It has been some time since we spoke. If you remember I asked you, the reading public and fans of this lunacy to send me chocolate to keep me going. Any kind of chocolate but preferably dark with nuts. Which, coincidentally, is how I like my women.
Ah. Good to be back.
Your response was nothing short of pathetic.
I lie. The outpouring, the avalanche of love that was to come can best be described by referencing "MIRACLE ON 34 STREET," in particular the courtroom scene where the mailmen carry in bag after bag of letters to Santa thus helping to prove his existence. My chocolate was Fed-Exed, parcel posted and messengered over. It filled my mailbox. It moved into my apartment. It owes me some back rent. One chocolate package arrived by barge. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining but rather trying to explain my absence from cyberspace.
I ballooned to a high of 714 pounds last May.
Bedridden and forsaken by everyone except the most dedicated Chinese delivery guys, I had to use a stick to do things. Horrible things. Had to throw that stick out. I was unable to work and if truth be told, my entire role as Lou on last season's RESCUE ME was comprised of out takes from the first three seasons, brilliant editing and a Cosby I did in '88. Also some rare footage from an adult Danish film I made while a student called "STUBBY TAKES OVER." That is the Danish title. The English translation is unprintable.
I am financially ruined as my insurance coverage on RESCUE ME covers neither binge eating nor gluttony — and if you think those issues are not holding up current strike negotiations, you’re dead wrong.
I also was unable to view any of RESCUE ME Season 4 but it’s hard to view
anything when your eyelids weigh 11 pounds each. But I have heard rumblings. Distant sighs. Whispers in the night. Remind me to fix that bedroom window. I can say this to you with all the truth I can muster: The future of RESCUE ME promises to be the RESCUE ME you all fell in love with. A return to what made us a success, A return to our roots. A homecoming, An Emmy-quality... S--t, I just dropped Denis’ call. Anyway, I’m sure it will rock.
Speaking of DENIS LEARY, he is currently embroiled in a feud with his publisher over his book, an auto-biography entitled "I'M OK, YOU’RE AN A--HOLE." It’s basically an attempt to put his brilliant career in perspective, to illuminate the cultural contribution he has made to the nation, nay, the world. Problem is he handed in a page and a half long manuscript. With pictures. Lots of pictures. And they want cuts.
PETER TOLAN is confined to a home for the criminally insane.
CALLIE THORNE is doing research with the firemen of New Orleans. One in particular. Very deep research. Enough said.
MIKE LOMBARDI, STEVEN PASQUALE AND DANIEL SUNJATA are currently touring the south in a bus and truck production of THE THREE SISTERS. Ticket sales are sluggish as they refuse to shave their legs. A theater critic in South Carolina on opening night proclaimed he had "watched it through a veil of tears." His body was found in a swamp three days later.
ANDREA ROTH is confined to The Ontario home for criminally insane women. Work it out girl, we need you back.
ADAM FERARA, after years of debilitating pain to not only himself but to those around him, had his comedy removed. He is resting comfortably in a private clinic outside Baltimore.
LENNY CLARKE, in an attempt to ride out the strike, entered an all you can eat buffet restaurant in Des Moines, Iowa, on the night of Dec. 3.
Well, that is a brief look at what we’ve been up to. We are all awaiting a call back to work. But to be honest, since our neighbors THE SOPRANOS have wrapped their final season, there have been a lot of bodies turning up in our fire trucks and I’m not going anywhere near the place until the last one is re-assembled, bagged and taken away. And one last thing about them-who leaves their Christmas decorations up all year? What kind of people are these? There, I said it. Good riddance.
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