This is a book of short stories based on events that took place in the early years of my life. Many of the names and circumstances have been changed to protect the innocent, and sometimes the guilty. They say that memory can be a strange and twisted amusement park, full of roller coaster rides and funhouse mirrors, frightening freak shows and gentle contortionists. This is my first volume of such stories. I wanted to commit them to paper while paper (and bookstores and libraries) still existed.
SANDY BATES [WOODY ALLEN]: Shouldnt I stop making movies and do something that counts, like helping blind people or becoming a missionary or something?
THE ALIEN: Let me tell you, youre not the missionary type. Youd never last. And incidentally, youre also not Superman; youre a comedian. You want to do mankind a real service? Tell funnier jokes.
Im thinking about killing Michael Moore, and Im wondering if I could kill him myself, or if I would need to hire somebody to do it No, I think I could. I think he could be looking me in the eye, you know, and I could just be choking the life out [of him]. Is this wrong? I stopped wearing my What Would Jesus Do? band, and Ive lost all sense of right and wrong now. I used to be able to say, Yeah, Id kill Michael Moore, and then Id see the little band: What Would Jesus Do? And then Id realize, Oh, you wouldnt kill Michael Moore. Or at least you wouldnt choke him to death. And you know, well, Im not sure.
Glenn Beck,
live on the Glenn Beck program,
May 17, 2005
Wishes for my early demise seemed to be everywhere. They were certainly on the mind of CNNs Bill Hemmer one sunny July morning in 2004. He had heard something he wanted to run by me. And so, holding a microphone in front of my face on the floor of the 2004 Democratic National Convention, live on CNN, he asked me what I thought about how the American people were feeling about Michael Moore:
Ive heard people say they wish Michael Moore were dead.
I tried to recall if Id ever heard a journalist ask anyone that question before on live television. Dan Rather did not ask Saddam Hussein that question. Im pretty sure Stone Phillips didnt ask serial killer and cannibal Jeffrey Dahmer, either. Perhaps, maybe, Larry King asked Liza oncebut I dont think so.
For some reason, though, it was perfectly OK to pose that possibility to me, a guy whose main offense was to make documentaries. Hemmer said it like he was simply stating the obvious, like, of course they want to kill you! He just assumed his audience already understood this truism, as surely as they accept that the sun rises in the east and corn comes on a cob.
I didnt know how to respond. I tried to make light of it. But as I stood there I couldnt get over what he had just said live on a network that goes out to 120 countries and Utah. This journalist had possibly planted a sick idea into some deranged mind, some angry dittohead sitting at home microwaving his doughnut-and-bacon cheeseburger while his kitchen TV (one of five in the house) is accidentally on CNN: Well, more chilly weather today across the Ohio Valley, a cat in Philadelphia rolls its own sushi, and coming up, there are people who want Michael Moore dead!
Hemmer wasnt finished with his dose of derision. He wanted to know who gave me these credentials to be here. The DNC [Democratic National Committee] did not invite you here, is that right? Hemmer asked, as if he were some cop checking ID, something Im sure he would ask no one else attending the convention that week.
No, I said, the Congressional Black Caucus invited me here. My anger was building, so I added, for effect, Those black congressmen, you know. The interview ended.
Over the next few minutes, off air, I just stood there and glared at him as other reporters asked me questions. Hemmer went over to be interviewed by some blogger. Finally, I couldnt take it anymore. I walked back up to him and said, with Dirty Harry calm, That is absolutely the most despicable thing ever said to me on live television.
He told me not to interrupt him and to wait until he was done talking to the blogger. Sure, punk, I can wait.
And then, when I wasnt looking, he slipped away. But there would be nowhere for him to hide! He took refuge inside the Arkansas delegationthe refuge of all scoundrels!but I found him, and I got right up in his face.
You made my death seem acceptable, I said. You just told someone it was OK to kill me.
He tried to back away, but I blocked him in. I want you to think about your actions if anything ever happens to me. Dont think my family wont come after you, because they will. He mumbled something about his right to ask me anything he wanted, and I decided it wasnt worth breaking my lifelong record of never striking another human, certainly not some weasel from cable news (