Rude Celebrity Encounters

I hate to bring any more negativity into this mean old world, but there are quite a few famous people with whom I have had terrible – and completely unwarranted – experiences.

Consider this a warning if you ever cross paths with any of these lousy human beings.


He was so rude when he walked into his mansion the night I broke in and passed out on the living room couch. Hey, I was drunk, you know? You’d think the guy could relate. He told me to get the hell out of his house before he called the police. Didn’t even add a “please.” The nerve of that guy.

He acted like he owned the fucking place. I may never watch IRON MAN again.


In 1997, the televangelist was touring the country with his HUSTLER magazine nemesis on the heels of Milos Forman’s excellent movie THE PEOPLE VS. LARRY FLYNT. I had the chance to meet Falwell and Flynt backstage after the show. Very exciting.

I asked the Reverend Falwell if I could have an autograph. He smiled and reached for a pen. I said, “Oh, can you make that out to THERE IS NO GOD?” He got up, snorted, and walked away. Jerk.

Flynt, on the other hand, was a sweetheart. Not only did he honor my THERE IS NO GOD request, but he signed Jerry Falwell’s name to it.


When I was waiting tables at one of those trendy Hollywood bistros – God forbid you should call them restaurants – Clooney and his pals came in for lunch and more than a few cocktails. Clooney was very kind the whole time I was serving his group, but when it came time to pay the $300 check, he only tipped me $500 in cash.

I mean, what the fuck? The guy’s loaded. He couldn’t have tipped me, say, one million dollars? Even if he put on the Batsuit for another go-round, I wouldn’t pay a goddamn cent to see one of his movies.


Despite the brown hair, full beard, missing left arm and disarmingly pudgy physique, I instantly recognized one of my childhood comedy heroes as he hobbled our of 30 Rockefeller Plaza.

“Are you hosting SNL this week?” I asked.

“I’m sorry, what?” he said in a twangy accent that I dismissed as lazy acting on his part.

“You’re Steve Martin. I’d recognize you anywhere.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Hey, YOU’RE the kidder here, Mr. Wild and Crazy Guy!”

“I’m sorry, I have to get going. I assure you I’m not Steve Martin.”

“Um, okay. You must get that all the time.”

“Nope, never. Good day to you,” he said as he dragged himself up the street.

He’s probably going to hobnob with his snobby New Yorker friends, I thought as my heart broke more than a little.

What an asshole.


The actress refused to have sex with me, even after I explained that I was doing research for a book to be titled I FUCKED JENNIFER LAWRENCE.