Hey, David Letterman. Thanks for having me on the show.

[Nods at all the screaming girls in the audience]

Thank you, thank you.

[Blows kisses and winks facetiously]

I was thinking of funny stories I could bring to the program, and thought it would be amusing to tell the world that I got a colonoscopy a couple of days ago.

[Dave stutters for him to repeat that as the audience laughs wildly]

Oh, yes. Just like my parents. What you do is not eat anything for a while, drink this disgusting, chalk-like liquid from a powder that you stir in a cup, and keep drinking it every 10 minutes until it's gone. Then you eat enough laxatives to make a fig-tree jealous, and then-- "Katy, bar the door". Or at least my girlfriend, Martha Plimpton who's fully supportive.

[Dave asks why he would do such a thing at his tender age]

You know, to keep in shape. My health is a personal investment in this business and seeing that I have a home in L.A. . . . . I'm reminded of those "Life in Hell" cartoons that poke fun at random urban intrigue and the little crises that no one quite talks about. Matt Groening is a genius. Look to your alternative paper to see a barrel of toxic waste sketched out "in good fun". Or dead dogs on the freeway. I'm surprised that some of them aren't Mexicans selling oranges!

[Dave frowns down at his desk "and moves it right along"]

Oh, you're asking about the procedure. Back to the story. I won't go into all the details, but they basically knock you semi-conscious as they play "rotor-rooter with your insides" and make sure that everything checks out o.k. and "that's that".

[Dave asks why he is sharing this]

Well, the funniest thing is that they puff you up with air and it gives you the worst bellyache and most atrocious farts you can imagine. You'll be clutched over for a while until your body reasserts some semblance of Taoist order, your pain flying through the waiting area like "a crying wind". That's Jainist, I believe. Do you know that there's a region in India where they worship rats? And have these temples where the priests come out to feed them everyday in swarming hordes?

[Uncomfortable audience laughter]

I figured that this information would probably be of little interest to anybody. . . . . except of course, I joke, to some twisted, underground fetishist "who would get off" on that sort of thing. But then again, that's like-- HALF my fan-base so maybe you throw some meat to the wolves so "maybe they won't come back for the main course". I have an image of some character breaking into my house and standing over my head with handcuffs and a hood, and I'm going "AAAAHHHHHH!"

[Audience laughs wildly and Dave pounds his fist on the table in solidarity]

It's so frightening to think that there's "a cult of significance" around my ass. All because in my movies and photos I walk around with an expression like this:

[Wild whoops from the women]

All because I look like some criminal 1920's financier sitting in a "Speak-Easy" during "The Jazz Age". If he wasn't doing this, he would be robbing a bank and clattering away in a Model-T with a flapper in the passenger seat.

And you know what? The more vague I keep it. . . . . "Save the Environment", not exactly disabusing my female fans of the notion that I could "come over for dinner some day" like a bad-boy and "keeping it vague" then the more insanely popular I am. Though part of me doesn't want to discourage this because it's what's maintaining my career, by the same token the train ride keeps getting wilder and faster and more wobbly. Sometimes I'm concerned that the whole thing is going "to flip over" and hurt a lot of people, including myself.

*******************

"You want a-nuther song? Well I ain't plain' one mutherfuckin' note until someone comes up here and puts sum money in my god-damned tip-jar! You know I only came here for one purpose. . . . . to take yor fuckin' cash! Why, I could make more profit puttin' out my meth-head neighbor's asshole and ringin' a bell, hollerin' 'Man for sale! Man for sale!'

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

(Rheeee of Crickets)

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

("I heard that, Missy!")