Too Fat to Fish
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Outrageous, raw, and painfully funny true stories straight from the life of the actor, comedian, and much-loved cast member of The Howard Stern Show—with a foreword by Howard Stern.
When Artie Lange joined the permanent cast of The Howard Stern Show in 2001, it was possibly the greatest thing ever to happen in the Stern universe, second only to the show’s move to the wild, uncensored frontier of satellite radio. Lange provided what Stern had yet to find all in the same place: a wit quick enough to keep pace with his own, a pathetic self-image to dwarf his own, a personal history both heartbreaking and hilarious, and an ingrained sense of self-sabotage that continually keeps things interesting.
A natural storyteller with a bottomless pit of material, Lange grew up in a close-knit, working-class Italian family in Union, New Jersey, a maniacal Yankees fan who pursued the two things his father said he was cut out for—sports and comedy. Tragically, Artie Lange Sr. never saw the truth in that prediction: He became a quadriplegic in an accident when Artie was eighteen and died soon after. But as with every trial in his life, from his drug addiction to his obesity to his fights with his mother, Artie mines the humor, pathos, and humanity in these events and turns them into comedy classics.
True fans of the Stern Show will find Artie gold in these pages: hilarious tales that couldn’t have happened to anyone else. There are stories from his days driving a Jersey cab, working as a longshoreman in Port Newark, and navigating the dark circuit of stand-up comedy. There are outrageous episodes from the frenzied heights of his coked-up days at MADtv, surprisingly moving stories from his childhood, and an account of his recent U.S.O. tour that is equally stirring and irreverent. But also in this volume are stories Artie’s never told before, including some that he deemed too revealing for radio.
Wild, shocking, and drop-dead hilarious, Too Fat to Fish is Artie Lange giving everything he’s got to give. And like a true pro, the man never disappoints.
and hand-gesture your intentions as slowly as if you’re a retard. You really feel like you’ve earned something when you ﬁnally get it. As a matter of fact, there would be fewer misunderstandings in marriage if negotiations like that took place right at the altar. The priest could take care of it. Just before the vows, he could say something like: “Miss, do you understand that you are offering to blow and fuck him for a period of at least one year?” “Yes.” “Sir, do you understand that she’s
I never said anything to them, but I was usually sitting there wishing Mary would walk in. In my drunker moments I’d daydream it: She’d stroll through the door, looking every inch as hot as she was, we’d go out T O O FAT T O F I S H 83 � Brazilian Deluxe into the parking lot, and then I’d say to her, much like Abe Vigoda said to Robert Duvall in The Godfather : “Mary, could you throw me one for old times’ sake?” And much like Duvall said to him, she’d say: “Can’t do it, Artie.” Well, that
half for a while and then double time kicked in. There were guys down there who could not spell their fucking names who were making a hundred grand a year with overtime. I got a position at the orange juice pier where ships came in from Brazil and unloaded liquid orange juice concentrate. When a ship came into the port, it took three hours to tie it up and hook up huge hoses, through which three million gallons of orange juice concentrate would ﬂow into refrigerated tanks. It took about four days
clenched-teeth arguing going on in the backseat. It was ﬁght night for these two, and it was on. Every other sentence was like, “Fuck you, motherfucker. No, fuck that, fuck you!” I took a look in my rearview mirror and saw the both of them red in the face, just really going at each other, each of them just inches away from the other, both ﬂat-out yelling. I turned the radio up a little louder and I thought to myself, Fuck it. Five minutes later, I heard it. Slap! Just a real solid slap, skin on
then Nicole Sullivan was single and I totally forgot to tell her that she could have dated this guy. After I got my eight ball and my dealer took off, I started tearing through my backseat looking for something to do it with. That didn’t take long; like a true coke addict, I had a nice selection of cut 142 � Artie Lange Pig in Shit straws available. I was so focused on my drugs that I forgot, again, about the pig mask as I went to stick the straw in my nose. The thing hit my snout, bent in