SNL mocked me relentlessly last night.
Yeah, I tuned in. In between parties at Cannes (Yes, I am in Cannes. You can usually find me late hours at the bar having a Bellini at the Du Cap. They only take cash, so if you want to chat with me, prepare to pony up the ponies. But I digress.)
Here's that Hamm, Darryl Hammond pretending to be me:
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| Darryl Hammond mocking me relentlessly. Johnny Pepperoni? Please. |
I got a pepperoni for you Mr. Hambone. RIGHT HERE.
Look people. I'm not fake. I'm as real as real can get. How could I exist unless I'm real? It's not like we're in an existential conundrum here. "What is reality?" "What is real?" "Depends on what the definition of "is" is." You know what I mean?
Gotta give the Hamm some credit. Stepped in for my old pal Don Pardo, the voice of SNL for eons, and now - he's back on the show. Doing Hamm stuff. Funny.
Looking through a box with pix in it. Here are some pix from my old files. I put these three guys together:
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| Funny. I could barely understand Anwar. Taught me to say "Mishguise" which means "bad thing." |
People ask what I'm up to these days. I mean a lot of people. This site has BLOWN UP since yesterday. HUGE NUMBERS. I'd post the numbers but believe me, I know numbers and these numbers are HUGE. Capital H huge.
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| I said Ronnie - seriously, you need to bring her up to speed. |
Let's see. This time of the year you can usually catch me on the Croisette. That's the crescent shaped strip of beach over in Cannes, which is filled to the brim with vim about this time of year.
Late nights you can usually catch me at La Chunga, or haunting the Carlton - sometimes looking for Bob Shaye at the Majestic... or Bob Evans at the Carlton.. love my Bobs. Or bumping into drunk celebs at the Martinez... but the nightcap is always at my usual stomping grounds - the Hotel Du Cap.
You may have heard of it. Nazi stronghold during WWII that's where the SS fellas camped during the war. Nice digs if you can afford it. This joint takes cash only - and upfront mind you - so if you're a whiny cheapskate, take it elsewhere. Or if you don't like sleeping where Nazis slept - park it in a park. Otherwise you gotta be in the know, on the show, in the dough to park your carcass here.
Typical night? I usually walk the red carpet - what's really amazing is that as gorgeous as I am - YOU WILL NEVER SEE ME IN A PHOTOGRAPH. Every frickin' paparazzi knows me - knows that I will bury them if they as much as point a lens in my direction... see? I'm standing over here, and they will not point a camera in my direction. Which is how I like it. IT'S NOT ABOUT ME. IT'S ABOUT MY CLIENTS.
Once back in the day, one new guy pointed in my direction. Boom! History! Toast! Out of work, out of film, out of a job. DO NOT PHOTOGRAPH ME. Photograph my clients all you want. Because we're talking fame here. Not frame. I don't want the frame. But my clients want the fame.
There was a time when you could walk the Croisette late at night, on the arm of a starlet and no one would care. Now it's cell phones in your face 24-7. I've figured that one out as well. I can spot a hapless tourist a mile away and by the time I get close, I've got my "kill the cell phone" app running - they try to take a picture of me and the lovely lass on my arm - and their cameras fail. Look at this pic. I was in the frame - and voila. I'm not.
The world ain't what it used to be. Simple.
Like that "Make America Great Again" that I gave that to my old pal. Free of charge. Just whipped it out there when he was talking to me about his future.
I said "Geeze, I just wish someone would come along and make this country happy again." He said "What? I don't get it." I said "You know, not like that fella in the White House. You know, Mr. Kenya Hear Me Now?" (I gave him that whole birth certificate nonsense to... I said "Hey, you know there are a boatload of idiots out there who think this surfer from Hawaii was actually born in Kenya" and he ran with it. But I digress). So I said, "You know, someone who could make America feel good about itself again - like the way Reagan had "Morning in America." He looked at me blankly, blinked a few times. "You know, make this place a fun place to be - a great place to be." "What are you saying?" I said "Make the frickin' country great. Not just kinda good. But awesomely great." He took a few notes, nodded, next thing I know - red frickin' hats. (I told him "go blue" but he thought I meant "porno." But I digress.)
But I don't want to steal the spotlight from my pal. Look, I worked pro bono for the guy in return for a permanent room at Mar al Lago. That one - that i can take credit for.
My old pal Dina Merrill owned the PALACE - she's the daughter of the Kellogg's and some billionaire money guy "Can you hear me now" EF Hutton. (I gave him that idea "When EF Hutton talks, America listens." nice, huh?)
So my old pal Dina (still a dame, still gorgeous, in her 90's) needed to move on. I said "Dina, why don't you donate this property to the people of the United States of America?" So they can all share in your fabulous property and home?
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| Dina - wiki - gorgeous |
Little did she know that I was also pals with my pal, who for some godforsaken reason was rejected from membership to Dina's tony private golf club in Palm Beach. So I said to her "Dina, this house is too beautiful to sell - donate it to the Park Service." So she did. Bless her heart.
Then my pal stepped up and bought it from the Park Service for a cool mill - the same "little loan" that he got from his pop - and voila' he had his own country club in Palm Beach. He no longer was rejected by the people of Palm Beach because he CREATED HIS OWN GOLF CLUB AND HE WAS THE PRESIDENT OF IT.
Then I suggested he put a painting up of himself in the front room. I said "take a pic with a horse or something. Looks manly." He chose a horse of a different color:
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| Is he packing a pistol or just happy to see me? And his hands are HUGE by the way. You try to cup your thigh with your left hand, you'll see what I mean. HUGE. |
so... DINA DONATED HER HOME TO THE COUNTRY, AND THE COUNTRY DONATED IT BACK TO MY PAL. In return, America got this great pic.
I talked him into hiring my old Butler - but that's another story. I had to let him go because he was always ranting about minorities - and ex gf's - so I turned him loose. It just didn't work for him to be out in the yard shouting at the people cutting the grass "Go back where you came from!" They came from the corner where I sent him to pick them up to cut the grass. Geeze. But he found a home in the Mar.
I think he's working as a tour guide at the Mar as we speak. Greeting people while they're having their morning coffee. Old coot. Just don't give him a pistol or let him do that wacky salute where he clicks his heels together. "Guten tag!" Gotta love those cranky coots who your old boss just lets you hang around and say funny things online that get the Secret Service's panties in a wad. That's how we make America grate - as in gratingly painful - but if you can "Just move the E and you will turn grate to Great." You can have that. Use it. Don't forget to credit me. Or thank me at Oscar time. But whatever you do, don't let your old crazy coot butler have a facebook account. It's just... c'mon - we got Chinese Hackers just itchin' to get into the monetary system and drain it. And you let your butler speak on your behalf? All I'm saying is - I wouldn't do it.
SPEAKING OF CREDIT.
I beg my clients not to thank me at Oscar time. (Or at the Nobel ceremony, or the Grammy's, Tony's - in Congress, wherever). I mean I have so many Oscar winners on my roster I GOTTA BEG THEM "Don't thank me when you win!!"
But I do tell them "PUT IN A GOOD WORD FOR ME WHEN YOU MEET ST. PETE."
Figure I've got a lot of credits up there at the pearly gates.
So. Don't blame me. Credit me. Credit where credit is due. But anonymously.
Look for me in the inaugural pix - yeah, yeah, I'll be there, no matter who is on the podium - you don't think I got fingers in every pie? I said to Bernie - "Don't cut your hair. It's dishonest. Let your hair define you." So he cut it.
And Hill taking the super delegates. Brilliant. You don't think I'm likethis with Hill and Bill? C'mon people. I gave Bill that line "the definition of "is" is." It's mind numbingly brilliant. "I never had sex with that woman" is just another way of saying "I'm with you bro!!" Once we start defining what "having sex" is - we get into "what are we doing on the planet?" or "why did I eat that pizza last night?"
Some questions cannot be answered.
Like who painted this thing? Why is this allowed?
Our mutual Butler says when he's in a good mood he wears the white hat, not such a good mood he wears the red. Wonder which one he'll wear to the Inaugural? I'd tell him (we don't talk as much as we used to - he's got other folks in his camp now, all power to 'em, and this news that I'm his spokesperson has made it hard for me to leave the palazzo) he should do his own JFK - who famously didn't wear a hat at his inaugural - by wearing the white hat, it will make everyone feel better about themselves.
And sell a ton of hats. Right? Brilliant? Yes. Huge.
I send good lovin' and vibes to everyone. Feel the Bern, I'm with Her and Make America Great. Again. And again. Until it hurts. Or "Feel her Bern, I'm with America, and we make great." I cover all bases.
We're all in it for the victory. Thumbs up America. Unless you don't have a thumb, or lost your arm fighting somewhere we sent you to fight, and you left thumbs back there. Then elbows up. Or nose up. In my case "Chins up."
Anyways, just stopped by to say; I'm Johnny Baron, the Pope of Publicity. That's Bay-rone, not Pepper-rone - all I can say is
"over and in!"
