Jack, on why the incredibly hot eye waitresses kept ignoring me:
“Yer jailbait, Jailbait.”
“C’mon! I’m just another guy – !”
“Get some perspective, kid! Yer a pizza-face 16-year old that tells jokes! Y’aint Denny Terrio!”
Roger covering for a comic that just bombed:
Alright. That was the dramatic part of our evening. Now, let’s get back to the comedy.
Comics watching Roger onstage in his trademark skin tight, pre-pre-pre-washed jeans sans briefs:
“What’s he got – a roll of quarters?”
Roger Naylor, our emcee/manager/producer, had incredibly long hair, a baby face, and what seemed to be a massive package in his pants which, on some nights, could be more distracting than anything he was saying. But he was a fair manager and looked out for his comics.
As for emceeing, he was decent but not your garden-variety comic. Instead, he had a Will-Rogers-by-way-of-Kerouac ramble that was folksy and honest, and missed as often as it hit – but typically glided by on pure charm. And his nightly, verbal walkabout always started with the same pre-amble: I’m not a comedian. I don’t do jokes.
Sure, it bugged some of the comics.
“He doesn’t tell jokes! He just talks! How’s that being an emcee?!”
“Who cares? He’s funny. I like him!”
“Screw you – you like everybody!”
But I didn’t care. I got along with him fine.