Laugh Lines: Conversations With Comedians (17 page)

Corey: I imagine the stories become urban legend after a while.

Ron: Yeah, I shot a sitcom for Fox, a pilot, and it had a goat in it. It was a magical goat that brought the town good luck, and I ran over it. My sitcom was set in Mexico; it was called ‘Senor White.’ It was really funny. It was me and a Mexican cast. I was running a pottery factory, which is true—that’s my story.

I got real frustrated with, in fact, the Funny Bone comedy club chain. I called them looking for dates, because they used to book most of my schedule, because at one time they owned 21 clubs. You work all those twice a year, there’s your year. I called them, and at the time I was making $2,000 a week, plus air and they cut it down to $1,500 flat, which is a nasty pay cut, because that takes you down to about $1,200 with air, and I told them to ‘go eat a steaming bowl of fuck,’ which is fun to say, but then I was wondering where I was going to get the work. I decided to go down to Mexico and open a pottery factory.

Corey: That was the first thing that came to mind?

Ron: Yeah, I was kind of impulsive. I mean the next day, I was in Mexico. Didn’t speak Spanish. I was going, ‘I’m going to put a pottery operation together,’ and I did. I got funding for it, found a building, found people to run it. I loved it, too. So anyway, the opening scene of the sitcom, ‘Senor White,’ was a big over shot of me, passed out on a dirt road in Mexico, with a bottle of scotch in my hand—no shoes on—and my voiceover goes, ‘I’ve always loved Mexico.’

It was hilarious, but Fox spent $2.1 million on this 22-minute piece of film, and it was hilarious. I showed it to everybody that came to the house. If you delivered a pizza to my house at one point, I was like, ‘Do you got 22 minutes? I’d like you to see this piece of …’ When they say they want something different, they want something 5 percent different—they don’t want a mystical goat in Mexico. They want to be able to say, ‘It’s a lot like “Northern Exposure” or it’s a lot like “M*A*S*H” because they’re purely and singularly uncreative. A fresh idea in Hollywood—I’ve never heard one.

When I was filming ‘Senor White,’ they were remaking ‘Mr. Ed.’ We shared a production space. I was like, ‘No, really, they’re remaking “Mr. Ed?”’ I liked ‘Mr. Ed’ fine when I was a kid, but really saw no reason to bring it back. Apparently, they agreed, because we went in there one day and in ‘Mr. Ed’s’ office, everything was gone. ‘Mr. Ed’ dried up and went away.

Corey: That’s too bad, because you could have done a crossover with the goat and the horse.

Ron: Seems to me like it. What it does is, it frees me up to have a talking goat, and pretend that that’s original.

Corey: How did you get from the real pottery factory to where you are today?

Ron: Well, I didn’t have enough money to start a pottery factory, really. I called Jeff Foxworthy, and he bailed me out again. He said, ‘Do this. On Fridays, see if you can get to Atlanta, and we’ll hop on my plane and we’ll go do stand-up.’ So I went Friday—some days Saturday and Sunday. ‘Then you can go home to Mexico.’ I did that every week. I’d drive to McCallen, Texas, hop on a plane, fly to Houston, fly to Atlanta, take the Marta train to another airport, hop on Jeff’s plane. We’d go somewhere Friday night and come back to Atlanta. He always kept me at the Ritz in Buckhead, which is a pretty nice place. Then Saturday, we’d go back to the airport, fly out, and come back to the Ritz, and Sunday, I’d go back to Mexico and run my pottery company.

So, on one of these trips, I don’t remember which one, Foxworthy was there, we’re on the plane and a tour promoter was riding with us and I think J.P. Williams, Jeff’s manager, and they started talking about Blue Collar Comedy Tour. And I asked what it was, and Jeff said, ‘If you play your cards right, you might be a part of this really big tour we’re gonna do.’ I said, ‘Why don’t I give you my cards and let you play ’em.’ He said, ‘Great.’ They told me what it was. Bill Engvall had another guy touring with him, not Larry (the Cable Guy). They said ‘We’re going to combine the two tours and do a show together with four comedians.’

My reply to that was, ‘That’s retarded,’ which shows you what a seer I am. I never believed it would work. I thought it was too many comedians in the broth, and then they explained to me what happened with ‘Kings of Comedy.’ Just like Hollywood, we’re not original either. Find an idea what works and hop on it. I didn’t know—because I was in Mexico—I didn’t know the ‘Kings of Comedy’ from Shinola. Although I know Cedric (the Entertainer) and I know Steve Harvey personally. And I think Bernie Mac’s funny. The other guy, D.L. Hughley, is a wart on comedy’s ass.

Anyway, we think maybe this will work, too, but we don’t know to what extent. The first night we did 8,500 people. Thought, well, that’s good; 8,500, that’s more than 300. Then it just got bigger, and we kept doing it. The first guy who was on it—Craig Hawksley was his name—I don’t know if he was on some kind of medication or what, but he had to talk to you all the time. He had to keep talking to you. It was like, ‘Hey, man.’ ‘What?’ ‘I’m just talking.’ ‘I’m peein’!’

You can do it to me, but you can’t do it to Jeff, and then he was just an odd sort. Funny guy, but he was an odd sort. He got fired, and they called Larry the Cable Guy, who we all knew anyway. He was already doing fairly well, but not like he’s doing now.

Corey: What happened to the pottery factory?

Ron: The pottery factory? I gave it to the employees.

Corey: Is it still running?

Ron: Yeah, the last time I checked it was still running. Once you get me out of the way, you’ve got a chance.

Corey: Is your picture hanging up there?

Ron: I don’t think so; I really don’t. The thing was I’m way too nice to run a pottery factory in Mexico. You gotta be stern, and I’m not stern, and you’ve also got to have a strong work ethic, and I really don’t. In fact, there’s a famous quote from my grandfather that he used to say: ‘That boy’s got a lot of quit in ‘im.’ So there you go, you know?

Corey: I spoke to Larry a few weeks ago, and he definitely is the same character he is on stage during interviews. Do you ever see a different side of him, or what you see is what you get?

Ron: His dad was a preacher and a pig farmer. Now, he’s smarter than you think he is, but you’d have to know him for like 10 years to figure that out. That’s him. He’s a genuinely gifted comedian. He’s as good at pace, rhythm and timing comedian as I’ve ever seen. When he’s beating crowds to death, they have no idea what he’s doing to ’em, because he’s just so smooth. He’s really talented. He’s also been in front of crowds; he’s always worked his ass off. He’s probably done 10- or 12,000 shows. So, it is kind of what you get. He doesn’t ever get any more sophisticated, and he doesn’t ever dress better, it doesn’t matter what’s going on. We were just having dinner. We were in New York, doing a roast for Foxworthy, and we’re at the Ruth’s Chris Steak House in Downtown Manhattan, and he shows up in shorts and a cut-off shirt. He genuinely doesn’t know. ‘What difference does it make what you dress like?’ That’s his thing. He’s right; what difference does it make? He’s not uncomfortable with it at all. If somebody doesn’t like it, it doesn’t matter to him at all.

Corey: Do you enjoy doing a roast?

Ron: Yeah, it was fun. I don’t think they should have done it in Manhattan. I think they should have done it different. It was OK. It was fun to go to New York. It was fun to see the guys. I don’t see them that much, because they do the TV show. We all tour separately. Jeff doesn’t really tour that much. I’m gonna see them tomorrow, because they’re helping me with a promo to my show, which will be very, very funny if it’s done right.

Corey: Do you remember any lines you said about Jeff at the roast?

Ron: I know I referred to his moustache as ‘prison pussy.’

Corey: That’s one that we’ll have to wait for the DVD for.

Ron: Comedy Central gets pretty bold with what they show. They’ll show ‘South Park: Bigger, Longer and Uncut,’ uncut, late at night. If you’re looking for language, then you need to look no further than that.

Corey: That’s true. On both your and Larry’s Web sites, you both sell women’s thongs with your catchphrases on there.

Ron: Right, yeah. I have no idea what’s on that Web site. I don’t do it; I don’t touch it. They send me a check. I don’t do anything. If they have a new butt plug, I don’t know anything about it. I find out when somebody comes vibrating up to me. ‘Hey, I got your new butt plug.’ ‘Good.’ ‘Got your picture on it. Shoved it right in my ass.’ Well, hallelujah.

Corey: As long as you’re getting paid.

Ron: I would have said ‘no’ to some of them things. I don’t think you need a Tater Salad cock ring, but they are selling. Turns out I am a capitalist.

Corey: Back when I saw the heart attack show some 10 years ago, you were telling the Tater legend. Has it grown throughout the years, or have people that were involved with that particular tale ever come up to you at a show?

Ron: Nobody that was involved in it came up. The legend, if there is one, has grown on its own. I tell it sometimes; I don’t always tell it.

Corey: But no regrets about being known as ‘Tater Salad?’ if it ends up on your tombstone?

Ron: I’m gonna be just fine with it. That story at the end of that is what really solidified my popularity in that group, I think. All of it together added up to my deck of this house overlooking a Greg Norman-designed golf course and swimming pool with a couple waterfalls.

Corey: What would you like inscribed on your tombstone?

Ron: ‘Live wrong.’

Corey: When you did signings for your book, did you get to meet any interesting characters?

Ron: To tell the truth it was a great chance for me to meet and talk with the fans, because I don’t sign autographs after the shows because the shows are getting too big to do that. It was a great chance to sit down and shake some hands. It’s amazing how many people showed up. They would just get in line and stay there like I was Santa Claus. I expected someone to ask for a pony or something.

Corey: Some say that with age comes wisdom. How is turning 50 treating you?

Ron: (laughs) I’d say they lied. I don’t know. I don’t feel smart, that’s for sure. I’m a one-trick pony. But it’s a good trick. I can get up on stage and talk without it bothering me. And I’m funny. Am I any wiser? Probably not. I make the same mistakes over and over.

Corey: Are there any life lessons you’ve passed to your kids?

Ron: Uh, the clitoris is as sensitive as an eyeball. I think that’s the only thing of any importance I’ve taught ’em at all.

King of the redneck one-liners, Jeff Foxworthy is one of the most respected comedians in the business.

I’ve spoken with many of his contemporaries like Kathleen Madigan and his Blue Collar Brothers in Bare Arms, like Larry the Cable Guy and Bill Engvall, who speak of his unquestioning generosity.

If there’s darkness and despair fueling the comedy behind his constant ‘stache, I couldn’t conjure it. I found him to be quite the charming Southern gentleman—and redneck to the marrow.

Corey: Do you feel like you have to get in comedy shape to get back on the road?

Jeff Foxworthy: No, all you have to do is look at Larry, and you feel a little better about your own physique. It’s funny, I remember when I started doing this, I was hoping I would get to do stand-up for a couple of years, and then I figured it would peter out and I would have to go back with my hat in my hand and beg for my job back. This is the start of the 22nd year. The older you get, the road wears you out a little bit. I probably take better care of myself now better than I did 20 years ago.