Shatner Rules

SHATNER

RULES

Your Guide to Understanding the Shatnerverse and the World At Large

William Shatner

with Chris Regan

DUTTON

DUTTON

Published by Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, U.S.A.

Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.);
Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England; Penguin Ireland, 25 St Stephen's Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd); Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty Ltd); Penguin Books India Pvt Ltd, 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi–110 017, India; Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, Auckland 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd); Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

Published by Dutton, a member of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

First printing, October 2011

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Copyright © 2011 by William Shatner

Illustrations copyright © 2011 by Paul Matvienko-Sikar

All rights reserved

REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA

Shatner, William.

Shatner rules : your guide to understanding the Shatnerverse and the world at large / William Shatner.

p. cm.

ISBN 9781101547984

1. Shatner, William. 2. Actors—Canada—Biography. 3. Shatner, William—Humor. I. Title.

PN2308.S52A3 2011

791.4502'8092—dc23

[B]

2011028393

Designed by Alissa Amell

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It's Shatner's universe. We just live in it.

—PRESIDENT BARACK OBAMA, AS TOLD TO WILLIAM SHATNER*

I
, William Shatner, am now eighty years of age, and I've been thinking a lot lately about my late mother's eighty-fourth birthday.

Actually, I'm not really thinking of the
exact
date of her birthday as much as I am thinking about the
observance
of her eighty-fourth birthday. It was observed many times in her eighty-fourth year.

We were in a restaurant—me, my two sisters, our respective spouses, and Mother Shatner, who was beaming from ear to ear. Why was she a-beam? Well, a retinue of handsome waiters surrounded her, bellow-singing “Happy Birthday” as only struggling young actors can. A small slice of cake sat in front of her, its sole candle missing its eighty-three siblings, waiting to be blown out by the happy old lady.

And while Mother Shatner and the waiters smiled, her children and assorted family members scowled.

Why?

Well, it was not my mother's eighty-fourth birthday.

That event had passed a few months previous. And once again, my family was mortified by my mother following what had become an important “rule” in her life.

The rule was: “When Dining Out, Always Tell the Waiter It's Your Birthday. That Way You Always Get Free Cake.”

The rule suddenly appeared in my mother's code of personal conduct rather late in life, and it was exercised often. She didn't care that her family was embarrassed or that she was lying, committing a low-level form of dessert fraud. All she cared about was the possibility of free cake.

And it's only now, as I approach the same age my mother was those many years ago, that I realize what a . . .
great
 . . . rule this is.

It comes down to this: Life is hard; get as much free cake as you possibly can. My mother deserved it, I deserve it, and you deserve it. And make a wish when you blow out the candle. (I call dibs on “I Wish I Could Fly,” though.)

With
Shatner Rules,
I hope to share some of the principles that have governed my very existence over the years, and how I have applied them in real-life situations. My life has been a unique, strange, and wonderful one, and I hope these rules are suitably unique, strange, and worthy of some measure of wonder.

By the end of this tome, will you learn how to live a Shatneresque existence? Yes. Will you experience the essence of Shatner in its purest form? Absolutely. Will you
be
Shatner?

Of course not. There can only be one Shatner. I am he, and have been for eighty years.

Besides, as we learned on television many years ago, a “mirror” version of me is often an evil me.

Happy reading. Go get your free cake!

My Best,

Bill*

Studio City, California

2011

* In the course of this book, you'll realize that Bill is a slightly different guy from Shatner. Bill's pretty laid back, a regular guy, a lot like you. Sometimes Shatner relaxes into Bill. Even Shatner can't keep up the Shatner all the time.

“N
o!”

Leonard Nimoy flat-out said “no.”

“But what do you mean, Leonard? You're my friend! You
have
to be there. I want you there!” I implored.

“No—absolutely not. Have you seen those things? They're devastating! They're brutal! I cannot and will not attend. And you shouldn't, either.”

There would be no changing his mind. Leonard Nimoy would have no part of “The Comedy Central Roast of William Shatner.”

Sure,
he
could walk away, but I didn't have a choice. I had to be in it. Actors love to have their name above the title, but my name was
in
the title! How could I turn that down?!

It's important for an actor to avoid typecasting. At one time I was in danger of forever being linked to a science fiction program that had a fairly brief network run in the 1960s. But fears of typecasting aside, I've had a much easier time embracing this William Shatner character.

Kirk and Spock reminisce about life on the
Enterprise
, among other more important things, on
Raw Nerve
in 2009. (
Courtesy of Paul Camuso
)

After all, William Shatner is a role I was born to play, and this Shatner guy has become more and more popular over the years. Heck, you're even holding a book
written
by him! Obviously, William Shatner has found a place in your life. In some respects he's become inescapable!

It was only a matter of time before he got roasted.

Now, what did I know of roasts? Well, Dean Martin used to host them on TV in the 1970s. They were gentle, slightly ribald affairs in which celebrities in ruffled tuxedoes would be ribbed by such comedic masters as Don Rickles, Phyllis Diller, Foster Brooks, and the like. Dean would sit off to the side, sipping iced tea that was supposed to resemble scotch, and laugh his head off.

My roast would be different. As anyone who's ever watched a Comedy Central Roast can tell you, no fake booze is allowed on stage. The real stuff flows freely, to both loosen the tongues of the roasters and ease the pain of the roastee.

FUN FACTNER:
Andy Dick has appeared on two Comedy Central Roasts. He has no recollection of this!

And even though I had been warned away by more people than just Leonard, I said “yes” to these comedy inquisitors who were about to strap me to the laugh rack on national television. Was I afraid? Of course. But I always bolster myself when embarking on a risky career endeavor by simply repeating my old actor's adage: “Only stuntmen get hurt.”

Why did I say “yes”? Well, I nearly always say “yes.”

“Yes” means opportunity. “Yes” makes the dots in your life appear. And if you're willing and open, you can connect these dots. You don't know where these dots are going to lead, and if you don't invest yourself fully, the dots won't connect. The lines you make with those dots always lead to interesting places. “No” closes doors. “Yes” kicks them wide open.

I seriously considered saying “no” to being in
Boston Legal
. I didn't want to be involved in the series grind. “Yes” earned me two Emmys. I once said “yes” to Decca Records when they approached me about doing an album in 1968.
The Transformed Man
earned itself many a “no” from critics, but that album has led to so many wonderful things in my life: working with Ben Folds, releasing the critically acclaimed
Has Been
in 2004, and racking up millions of YouTube hits for my rendition of Cee Lo's “Fuck You” on
Lopez Tonight
. And saying “fuck yes” to performing “Fuck You” got me a very nice fan letter from Cee Lo.

No, please, the pleasure was all mine, Mr. . . . Lo?

If I spent more of my life saying “no,” this autobiographical volume would be a slim one, indeed.

But enough of the touchy feely stuff, let's talk about . . .

. . . my scrotum. And my weight. And my hair. And my acting. And my weight. And my hair. Did I mention my acting?

All these things were fair game for my roasters, all of who were aided and abetted by a crack team of joke writers—men I quickly realized were
not
my friends. These writers, a bunch of schlubby guys in flannel shirts, dropped by my office for a pre-production meeting one day, and before long I realized that they were giving me the once-over, observing my every move, listening to everything I said, piling up ammo to use against me.

And trying to figure out ways to get me on a horse.

I was in the hands of madmen! Guys who would do anything for a laugh! The roast started with me riding through the audience on horseback. Riding a horse into a roaring crowd! Have you ever ridden a horse into a five-star hotel, in front of throngs of cheering and jeering people? It's a thrilling experience, especially if you somehow manage to survive it. The horse could have gotten spooked and thrown me at any moment. If anyone should kill at a roast, it should be a comedian, not a frightened horse.

I love horses immensely, but I never thought I would be riding one to my own televised execution.

Either way, the show began, I survived the ride, and I successfully maneuvered the animal to the stage, to thunderous applause. And even though she didn't dump any manure into the audience, plenty was about to be dumped on me at my seat on the dais.

My seat was my old captain's chair from
Star Trek
. And I was about to enter a hostile galaxy.

Who was roasting me? It was quite a cast of characters. I will list them by name, and then list the personal features that were brutally dissected by the roasters over the course of the evening.

• Jason Alexander (bald, fat, has-been)
  
• Andy Dick (drunk, homosexual)
  
• Artie Lange (fat, drunk)
  
• Kevin Pollak (hack)
  
• Lisa Lampanelli (unattractive, serial miscegenationist)
  
• Betty White (aged, horny, lacking in natural personal lubrication)
  
• Patton Oswalt (nerdy, troll-like, possible mental disability)
  
• Nichelle Nichols (African American, horny)
  
• George Takei (George Takei)
  

The barbs flew in all directions. For over three hours. I was trapped in a maelstrom of assaults against my person. Andy Dick was running about, licking people. I kept a brave smile on my face, but inside I was screaming “KAHHHHHN!!!”

After a while all I could hear was “Hair.” “Acting.” “Weight.” “Singing.” “Scrotum.”

Seriously? Jokes about my scrotum? The closest the general public has ever come to seeing my scrotum was in 1974's
Big Bad Mama,
and even then it was carefully hidden behind a naked Angie Dickinson. Perhaps I should have brought a naked Angie Dickinson with me as a shield.

I was mortified. When I try to think of a similar public flogging, my mind harkens back to the time I said “yes” to being king of the Bacchus Parade at Mardi Gras in 1987. My duties, as king, would be to wear a glorious ermine robe (imitation), board a float (since this was during
T.J. Hooker
, I assumed I'd be expected to ride the hood of the float for the duration of the parade), and toss chocolate doubloons at drunken revelers.

Easy enough. But at the beginning of the parade, I raised my king's goblet in toast to New Orleans mayor Sidney Barthelemy, and . . . my pants fell down. Right there, in front of all of Mardi Gras. The king's scepter and orbs were on display, and my dignity quickly abdicated.

(NOTE: Taking off your bottom at Mardi Gras does not get you as many beads as taking off your top. Don't make my mistake!)

I still get covered in a cold sweat when I think about the jokes hurled at me at “The Comedy Central Roast of William Shatner,” as I had to sit there silently and
take it
! So I would like to take this opportunity to present some of the insults, and the rebuttals I never got to make.