Everybody Curses, I Swear!

by Carrie Keagan

  All joking aside … WTF?! There is absolutely no reason in the world why bestiality or zoophilia is legal anywhere in this great nation of ours. If you happen to live in any of the beautiful places I was joking about above, first of all, I’m sorry. I did it out of love. Those are all amazing states that deserve better than to have this blemish on them. Secondly, I ask you to please inundate your congressmen and women, senators, and state legislators with e-mails, letters, phone calls, and/or petitions to get off their deplorable asses and eradicate this nonsense. We’re in our 240th year as a nation, so we’ve obviously navigated some seriously complicated situations. This, of all things, can’t be the impossible dream that has perplexed certain lawmakers for this long. It’s legal in D.C.… how is this even possible??!! Elaborate state affairs followed by some hot goat-bangin’ action on the South Lawn at the White House. Is that what’s for dinner? It’s ridiculous! Well, the only logical reason that I can think of for why these fourteen states, one territory, and our nation’s capital can’t seem to get their shit together to do something this simple is that there’s a possibility that a whole slew of politicians in each of these states don’t wish to curtail their own personal leisure activities!! Now, I don’t have proof, but I’ve lived long enough to know that where there’s smoke, there tends to be a “You got a hard drive full of what kind of videos?” FOUR-ALARM FIRE!

  Before I end this chapter, I thought I’d share with you something that might go beyond words and provide you with a more visceral understanding of this fanscape experience. The power is in the way it captivates you from the inside and transports you to another place. That’s the nature of this addiction that makes it so potent. In summer 2015, I decided to attend D23, Disney Studio’s own version of Comic-Con. The Force Awakens was six months from release, so this was going to be a Star Wars celebration. And since I’m sort of batty for Star Wars, I just had to go. The entire cast was going to appear for the first time in front of an electrified, sold-out crowd. I remember the experience of being there in incredibly vivid detail. It wasn’t my first geekgasm, but it sure was one of the best!

  When I entered the main-stage auditorium to take my seat, it all hit me, starting with the obvious. I felt a tingling, warm sensation in my torso and belly, almost like butterflies. Then, a tightness in my chest, also warm. It was all incidental, almost unnoticeable in my heightened state of anticipation. I felt attached to my seat, almost wrapped around it. But I was so excited, I couldn’t sit still. I was urgently fidgeting around in my seat, which felt good and seemed to calm me. Then the houselights went down and the stage lights came up. I was filled with so much nervous tension that my subconscious was in overdrive. The sensation of movement in my muscles was eclipsed by a slight feeling of weakness in my limbs. All followed by a growing tightness in my stomach. I was a bit faint. The anticipation was killing me! I remember the crowd was so excited that we were clapping before there was anything to clap for. Preclapulation is an all-too-common prelude to a full-bodied geekgasm!

  Suddenly, it began. They started bringing the actors to the stage. I felt more tightness build, and the waves of excitement started pulsating. Slowly at first but creating a creeping sensation. I tried to control them, but as more and more people came onstage, the waves just kept building. So much that I felt close to falling into them. It was the craziest reaction. It wasn’t quite falling as much as it was a sense of letting go. Just relaxing into it. I felt like I was on the brink of an amazing giant stretch or a huge yawn that would push relief out through all of my limbs. It was exhilarating.

  Eventually, when the original three were all finally out, the flurry of excitement hit my stomach again. Waves of it began running up from there, pushing a sneeze-like relief through my muscles, then quickly washing back down to my stomach. Back and forth. Back and forth. They would start very powerfully then gradually get calmer. It was euphoric. When it was all over, my arms felt so weak. I think I had been clenching my hands intensely the entire time, and my muscles had begun to ache. I was in a state of release, relief, and pain. Looking back, I think that in the heat of the moment I was so caught up, having such an amazing time, that I wasn’t breathing correctly and my body was now paying the price. When I got home that night, I collapsed into bed, feeling completely spent but in a total state of euphoria. Sound familiar?

  If you can find something in your life that can make you feel like that … never let it go. One of my favorite authors, Chuck Palahniuk, wrote in his novel Choke, “I think that I shall never see a poem as lovely as a hot-gushing, butt-ramping, gut-hosing orgasm.” I think Chuck might be onto something here!

  17

  OF ALL THE STUPID THINGS

  But how the world turns. One day, cock of the walk. Next, a feather duster.

  —Aunty Entity, Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome

  “Designer blowjobs,” “a fucking M&M,” and getting “paid by the fuck.” They could easily be three things your daughter’s been raving about since her weekend in Solvang at a “Sugar Daddy” seminar. Or they could be three things you found in your son’s grab bag after he got back from trick-or-treating at the Bunny Ranch. But to me, they are sentimental reminders of a few special encounters in my career that I can honestly say my life would not be the same without. People who gave me shelter beneath their shadow and inspiration from their light. I was incredibly blessed to have spent time with them. (And not in the way attention-seeking, pious posers have sodomized that word each time they label an Instagram of their well-garnished plate of eggs Benedict or a Photoshop-raped selfie of their “true self” with #Blessed. I guess #IgnorantSchmuck doesn’t increase your followers on social media, but I digress.) It was a rare privilege to have witnessed a brief glimpse of their truth as revealed to me by the fractured lens of our unorthodox conversations. And years of exquisitely profane exchanges with the A-list led me to discover that, much in the same way that the eyes are the windows to the soul, cursing is a gateway to an intimate connection.

  I suppose that’s always been the secret of No Good TV. That somewhere hidden between all the dick jokes and F-bombs, there exists truth and intimacy. Who would have guessed it?! I swear; if you closely watch my interviews, you’ll be shocked to discover some of the most honest reflections of celebrities caught on tape. That is … of celebrities who know that they are being filmed and are there by choice to have their balls tickled. Unlike paparazzi footage, which is a whole other “ball” game. One where all the cupping, tugging, licking, icing, and mouthing are considered “foul balls!” Just ask Alec Baldwin. Truth is, no matter how many interviews I’ve done, to this day, it always amazes me to see it happen before my very eyes. I can’t think of another place where you can get any sort of glimpse of who these public figures really are. I know how that may sound, but don’t take my word for it. Take a minute and judge for yourself.

  I’m sure, by now, you’ve figured out that entertainment is a business where reality is seldom real and sincerity is, more or less, a moving target. So you have to question the authenticity of everything you see. Pretty much everything you’re bombarded with in the media—from entertainment newsmagazine fluff pieces to heartbreaking revelations on the news networks—is all scripted performance art designed to sell you something. Hell, half of the shit you read in the tabloids is fabricated and fed to them by the very people they’re writing about. In a business where Nicki Minaj will showcase her butt exercise ritual on the Kathy Lee & Hoda morning show, then dredge up the horrible physical abuse she suffered at the hands of her father a couple of days later on 60 Minutes, all in the name of selling the same record, there’s very little room for spontaneous candor. Just to be clear, there’s a place for all of it, and there’s nothing wrong with using everything you’ve got to get to where you want to be as long as you’re not hurting anybody. The point I’m trying to make is manipulated sincerity should never be confused with the truth.

  In my experience, I’ve witnessed the subconscious purifying effect of cursing a
cross thousands of interviews spanning well over twelve years. And I’m telling you, that shit is potent! It literally tears down your walls, triggers a reversion to your natural state of behavior, and paralyzes any instinct you might have to sell or pitch yourself. Basically, it forces your inner assclown to betray your mask. Because no matter how hard you try to be a media whore and sell dat ass, you just can’t. Because it’s impossible to sell anything when you’re busy screaming, “Motherfucking nasty ass bitch!” as Jeremy Piven did, while laughing during our interview for The Goods! The only thing you can feel in that moment is the freedom and innocence of joy.

  “I can say fuck. That’s so cool! I do a lot of interviews … I never get … nobody knows that I even know that word. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!!”

  —Stan Winston

  Now, before you give me any of your cynical crap, let me show you when you last had joy and why you’ve been searching for it ever since. It’s that ecstasy you felt when you were still a kid in diapers. Remember when your mom asked you if you needed to go potty and you did that cute little head shake and confidently said, “No”? Then she gave you that loving mom smile, so proud that her little angel was toilet trained, and then she encouraged you to go and play. Remember how getting her approval got you so excited that you decided to tear through the house, screaming and laughing hysterically? Brimming with pure delight while that generously filled-to-capacity gift bag you were carrying left your mom presents everywhere. Now that’s the bliss I’m talking about. It didn’t matter that your mom didn’t understand that “No” didn’t mean “I don’t have to go,” but that it meant, “I already went … TWICE.” Oh, the memories of youth. That’s the joy we spend our entire lives trying to find. It’s the same giddy joy you get from cursing, and it’s like sodium pentothal for your spirit. It gives your soul a much-needed colonic.

  Take for example the time I sat down with Ben Stiller to talk about Tropic Thunder:

  Ben: (Very enthusiastic and expressive with his hands out Al Pacino-style.) Well, I think it’s just like FUCKING AWESOME!!

  Me: Yeah!

  Ben: (Being a little playful.) Or motherfu … not motherfuck just fuckin’ awesome!

  Me: Well we don’t want to fuck any mothers but it could be …

  Ben: No we don’t …

  Me: Cocksucking awesome!

  Ben: (Surprised.) Oh … wow!

  Me: Also, could be one but a different connotation altogether, really …

  Ben: (Smiling but not quite sure what to make of it.) This is so different than all of the other little interviews I’ve been doing. (Starts laughing.)

  Me: (Hand to chin with a serious but mischievous look.) What do you mean? I don’t understand.

  Ben: (Intrigued.) Just more … again, more freeing.

  Me: Ahh! Good! That’s a good thing.

  Ben: (With a big smile.) You’re right!

  I’m pretty sure I was the first video press interview many of them had ever done where the journalist threw out a cocksucking reference during the interview. It should be noted that in this case Ben motherfucked first. He started it!! And you can bet your ass, it always made a major impact! Almost immediately a relationship would form between us that would go from shock to disbelief to paranoia to curiosity to fun and then end in euphoria. One way or the other, they would never forget me, and more often than not, they welcomed me with open arms the next time we met. What I was doing was dangerous, rebellious, and liberating, which made me catnip for artists and creatives.

  One completely unexpected person I connected with immediately was the incredibly talented actor Michael Clarke Duncan. I was very fortunate to get to know him before he sadly passed away in 2012. He was such an incredible presence and such a kind and gentle soul. He appeared on No Good TV countless times, and it was always lovely to be in his presence. What was so amazing and somewhat surprising about Michael was that he completely got No Good TV and was a huge fan. The childish giddiness of talking nonsense and letting loose and laughing just really connected with him. He was always tooting our horn as I’d be entering the room to interview him or when I’d be leaving. Who would have ever guessed? It was the coolest thing you could imagine, and what a gift he left us.

  I recently discovered that the cameras had caught him doing it at the Welcome Home, Roscoe Jenkins junket. He was paired with actress Joy Bryant and was talking to her as we were wrapping up the interview:

  MCD: (Turning toward Joy.) This is No Good TV, Joy. No good. Okay?

  Me: He knows a thing or two.

  MCD: (Continues talking to Joy.) It’s funny!… (He just keeps smiling and repeating to Joy:) You gotta watch. You gotta see it. You gotta see this! You gotta see it! (Then he turns to me.) Thank you, baby! (Then right back to Joy.) You gotta see No Good TV. It’s funny as hell, funny as hell, funny!!!!

  I’ll never forget that day and I’ll never forget Michael. I was very lucky to have spent time with him, and it brings me endless joy to know just how much he looked forward to our shenanigans. He was a very special guy.

  Over the course of multiple engagements throughout the years, I became privy to a different side of celebrities and formed special connections with some of them that grew out of our uniquely surreal repartees. It was an unexpected gift in an already rewarding life. In the end, I’ve learned just how lucky those of us who get to sit across from greatness and recount it as a chapter in our own personal histories are. I can attest to the fact that not all heroes disappoint, and neither does the unpredictable hand of fate.

  The great irony about crossing paths with fateful events or destiny is the unexpectedly delayed gravity of that moment and how it is often paired with an incomprehensibly frivolous mental reminder. I mean, when I think back to the very first time I thought that I had made it in this business, you might assume I’d think of the day we closed our first five-million-dollar round of financing, or the day we moved into our big new production studio, or maybe the first time our channel became the most viewed network on YouTube. And … you’d be wrong. I think of Gene Simmons showing me his nuts!

  No, it’s not what you think. Gene and I didn’t end up in the sack. As Mrs. Doubtfire would say, “It was more of a drive-by fruiting!” He had invited me to the set of his new music video to watch him in action, conduct some interviews, and shoot the making of an uncensored version of his video exclusively for NGTV. The whole scene was a bit surreal. There I was, chillin’ with a rock legend that I had spent my childhood dreaming of meeting someday. Now, suddenly, Gene “It’s called business not friends” Simmons was my business partner. WHAT!! The world had suddenly become our playground and celebrities our Wallholla vertical urban play structure. (Look it up. It’s awesome!) Plus, thanks to Mr. “Let’s Put the X in Sex,” we now had access to an unlimited supply of Diet RC Cola. All that was missing were the MoonPies!

  It was an amazing day. Then suddenly, in the middle of shooting a scene in the video that I can best describe as a boobie car wash, Gene split his pants, à la Lenny Kravitz, and out popped his family jewels. I remember thinking, Holy shitballs, what do I do? Do I look away? Do I engage them? Do I pretend his jingle bells aren’t on display? What’s the decorum for such an occurrence? And then, in true Gene fashion, and without skipping a fucking beat, he smiled at me as if nothing had happened and gracefully proceeded to give me and the forty-plus member crew on set a fruit basket to remember. And all I could think of was, WOW! I’ve finally made it!

  But it doesn’t stop there. No! Whether it was a beautiful memory or a devastating tragedy, I honor and treasure it with a silly memento in my noggin. So now you know how my warped mind works; you can see that I’m a gal who loves to live life and collect ridiculous mental artifacts. And of all the stupid things I remember, this chapter is dedicated to a few of the ones that meant the most.

  As an entertainment journalist, you frequently find yourself at the center of events that shape our culture, interacting with the very people who are bringing about that ch
ange. It’s a remarkable experience with marked limitations. You can look but you can’t touch. Your job is to observe and report. It doesn’t matter if it’s for the Today show, Entertainment Tonight, or an online outlet like People.com; your job is to bear witness. Your voice is not your own. It’s never about you. You’re just there to look pretty, read the prompter, and smile. Trust me. I’ve been there smiling so hard I couldn’t feel my fuckin’ face. Truthfully, it’s a good gig if you can get it, but it’s a hollow experience.

  The best way I can describe it is like being a ghost surrounded by remarkable objects but unable to hold, touch, or feel any of them. Without realizing it, you begin your descent into transparency on day one of your job and complete your transition on the day you retire. And it doesn’t discriminate. Even Mary Hart, arguably the best in the biz, after twenty-nine years of time in, was, in the end, completely invisible. I was very fortunate that I was with No Good TV because I wasn’t there to witness and report. I was not a “ghost host.” I was there as a surrogate for our viewers, who wanted to feel the moment, interact with it, and experience the insanity. So that’s exactly what I did.

  As a result, I would have to say that the single most extraordinary thing about my career, besides the fact that I have one, is that not only have I had a front-row seat and a backstage pass to pop culture history, but that I actually got to touch it and feel it. And perhaps, more importantly, I was touched by it. Not in the way your bathrobe belt sometimes falls into an unnervingly full toilet without you realizing it, only to slap its marinated mass against your leg once you stand up, but it was still very impactful. And when I look back on the most profound experiences I’ve had, the ones that pierce you to the bone and leave you forever changed, I remember my brushes with the brilliant few who wandered into my life, touched my soul, and left too soon. The ones who made me laugh, made me cry, made me kiss my self-doubts good-bye.