Private Parts (27 page)

The two blimps came out and sat next to Richard. Richard was bragging about how well they were doing on his Deal-a-Meal program so I decided to put them to the test. While we were interviewing them, I grabbed a fishing pole that had a huge bag of Lay's potato chips hooked onto its end and I dangled it in front of the fatties' faces.

"Can they resist?" I said.

"Howard, how could you?" Richard yelled.

I put the pole away, but a few seconds later an entire roast chicken was lowered down from the ceiling almost into their laps. I guess his program worked. They didn't eat it.

Richard kept making appearances on the radio show and we kept ragging him endlessly about his suspected sexual proclivities. The last time he appeared in person we were relentless. I was talking about the time Richard had gone to Baba Booey's house for dinner.

"You just wanted to put a black leather hood over his head and stuff a rubber ball in his mouth, put clamps on his nipples, and squeeze them," I said. "Hey, you ever been tied up?"

"Tied up? Mercy!" Richard said. He was laughing strangely under his breath. He was eating a bagel and extending his pinky as he ate.

"Hey, I just noticed something about you, you're very effeminate," I said.

"This is something new?" Richard joked.

One of Richard's fatso friends called and was upset about the way I made fun of fat people. We had to shut off Richard's microphone because he was blabbering too much.

"Pipe down," I told him. "Your belly is hanging out like your nuts."

Richard almost started crying and he bolted for the door. Jackie blocked his way.

"You have picked on me from the moment I got here. All you've said is horrible things," Richard complained. "I can't take it anymore. Let me out the door."

"Damien has a brother and his name is Howard Stern. No one has ever made me cry and broken my heart like Howard has. He's the bully in every school yard and for some reason I love him very much."

--
Richard Simmons

"Hey, I'm just trying to make you interesting, you're boring otherwise," I said, to make him feel better. He calmed down.

"Be a man, Richard," I said. "Let's beat off and smoke cigars."

"I just want to know, after all this time in our friendship, why you have to feel that you have to put me down and be so mean every time I come on the show," Richard asked.

I told him I wasn't being mean, just honest. "You're outrageous today. Did you ever kiss a man on the lips?"

"What is wrong with you today?" Richard laughed.

"Where are you off to now? Where will you flit around, a shopping mall?"

Richard barged out of the studio but Gary dragged him back in. He started talking about his recent appearance on "Evening Shade." Then he said he thought Loni Anderson was beautiful.

"If you saw Loni Anderson nude, would it be exciting or would it be like looking at a building?" I asked him.

Richard laughed but he also said he thought it would be best if he didn't come on the show anymore. He didn't realize how prophetic he was.

The next time he called in was right after the
Globe
had printed a story that Richard had regularly paid young men to spank him while he dressed up as a young girl. Of course Richard denied it all.

"The only person in the whole world that I would actually let spank me is Howard Stern," Richard said proudly.

We read the article on the air. It alleged that Richard had had up to eight men in his house at a cost of four hundred dollars each.

"Do you know what my fantasy is, Howard? My fantasy is a buffet that costs nine ninety-five," he joked.

"Bad girl!" I yelled at him. "Have you been naughty? Did you wet your diappie? Hey, for four hundred bucks I'll give you such a session you won't be able to sit down for a month. No wonder he can't sit still in the studio, his ass is probably beet red."

I haven't seen Richard for almost a year and I really miss him, but he's pissed because he thinks I've gone too far discussing his sexuality. We had a lot of fun together off and on the air. He calls a lot and leaves messages that he wants to come out and see our new baby -- after all, he did name her Ashley -- but I refuse to see him until he returns to my radio show, the show that revived his career.

"I think he's great."
-- Sting

AL HENDRIX

FATHER OF JIM! HENDRIX

"You shoulda had a lotta kids," I told Al," 'cause you got talented sperm. Seriously, did you ever look at your own sperm and go, 'My God, I wonder if there's another Jimi inside me?' Did anyone ever approach you about your sperm?"

"No." He seemed befuddled.

"Jimi's male member was legendary. Mr. Hendrix, is he a chip off the old block?" I wondered.

"Who's this?" he asked.

"Did Jimi inherit your huge size in the male-member category?"

"I'm ordinary," he said, modestly.

"Really?" I was surprised. "You're ordinary? Because Jimi was legendary for the size of his penis. When he was a little boy, did you know? Was that how you picked him up?"

"He was average," Al said.

It sounded as if the whole family was hung like horses.

"He was average? When did he get to be so large? I guess in his teenage years," I said. "Mr. Hendrix, seriously, didn't he get it from you? Because Robin'll be over there in a minute if you say yes. He did get it from you, didn't he?" Silence ... Hendrix was befuddled. "All right, I understand. You're a little shy about that. What's the most embarrassing thing you ever caught Jimi doing?"

"Playing the broom's about the only thing," Al said.

We all laughed.

"He was making believe the broom was a guitar."

"Oh, I thought you meant something else. I call that playing the broom, too," I said.

MARK HARRIS

HUSBAND OF MARTHA RAYE

One of my favorite guests in the sex revelation arena is Mark Harris, the young man who married the very ancient comedienne

Martha Raye. The first time he came on, Mark was very reticent to talk about both his sexual relationship with Martha and his sexual relationship with the rest of the world, possibly because he was in line to inherit her five-million-plus estate when she finally kicked. But we did find out that the first time he met Martha he washed her hair, hair which hadn't been washed for over a year and a half. He also revealed that he was smitten with Martha because she, like his mother, was a stroke survivor.

He told us that he masturbated to relieve his sexual drive, but not with Martha in the room, doesn't use a picture of Martha to get off, and (SURPRISE!) he had sex with a man. Yes, he said, and a very
famous one
who he wouldn't reveal. BINGO!

It's always weird when a guy says to me, "Yeah, I've had homosexual sex, but not with that many guys." One sounds like plenty to me.

"Any farm animals? Did you pitch or catch?"

"Catch," Mark said. "Oh, you're talking about sex! I'm talking about baseball. No, I've never bent over, not even for a banana peel." Everybody's a comedian. Then he talked about the weirdest sex he probably ever had: making it with Martha! Martha proposed to him through her nurse, he told us. He wasn't sexually attracted to her at first; it was more of a business-type marriage, to protect her estate from relatives.

"Now what got you hot when you saw her? Was the wheelchair especially shiny?" I probed.

He avoided the question. I asked him about their wedding night, the night they consummated this strange union. "You didn't plan to have sex with her?" "No."

Joining us for Homeless

Howiewood Squares, where the
downtrodden win prizes.

"Are you sure it wasn't the nurse you banged when the lights went out?"

He described the scene. Martha was in a trousseau and he was nude except for a silk robe.

"Are the teeth in or out?" I asked.

"In."

"Did the nurse do anything to prepare her sexually for you? Any jellies?"

"I really would have to ask the nurse," he said.

"You unwrapped your robe and you were completely nude in front of her?"

"No, I lay beside her, and we were talking and I was drinking champagne and she unwrapped me -- let's say," he said.

"She unwrapped you like a birthday present!" I exulted.

"Like a cigar! This is getting crazy!"

"And then you leaned over and you began to kiss?"

"Absolutely. Lovingly."

"Were her hands scaly or smooth?"

"Very beautiful."

"And you went all the way with her that night?"

"Would you like to know that before the evening was over, in the wee hours of the morning, we all wound up in the hospital," he reported.

"Why? Martha had another stroke?"

"Abdominal pains," he bragged.

"So from your lovemaking she experienced some pain?"

"Take it as you wish," he said.

ANDREW "DICE" CLAY

Replies

Not everyone loved hearing Mark. One time, when I had him on, Andrew "Dice" Clay called in. Dice is always brutal, always great. His call in to Mark Harris was a classic:

"I'm getting sick and tired of parasite faggots like you," the Diceman started. "You want to tell me you're in love with her? You want to tell me you fucked somebody that shoulda been dead thirty years ago and nobody told her yet?" Everyone went wild. Mark started yelling at Dice but Dice kept at him.

"What about young girls with big boobs and great asses? You don't

like that? What does he do when he sees a real chick, like one from this century, walking around? Harris, you're a parasite."

DICK CAVE
TT

I always love having Cavett on because I know he's good for some juicy stories. They usually center on his various mental ailments and the drugs he was taking to combat them. I was convinced that he wasn't on antidepressants but antiratings drugs. Dick said that his mental problems were in no way connected to the abysmal ratings his shows always seemed to produce.

"What's worse, Dick, when they cancel one of your shows or when they cancel one of your prescriptions?"

He didn't answer. He did come through with an amazing abuse story. He said that he was molested when he was a kid growing up in Nebraska. I claimed that this was merely a career move to get on the Arsenio show, but Dick gave us some details. He was five years old and at a Hopalong Cassidy movie and there was a guy sitting next to him with his raincoat over his lap. The guy said, "Put your hand under here and squeeze."

"Did you?" I probed.

"Sure, because I wanted to see the rest of the movie," he said.

"Homo!"
I coughed.

"Likes boys!"
Fred coughed.

"Loves testicles!"
Jackie cleared his throat.

Hugging Dick.

SYLVESTER STALLONE

Sylvester called in to my show and didn't plug anything. That's a big plus. At the time he had just done two comedies and I yelled at him for a good five minutes. I gave him some good advice: "Keep doing action pictures." God bless Rambo. I love Rambo.

All you action guys always want to branch out. I would make action films all day and night. The more blood, the more gore, the more banging girls, the better.

After imparting my career wisdom, I told him that if his girlfriend, supermodel Jennifer Flavin, was MY girlfriend, I'd make love to her three times a day.

"When you left the room there'd be nothing left but a black smoky hole," Sylvester said. Then he revealed that he especially liked the segment on my TV show featuring the Kielbasa Queen, a lady whose prodigious talent consisted of being able to deep-throat an entire massive sausage.

"You know what? We watched that show last week and I tried to ram a thermos down Jennifer's throat," Stallone wisecracked.

Then in a gesture of complete trust, he did something very un-Hollywood. He put his hot girlfriend on the phone.

In my own devious and subtle way I got her talking about sex.

"So, when you met Sly, what were you wearing?"

"A miniskirt," she said in her innocent-little-girl voice.

"Was it the miniest of micro miniskirts? Were you wearing panties under that miniskirt? Were they thong underpants? Were you wearing a bra under your shirt? Was the shirt the kind of shirt that exposes your rock-hard belly? Did Sly nail you on the first date?"

"No," she shyly answered.

"On the second date?"

"NO, NO!" she protested. I imagined she was fingering herself with her dainty nineteen-year-old feminine hand the entire time we spoke.

"Were you a virgin when you met Sly?" I whispered.

"Practically. I only had one guy before Sly. My high school sweetheart."

Her pussy must have smelled like daisies, I imagined as I clutched my hot beef. I shuddered.

"After a month, Sly asked me to go to Hawaii with him. But my

mom wouldn't let me go unless she had a serious talk with him. Then when we got there, she called me every day."

"So, did you make love in Hawaii?"

"Yes," she giggled like the near-virgin she was. I imagined her clitoris was heating up with passion. All this sex talk had to be making her hot.

"Sly's a painter. Did he paint you in the nude in Hawaii? Did you wear a thong on the beach?"

"No," she giggled.

"A bikini?"

"Yes."

"Then Sly and you check into this room and like you guys had never made love before?"

"Right," she sweetly answered.

"Weren't you nervous?" I sensitively asked, as I gently fingered my asshole.

"Yes," she giggled orgasmically. "Was Sly gentle?" I asked. "I would have been so rough." I would have tied her up spread-eagled, poured cement up her ass, and sucked it out with a straw. The bitch would have crumbled with desire. I would have filled her love pouch with my cock cheese while she did the schmega-hiney dance.

"Did you guys go to a nude beach? Did you fuck in the woods? Did you suck him off? Did you beat his meat? Were you jerkin' his gherkin?" -- I forgot to ask.