Make America America Again... Great

I was going to call this post "Why I Matter."

But most of you don't know me - have never known me - haven't seen me.  There's a lot of people who have seen me.  Who know me and who know my work. And they matter. I matter.

when america was great circa 1965

You'd think I'd say "Everyone matters" but that takes us down the path of "Black Lives Matter," "White Lives Matter" blah blah blah. "Toads Matter."  I'm not saying these folks aren't right - it's a spontaneous response to something that's really wrong with the country - I just wish I'd thought of it, and copyrighted the slogan.  but I digress.

As if it matters.

Don't get me wrong.  I have my likes, my dislikes.  My prejudices, my non prejudices.  I used to like corn flakes.  Now I wouldn't be caught dead eating a cornflake, or a wheatie.  Why is that?

Used to be the breakfast of champions!

when niagara falls was great

Used to be, when I wanted to puff up a client, make them feel like I'd really been doing the hard working of getting them out into the world, I'd get them on the cover of the cereal box.  Because I could do that - pick up the phone - say the right phrase and voila.  Bruce Jenner anyone?  Wheaties Box.  One of the most amazing male athletes I've ever had the pleasure to represent.  The man was HUGE. I mean everyone knows his name.  You couldn't walk into a tent in darkest africa - and I've been in a few - without hearing his name.

Boom. Wheaties.   

Which reminds me - America used to be great.  It was a great place to grow up. To make money. To rock and roll.  I remember walking down 7th avenue in Manhattan at any time day or night and being propositioned by hookers.  Where'd they all go?  America has lost its hookers.  Why is that?

wikie wheaties

I remember when you could buy a building, go bankrupt, turn around sell the company, which would then buy the building back, then you could go bankrupt again - without anyone being the wiser.  Now it's ... well, not impossible, but that much harder.  That's not great. That's lame.

I can remember when I could pick up the phone and finger dial the heads of the networks and tell them - "this is the time slot I want for such and such star."  Now phones aren't even connected to telephones anymore.  I used to wrap the cord around my assistant's neck when they really bothered me... now you can only plunk it off their head!  But I digress.

America used to be great.  You could get in a Corvair, drive all over hill and dale - maybe avoid getting rear ended - because they had a tendency to you know - blow up.  I can remember when I could go into a bathroom and not have to look over my shoulder to worry about someone coming up and standing next to me who may or may not be a girl - well, maybe that's kind of difficult to stand up if it's a girl pretending to be a guy - unless they have one of those plastic extension things - so disgusting, why did you bring this up?

But I used to go in bathrooms and not worry when I heard the door open - "Is this a guy dressed as a girl coming in here to hear me pee?"  Or "Is this a girl dressed as a guy going around taking hidden footage of people peeing?"  I mean now I think about it all the time.  Ever since I heard Chuck Berry had a camera in one of the toilets in his restaurant... was it Chuck Berry?  I forget - some rock star.  Had a camera.  Looking at stuff.

I want America to be great again where I could go into the Catholic church and confess all my sins, and even if the Priest made an advance at me - I mean, sometimes they did, sometimes they didn' t - but we didn't TALK ABOUT IT.  I mean - c'mon.  Joe Paterno. Penn State.  Great school. Great football team. Now all I can think of is that he knew that his assistant coach was doing the nastiest things with the younger kids on the team.. ew disgusting, why did you bring this up?

And then you've got this Oklahomo - state legislature passing this law against abortions.  I want to make america great again - when people had a thriving back alley business - where they did whatever they had to do - I think I remember coat hangars involved - can you imagine the inventiveness of that? I mean I've used coat hangars to open up my locked car door, but a coat hangar to... ew. disgusting. Why did you make me think of that?

My point is MAKE AMERICA AMERICA AGAIN, OKAY? GREAT.

Like it used to be. When people knew their place.  And if they didn't know their place, there was a guy with really short hair and a paddle, and thick glasses who would pull your pants down and let you know what your place was - over his knee, paddling away... BANG BANG BANG... woah.  I had no idea I remembered that. I thought I forgot all that.

Make America get down under the desk again.  Duck and cover!  I mean how hard can it be?  All these people coming out of the closet? Can't they just go back in there with a flashlight?  I mean really.  I long for that days when we didn't have to worry if a guy who identifies as a girl suddenly shows up in the high school locker room washing his man parts in the shower.  I mean - I can't remember that ever happening anywhere in any country anywhere on the planet.. but i digress.

Ah... merica.  Great. Again. As it was back in oh... 1965. Back of my head.

BUT I GOT A SOLUTION FOR YOU.

Hire me.

I can make America America Again.  How great is that?  Simple. Look me up. I'm Johnny Baron - sometimes known as John Miller. Sometimes known and sometimes not.  Don't thank me. 

You're welcome.

"over and in!"

Does Colbert Poop In the Woods?

This is getting silly already.

Suddenly I'm a hot commodity!!!

PH? Where's the PH in Steven? Or the T in Colbert?

Steve-N Col-bare started yakkin' about me last night.

Post a clip of himself calling out JOHN MILLER.

Hello? Did he bother to use his skinny fingers and go to a search engine and type in JOHN MILLER PUBLICITY?

HOW HARD CAN THAT BE TO DO MR. TRAVEL SHOW FROM SECOND CITY?

Who goes to see the travel show?  I ask you.

SO HE WASN'T READY FOR THE MAIN STAGE.

Fine.  He's a funny one, I'll grant you that.  FUNNY HAHA.

So this bit - wow. I mean just wow. Hit the runway like a pancake, flapped its wings and fell flat-o on its face-o.

Just watch it - see if you LAUGH OUT LOUD ONCE.




SO FUNNY TO PUT A FAKE MOUSTACHE AND SHADES ON A CLIENT AND CLAIM IT'S ME.

Hello?  Stefano?  Then somebody puts up my name as John BARRON. With two R's. C'mon - really? Did at any point I ever say my name was BARRON WITH TWO R'S?  You have a named with a silent T AND A SILENT PH! Since when does PH sound like Vee?  Phu! Tee.

THAT'S LIKE SAYING COLBERT BUT YOU DON'T PRONOUNCE THE TEE.

WHY NOT?  WHAT'S HE GOT AGAINST TEA?

I mean c'mon - the guy's from No Carolina for god's sakes.  Not ever from Carolina - he's from NO Carolina.  "Nothing could be fina than to be in No Carolina... in the mornin'..."

Carolina rhymes with a part of the anatomy that I can't even bring myself to name. Suffice to say that Mr. Platen there - Stevie "Host with the Least" is going to be saying a bunch of Hail Mary's, Our Padres and Acts of Contrition when he gets to the Pearly Gates.

Did I mention that Francis was my client?  Yeah, that one. You know, the Pope fella.  HE WAS NOBODY IN ARGENTINA UNTIL I MADE HIM SOMEBODY IN ROMA.  And you can quote me on that nugget.  

I'm not supposed to brag about my clients - but Frankie has been begging me to speak out - because he points out that it must BE DIVINELY PLANNED if I was there to help him move into the White Palace - and somehow I maybe have a direct line to the big Man upstairs. 

took this when he was trying to high five me.

I'm not sayin' that's true.  I'm sayin' he says that could be true.  Whatever. Don't thank me at Oscar time, don't thank me when you win the NOBEL, or the EMMY or GRAMMY (and I would know because NONE OF MY CLIENTS HAVE DARED TO THANK ME FOR THOSE AWARDS!!!"

But I will tell you how I got the nickname "The Pope of Publicity."  It was Karol Woytya actually.  I pulled him aside some years ago and said "why not Pope?"  And he said "Forget it, I'm not Italian, it will never happen. They will never elect a Polish Pope."To which I said "You're dead wrong Karol!  You are so wrong, with my help you will not only be elected Pope YOU'LL BE NAMED A FRICKIN'S SAINT!"

Pre-Saint Pic

I might have said another word instead of fricken. Mea culpa. mea maxima culpa.  I GOT YOUR MAXIMUM CULPA, RIGHT HERE!!!

Over and IN!

John Oliver is a Limey Bastard

Mind you... I'm not prone to epithets.

But C'MON.  John Oliver is a LIMEY BASTARD.

I mean really.  Has ANYONE SEEN HIS BIRTH CERTIFICATE?

He walks around with a mic on his tie "just in case." So British.

We know he's a Limey.  And that's not a negative thing.  It's just how Brits like to call themselves. Why Limey?  I don't know. Probably something to do with their bad teeth.  Or maybe it's when they always got malaria out in the "noon day sun."  Then they started adding Limes to mask their breath.  Could be.  I see it as a positive.  Go Green you Limeys.

Is he a bastard? I don't know. Why don't we ask the Limey to see his certificate of birth, or whatever they call it in Limeyland.

Just don't call them Irish.  They're really GREEN WITH ENVY.  So maybe Limey is something the Irish named them.  Kinda Limey.

Wait, no, he's A LAME LIMEY BASTARD.

That's right. That's you Johnny. Lime and lame.  Both of you.

His Marcel Marceau years.

Last night on his show, which I don't watch mind you, but it has been brought to my attention, because I have a lot of people who bring things to my attention... he was going on about my career as a publicist.  SAID THAT JOHN MILLER DOESN'T EXIST!

Well, I couldn't be John Miller if I didn't exist could I?  

Limey Bastard. Nice shirt though.  Hair cut anyone?

How about my birth certificate. You want to see THAT?  

This whole brouhaha - which should really be spelled BREW and then the Ha Ha part.  Because it's more correct in my mind.  Brewed or manufactured nonsense that makes you want to go Ha ha.  But I digress.

I'm told - that Mr. Oliver (and I use that term loosely, as I haven't seen his birth certificate) went on his show last night and challenged me to appear.

BUT I CAN'T FRICKIN' APPEAR!!! 

He knows this.  I told him so.  I actually have a photograph of myself and Mr. Oliver - yes I do - and I told you previously I DON'T APPEAR IN PIX BECAUSE IT'S NOT ABOUT ME - IT'S ABOUT MY CLIENTS!

But I do have a photograph with Mr. Oliver and myself. We were talking about his career or lack of it. And I gave him GREAT ADVICE. I said "Don't lose the accent. It works for you. You'll be the Limey Jon Stewart."  

Let me tell you where it was taken. It was taken near Wall Street. Yes, that Wall Street. And that Limey Bastard was out marching with the Writer's Guild Members - I mean, really?  He had a picket sign when those writing bastards were walking up and down and around in a circle. More money the fellow wanted. Of course in his position, writing for The Daily Show he probably paid to write on it.

This is not the photo. This is OLIVER ST. JOHN. Notice the resemblance?

As if MARCHING ON WALL STREET WOULD MEAN ANYTHING TO ANYONE.  But that's what you get when you mix so called "creative types" with a union.  A bunch of drinkers walking in a circle with picket signs. 

But at some point - I saw the Limey Bastard (LB as he should be known - LBJ even better as he's a junior version of that bastard LBJ whom I used to represent, but that's another frickin' story. Stop making me digress!)

LB was on the picket line, and yes indeed, he BEGGED ME FOR A PHOTO.  Now I normally don't appear in photos with actors, writers, directors, any of my stars, any of my oscar winners, political candidates because IT'S NOT ABOUT ME. IT'S ABOUT THE CLIENT.

She was there that day. I suggested she stop making people laugh at the Evanston YMCA and take up comedy. Because she was one funny card checker.  You're welcome.

How many times do I have to repeat that?  I BEG MY CLIENTS NOT TO THANK ME.  The fact that he has me on tape identifying myself - just shows that I didn't know I was being recorded. Because my name ain't John Miller.  It's Johnny Baron - as in Barone - pronounced BAY RONE.
So you're looking for Johnny Miller big shot?

I GOT YOUR JOHNNY MILLER. RIGHT HERE.

No I'm not Jeff Garlin. This was a former client also pretending to strike for the WGA, but he was on the other side of the country. That's the back of my head below center.

Oh, so you want me to appear on your show Mr. Oliver?  Yeah, you and the Pope. (Who did ask me to appear on his behalf in Rome during that convocation nonsense, I told him - "Dude, it's sewn up shut tighter than a nun's twat!" - He thought I'd said "too hot" - so we never got that straight - until he became the Pope that is. Let's just say "My lips to God's ears." You're welcome Frankie.  But I digress)

Here's my offer to you Mr. Oliver smart guy. Limey Bastard. LB.

I WILL NOT APPEAR ON YOUR SHOW.  But I will make your show a BETTER SHOW by making a BRILLIANT comedy bit SUGGESTION.

"Shove it up your arse?"  No.  That's your puerile humor. (Isn't that a GREAT WORD? It combines Poo and Pew and Rile. Hilarious.) Just like it's puerile you Limeys put an R in Ass.  

What? Ass isn't good enough for you?  No, you dainty doily wearing gits go and add an R as if that's a more polite way of saying ASSHOLE.  Arsehole?  Are you kidding me? Who the frick says arse anyway?  A Horse's Arse? Arse-holio? Arse-inio? C'MON. YOU GOTTA BE KIDDING ME. There's no R in ASS. But I digress.

But that's not my suggestion for a comedy bit for your show.  "Drop the A from Arse you'll be happier you did so."  No. It's funny, but peurile.  Here's the what the smart money would do.. and if you knew me, you'd know I'm SMART MONEY.

Get one of your comedy goons to appear in my place.  Put them in a booth, promise them that you'll alter their voice and their face because IT'S NOT ABOUT ME, IT'S ABOUT THE CLIENTS.  Any good publicist can tell you this.  And believe me, I'M THE BEST.

So you slow down their voice for the bit - you ask them a question. "How are you really?" in your silly limey way.  Wigging your fingers like Snidely Whiplash which you like to do.  And then the audience hears "IIII'''MMMM  JOHHHHHNNNNNYYY MILLLLLLERRRR." Sounds like someone ratting on the Mafia (not a good idea, trust me I KNOW) or some Al Qaeda dude - like Larry Qaeda talking out of school.  "Whaaaat wwwwoooould youuuu likkkkeee toooo knowwww Johnnnnn?"

And then you make a big deal of sneaking over and revealing JON STEWART behind the curtain, behind the mask - who is PLUGGING HIS NEW SHOW ON HBO.

Here's your Johnny Miller. You're welcome.

C'mon. Is that not brilliant?

I know it's brilliant. You're welcome.

Fine, use Ellen DeGenerous. Use Edward Snowden. Whatever. Take yer pick.  

I give you permission to use my name JOHN MILLER on your show but not my likeness on your show. Because it's not about me. It's about my clients. You're welcome.

I am the Pope of Publicity.  I am invisible for a reason. Because I'm that good.  I made a mistake of not sweeping that office for bugs when I was caught on tape, I should sue that maroon, that creepy-so-called-journalisto for recording my voice illegally.  Without my permission. Hello?  

So I do a good imitation of my clients. SUE ME. You should hear my Ronnie Reagan. My Maggie Thatcher.  My George Clooney.  I'm not saying I represented these people - because that would put me in breach - and them in breach. It's part of my contract. NO ONE SAYS WHO I AM AND I TELL NO ONE I REPRESENT THEM.

You should have heard me when I repped Gaddafi.  (He's dead so it's ok). Oh My God. That was hilarious.  Then he stopped paying me.  I mean, I don't get mad - I get even.  A couple of well placed calls to my pal Ronnie - and badaboom! compound bombed, the check was in the mail. 

But I'm sorry to say I couldn't save his ass in the end (not arse, please!) because, he ran out of cash, and I don't work for people I don't work for.

I recommended the goatee. It's painted on. Good disguise. Could be Adam Driver on a bad day.

If you know what I mean.

But I have given you a BRILLIANT BIT.  So either you are a BRILLIANT TWIT, or GIT, or whatever IT you Limeys call yourselves, and you use my idea - or don't.

Either way. DO NOT CREDIT ME WITH THIS IDEA.  Do not thank me.  I don't want thanks.  I just want you to know that just because you think you know the truth, don't think you know the truth, because the truth is smarter than you think.  And you can't be too smart to really know that the truth is relative.  And right now, right here, in this moment - a distant relative.

Be good Johnny O. (If you'd been my client I would have convinced you to drop the Oliver - too clowny - "Oliver O Oliver" was a famous clown in Chicago =- I know, I repped Ray too - and "more food for Oliver!" is just too show bizzy... I'd have gone for "Johnny O!" - but that's just me. I'm an up type happy guy.  I like to use exclamation points liberally because - well, they work!  don't they.

IT'S NOT ABOUT ME. But I do have a picture of you, acting all communistey - all Joe Stalin - and what not, walking the picket line on Wall Street during the WGA strike.  Because I took the pic, and I should know, I'm in it.

But nobody else knows.  That pic is priceless. HUGE.

If you need any more great ideas, YOU KNOW WHERE TO FIND ME. I can even help you make your show successful.. HUGE. Maybe move to twice a week... But maybe you don't want huge.  Maybe you just want smoke up your arse.  

From Salon.com "John Oliver hilariously unmasks Donald Trump."
Not so fast you Limey Bastard.  

"Over and In!"

SNL Can Eat My Shorts

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:

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:
 

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.
 

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?

Dina - wiki - gorgeous

She loved the idea. 
 
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: 

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!"

  

Johnny Baron Power Publicist

Imagine my chargin, waking up to hear my name being bandied about the news.

Bandied I tell you!

Has anyone bothered to call me? Johnny Baron? Power Publicist?
 To ask if I really exist? Or who I am? My career history?

I mean COME ON.

All you gotta do is type in... like I do - one finger at a time on my tiny hands - J O H N N Y B A R O N DOT C O M.

(The dot means the . at the end of the sentence. I'd call it a period, but then I'd be attacked for making a woman joke.  Like I need to joke about periods. C'mon already! I'm surrounded by crazy women with them every month! I just wish they'd get that organized so it was all on the same day! Then I could hide under my blanket!!! but i digress...)

Okay, in answer to your questions ABC, CBS, NBC, um... Fox... the other one - the Gates network.. MS... which reminds me a joke I once told about a guy with MS... "Hey! Look at me! I got MS...! NBC!!!  but I digress..

MSNBC.  Which I call "Mess o' NBC."  

Why? Becuase it's funny!

You want to interview me?  I'm right here. 

Johnny Baron.  Power Publicist.

Honestly the name is pronounced - "Bay-Rone."  Like Bay Ridge. Bay Rone. 

Originally it was "Barone" - like you know, in italy.  The Bay-Ronay.  The Bay-Roness di Monte Carlo... from a noble family in southern Eetaly.... but I digress.

Don't look that up - you won't find my gramps at Ellis Island.. why? Because I know how to work the net.  You don't see my byline do you?  You don't see my name anywhere on this frickin' net, do you?  

Because I know how to influence data. Got it?  But the reason I'm so good is because you don't know what to believe, and believe me, that's a talent I got.

What do you want to know?

Am I real?

As real as a fart in a crowded elevator.  But just like that - silent but deadly - because "he who smelt it dealt it" only you don't know who did it. BECAUSE I'M INVISIBLE.  I'M INDIVISIBLE AND SO THEREFORE I'M INVISIBLE. 

 So THAT'S WHY you don't know me. I like to keep my face out of the public eye.  Because... IT'S NOT ABOUT ME.

IT'S ABOUT MY CLIENTS.

And oh man, I would tell you what kind of clients I got..  I have HUGE CLIENTS.

Major.  Billionaires.  Zillionaires.  Gazillionaires.  Celebs.  Celebrity dogs. Cats. I got 'em all, have repped 'em all - and you don't know me. DO YOU.

And I bet you'd like to know my famous clients, wouldn't you? Like to see a list?  Yeah, everyone wants a frickin' list!!!!  I'll GET YOU A FRICKIN' LIST AFTER I GIVE UP MY TAXES!

No Lists for You.  

I'm the Info Nazi. I'm also the Paparazzi Nazi.  That's right... if the Papparazzis don't do things like I tell them to do, they get shit- canned. Fired. Lost. Canned up and tossed in the shitter. Take a picture I don't like you don't work no more.

Don't go messin' with JBPP.  Because I have a long memory.  I remember each and every one of you out there.  And everyone who EVER LEFT A MESSAGE ON MY PHONE MACHINE.

That being said - I love the publicity machine that I've created.  It's made some really famous people famous.  But you don't know who they are - and I can't tell you.  Because that would be breach of promise.  You know what I'm saying?  I ain't breaching here.  So you want to know who I made famous?

Let me put up some pix for you.

Recognize this guy?

A nobody in Argentina... literally on the toilet list - which is right below the gornischt list - until I started talking about him.  Hello?  My lips to God's ear. LITERALLY.

How about this girl?

Sweetheart.  Begged me to stay with her (as a publicist). Just had to move on after Brad clouded the picture.  Still. A babe who can ACT.

How about this dog?

Snoopy would be nobody without my help.  Nada. Zilch. A cartoon on a bathroom wall. Made him the most famous dog on the planet.. other than my dog...

The Snoopster

I wish I could tell you about all the times we spent hammering out his career, and then just ending up being hammered. I wish I could remember, because then I could tell you. Awesome. Huge.

I love the blacks.  I love the Jews. I love everybody. Don't get me started. No point in pointing fingers of hate in my direction. Because POOF I can just disappear. LIKE FRICKIN' THAT.

And I'm still working with a few people who are no longer on the planet.  I mean that seriously. I get contacted all the time from folks who are no longer here - but NEED A GOOD WORD PUT IN FOR THEM.

So let's just call me what I am. THE POPE OF PUBLICITY.

I'M THE PUBLICITY POPE.  

DON'T BE A DOPE.

CLIMB A ROPE.

JOIN UP WITH THE POPE.

OF PUB...LICITY.....

(That was a song I wrote some years ago, was huge in New Zealand.. or somewhere, New was in the title - it ran as an ad campaign for like six years or something.  Awesome numbers.)

Did I tell you about some of the women I've represented?

No?  

I won't either.

But look at these faces...  

Tough client. But convinced him medals were in. Look at him now. Michael Jackson named his brother after him!


I can't take total credit for him.  Our first meeting was in the old KGB headquarters near Red Square. But I did talk him into this face pancake - and got him to drop the Vlad name. "Too dracula" I told him.  Now he's just "Putin" as in "Put it in and twist it baby!"


I talked her into doing Pretty Baby.  Not Pretty Woman. This was a prequel.  Anyways, she was cute, nice laugh, got her on her feet. I said "Why don't you do this pizza movie? It's hilarious and they pay you in food!"


Knew him when he was a young pup. I mean literally - a puppy. Who knew? I said "Doc shows are in."  He took my advance and my advice. Later I said "Italy is in."  So he bought a lake.  Who do you think came up with the line "No Martini? No party!"  You're welcome Gigi.

Look familiar?

They should.  THEY MIGHT HAVE BEEN MY CLIENTS.

Or maybe not.  Either way, I'm still Johnny Baron Power Publicist.

I appreciate all the new attention. But I can't do my job if you people are talking about me.

So.. what would do you want to know about the real Johnny Baron that I haven't covered so far?

I'm the best publicist alive.  Some guys were better than me but they are no longer here.  Sometimes I put stuff up for them as well. Stay tuned.

So, as we march into Washington - and we will get there, believe you me, I'm gonna be there with my clients - whom I can't say who they are, but believe me THEY'RE HUGE... I'm going to be there in DC standing just to the right in the back behind the guy at the podium.. that's right. You can't see me, you can't know me - because I'm invisible.  I don't exist.  (Not literally - I'm here, writing this sentence, aren't I?) But you don't know I exist because I'M THAT FRICKIN' GOOD.

At what I do.

which is publicity.

This has been Johnny Baron, power publicist speaking from the great beyond.  And for those of you who have never met me - my famous catch phrase at the end of a power call:

"Over and in!!!"