I was glad to be sober, but after ninety days, people weren't patting me on the back anymore, sayin', 'Good job on the sobriety! Go get 'em!'
I went down to Chicago to try to go into a place called Second City. I auditioned for that and got in pretty quickly, but I couldn't stop partying. They gave me a warning: 'If you do it again, we're gonna kick you off the main stage.'
I have a tendency toward the pleasures of the flesh. It's a battle for me, as far as weight and things like that. But I'm curbing them because I want to continue to do comedy, and the two don't mix. So I try to fight those demons.
Everyone is treating it like a Hollywood story. In Madison, it's a neighborhood story.
I was in the Pritikin Center in Santa Monica once, trying to lose 30 or 40 pounds in a month. I'd work... on a treadmill and with the weights, but it was driving me nuts. So I escaped. Tom Arnold picked me up and we went to Le Dome and had tons of desserts.
I have a nice apartment now that's all taken care of. I make my bed every day.
Once I thought that if I just had enough in the bank, if I had enough fame, that it would be all right. But I'm a human being like everyone else. I'm not exempt.
Although I love this kind of comedy, sometimes I feel trapped by always having to be the most outrageous guy in the room. In particular, I'm working on trying not to be that guy in my private life.
New York was scary, coming from the Midwest. At first, I thought I'd come in all cocky, like, 'I'm gonna bring this town to its knees!' After about a month, I was like, 'I wanna go home.'
The point is, how do you know the Guarantee Fairy isn't a crazy glue sniffer.
Basically, I only play one character; I just play him at different volumes.
I seem to get motivated a few months at a time, and then something stressful breaks the routine, and I just fold.