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David Letterman a sleazy creep
Like many people, I dropped my ice cream and liverwurst sandwich on my lap in astonishment when married TV host David Letterman admitted that he had been blackmailed for millions of dollars after having sex with employees
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L
ike many people, I dropped my ice cream and liverwurst sandwich on my lap in astonishment when married TV host David Letterman admitted that he had been blackmailed for millions of dollars after having sex with employees. Exactly the same thing happened to me! Only without the sex, the blackmail, or the millions of dollars.
What I mean is that I once admitted guilt about something in a desperate bid to forestall criticism. "Yes! I admit it! It was me who ate the beef stew in the fridge," I said. In the event, no one cared. It turned out not have been beef stew. It was beef-flavored doggy chunks. Even the dog wasn't annoyed. Her dinner having been eaten, she got mine.
But the David Letterman scandal has highlighted the problems of bosses having affairs with staff. Bill Gates did it. Rupert Murdoch did it twice. But these guys married staff members, so can't be condemned. Still, I've worked for Rupert Murdoch and he's an abrupt guy who doesn't suffer fools gladly (I lasted a nanosecond). I can't help but wonder how the romance blossomed, especially since one of his early wives was a lowly young newspaper cadet named Anna.
Rupert: G'day, Anna, I have a special assignment for you.
Anna: Yes sir.
Rupert: Go get a white dress, which you can put on expenses, and then come back and marry me.
Anna: Yes sir.
Rupert: And you'd better stop calling me sir. You can call me the same thing that my senior staff call me, Our Father Who Art in Management.
But of course, David Letterman had no intention of marrying his staff members, which makes his actions fall into a category known to sexual harassment lawyers as: "Section III Offences of a Sleazy Yucky Nature that Makes You Say Eww, What a Creep".
Some commentators say the confession will damage Letterman's career. They're wrong. Confessions are the life and soul of comedy. No comedian goes on stage and says: "My life is great, I made lots of really good decisions this week, everything went perfectly and I earned TONS of money. Lemme tell you about it." No. Comedy only works if the guy comes on stage and says: "My life sucks. I did something really stupid. Lemme tell you about it."
The king of self-deprecating comics was Rodney Dangerfield, whose monologues went like this: "My psychiatrist told me I was crazy, and I said I want a second opinion. He said, Okay, you're ugly too. I was so depressed that I decided to jump from the tenth floor. They sent up a priest. He said," On your marks. Get set."
In fact, if you pose as a comedian who is a total loser, you don't get condemned for crimes, you just get bathed in affection from the world in general. Really. Try it. Go rob a bank. Then get in front of a global TV audience. As the police approach, you slap your forehead and say: "What did I do this morning? Oh yeah, I robbed a bank. I'm SUCH a moron."
You'll get away with it. If not, I'll come and visit you in jail. We total losers have to stick together. And jail food can't be as bad as beef-flavored doggy chunks.
The writer is a columnist and journalist.
