American Freak Show (2 page)
Read American Freak Show Online
Authors: Willie Geist
G
ood evening, everyone. I’m Dr. Sabrina Vanden Fanny. I want to welcome you to the Wilton Norman Chamberlain Sexual Addiction Institute,
S
outhern California’s top treatment center for celebrity sex addiction, which, I would like to remind everyone, is an actual medical condition. I went to graduate school and everything.
“It’s nice to see so many familiar faces in our circle tonight, although, I must say, it doesn’t say much for our success in treating your very serious disease.” The assembled celebrity sex addicts, seated in a circle of metal folding chairs, nod to greet the familiar Dr. Vanden Fanny.
“Remember, my friends, no matter what the public says, you are not garden-variety scumbags. You’re victims of a terrible affliction that causes you to want to have sex with every carbon-based being that crosses your path.”
Dr. Vanden Fanny, the middle-aged director of the Chamberlain Institute and a pioneer in sex addiction academic study, turns and gestures toward framed portraits on the wall behind her of presidents John F. Kennedy and William J. Clinton.
“Let’s begin tonight’s meeting, as we do every meeting, with a reminder of the greatness we all can achieve in spite of our crippling sex addiction. It doesn’t have to be a death sentence, my friends. These two great American presidents stand as shining examples of the courage of our community.”
Despite growing criticism from the press and the medical community that she and a group of fellow acupuncturists invented the field of “sex addiction research” as a means to exploit celebrities looking for a way out of public sex scandals, Dr. Vanden Fanny takes her work quite seriously.
“As you all know, we work every day here at the institute to bring an end to the addiction that struck Wilt Chamberlain and caused him to have sex with 20,000 women over the course of a tortured life. Wilt was derided as a lothario. He was mocked as an out-of-control Casanova. Some even called this gentle giant a 7-foot-tall sex beast. Today we know he was none of those things. He was a victim of sex addiction, plain and simple. And so we take Wilt’s lifetime of torment and use it as our strength and motivation to find a cure in his name.”
The group applauds. Dr. Vanden Fanny talks over the clapping, raising her voice to be heard.
“So, just to be clear, sex addiction is real. And we have a center here in Malibu where we study it.” Satisfied for the moment that her point has been made, she continues.
“As you all know, we are here tonight to welcome a new member into our Chamberlain family. And I use the word ‘family’ intentionally here—mainly because I don’t want you to have sex with each other, and perhaps the idea that you are somehow family relatives would deter you. It’s a long shot, I know.
“Anyhow, our new friend was delivered to us by his IMG management team two days ago after a long period of focus group testing to determine how he should handle his very public problems. We’re awfully proud of him for admitting he’s got some things he needs to work on and for being man enough to ask for help here at Chamberlain.
“I don’t want to embarrass him, but I’m proud to say as we sit here tonight, he has not nailed a single member of our staff since he began treatment. Friends, please say hello to the PGA’s 10-time Player of the Year—no pun intended—Tiger Woods.”
The assembled sex addicts give Woods a standing ovation. Woods, dressed in a red golf shirt and black pants, stands and tips his cap as if walking up the 18
th
fairway at Augusta National.
“Thanks so much, Dr. Vanden Fanny. And thank you all.” Woods takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly.
“I just want to say something I should have said a long time ago: my name is Tiger Woods and I’m a sex addict.”
The group claps loudly and stands for Woods again. Tiger breaks into a wide toothy smile. Dr. Vanden Fanny puts her arm around the golf great and rubs his back.
“How does it feel, Tiger? How does it feel?”
Tiger chokes back tears. “It feels like I just won the Masters, Dr. Vanden Fanny. That’s how it feels.”
As the group applauds again, Tiger leans in so only Dr. Vanden Fanny can hear him. “But can you get your hand off my back? It’s kind of making me want to bend you over that sink.”
Dr. Vanden Fanny slides her hand off his back. “Of course, Tiger. I’m sorry. That’s my fault. Not your fault. You have a disease. It’s my fault.” She turns back to the group.
“Tiger, that is the most important step of the process. You’ve just admitted that you are an addict. A real addict. Like a drug addict, except you’re addicted to sex. The condition was mentioned on
Access Hollywood
earlier this week. It’s real.”
Tiger collects himself and looks out to the group, as Dr. Vanden Fanny continues.
“Now the next step is to meet your new family. Let’s go around the circle, gang, introduce ourselves to Tiger, and make him feel welcome. Let’s start right here with you, Gene.”
KISS guitar god Gene Simmons touches his legendary tongue to his forehead before he speaks. “Tiger, great to have you here, brother. You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of, my man. Sex addiction is perfectly natural. Don’t take my word for it—read the Bible. ‘Spread thy seed . . .’ Old Testament shit. It’s not like I pulled it out of my ass. Richard Gere over there is the only one in this group pulling weird stuff out of his ass.”
Richard Gere lets out a loud laugh and throws a used cardboard paper towel roll at Simmons in mock protest. Simmons ducks the flying object and continues.
“Love ya, Richard, you sick fuck! I gotta tell you though, Tiger, it’s a long road to recovery on this thing. Every time I think I’m cured, I catch myself taking the top off my sweet little red Lamborghini and screwing the gas tank. Mmmmmm . . .”
Simmons sticks out his tongue and mimes the action he’s describing. Dr. Vanden Fanny stops him. “Okay, thanks, Gene. Let’s keep moving. Charlie?”
Charlie Sheen stands up. “Tiger, good to see you again, man. You may not remember this, but you and I were pounding the same waitress out in Vegas for a while.”
Woods looks confused and says nothing.
“Jamie something-or-other? Bellagio? Monster rack?”
Woods does not respond.
“Guess she didn’t tell you. Oops. Anyway, hello everyone. I’m Charlie Sheen from America’s #1 comedy
Two and a Half Men
and I’m still not convinced I’m a sex addict.” The group cannot contain its laughter.
“No, seriously, guys! I think I might just be an asshole. Like, I’m pretty sure I could stop myself, but I just don’t fucking want to. Can we make up a medical condition to explain that? I-Don’t-Give-a-Shit-itis, maybe?”
Dr. Vanden Fanny jumps in again. “I assure you, Charlie, as I’ve said many times, there is nothing ‘made up’ about sex addiction. There are a number of Internet blogs dedicated to the subject.”
Sheen gives the international “jerk off” signal. Dr. Vanden Fanny points to the next person. A bearded man in full military regalia jumps to his feet.
“El Tigre! I know, I know, you’re surprised to see the great Fidel Castro here with a bunch of amateurs. Thirty-five thousand women and counting,
amigo
! What’d you bang—15, 20 broads? That’s a three-day weekend for me!” Castro leans back and extends his arms wide with a big laugh. He enjoys his own material.
Woods is indeed surprised to see the Cuban leader at the meeting of celebrity sex addicts. Castro stops laughing and a stern look crosses his face.
“And by the way, Dr. Vanden Fanny, it pisses me right off when you make us salute the photograph of Jack-off Kennedy before every meeting. That guy is supposed to be some kind of big sex symbol? Call me when he gets near 35,000, sweetheart. He banged one movie star. So what? And by the way, J. Edgar Hoover told me he had firsthand proof that Marilyn Monroe was a dude anyway. Long story.
“Oh, and wait, there’s something else. Wait, what is it again? Oh yeah: I whipped his ass at the Bay of Pigs! Salute that, Vanden Fanny!”
Dr. Vanden Fanny allows Castro to continue without arguing the point.
“But this isn’t about me, Tiger. It’s about you. It’s great to have you here with the rest of these horndogs.” Castro points across the circle.
“I mean, Duchovny over there’s got the hormones of a 16-year-old. And if I catch Angela Lansbury sitting on the washer during spin cycle again, I’m gonna call in the Cuban army to make it stop! Jesucristo!” Lansbury smiles and shrugs at the devilish Castro. Dr. Vanden Fanny shakes her head.
“All right, relax, Vanden Fanny, I’m finished here. One more thing, Tiger: when we’re done with this little song and dance today, I could use some help off the tee. I’m spraying the ball all over the place. I need a goddamned
W
eedwacker to get out of the rough. I spend about as much time on the fairway as you spend with your wife.”
Tiger responds, stone-faced, “I’d be happy to show you a couple of things, Fidel.”
Castro quips, “Great. No pressure, but I’ve got a prison full of coaches who couldn’t fix the hitch in my backswing.”
Dr. Vanden Fanny moves things along. “Okay, El Jefé. No speeches today. Let’s move on. Ted?”
A man wearing a maroon zip-up jacket stands reluctantly. Beads of sweat cover his brow and lip. He forces a wide, harsh smile that belies the deep sadness of his life.
“Well, uh, hello, Tiger. I am the Reverend Ted Haggard. As you may know, for a long time, I enjoyed crystal meth and the company of male hookers. Notice the past tense there.”
Tiger recognizes Haggard vaguely from the news and nods.
“Just want you to know that the Lord has already forgiven you for your sins. He is pleased that you are working to save your soul here at the Chamberlain Institute.
“Unfortunately, I’m still waitin’ to hear back from the Big Man
U
pstairs on my little situation.” Haggard forces a short, hard laugh. No one else even smiles. It’s all too sad.
“Turns out He’s not quite as lenient with pastors who do meth with gay hookers at seedy motels in between sermons as I’d hoped He’d be.” Haggard laughs for a few short moments before collapsing into his metal chair and sobbing uncontrollably.
Michael Douglas hugs Haggard, pulling the disgraced reverend’s head into his chest. “Shhhhh! Shhhhhh! There you are, Ted. There you are, big guy. I’m sure there’s a god somewhere who still loves you.” Douglas winks at Dr. Vanden Fanny and gestures with his head to skip his turn while he comforts Haggard, who is slobbering all over Douglas’s $15,000 Brioni suit.
Dr. Vanden Fanny tries to rouse the next member of the group.
“Paris?”
She gets no response.
“Paris?”
Still nothing. Dr. Vanden Fanny tries one last time.
“Paris?”
Hotel heiress Paris Hilton finally looks up from her iPhone.
“What?”
“Paris, would you like to say hello to Tiger Woods?”
“I can’t. I’m watching my sex tape again. It’s so f’in hot.”
As though prompted by a starter’s pistol, R. Kelly and Ruth Bader Ginsburg bound out of their chairs and dart across the room to get a view of what Hilton is watching.
The exasperated Dr. Vanden Fanny presses a button, sounding a loud alarm. Within seconds, two uniformed orderlies rush into the room with Tasers. Kelly and Ginsburg are subdued and removed from the meeting.
Dr. Vanden Fanny shakes her head. “This is why we do
not
allow electronic devices in our meetings, folks.” She turns and points to a large sign confirming the policy, posted clearly next to a portrait of Eleanor Roosevelt.
“I’m so sorry about that, Tiger. Let’s continue with our introductions.”
A bearded man with glasses rises to his feet.
“Hey ya, Tiger. Salman Rushdie. Yep, the guy everyone in the world is either trying to kill or hump. There’s really no in-between there.”
Tiger gives Rushdie a polite wave from across the room.
“Truth be told, I wasn’t a sex addict until the whole fatwa thing. Honestly, I couldn’t pay my Guatemalan housekeeper to go on a date with me until the Ayatollah told every Muslim nutjob in the world to kill me over a stupid book. I guess any publicity is good publicity, right?”
Tiger shakes his head. “No, actually.”
Rushdie blows right past it. “Every time one of these guys tries to kill me, another supermodel shows up in my bed. It’s unbelievable, man! I should have written that book when I was 17—maybe someone would have gone to the prom with me!” Rushdie laughs at his own line.
“All kidding aside, Tiger, it’s great to have you here. Sex addiction is no joke—unless you’re Louie Anderson over there,” Rushdie points at comedian and former
Family Feud
host Louie Anderson.
“Louie’s been begging for somebody to put a fatwa on him. He hasn’t had sex with anything that doesn’t require batteries in about 15 years. Am I right, Louie?” Anderson lets out a big laugh and throws a D battery at Rushdie.
Dr. Vanden Fanny has seen just about enough.
“It’s clear everyone is a little loopy today, so why don’t we wrap this up and we’ll get Tiger back to his sensory-deprivation tank for the night.”
She waits for the celebrity patients to settle. When there is quiet she continues.
“Tiger, look around this room. These are your brothers and sisters in the fight against a disease that 21 percent of readers in a
USA Today
online poll called ‘probably legit.’ This is your family. We’re small, but we’re awfully strong. I find myself learning from these brave fighters each and every day. The men and women of the Chamberlain Institute are bound together by an addiction to wild, inventive, ass-slapping sex, but they refuse to be defined by their condition.”
As Tiger listens, he scans the collection of sex-addicted celebrities, smiling, nodding, and daydreaming about the defining time he had wild, inventive, ass-slapping sex in a waitress’s minivan in the parking lot of an Orlando-area Shoney’s.
While the likes of Sarah Palin, Tiger Woods, and Lindsay Lohan hog the headlines, brave, everyday Americans with names you would not recognize toil in the shadows, making their small, daily contributions to the American Freak Show. You’ll find some of their inspirational true stories sprinkled throughout this book. Read them to your children. Tell the next generation tales of this glorious city upon a hill we call America. Tales like this one . . .