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Shatner Rules

Shatner Rules

Titel: Shatner Rules
Autoren: William Shatner
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hood of the float for the duration of the parade), and toss chocolate doubloons at drunken revelers.
    Easy enough. But at the beginning of the parade, I raised my king’s goblet in toast to New Orleans mayor Sidney Barthelemy, and . . . my pants fell down. Right there, in front of all of Mardi Gras. The king’s scepter and orbs were on display, and my dignity quickly abdicated.
    (NOTE: Taking off your bottom at Mardi Gras does not get you as many beads as taking off your top. Don’t make my mistake!)
    I still get covered in a cold sweat when I think about the jokes hurled at me at “The Comedy Central Roast of William Shatner,” as I had to sit there silently and
take it
! So I would like to take this opportunity to present some of the insults, and the rebuttals I never got to make.

WILLIAM SHATNER’S ROAST INSULTS & REBUTTALS
     
    Patton Oswalt held up a paper bag and said, “Settle a bet—act your way out of this.”
    I would, but I need to go pick up my two Emmys at the trophy polisher.
     
    “Bill, you are one of our greatest actors. And I think I’m quoting you correctly, right?”
    If I looked like I was enjoying myself at the roast, then I am indeed one of our greatest actors. Go ahead and quote me!
     
    “Bill, you have let yourself boldly go!”
    It’s called “packing on stature”!
     
    “What is that on your head?”
    My hair is actually writing its own autobiography,
Captain’s Locks
. I will reveal no spoilers in advance of publication.
     
    “The name Shatner sounds like the barbaric yop of a Viking’s cock as it splits a mighty elm into kindling that you built a roaring bonfire to cook meat over that you fill your belly with after you ass rape an ice giant.”
    Ironically, before we emigrated to Canada, the family name was “Barbaric Yop of a Viking’s Cock as It Splits a Mighty Elm into Kindling That You Built a Roaring Bonfire to Cook Meat over That You Fill Your Belly with after You Ass Rape an Ice Giant.” But my father found it too much to print on a business card.
     
    Lisa Lampanelli declared, “I’ve read your writing; it sucks out loud. Your next project should be a suicide note.”
    I’ll write
Suicide Note
after I write the book
I Slept with Lisa Lampanelli
.
     
    Nichelle “Lieutenant Uhura” Nichols from
Star Trek
, with whom I shared network television’s first interracial kiss, this time invited me to kiss her “black ass”!
    Sorry, Nichelle. If I’m going to put my lips on something that bitter and black, I would like a teaspoon of sugar and a side of biscotti.
     
    Finally, George Takei declared, “Fuck you and the horse you rode in on!”
    Well, I went home with my wife that night. I did, however, see George walking around later with a bridle and a bouquet of roses, so who knows what happened?

George and I have had our ups and downs over the years. And I must say, he frightened me a little that evening. When he bellowed the “horse you rode in on” line, he had a scary glint in his eyes. It was either madness, the result of cataract surgery (in which case, George, I’m sorry I didn’t send a get-well card), or evidence that he has finally been replaced by a replicant. A replicant programmed to “Hate Shatner!” The vitriol that spewed out of George’s mouth was terrifying; he has overwhelming rage at me. He has, for many years, been at a heightened state of Shatnerphobia.
    After three hours—three long, agonizing hours—it was my turn at the microphone. I would get the final say after a long evening of me (and my horse) being drilled unmercifully about my acting, my hair, my weight, my acting, my hair, and my weight. And my scrotum.
    I would need a big opening, a huge joke, and one that announced that
William Shatner is here, and he’s not going to take it anymore.
So I opened with . . . “How’s the hair?”
    Whew. The laugh was huge, and the laughs kept coming. I cut all my roasters off at the knees with a variety of lacerating jibes and withering bon mots, eventually building to “Who the hell
are
you people? Do you know who I am?
I’m William Tiberius Shatner!

    I gave it as good as I got it, and everyone got theirs. Even the horses
they
rode in on!
    Soon it was over. As the advertisers exclaimed, “The Shat hit the fans.” I wondered if my “yes” should maybe have been a “no,” or even a “NOOOO!!!!”
    “The Comedy Central Roast of William Shatner” was one of that network’s highest rated programs, and it was

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