Thank you all for coming. As you all know, we’re here today to talk about my alleged use of banned comedy-enhancing substances.
I’m going to read a prepared statement that starts with a non-denial denial, then change the subject to the media, blame others, deny that what I will just have said I didn’t do was illegal on technical grounds, admit that I’ve done things I shouldn’t have done but only once (or maybe it was twice), and finally hide behind my wife and children because they don’t “deserve this,” although they did deserve all the money I earned. Then I’ll close by evading a few questions. Okay?
The name Judd Apatow began to make comedy history on June 1, when my film “Knocked Up” was released. A New York Post critic called “Knocked Up” “an era-defining comedy classic.” David Denby of The New Yorker referred to it as “raucously funny . . . a raw, discordant equivalent of ‘The Graduate’ forty years ago” and even coined the term “Apatovian.” I prefer Apatowering, but whatever. Just eleven weeks later came “Superbad,” which I produced. People started whispering: How was I doing it?
A month after that, when the “Knocked Up” DVD was released with more than three additional hours of funny, many of you in the media began to turn against me. It was said that the outtakes from “Knocked Up” alone delivered more laughs than the entire career of Tim Allen, and the middle finger of suspicion was raised in my direction. Steve Martin only releases a film every four years, and half of them are sweet instead of funny. In the time it takes Steve to come up with the material for a five-minute Letterman appearance, my films gave the world McLovin, a lunchbox full of man-parts cartoons and “that’s how you get pinkeye.”
The last time anyone saw a comic this productive was Richard Pryor in the early ’80s, and he was not only using illegal substances, he set himself on fire with them. I’ve got so much funny to give that, fueled by nothing more dangerous than a can of Coke Zero, I can turn a sixth-stringer from a crappy prime-time soap into the year’s hottest comic actress. Why do you assume that this is because of something I injected into my buttocks? I wouldn’t even raise the issue, except the word buttocks is inherently funny.
On Dec. 4, some of you got even more suspicious when the “Superbad” DVD came out with its own 46-hour bonus disc of additional snort-Cheetos-out-your-nose gags. Just seventeen days later, another comedy I co-wrote and produced called “Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story” had millions of Americans lining up to laugh at “(Mama) You Got to Love Your Negro Man.” In the world of comedy, nothing is bigger than me right now, except possibly Sarah Silverman’s jugs.
I won’t even mention all the uncredited rewrite work I did to punch up other pictures. Some of them left all my best gags on the cutting-room floor. I’m contractually obligated not to name any names, but if I say the word “Apatonement,” are you thinking of a movie that could have used a couple of d – – k jokes? I could make a successful comic out of someone who’s pretty seriously anti-funny, like Henry Kissinger or the Dalai Lama or Al Franken.
The rumors about my use of Human Humor Hormone, or HHH, began when my locker backstage at the Comedy Store was observed to contain a small vial containing a clear liquid. Although at the time I said, quote, “It keeps me funny,” I can honestly report today that my lawyers have advised me to say that the vial contained nothing more than saliva collected from Jerry Lewis spit-takes over the years. Which I promptly injected into my buttocks. Was that so wrong? It is simply not true that I used a gel derived from Gabe Kaplan’s mustache at any time whatsoever. Except before it was officially banned in 2003.
Some of you say that I have been providing a bad example for the children of America, and while there have been some reports in the last couple of days of little kids cutting each other in half with machetes, is the kid-being-cut-in-half-with-a-machete scene in “Walk Hard” really to blame? I mean, that movie is rated R. What are the chances of a kid under 17 being able to sneak into an R-rated movie? That’s about as likely as Brian Williams leading off the news tomorrow with a story about the threat posed by Canadian extremist groups.
I will not apologize for rewriting the record books. In 2007 I posted comedy stats the equivalent of 73 home runs, 190 RBIs and 25 interceptions returned for touchdowns. Let’s face it: this is the year that caused America to wake up, scratch its b – – – s and say of me, “At last! The first comic genius since Bob Saget!”