A White Humorist Reflects On The Impact And Importance Of Dick Gregory

I awoke to the news on Sunday morning that Dick Gregory, an American comedy maverick and one of my comedy heroes, had died at 84.

There are probably not many white humorists working today who would cite Dick Gregory as a major influence, but I am one of them. I was only vaguely familiar with his material when I attended a lecture he gave around 1975 at Adelphi University, where I was an undergraduate. Adelphi is located in Garden City, NY, which at the time was one of the wealthiest and whitest place you can imagine. The university did have a sizeable on-campus black population, though it was primarily a commuter school and overwhelmingly white.

So, Dick Gregory had come to talk to a white audience about their country, which is how he saw America. He spoke of racism, war, social protest and the increasing power of corporations, mixing in sharp satiric commentary that cut deep and revealed disturbing truths. He had already been doing that for a long time.

More than a decade earlier, Gregory had broken the comedy color barrier on The Jack Parr Tonight Show by becoming the first black comic to sit on the couch and talk with Jack Parr. Merely taking a seat on a couch may not sound so important, but remember, it wasn’t until Rosa Parks sat on a bus in 1955 that the right of blacks to sit among whites had even been established.

Many years later, reflecting on his appearance with Parr, Gregory said, “Never before had white America let a black person stand flat-footed and talk to white folks. You could dance and you could stop in between the dance and tell how tired your feet is. Or Sammy (Davis) could stop in between and tell a joke. But you could not walk out and talk to white America.” Notably, when Gregory was first invited to appear on the show by Parr’s producer, he declined. It wasn’t until Parr himself called and assured Gregory that he could sit down that he accepted the invitation.

The first comedian I ever loved was Bill Cosby. When as a 12 year-old, I heard the opening monologue, “Tonsils,” from his then new album, Wonderfulness, it made me want to be a stand-up. Like Cosby, I had suffered the horror and indignation of having my tonsils removed and being lied to by grown-ups before the operation. Somehow, this black man from Philadelphia was telling the story of a white kid from Brooklyn and in doing so, he showed me how humor could reframe and perhaps even heal trauma. Cosby was my first comedy mentor.

But it was from Dick Gregory, along with George Carlin, Richard Pryor and the Smothers Brothers, that I learned the importance of calling out hypocrisy and injustice, and standing in one’s truth as a humorist. They were all fearless, and none more so than Gregory, who confronted racism head-on without apology and with great wit and insight.

He called his autobiography, written during the civil rights movement, "nigger." His reason: "Remember, whenever you hear the word they are advertising my book."

His take on baseball: "It's a great sport for my people. It's the only time a Negro can shake a stick at a white man and not cause a riot."

On income tax: "I wouldn't mind paying it, if I knew it was going to a friendly country."

On the difference between the North and South: “For a black man, there's no difference. In the South, they don't mind how close I get, as long as I don't get too big. In the North, they don't mind how big I get, as long as I don't get too close.”

In 1968, when segregationist George Wallace ran for president, Gregory decided to run against him and received close to 50,000 write-in votes. Wallace, a racist, received nearly 10 million votes and carried five southern states.

Gregory continued to speak-out and in 1989 told CBS’s Ed Bradley, "I chose to be an agitator. The next time you put your underwear in the washing machine, take the agitator out, and all you're going to end up with are some dirty, wet drawers."

The most essential comedians, of course, are the agitator-comedians, those who speak truth to power and challenge their audiences along the way.

By that standard, none were ever better than Dick Gregory.

It’s The Jews Fault – Still And Again

They marched through the streets of Charlottesville with burning torches and shouting, “Jews will not replace us,” and, “Blood and soil.” I had never heard the latter, so I did some research.

History, which is even more suspect now to many than climate science, tells us that “blood and soil” was an important philosophy for Nazi Germany. Hitler wanted Germans to identify with their “glorious past,” to embrace an ideology focusing on ethnicity based on bloodline, rural living, and farming in particular.

There was actually a debate in the Nazi Party about this. Some wanted to bolster support from urban centers, but the “blood and soil” faction wanted to focus on the rural population with the goal of convincing them that they were the true backbone of the fatherland. The decline of their communities was blamed on the city folk and, more specifically, the Jews. Jews then were responsible for the decline of German culture and had to be eradicated.

The question must be asked: What do the Jews have to do with a statue of Robert E. Lee in Charlottesville, or the renaming of Lee Park to Emancipation Park? Also: What did the Jews have to do with the Civil War – or no, pardon me, The War of Yankee Aggression? Who exactly are these Jews anyway?

Ironically, our billionaire businessman president from “Jewtown” is not one of them. That is because Trump channels the hatred, grievances and rage of countless anti-Semites. He is a master at this because he understands that the Jews are the problem and, more importantly, that the Jews are not solely Jews. Blacks, Muslims, gays, immigrants and women are Jews. The handicapped are Jews. The fake news media is run by Jews. Hollywood is run by Jews. Liberals are Jews. Comedians are Jews. The fucking Jews! They’re ruining everything. They’re killing us and only Trump can fix it. And yet, somehow Trump loves the Jews. He’s a tremendous supporter of Israel. Just ask Netanyahu.

During the campaign, after refusing to denounce the endorsement of David Duke, Trump emphatically insisted to CNN’s Jake Tapper, “I know nothing about David Duke.” His denial brings to mind that bumbling Nazi, Sergeant Schultz, from the old Hogan’s Heroes sitcom. Schultz’s memorable catchphrase was, “I know NOTH-ING!” But Schultz always knew something, if not everything. He mostly didn’t care what Hogan and the other prisoners in his guard did, so long as his terrifyingly evil boss, Colonel Klink, didn’t find out. Schultz, like Trump, had a lot to hide, could be easily played and was thin-skinned. Also like Trump, his primary objective was to keep his job, even while failing at it miserably. Schultz had the same penchant for lying and denying reality as Trump, though lacking Trump’s power and ugliness, he wasn’t anywhere near as good a Nazi. The biggest difference between them is that Schultz was funny.

But to get back to David Duke: Two days before Trump said, “I just don’t know anything about him,” or white supremacists, he actually disavowed Duke while talking with MSNBC’s John Heilmann. Over a decade earlier, on the Today Show, Trump referred to Duke as “a big racist.” But suddenly, when talking to Jake Tapper, “He knows NOTH-ING!” He doesn’t know about Duke’s felony arrest for inciting a riot, his denial of the holocaust, or his moonlighting as the Imperial Wizard of the Ku Klux Klan. Ignorance isn’t bliss: it’s a dog whistle for Jew-haters.

In Charlottesville, Duke was asked, “What does today represent to you?” His response: “This represents a turning point for the people of this country. We are determined to take this country back. We are going to fulfill the promises of Donald Trump.”

That phrase, “take this country back” remains a right-wing battle cry at a time when Republicans control every branch of the federal government and governorships in 34 states. What it actually means is “take this country back to the era of white male heterosexual Christian supremacy.”

This is troubling stuff and what’s most troubling of all is that Trump still has an approval rating of nearly 80% among Republicans. Perhaps he actually could stand in the middle of Fifth Avenue and shoot someone and not lose voters — except, of course, the Jews.

German Jews leaving Germany in the 1930s. (German Federal Archives. Photo courtesy Ethan Bensinger.) 

Baseball Is Broken: Only I Know How To Fix It

Yankees Manager Joe Girardi after Saturday's 16-inning, 5:50 death march against the Red Sox. 

“It took forever and wasn’t always fun to watch…” begins the recap of Saturday’s Yankee-Red Sox game by Mike Axisa of the Yankee fan website, RiverAveBlues. The game he is referring to was Saturday’s 16-inning, nearly six-hour uber-marathon, which along the way featured a scintillating five minute umpire review.

Baseball is a pastoral sport in a digital age. There’s actually great appeal in that. But even Springsteen stops the show after three hours. Nobody wants to watch anything for six hours. Not even porn.

As a Yankee fan, I adore catcher Gary Sanchez, but in the course of a game he visits the mound more than the dugout. Meanwhile, the batter scratches his thigh and plans his stepping-out-of-the-box strategy. Want to improve “pace of game”? Simply ban pitcher-catcher conferences except at the top of an inning or a pitching change. There’s not a fan in the country who would complain. If pitchers and catchers insist that is not workable, then provide them with ear pieces so they could talk to each other during the game. Broadcast their conversation live. Hey, it’s the 21st century. Privacy is dead, even in baseball.

Oh, and about those full infield conferences. We all know there’s no crying in baseball. Well, there are no huddles either.

But nooooo, Commissioner Rob Manfred’s genius move to shorten the game was to eliminate pitches thrown for intentional walks. Never mind that many games don’t have intentional walks. Look on the positive side: Going forward, any game with ten intentional walks will now be two minutes shorter. Sweet relief!

As any baseball fan knows, it’s not just the length of the games destroying the sport, it’s the start and end times. The seventh game of last year’s World Series started on a Wednesday night, a few minutes after 8, and ended at 12:30. Even without the extra inning of play and 17-minute rain delay, the game would have ended around midnight. (In case you’re wondering, the average length of a 2017 postseason game was nearly three and a half hours.) Conversely, this year’s Super Bowl was played on a Sunday, started at 6:37 and, even with the extended halftime and overtime, was over by 10:30. Night baseball games should start no later than 7.

And enough with these mind-numbing extra inning borefests. During the regular season, baseball is 9-innings period. After that, decide the game with a home-run derby. Already, I hear the traditionalists howling. Let them howl. Fans love the home-run derby. In fact, the recent all-star home-run derby was more highly rated on television than the all-star game itself. Give the people what they want, which is shorter games with more drama.

While I’m on the subject:

No more playing Kate Smith’s revolting rendition of “God Bless America” during the 7th inning stretch at Yankee Stadium, not unless they are going to follow it with Woody Guthrie’s “This Land Is Your Land.” But no, that would add more time to the game. Ban Kate Smith. She was probably on steroids anyway.

And speaking of cutting time between innings, relief pitchers should be prohibited from throwing warm-up pitches on the field. That’s what the bullpen is for. Also, there is no reason for a manager to stroll out to the mound to make a pitching change. Make the change from the dugout, get the new guy in there.

And commercials: cut one thirty-second spot between innings and, viola, you have just cut at least eight minutes per game.

Baseball is the only team sport without a clock, something I used to love. But now I want a pitch clock. Throw the freakin’ ball! To the batter. Not the first baseman! How many pick-off attempts does a man have to watch before you can call him a fan?

As for umpire reviews: The guys in the booth have 90 seconds. If they can’t figure it out by then, the ruling on the field was close enough.

I can’t take much more of this. If none of the above works, then drastic times call for drastic measures. Two strikes and you’re out? Three fouls after two strikes and you’re out? Seven inning games? None of this could be ruled out because the six-hour, extra-inning death march can no longer be tolerated. As Captain Picard once said, “The line must be drawn here.”

My next move would be to designate fans as fielders. Then, any ball, fair or foul, caught by a fan would be an out. This would not only have the advantage of shortening games, but would encourage exciting competition between fans. For example, Yankee fans at Fenway Park would want to make sure that a homer hit by Aaron Judge was not caught by a Red Sox fan and ruled an out. What a great idea!

In Trump's Sick Fantasies Mika Brzezinski and Megyn Kelly Bleed

It started, you will recall, with Megyn Kelly. “You’ve called women you don’t like ‘fat pigs,’ ‘dogs,’ ‘slobs,’ and ‘disgusting animals...’ Does that sound to you like the temperament of a man we should elect President?” she famously asked Donald Trump in the first Republican Presidential debate of August 2015.

Trump, of course, had no answer. “I think the big problem this country has is being politically correct,” he smugly shot back. The audience cheered.

The next day, Trump told CNN’s Don Lemon what he didn’t have the balls to tell Kelly to her face: “I just don’t respect her as a journalist. I have no respect for her...I think she’s highly overrated...She gets out and she starts asking me all sorts of ridiculous questions. And, you know, you could see there was blood coming out of her eyes, blood coming out of her wherever.” Trump later explained in a tweet that by “her wherever” he meant “her nose.” Whatever. Be it from her nose or her pussy, Trump saw blood, Megyn Kelly’s blood.

This was almost a decade after Trump, three months shy of his 60th birthday with his 24-year old daughter wearing a mini-skirt at his side, proudly told the women of The View,“ If Ivanka weren’t my daughter, perhaps I’d be dating her.” Everyone laughed. “Who are you, Woody Allen?” Joy Behar quipped. “That’s very good,” Trump replied. Never mind that Soon-Yi Previn, married to Woody Allen now for nearly two decades, is not his daughter. They had sex. That was the salient thing to Trump. Of course, it was “very good.”

About six months earlier, unbeknownst to him at the time, Trump’s repugnant pussy-grabbing remarks were being recorded in the Access Hollywood bus. When the shocking audio was released a month before the 2016 presidential election, it seemed that Trump’s fate as a loser was sealed. But in a diseased patriarchy, expressing hateful views toward women does not disqualify a candidate. Large numbers of women actually defended Trump and still do (see Sarah Huckabee Sanders), which is nothing short of heartbreaking, as when an abused wife passionately defends the man who promised her happiness, yet does nothing but humiliate and objectify her, and shows no signs of stopping.

Now Trump has a repulsive vision of MSNBC’s Mika Brzezinski "bleeding badly from a facelift,” he said in a tweet, inspired by her criticizing his handling of healthcare and taxes and foreign policy. Imagine the response of Republicans, those stalwart monitors of Christian and family values, if Barack Obama had said such a vile thing about Laura Ingraham or Monica Crowley or Ann Coulter. Imagine the stream of toxic vitriol that would spew from Alex Jones and Rush Limbaugh and Mark Levin.

When Trump verbally assaults women who threaten him, he imagines them bleeding and badly injured, or in a severely weakened state. In these grotesque inner visions, he sees strong, intelligent and beautiful women as weak, stupid and and horrifically ugly. Such is the defensive and diseased automatic response from a President who has not matured psychologically beyond a stunted pubescent stage. To regenerate his warped sense of masculinity, he must put on his clown tie and beat his chest while denigrating bitches.

It follows naturally then that Trump does not care about protecting mother earth or disadvantaged children, or the arts for that matter. All of that is the province of women, who must be degraded and controlled. Consequently, there “has to be some form of punishment” for women who have an abortion. In fact, the question of abortion itself shall be left to Trump through his Supreme Court judges, who he guarantees will overturn Roe v. Wade, a promise he is already chillingly on the way to fulfilling with the appointment of Neil Gorsuch.

To individuate, to attain even an iota of wisdom, a man must nourish the soul. That essential task requires a man to consciously forge a relationship with the inner Feminine. Trump has zero interest or aptitude for that. The impact this has on his Presidency is profoundly deleterious. Completely disassociated and alienated from feminine values and sensibilities, Trump is incapable of expressing genuine affection or regret for the hurt he inflicts on women or the nation. He cannot “stand beside her and guide her” because for her he has nothing but contempt.

Most concerning of all is that Trump has absolutely no awareness of this. While he pleasures himself with deranged fantasies of bloodied female journalists, his enablers and apologists offer excuses or perfunctory criticisms, for example Paul Ryan who somehow mustered up the courage to say, “I don’t see that comment (Trump’s comment on Brzezinski) as appropriate.” To really rile up a boy-man like Paul Ryan, Trump would have to say something truly offensive, for example, “I see health care as a basic human right.” 

How Trump Embraces George Orwell And Picks Up Where Richard Pryor Left Off

My barber is angry at the media.

“Why did ‘they’ have to show a photo of Obama’s inauguration crowd next to Trump’s?” he asked.

“Because Trump’s press secretary said it was the largest crowd ever to witness an inauguration and it wasn’t,” I answered.

“Who cares? He just took office, why don’t they give him a chance?”

“It’s tough to give him a chance when Kellyanne Conway calls his lies ‘alternative facts.’”

“Who cares? It’s the media blowing the whole thing up. Hey, did you hear what Madonna said?”

Yes, I had heard what Madonna said. Her interest in BDSM is well-known. Why hadn’t anyone thought to gag her before she addressed the crowd? By saying that she “thought a lot about blowing up the White House,” Madonna provided Trump supporters with a conversation changer they’ll be able to use to their advantage for the next four years. At best her remarks were embarrassing; at worst they could have incited violence. It’s important that we call her out. Still, the most important story of the weekend is that the White House has adopted Doublespeak, the language of the Ministry of Truth in George Orwell’s 1984, as its official language:

War is peace.

Freedom is slavery.

Ignorance is strength.

Falsehoods are alternative facts.

This is scary stuff because it’s bullshit on a level that we have never encountered before. We are not dealing here with a partial truth or an outright lie, which politicians engage in all of the time. No, this is much worse. It is a sinister kind of obfuscation, the purpose of which is to make everything debatable, even irrefutable truths. I am reminded of the lyrics of an old Graham Nash song, “Man In The Mirror,” in which he sings:

Two and two makes four

They never make five

And as long as we know it

We all can survive…

Well, now two and two just might make five, or 127. I don’t know but there are many people saying it does. In this authoritarian bizarro world a fact isn’t a fact unless Trump says it is and seeing things with your own eyes is not proof of anything.

A classic Richard Pryor standup bit comes to mind. He offers the following advice on what a man should say to his wife when he’s been caught in bed with another woman:

“When you are married, say you don’t fuck around, if you’ve got any brains. My wife (asks), ‘Did you fuck her?’ No, I was not fucking her. I don’t care what you think you saw. I was not fucking her. Now are you going to believe me or your lying eyes?”

It’s great comedy: deny, deny, deny, even when you’ve been caught red-handed in the act of cheating on your wife. Admit nothing. Counter attack (it’s your eyes). Lie until the lie becomes the truth, or at the very least causes a smidgen a doubt. And remember, a smidgen of doubt is all you need, because doubt inspires debate and debate is your friend. Debate means that there are at least two sides to the story worth considering.

Richard Pryor’s punchline is where the discussion with Trump begins. Who are you going to believe, the photos that purportedly show Obama’s crowd was larger than his or your lying eyes? To their credit, New York Times and CNN told it like it was with their respective headlines, “White House Pushes ‘Alternative Facts.’ Here Are the Real Ones” and “Conway Defends False Claim About Inauguration Crowd Size.” But is it too little to late?

While Trump rages against the “lying” media we ourselves are not even sure what the media is anymore. Social media is media too, right? If my Facebook feed is any barometer Trump would have already been impeached and banished to Moscow.

“The media” is simply our digital diet, what each one of us chooses to consume electronically. Who has more influence, NPR or Alex Jones? I can’t say actually and that is what is so troubling about this point at which we have arrived.

My barber’s default position – who cares? – is reflective of his disgust and weariness. He has been worn down by the toxicity of the news cycles. Maybe, just maybe, Trump can fix it. That thought, of course, is fodder for yet more debate and therein lies the paradox.

Debate is essential to a healthy society, however debating whether or not a giraffe can balance a check book somewhat misses the mark. The fact is that Trump has already been revealed to anyone willing to open their eyes:

Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain, yet ignore hm at your own peril.

Choose your debates carefully. 

Megyn Kelly Is Guilty Of Journalism

Like comic book fanboys who write bad reviews of a superhero movie based on its trailer, Megyn Kelly’s interview with raging conspiracist Alex Jones was widely panned by many liberals before it was even seen. And not just liberals. A dozen family members of Sandy Hook victims felt so aggreived, they had a law firm send a letter threatening to sue NBC News for its decision “to amplify the voice of a man who has made a living debasing...and smearing our client’s names.” One can only hope that the firm, Koskoff, Koskoff & Bieder, didn’t have the balls to actually charge a fee for doing this.

We have been told that by interviewing Alex Jones, Megyn Kelly is amplifying his baseless rantings, that she is giving him a platform and therefore causing unimaginable pain to the parents who lost children in the horrific Sandy Hook massacre. We have been told that Alex Jones should never be interviewed on a major news network because doing so would only dignify him, unless perhaps he were to be interviewed by the ghost of Mike Wallace.

Please note: Megyn Kelly’s biggest detractor now is Alex Jones himself. He did everything within his power to discredit her before the interview aired. His posting of their pre-interview, exposing Kelly’s promises to him, was meant to expose her as a fraud, but all it revealed was her strategy for landing a big stinky fish. Kelly was undeniably disengenious in her approach to Jones, but if he knew that, then why did he agree to the interview?

The simple truth is that Alex Jones chomped on Megyn Kelly’s bait and has been desperately trying to wiggle off the hook ever since. Unable to do so, on Sunday afternoon he released a stupefyingly tone-deaf video in which he finally admitted that the Sandy Hook murders took place and invited the parents of the slain children “to open a dialogue... instead of letting the MSM (mainstream media) try to drive this nation apart.”

Yes, of course, it’s the media’s fault for reporting on what happened at Sandy Hook and what Alex Jones actually said about it. No wonder Donald Trump told him, “Your reputation’s amazing – I will not let you down.” Alex Jones is Donald Trump’s kind of journalist: he doesn’t care about facts and spews garbage. Megyn Kelly, on the other hand, he’s had issues with, most notably when he said, “she had blood coming out of her wherever,” because she dared, while an employee of Fox News no less, to confront him with his own misogynistic hate speech.

This is the same Megyn Kelly, who while interviewing Dick Cheney told him, “Time and time again, history has proven that you got it wrong in Iraq.” This is the same Megyn Kelly who refused to give an inch to Ben Carson when he insisted that the Gold Star family Donald Trump insulted owed Trump an apology. This is the same Meygn Kelly, who after Newt Gingrich told her that she was “fascinated with sex,” told him, “I’m not fascinated by sex, but I am fascinated by the protection of women...” and then, “Take your anger issues and spend some time working on them.”

Apparently, none of this matters to The Daily Show’s Michelle Wolf, who in a recent hit-job segment smugly called Kelly “basically a pretty race-baiting puppet (of Roger Ailes).” Wolf then proceeded to show a montage of seven clips, none of which offered a shred of evidence of her claim, except arguably the final one, Kelly’s infamous blunder of referring to Jesus as white. Wolf didn’t bother to mention that on her very next show, Kelly said, “I did say Jesus was white. As I’ve learned in the past few days, that is far from settled.”

Note to Michelle Wolf: I’m guessing that you have accepted Bill Maher’s explanation for his use of the term “house nigger.” Then why not Megyn Kelly’s explanation for saying that Jesus was white? Another thing: It did not escape me that your use of the word “pretty” in describing Kelly was pejorative and dismissive, as if to suggest that she’s a no-talent. There is something really strange about that coming from a woman as pretty and talented as yourself. I’m guessing that you would not like it if someone referred to you as “a pretty race-baiting puppet (of Trevor Noah).” Think about it.

I will admit that as a satirist and a liberal, I don’t enjoy criticizing The Daily Show because it is a show I love. But let’s get a grip here. Megyn Kelly is not the Antichrist, nor is she Rachel Maddow. But Alex Jones was never going to sit down for a chat with Rachel Maddow or anyone at MSNBC. But he would talk to Megyn Kelly and the fact that he did is a victory for her and, more importantly, for journalism.

Following Kathy Griffin's Lead, Bill Maher Apologizes For A Comedy Misstep

Bill Maher on "Reel Time" with Senator Ben Sasse of Nebraska 

In the aftermath of Bill Maher's use of the term "house nigger" -- and no, we are not going to censor words in this article -- while interviewing Senator Ben Sasse on the latest episode of Real Time, Kelly Carlin, daughter of George, asked this question online: "Should only women be able to say the word 'cunt'?" 

In my show, The Joy of Censorship, I long argued that the word "cunt," not "nigger," is the most forbidden word in America today because, like it or not, "nigger" has found its way into common usage in the black community. Many lament this; others think it is fine. My point: you don't hear women calling each other "cunt" in casual conversation or in pop songs. John Lennon was definitely onto something when he sang "woman is the nigger of the world." The black man won the right to vote in America before women. Likewise, we had a black male president before a woman president. Patriarchy still rules.

Last week, in my piece about Kathy Griffin, I noted that offending people is only a problem for comedians when they can't stand by their own material. When Bill Maher was jeered by some members of the audience for referring to himself a "house nigger," his instinctive response was to defend himself. "It's a joke," he said, and moved on with his interview. 

By Saturday, Maher had heard the chorus of boos around the country and issued an apology: "I regret using the word I used in the banter of a live moment. The word was offensive and I regret saying it and am very sorry'. The irony of this is inescapable: Earlier in the year, on a "New Rules" segment, Maher implored Hollywood liberals to stop apologizing for every mistake they make regarding political correctness. 

Something very important needs to be unpacked here: What was offensive about what Bill Maher said was not his use of the term itself, it was the context. The context was a live interview and there was absolutely no reason that Maher needed to use a racial slur. It came out of left field. Upon reflection, Maher himself came to this conclusion, so there was nothing he could do except apologize and hope the outrage does not cost him his job. No comedian wants to be in that embarrassing  position, but Maher has no one to blame but himself. 

Again, the issue here is context, not the word. This is comedy 101, as I learned from the master George Carlin. I am perhaps one of the few white comedians who used the word "nigger" in his act for many years. I did this with the full understanding that to some people any use of that loaded word, especially by a white man, no matter what the context, is objectionable. I respect that viewpoint, however please note: I have used the word in this article, and I stand by my use of it.

A number of years ago, New South Books, an Alabama-based publisher,  released an edition of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn with the word "nigger" expurgated and replaced it with the word "slave." I thought at the time and continue to think that this is a very bad idea. First of all, the words are not synonymous. Secondly, it sets a terrible precedent. Shall we call Richard Pryor's classic comedy album, That Slave's Crazy? To properly read The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, the reader must deal with the word "nigger," just as readers of Henry Miller's Tropic of Cancer must deal with the word "cunt." These words are sometimes used in works of art and that doesn't make those works racist or misogynistic.  

When discussing and joking about this controversial and fascinating subject in my show, I made the decision to use the word "nigger" rather than "n-word" because I thought it was vitally important to the point I wanted to make and to the conversation I wanted to encourage. Some people were offended. At a performance in Mississippi, a few rows of the audience walked out on me. But in the years I did this material I stuck to my guns and offered no apology for my use of language. The overwhelming majority of blacks in my audience seemed to have no problem with this and it was especially gratifying to me when I received appreciative comments from black audience members following a performance.

No word or subject should ever be out of bounds for a comedian. It is worth noting that when comedy clubs started to ban the word "nigger" after the Michael Richards incident at the Laugh Factory in 2006, it was black comedians who pushed back, and hooray for that. Those who control the use of words control the conversation and debate on vitally important issues.  Comedians should not and must not cede this ground to anyone. That said, with great comedy power comes great comedy responsibility. Bill Maher knows this and that's why he is not happy today, because he fell short of his own standards.

As for Kelly Carlin's provocative question, "Should only women be able to say the word 'cunt'?" Of course not, though men will never have the same license. 

Kathy Griffin Suffers The Comedy Consequences For a Joke She Can't Defend

As a stand-up who has had tomatoes hurled at him by a displeased audience during his act ― and, in the interests of full disclosure, the tomatoes were followed by mixed salad greens and a lounge chair (no kidding) ― I can’t help but feel empathy for Kathy Griffin, or any comedian, who inadvertently pisses off their audience.

There is a big difference, however, between how I bombed and how Kathy Griffin bombed with her ill-conceived severed Trump-head photo. Bombing before a live audience solely because you’re not funny, as I did, isn’t anywhere near as disturbing as bombing before a global audience because you’re not funny and socially tone deaf, and/or crassly insensitive to a marginalized or victimized group.

At the risk of stating the obvious: A comedian who doesn’t transgress by “crossing the line” ― whatever and wherever that ever-shifting line may be ― isn’t a very good comedian. Great comic talents not only cross the line, they move well beyond it into new terrain.

Think Lenny Bruce, Richard Pryor, George Carlin, Trey Parker and Matt Stone, Louis CK and Jerrod Carmichael, to name a handful of superb comedy provocateurs. They have all been unapologetically outspoken, despite offending many people. Also, at one time or another, they have all made even their most ardent fans squirm with jokes that were off the mark.

Offending people becomes a problem for comedians only when they can’t stand by their material. It is worth noting that Stephen Colbert did not apologize, nor should have, for his recent use of the term “cock holster” in a joke referring to what Donald Trump’s mouth is best suited for in relation to Vladimir Putin. Colbert’s language was crass, but his satiric point was spot on. Knowing that, he was able to firmly defend his comedy ground.

Bill Maher was not able to do that in the tense aftermath of 9-11 when he observed, “Staying in the airplane when it hits the building, say what you want about it, it’s not cowardly.” However, in his Mea culpa he admitted no error in judgement: “I offer my apologies to anyone who took it (what he said) wrong.” In other words, “don’t blame me.”

What makes Kathy Griffin’s situation substantively different is that, upon further review, she agrees with her critics that her joke was deeply offensive and without merit. That being the case, she felt compelled to post an on-camera apology, in which she admitted with much embarrassment, “I went way too far.”

That doesn’t mean that Kathy Griffin is a bad person, a lousy comedian, or sick in the head; it just means that she made a made a terrible comedy decision, which is humbling, humiliating and potentially career-threatening. Just ask Michael Richards. 

Does anyone know what the former “Seinfeld” star is up to these days? Sadly, he is as much remembered for his memorable portrayal as “Kramer” as he is for his infamously awful stand-up rant at the Laugh Factory in 2006 that devolved into racist tirade. A shell-shocked Richards went on “The Late Show” to tell David Letterman that he was “deeply, deeply sorry,” and years later confessed that the incident had “broke him down.”

Gilbert Gottfried’s career has recovered from his stupefying lapse of comedy judgement in 2011, when in the aftermath of a horrific tsunami in Japan, he posted a series of highly offensive tweets which cost him his gig as the voice of the Aflac Duck. When even Gilbert can’t defend a joke, you know it’s over the line. “I sincerely apologize to anyone who was offended by my attempt at humor regarding the tragedy in Japan,” he said in a statement.

In 2007, Don Imus lost his job at MSNBC after referring to the Rutgers women’s basketball team as “nappy-headed hos.” It took him a few days, but he finally came around to admitting, “Our characterization was thoughtless and stupid, and we are sorry.”

Also very sorry that same year were Opie and Anthony for airing the crude comments of a homeless man who expressed interest in having sex with Condoleezza Rice, Laura Bush and Queen Elizabeth: “We apologize to the public officials for the comments that were made on our show.” Yeah, right.

Kathy Griffin is hardly the first comedian to totally misread the culture and lose her job, and she certainly won’t be the last. Insult comedians, edgy political satirists and shock jocks build careers on their outrageous fearlessness. They all want to “cross the line,” yet somehow remain within the bounds of cultural acceptability. The problem with that is it’s not always possible.

As a comedy writer and performer, I frequently ask myself, have I pushed the proverbial envelope too far, or not far enough? I make my best guess, but ultimately it is the audience that decides.

For what it’s worth, in my 40 years in comedy I have learned at least one thing: When being bombarded by tomatoes, leave the stage quickly, if for no other reason than to get a new shirt. And then, get back out there with new stuff, which is exactly what Kathy Griffin is going to do. 

Contemplating Terrorism and Trump on the Appalachian Trail

At Dismal Falls in Pennsylvania, just off the Appalachain Trail. 

In the old days, the days before the smart phone, news spread slowly out here. As difficult as it may be for some to fathom, there was a time when hiker hostels on the Appalachian Trail did not have a flat screen TV with access to a thousand channels.

I suppose that I now officially qualify as an old geezer for fondly recalling a time when the most frequently asked question on the trail was, “how far to the next shelter?” as opposed to, “how far to the next outlet to recharge my phone?”

In the modern hiking era the smart phone is a more essential item than a spork. In fact, most any hiker would prefer to eat with their hands than not have connectivity. The app Guthooks provides a hiker’s exact location, making it virtually impossible to get lost. The website ATWeather.org provides current forecasts for each trail section.

What brings us to the trail anyway? The appeal for me and countless others is that the trail offers the promise of a new life, call it an alternate reality if you will. On the trail we connect with nature, ourselves, and others in a way that we simply can’t back home.

For this experience to be possible, we have to withdraw from our family and work lives, and from the news, that perversely seductive 24-hour cycle of doom, gloom, horror, conflict and controversy. By getting “away from it all” we can, in a sense, “come to it All.” That we even have this opportunity speaks to our good fortune. For hikers, it is an opportunity that absolutely must be seized.

But the Appalachian Trail no longer offers the same sanctuary that it once did. For better or worse, you can now text your spouse or kids from a mountaintop. At a primitive campground where I spent a night, a young hiker was face-timing with her parents from her tent.

The next day, at the Angel’s Rest Hostel in Pearisburg, the television was tuned to the news of a terrorist bombing at an Ariana Grande concert in Manchester. There were 22 dead, mostly young girls, with many more injured. Naturally, there was footage of when the bomb detonated, which I could not bear to watch.

Then came Donald Trump's response. He would not refer to the perpetrator of this horrific act  as "a monster,” he said. Instead, he would call him “a loser,” “which is the absolute worst thing you can be in Trump’s adolescent worldview. Rosie O’Donnell and George Will are losers. The Huffpost is a loser too, which makes me a loser by association. Sad!

It is a tradition on the Appalachian Trail to take a trail name, which is reflective of letting go of your ordinary self and assuming a new identity. Having a trail name codifies and in some sense sanctifies one's relationship with the trail. My trail name has long been "Bandana Man," but on this hike, I decided to have some fun by signing the shelter logs, in which hikers leave notes and musings, as "Donald Trump."

My first entry at Pine Swamp Branch Shelter: "No one knew that hiking the Appalachian Trail could be so complicated." My next entry at Rice Field Shelter: "We are going to build a great big beautiful wall around the trail to keep out Mexican hikers." And my final entry at Docs Knob Shelter: "The trail is a mess and only I know how to fix it."

I mentioned that I was doing this as a satire to a fellow hiker, who obviously did not get the humor. "It would be an honor for me to walk the trail with the name 'Donald Trump,'" he proudly proclaimed.  I soon learned that he was from Texas, not far from San Antonio, and that he felt grateful to Jesus for keeping him safe as he hiked. When I told him that I was from New York City, he asked how many people lived there.

"Around 10 million," I said.

"And that's not counting the illegals," he shot back.  Refusing to take the bait, I said nothing.

It is a wet and chilly May here in the deep Virginia woods. Every day it rains, the wind whips and the forest is bathed in mist. Yet, one can see with astonishing clarity. There is truth beyond politics, beyond one's opinion. 

Wild rhododendrons delicately bloom as innocent girls are murdered in cold blood across the ocean. That is as undeniable a fact as is Trump's unfitness to be President. There is actually nothing political about observing this, for it is as obvious as the mud on the trail. But blinded by ideology, be it political and/or religious, many can't tell the forest from the trees.

Imagine for a moment, Trump, whose idea of wilderness is a golf course, hiking the Appalachian Trail. The very idea of it is ridiculous, because Trump clearly has no interest in nature other than as a potential construction site. Trump is not a natural man; he is all artifice and facade, the very embodiment of an empty-suit. 

In the 30+ years I have been hiking the Appalachian Trail, I have always carried one book: the Tao Teh Ching, the ancient book of Chinese wisdom. Each night, before bed, I randomly choose one of its 81 passages and read it out loud, even when hiking solo. Last night, I chose passage number 24. As I read it, I could not help but think of Trump: 

One on tip-toe one cannot stand. 

One astride cannot walk. 

One who displays himself does not shine.

One who justifies himself has no glory. 

One who boasts of his own ability has no merit.

One who parades his own success will not endure.

In Tao these things are called "unwanted food and extraneous growths,"

Which are loathed by all things.

Hence, a man of Tao does not set his heart upon them. 

(Translation by John C.H. Wu)

I have 489 miles to go to finish the Appalachian Trail. Whether I ever make it to Springer Mountain, the trail's southern terminus, remains to be seen. But as the Buddhists are fond of saying, "the path is the goal," so in that sense I have long arrived and there is no destination to reach. Still, a walk in the woods offers no promise of an awakening, spiritual or otherwise. 

One must keep pressing on until the inner fog lifts. 

Under The Threat of Authoritarianism, The Comedy Resistance Persists

The Three Stooges in "You Nazty Spy," released in 1940. 

At my office at MAD Magazine on Thursday I forced myself to watch part of Donald Trump's horrifying press conference. I watched because I felt that it was my job as a comedy writer to suffer through as much of it as I could stomach, which turned out to be around 20 minutes. It proved to be too much for me, as the weekend is upon us and I am still feeling nauseous from it.

At MAD we have been mocking Trump on an almost daily basis since he won the Republican nomination. For evidence, see our Facebook feed. I consider MAD, along with Saturday Night Live, Bill Maher, Trevor Noah, Samantha Bee, and the other Daily Show alumni, as part of the comedy resistance. That said, I have no illusions as to our importance or impact. My biggest takeaway from the Presidential election is that humorists don't influence the course of nations anywhere near as much as the course of nations influence humorists.

MAD was certainly not in the tank for Hillary and we fired a fair share of pointed comedy shots at her. But Trump as a spoofable political target is in a class by himself. He is Richard Nixon squared, providing a steady stream of ugliness, nonsense and hypocrisy that demands ridicule. Noting this, many people have commented that comedy writers are going to have “a field day” over the next four years. Maybe so, but the field is a fetid swamp and we are up to our eardrums in toxic Trump muck.

Surely there are other things happening that are worthy of mockery. Are you following the New York Knicks? Did you happen to see the carpool karaoke version of “Sweet Caroline” at the Grammys? Have you seen “50 Shades Darker”? The world is still a very funny place. The problem for comedy writers is that turning away from Trump for as long as it takes to even quip about something else feels like a dereliction of duty.

Like everyone who didn’t vote for him, humorists are suffering from acute Trump fatigue. Making fun of Trump hasn’t been fun for us since he won the election, in part because we took his victory as a stinging professional defeat. It turns out that comedy writers, just like everyone else in the media, are preaching to the proverbial choir. The comedy audience, just like every other audience, is fragmented and trapped in an echo chamber of its own creation. It feels as though everyone’s position has already hardened to the point that there are no minds left to sway. What then is a comedy writer to do?

In the movie “Stardust Memories,” Woody Allen’s character encounters aliens who advise him, “You want to do mankind a real service? Tell funnier jokes.” I’m all for that, but jokes to what end? Even if it’s true that laughter is the best medicine, we don’t need comedians now as much as we need satirists.

It was somewhat disheartening then to hear from a friend that Jerry Seinfeld, in a recent New York performance, did not mention Trump or address political issues even once in his 60+ minute set. As a long time Seinfeld fan, I hardly find that surprising, and yet it doesn’t sit right with me. With great comedy power comes great comedy responsibility.

This brings to mind The Three Stooges, those great slapstick comedians who are hardly remembered for their sharp political humor. But it was the Stooges – not Charlie Chaplin – who first satirized the Nazis in a Hollywood film. In 1940, nearly a year before shooting started on “The Great Dictator,” Columbia Pictures released “You Nazty Spy!” in which the Stooges lampoon Hitler, Goebbels, Göring and, for good measure, Mussolini. The following year, Moe, Larry and Curly reprised their Nazi roles in “I’ll Never Heil Again.” I don’t mean to pick on Jerry Seinfeld, who remains one of my favorite stand-ups, but if the Three Stooges, in all their over-the-top silliness, found a way to make two comedy shorts spoofing Hitler, couldn’t he have managed to serve up a few stinging Trump jokes?

For the record, I am not saying that Trump is Hitler or that Jerry Seinfeld is obligated to make fun of him. What I am saying is that we have seen enough of Trump to know that he has serious personality and character disorders which render him unfit for the Presidency. I am also saying that in this chilling political climate, we humorists, like all artists, define ourselves by the subjects we address – and avoid.

This then is absolutely not the time for us to surrender to Trump fatigue or indulge in self-pity over the limits of comedy’s political influence. With the threat of authoritarianism looming, sharp and revealing satire is essential to a healthy national dialogue. And so this weekend, when Trump holds a campaign style rally in Florida, I will push myself to watch. For American satirists, it is a must-see event.