then laser-beamed onto my umlauts, which were now right in his face.

  Me: So is this the greatest ass-kicking fiesta in football history?

  Nelly: I really think this movie is the best football movie ever made.

  Me: I thought it was going to be about football. It’s not a football movie; this is a balls movie, right?

  Nelly: You didn’t like it?

  Me: This is definitely a chick flick! There are more guys in wet shirts running around the football field. What guy is going to want to see this movie?

  Nelly: Um, you have a point.

  Me: You get out there and you’re doing your thing. You look very sexy doing your thing.

  Nelly: I’m trying. Thank you.

  Me: This is my thing. (I point to my cleavage, but I didn’t need to because he hasn’t taken his peepers off my pom-poms yet.) What does a cheeseburger taste like when it’s been in somebody’s pants for a couple hours?

  (I hear somebody off camera moan, “Oh my lord!” really loudly.)

  Me: That’s in the movie!

  (I always take notes at screenings, remember…)

  Nelly: She’s absolutely right but I have no idea. Unfortunately I got some of the cheeseburgers that came off the top.

  (I make an “Mmmmm” sound.)

  Me: Before the headcheese!

  Nelly: Before he had to hide them and divide them! You know what I’m talking about!

  Me: No special sauce on those.

  Nelly: No, no special sauce on mine, you know what I’m saying?

  Me: Now, most movies that have these water montages, they usually have the girls during the car wash and they get all soapy. You have a bunch of guys jumping in a water puddle and rubbing all over each other.

  Nelly: I’m just a running back in this film; I did not put it together. You know what I’m saying? (He laughs, grabs my waist, and pulls me closer to him.)

  Me: We have a little tradition; we want you to promote The Longest Yard, NGTV style.

  Nelly: Oh, okay. This is the best fucking movie you are ever going to see in your fucking life. All right? So, all you shitheads, get out of the bed, carry your fucking asses down to the theater, spend every goddamn dime you got in your pocket, and you buy all the fucking popcorn that’s in the damn studio that’s allowed, and I want you to sit down and enjoy this shit, because it’s the best movie that you bitches can ever see. All right? Take your ass down—it’s The Longest fucking Yard … Peace!

  I spent the entire interview on Nelly’s lap, and it was a touchdown with a two-point conversion. It could not have gone any better. I grabbed my tapes, said good-bye to all my friends, and left the junket with a sense of accomplishment. I had crossed the line and lived to tell the tale. But when I got back to the office, Kourosh looked like someone had just walked over his grave and was on the verge of wigging out.

  “What the hell happened?” he asked me in a low voice with an overwhelming sense of dread and terror in his eyes.

  Utterly confused and with my heart firmly in my stomach, I said, “I have no idea what you’re talking about. What’s wrong? What happened?”

  He responded with a question. “Did you give Nelly a lap dance?”

  Apparently, in between me skipping out of the junket and arriving at the office, Kourosh had gotten a furious phone call from his contact at the studio who was incredibly upset. She was someone who had believed in us and who we both adored and respected, so the very last thing we wanted was to create a problem for her, in turn creating an ugly situation with Paramount. This was horrible. She’d said to Kourosh, “I’m in a state of shock. Carrie gave Nelly a sexually explicit lap dance during the interview and his manager, publicist, and her bosses at the studio are beyond themselves angry and Nelly is pissed! What was she thinking? This is very serious.” She told Kourosh that we may be banned from attending any more junkets. HOLY SHIT! WHAT THE FUCK!

  The whole thing made no sense. I knew Adam and was buddies with the Happy Madison people, so if something had gone wrong, they would have said something. In my defense, Kourosh had politely maintained that this didn’t sound like me and seemed improbable and asked if there was any possibility that this was an error. But the studio rep stood firm. He said he’d call her back once he’d connected with me.

  Back up there just a second. “A lap dance?” I said. “Are you kidding? That doesn’t make any sense.” I told him, “That is not what happened. During the interview the room was laughing it up, and when I left, Nelly gave me a huge hug.” I continued, “There was plenty of time in between the end of my interview and when I left for someone, anyone, to approach me and lodge a complaint or a concern, but no one did.” Plus, anyone who knows me knows I can’t dance. I’m worse than Elaine Benes on Seinfeld. People assume based on how I look that I like to dance. I hate to dance. I know I’m not good at it, so I just don’t, and if I did, it wouldn’t be at a junket.


  And I don’t shake my titties for anyone. Put them in a face, why not. But shake my ass? No, sir.

  “Are you sure?” Kourosh asked me.

  “Yes, I’m sure!”

  Next thing we did was grab the tapes and watch them. Sure enough, there was no lap dance. Just Nelly loving me sitting on his lap and having a blast doing the interview with people laughing throughout. Now we really had a mystery on our hands. What was going on? Were we being set up? Was someone out to get us? None of it made sense. So after several tense phone calls back and forth, Kourosh swore up and down the cross to our friend at Paramount that nothing had happened and that if she’d please watch the tape, she’d have the proof to clear us.

  We messengered the tape over to her office. A few tense, stomach-wrenching hours later, she called us back. This time her tone was quite different. I would describe it as relief. You see, she was the one who’d vouched for us, so if we turned out to be fuck-ups, her ass was on the line. That was the worst part because no one deserves that, and we prided ourselves on doing right by our friends at the studios. Anyway, it turns out that it was all a poor choice of words and a stupid misunderstanding with a junior publicist who had just started working at the studio. She didn’t know our outlet, saw me sit on Nelly’s lap, and without staying to see what happened next started a wildfire of innuendo with the studio that almost burned us to the ground.

  Looking to impress her boss, she described my lap sit as a lap dance, and by the time the story got back to their office, I’d bumped and grinded on Nelly so hard we could have shot a sequel to Ludacris’s video for “Pussy Poppin’ “! No one, including our rep, was physically present during the interview, so nobody had actually seen it for real. The vicious rumor had spread everywhere as fact. Fortunately, our rep made sure to play the tape for all the higher-ups and cleared us. In the end I was happy to hear that apparently my interviews with the cast were a huge hit, and Nelly loved me the most! His team had nothing but nice things to say. The whole thing was a crazy aberration. It was embarrassing for a few hours, but by the time it was done, we were tighter than ever with the studio and had proven ourselves to be a legit crew. Plus we got a sweet apology, which is always nice.