Jimmy Kimmel Live
As a semi-famous rapper, I often get opportunities that most of you do not. One such opportunity was to visit the green room at Jimmy Kimmel Live last October when my good friends Gym Class Heroes played the show. I had certain expectations, just like anyone who saw the episode of Entourage when the main character Vince appeared on Jimmy Kimmel’s program. The green room was shown to be a den of sin, however this was not an accurate portrayal of what the green room is like. Sure, it’s a den of sin, but it is so much more. The reality of the green room destroys any expectations one might have built up from Entourage. In my case, it actually exchanged numbers with my expectations, picked them up, took them on a few dates, got them to trust, made passionate love to them, and then left them for a younger, hotter, sluttier and whiter set of expectations, leaving my expectations shattered and unable to connect with another set of expectations, because I now know what true love is.
It took us three hours to make it through several layers of security, and—if I remember correctly—four check points designed to keep people with less than 100,000 search results when they Google themselves out of the area. Obviously, we made it through with flying colors. Ed Begley, Jr. was not so lucky, and had to be forcibly removed by security. Last I heard, he was screaming something about appearing in Boston Legal.
Upon entering the green room, your eyes are given a special treatment of saline solution, panda blood, and sixty year-old scotch. It is to help your eyes adjust to the room’s opulence. The treatment is an ancient Peruvian method which gives the recipient perfect 20/20 vision for four and a half hours. I was told by the tuxedo-garbed gentleman guarding the door that Jimmy insists all his guests experience total perfection. Let me tell you, the twenty minutes of searing pain were well worth it. The green room is the most wondrous place on earth. I imagine it’s kind of like visiting the Neverland Ranch if you were an eight year-old cancer patient who is totally into Michael Jackson and statutory rape.
Once you make it through all the security detail and ocular procedures, you are greeted by a seventeen foot ice sculpture of a thirteen year-old Jesus. Rumor has it that Jimmy is highly religious, but he prefers the teenage representation of Jesus because of His sweet teenage mustache. The ice sculpture was on a rotating pedestal that rose approximately ten feet off the ground. Underneath the pedestal was a Japanese gymnastics team doing gold medal-winning floor routines. After the performance, the gymnasts all disrobed and offered each guest sex. They assured us that their periods had all but stopped from keeping their weight below eighty pounds, so there was no chance of an unwanted pregnancy. Talk about a touch of class.
Following an exciting romp in the sack, I made my way into the extremely plush main lounge. In addition to two fully-stocked open bars, there were eighty-seven plasma screen televisions all showing the 2006 ALCS, seven couches upholstered with baby seal skin, and a pool table with a cue ball that was made from the bones of people that have tried to steal from the green room. I quickly hit the bar and ordered two Johnny Walker Blacks. By the time the barkeep returned with my drinks, I was surrounded by starlets and models. It was quite amazing. One minute, I was by myself thinking about pussy, and the next minute I was surrounded by it.
I had a few more drinks and started up a conversation with a young woman named Jessica. She told me she was an heiress, and that her father made a fortune franchising As Seen on TV kiosks in malls across the America. After some small talk, we were joined by two of her friends that were also heiresses, one of whom was briefly a hostess of The Source Sound lab, the poor thing. We exchanged numbers and then I made my way to Gym Class Heroes’ dressing room to wish the fellas good luck before filming their performance.
The dressing rooms were very much like the rest of the green room. The only difference was that each dressing room had its own DJ and chef. Gym Class’ DJ was none other than Wolfman Jack. I was amazed that he was even alive, and as amazing as that was it was nothing compared to the cuisine that was prepared for the group and their friends. This chef was a master; he made a plate that was like nothing I ever tasted before. I asked the chef what the dish was and he told me it was an olive couscous with pan-seared asparagus tips, and the meat was from a baby that wasn’t christened. I find this a bit disturbing at first, but after having seconds I realized that you just can’t get meat that tender from babies that have been christened. A necessary evil, I guess.
The producer came downstairs and told us it was time for the group to perform. As VIP guests, we were brought into a special booth away from the rabble-rousing tourists that wear satin I heart America jackets and attend tapings of these godforsaken late night talk shows. This booth was nuclear bomb-proof and made of solid gold. Each seat had an elderly Asian woman, sewn up inside, who was forced to give us massages. Those old Asian women have magic fingers. The chairs were all equipped with glory holes for happy endings. I remembered I had Jessica’s number and a handful of roofies, so I opted out.
After the boys played, we all regrouped down in the dressing rooms and made our way out for the evening, but that’s another story for another time.
Man, I do live a sweet existence. I’m so glad I am semi-famous and not semi-unknown like the rest of you fuckers. Until next time, enjoy your miserable lives.
It took us three hours to make it through several layers of security, and—if I remember correctly—four check points designed to keep people with less than 100,000 search results when they Google themselves out of the area. Obviously, we made it through with flying colors. Ed Begley, Jr. was not so lucky, and had to be forcibly removed by security. Last I heard, he was screaming something about appearing in Boston Legal.
Upon entering the green room, your eyes are given a special treatment of saline solution, panda blood, and sixty year-old scotch. It is to help your eyes adjust to the room’s opulence. The treatment is an ancient Peruvian method which gives the recipient perfect 20/20 vision for four and a half hours. I was told by the tuxedo-garbed gentleman guarding the door that Jimmy insists all his guests experience total perfection. Let me tell you, the twenty minutes of searing pain were well worth it. The green room is the most wondrous place on earth. I imagine it’s kind of like visiting the Neverland Ranch if you were an eight year-old cancer patient who is totally into Michael Jackson and statutory rape.
Once you make it through all the security detail and ocular procedures, you are greeted by a seventeen foot ice sculpture of a thirteen year-old Jesus. Rumor has it that Jimmy is highly religious, but he prefers the teenage representation of Jesus because of His sweet teenage mustache. The ice sculpture was on a rotating pedestal that rose approximately ten feet off the ground. Underneath the pedestal was a Japanese gymnastics team doing gold medal-winning floor routines. After the performance, the gymnasts all disrobed and offered each guest sex. They assured us that their periods had all but stopped from keeping their weight below eighty pounds, so there was no chance of an unwanted pregnancy. Talk about a touch of class.
Following an exciting romp in the sack, I made my way into the extremely plush main lounge. In addition to two fully-stocked open bars, there were eighty-seven plasma screen televisions all showing the 2006 ALCS, seven couches upholstered with baby seal skin, and a pool table with a cue ball that was made from the bones of people that have tried to steal from the green room. I quickly hit the bar and ordered two Johnny Walker Blacks. By the time the barkeep returned with my drinks, I was surrounded by starlets and models. It was quite amazing. One minute, I was by myself thinking about pussy, and the next minute I was surrounded by it.
I had a few more drinks and started up a conversation with a young woman named Jessica. She told me she was an heiress, and that her father made a fortune franchising As Seen on TV kiosks in malls across the America. After some small talk, we were joined by two of her friends that were also heiresses, one of whom was briefly a hostess of The Source Sound lab, the poor thing. We exchanged numbers and then I made my way to Gym Class Heroes’ dressing room to wish the fellas good luck before filming their performance.
The dressing rooms were very much like the rest of the green room. The only difference was that each dressing room had its own DJ and chef. Gym Class’ DJ was none other than Wolfman Jack. I was amazed that he was even alive, and as amazing as that was it was nothing compared to the cuisine that was prepared for the group and their friends. This chef was a master; he made a plate that was like nothing I ever tasted before. I asked the chef what the dish was and he told me it was an olive couscous with pan-seared asparagus tips, and the meat was from a baby that wasn’t christened. I find this a bit disturbing at first, but after having seconds I realized that you just can’t get meat that tender from babies that have been christened. A necessary evil, I guess.
The producer came downstairs and told us it was time for the group to perform. As VIP guests, we were brought into a special booth away from the rabble-rousing tourists that wear satin I heart America jackets and attend tapings of these godforsaken late night talk shows. This booth was nuclear bomb-proof and made of solid gold. Each seat had an elderly Asian woman, sewn up inside, who was forced to give us massages. Those old Asian women have magic fingers. The chairs were all equipped with glory holes for happy endings. I remembered I had Jessica’s number and a handful of roofies, so I opted out.
After the boys played, we all regrouped down in the dressing rooms and made our way out for the evening, but that’s another story for another time.
Man, I do live a sweet existence. I’m so glad I am semi-famous and not semi-unknown like the rest of you fuckers. Until next time, enjoy your miserable lives.
