Meg: Welcome to Desperately Seeking the 80s. I’m Meg.
Jessica: And I’m Jessica. Meg and I have been friends since 1982. We got through middle school and high school together here in New York City, where we still live.
Meg: And where we podcast about New York City in the 80s. I do "Ripped from the Headlines."
Jessica: I do pop culture.
Meg: It is so beautiful out, isn’t it?
Jessica: It is gorgeous. It is so beautiful. I took Alfie for a walk yesterday—it was also gorgeous. The number of dogs around the North Meadow in Central Park desperately straining on their leashes to visit each other was so funny. So cute.
Meg: Love it.
Jessica: And I met a dog named Drama. Three pounds of Shih Tzu named Drama, wearing a pink tank top.
Meg: You Upper East Siders.
Jessica: I even have photos of Drama.
Meg: Well, I hope the weather is going to be just as spectacular for our pub crawl of East Village dive bars, happening on May 3rd, starting at 3. But really, you can join in at any time. We’re not doing roll call, but if you sign up, we have a link in the bio of our Instagram to the Google Form so we can keep you updated and have a good headcount. Or you can just email me at meg@desperately80s.com and I’ll put you on the list.

Meg: I think I know the answer to this, but maybe I don’t. When you were little—
Jessica: Is this an engagement question?
Meg: It is.
Jessica: Or is this just you musing out loud? There are things I don’t know—what should I talk about?
Meg: When you were little, who was your favorite superhero? Who did you identified with? Or did you? I’m thinking the Bionic Woman... like, what were the ones that were coming out at our time–
Jessica: You know, obviously it was Wonder Woman. And I didn’t identify with her, because who could have identified with Lynda Carter in her most glorious moment of young womanhood—in her bustier and boots? I mean, she was so amazing. And I was 7, so I wasn’t like, "Yeah, that’s me." But her moxie and her absolute unwillingness to suffer fools was 8,000% my jam. I was like, I’m in.
Meg: Did justice have anything to do with it? Her pursuit of justice? She was anti-Nazi actually.
Jessica: It was her pursuit of justice. But honestly, Meg, it was that she was the most badass chick, and everyone knew it. She was the ultimate—strong, decisive, for justice, for anybody. But her presence for women... it was just so—yes. As you well know, when Sasha and I insanely decided to get tattoos—

Meg: Sasha has that same tattoo?
Jessica: Oh yeah.
Meg: I did not know that.
Jessica: Yes.
Meg: She also has—
Jessica: Oh, you don’t have this tattoo in that place? Yes.
Meg: Can I say what it is?
Jessica: I’ll tell you. In the year 2000, before they were really known as this, Sasha and I got tramp stamps—aka Jersey license plates—of the Wonder Woman logo. And they were much bigger than we thought they were going to be.
Meg: It’s pretty big.
Jessica: It’s pretty big. And Sasha went first and insisted that it didn’t hurt. I had gotten a tattoo before on a much fleshier area, so I thought, "Oh, you know, uncomfortable." No. It was so painful that I was nauseated. They had to stop frequently because I thought I was going to vomit. I turned to Sasha and said, "Dude, why didn’t you tell me the truth?" And she said, "Because you wouldn’t have done it. And I would’ve been stuck with this fucking tattoo."
Meg: Seriously, this sounds like torture.
Jessica: It was.

Meg: I'm really glad to hear that story, actually. I'm glad you went through with it. That's very sweet.
Jessica: Why is it sweet—that I was a moron and went through with it? 

Meg: Because you did it together!

Jessica: Yes, it was very sweet. We did our first tattoos together as well. She had something on her shoulder blade, and I was like, "My ass is fine. That’s completely okay." So yeah. There you go—sisterhood.
Meg: My sources are an article in Harper’s that our good friend Michael sent me.
Jessica: Oh, marvelous.
Meg: The New York Times, The Washington Post. Okay, this is going to be a bit of a journey. In 1980… but you're going to love it. This is so your jam.
Jessica: Okay.
Meg: In 1980, Curtis Sliwa, leader of the Guardian Angels—which, as we know, is/was the volunteer neighborhood watch vigilante group that famously patrolled the streets of New York in their red berets and satin jackets—became a victim of crime himself. He had been inspired to form the group two years earlier when he was an assistant manager at a McDonald’s in the Bronx. He loved the movies Taxi Driver, Death Wish, and The Warriors, which all feature citizens taking the law into their own hands on the mean streets of New York—all in the name of justice.
Jessica: Yeah, that doesn't sound as good as Curtis might have hoped.
Meg: His goal was, quote, “To bring back the values of 40, 50 years ago, when the only criminals in the streets were racketeers, when you could leave the house with the door open or fall asleep on the roof.” So he's glamorizing a period of time when the Mafia had a stronghold. Yeah, it just seems interesting.
Jessica: Extremely myopic in its understanding of what was going on, but ah, the good old days. As always—nostalgia.
Meg: In February 1979, he gathered 13 volunteers, gave them red accessories, and marched the “Magnificent 13,” as they were called at the time, onto the 4 Train that runs express from the Bronx down through Manhattan. At the time, it was known as the “Muggers Express.”
Jessica: I did not know that.
Meg: Fun fact. That night, they caught a would-be mugger in the act and turned him over to the police. Their outing was a huge success, and over the next few months they reported many run-ins with ne’er-do-wells. Their popularity and numbers rose. The police felt the Guardian Angels were stepping on their toes, and local officials were nervous about an unregulated vigilante group—understandably.
Jessica: Indeed.
Meg: So Curtis, who loved a good press conference, was in need of some good publicity.
Jessica: He made satin jackets. He had berets. Of course he wanted a press conference.
Meg: So yeah, he needed good publicity. And then—he was kidnapped.
Jessica: Are you kidding me?
Meg: Curtis was waiting for the train in a Bronx station when three off-duty transit officers nabbed him and drove him out to Long Island. They warned him to lay off, that he was threatening their jobs, and then they left him there to get home by himself.
Jessica: So these were transit officers?
Meg: Yes.
Jessica: This was bad, bad, bad.
Meg: The president of the Transit Patrolman’s Benevolent Association doubted Curtis’s account, saying, quote, “Curtis Sliwa knows by heart the phone numbers of every newspaper, radio and television station, reporter and editor in the city. It seems incredible that he should not remember the license plate of the car or the badge numbers of the officers.”
Jessica: That seems like a high bar when you're getting bundled off for a kidnapping, but okay.
Meg: Then a year later, Curtis was kidnapped again. In August 1981, he was in D.C., walking near the Washington Monument late at night, when three policemen grabbed him, beat him up, and tossed him in the Potomac.
Jessica: This is starting to look like Curtis is a little devil-may-care about his own safety.
Meg: The U.S. Park Service—who were the people to investigate because it was the Washington Monument and that's a park—could not locate any suspects. But as much as the police had a beef with him, the citizens of New York were fans. And even The New York Times kind of endorsed him.
Quote: “Guiding this spontaneous and admittedly risky movement to constructive service is simply another challenge to New York. It certainly beats the alternative—leaving restless but organized youth to make trouble.”

Jessica: This is interesting. Okay.
Meg: By the end of 1981, the Guardian Angels were nearly a thousand strong.
Jessica: That’s huge growth.
Meg: Yes. According to Lisa Evers—who became a leader and office manager for the Angels –  Jessica: Didn't she marry him?

Meg: This is according to Lisa:

“Most of the kids in the Angels, they don't get along with their mothers. They don't know who their father was. Maybe they had parents who left them. Maybe they've never been in a house, never seen an adult male who didn't hurt someone else. They have no concept of something positive. They see the straight world—the 9 to 5—and they think those guys must be suckers to work like that for $10,000–$15,000 a year when the guy selling drugs on the corner can make $2,000 a night. They're young people—fine young people—but they need some direction. And we give them that. We show them it's cool to be good. It's cool to be positive.” Ed Koch.

Jessica: Oh, I can’t wait to hear what Ed had to say.
Meg: He was dubious at first, claiming that “genuine do-gooders don't throw themselves in front of TV cameras all the time.”
Curtis’s response? “Koch is a bonehead.” Succinct.
But probably due to the Angels’ popularity, even Ed came around and brokered peace between the Angels and the police.
The Washington Post called them, quote, “a regular bunch of tough guy good guys, kung fu-kicking, mean-but-clean, down-to-the-ground bunch of ghetto Boy Scouts.”
Jessica: That is the best quote ever.
Meg: I’m like, wow.
Jessica: I mean, it’s a lot. Someone had a great day when they got that assignment.
Meg: Being a Guardian Angel was dangerous. Guardian Angel Frank Melvin was mistaken for a burglar and shot in the chest by a Newark police officer.
Jessica: Oh my God.
Meg: Juan Oliva was killed in the Bronx, and Sherman Geiger was killed in Yonkers—both by bad guys. Over the years, six Angels have been killed and 36 seriously injured in the line of duty. And it's a miracle Curtis Sliwa is still alive. At 5:00 a.m. on June 19, 1992, Curtis hailed a cab near his place at Avenue A and St. Mark’s Place, headed to the WABC radio studios to do The Curtis Sliwa Show. Curtis was in the back seat, absorbed in the morning paper, when the cab turned right on 10th Street—odd, because the studio was in Midtown. Suddenly, a masked gunman hiding in the passenger seat popped up—
Jessica: Oh my God.
Meg: —and shot him at point-blank range, hitting him in the groin and legs.
Jessica: Oh my God.
Meg: The cab’s door handles were missing, so Curtis jumped toward the gunman, out the passenger side window, and managed to survive.
Jessica: That is some ninja-level shit.
Meg: The police response? Quote:

“It’s still a wide-open investigation. I’m sure he’s aggravated a number of people, to say the least.”
Jessica: I mean, can you imagine the amount of planning involved? Like, “Oh, we’re gonna pick up Curtis in the cab today.” It doesn’t seem like—oh.
Meg: As it turns out, of the three kidnappings Curtis Sliwa reported, only one actually occurred.
Guess which one?
Jessica: Well, the shooting one. The one you just described.
Meg: Yeah, you are correct.
Jessica: Well, because there are gunshot wounds. I would imagine the other two...
Meg: Yeah—total lies.
Jessica: See, that’s the problem with Curtis Sliwa. It’s always been the problem. It’s not that he sought the limelight—it was that he was clearly like, “By any means necessary.” Me, me, me, me, me.
Meg: In 1992, Curtis admitted to faking several heroic subway rescues and lying about the New York kidnapping attempt in 1980 and the one in D.C. He apologized, but also said, quote, “I feel the incidents we staged led to some improvements.” He’s not really taking ownership.
Jessica: No, it’s not been the hallmark of his career. Taking ownership.
Meg: For the 1992 kidnapping and attack—which did, in fact, occur in the taxi—John Gotti Jr. was charged with attempted murder.
Jessica: No.

Meg: Supposedly, he was furious about how Curtis talked about his dad, John Gotti Sr., on his radio program.

Jessica: Stop it.

Meg: Which also—Jessica, the mob came after someone who talked smack about somebody on their radio program.

Jessica: We only talk about things that happened in the past. We're not—no—we’re not breaking ground here.

Meg: Okay?

Jessica: Don’t plant ideas. Are you insane?

Meg: I thought you would, like, freak out.

Jessica: No, I’m just—I’m just like... I’m dissociating here. Okay? Having a dissociative experience.

Meg: Prosecutors couldn’t get three different juries to convict, so they had to drop the charges. Gotti’s defense lawyer said to Curtis at the time, “Short of death, is there anything that will stop you from giving a press conference?” Everyone’s kind of tongue-in-cheek about all this—for some crazy reason!

Jessica: I love that.

Meg: A few fun facts about Curtis Sliwa—as you know, this is a callback to episode 7, Terror on the 2 Train and Virgins Gone Wild. He supported Bernie Goetz. He called Trump a, quote, “screwball” and a “crackpot.”

Jessica: I wish this was filmed, because we both just gave that shrug.

Meg: He lives in a 320-square-foot apartment with 16 rescue cats and a wife.

Jessica: A wife?

Meg: Yes.

Jessica: What? What?!

Meg: Yes.

Jessica: Did they—wait—maybe... maybe it’s very tall, and they put like a gallery around it? Or a second floor? That’s a sign something ain’t all okay. Sixteen cats! I love that you said “16 cats, comma, and a wife.” Is the wife one of the cats?

Meg: I’m like, that wife! I’m like, oh my God. Sixteen cats.

Jessica: And Curtis Sliwa! Like, can we just have that moment?

Meg: Listen to this.

Jessica: I don’t know if I can handle it. This is—this whole story has been triggering. Come on, come on.

Meg: Listen. After he lost the mayoral race to Eric Adams, he brought two cats to Adams’ home. As you well know, Adams was fined for rodent violations, and Curtis suggested that feral cats could solve the rodent problem in the city.

Jessica: Oh my God. Well, he’s always a man with a plan—we’ve got to give him that. He’s like, “I got cats. I got two cats. I got four cats.I got 16 cats, Mayor Adams.”

Meg: And you know he’s planning to run again. As is Adams. We’re just gonna get a redux of all this cray cray.

Jessica: I hope so.

Meg: You’re looking forward to a crazy mayoral campaign?

Jessica: I just want to see Adams vs. Sliwa, because all that will be left is like... a smear on the pavement and a tuft of fur.

Meg: But honestly, if we’re left to the two of them—

Jessica: No, no, no, we’re not. Cuomo is in. Look, I’m not saying—I’m just... look, look.

Meg: I’m...eye... fornicating you. Do you remember that? Yes! I’m—To Curtis Sliwa: “I fornicating.”

Jessica: I feel so violated, Meg. Sorry, I didn’t know—I didn’t know we were that close, but suddenly we are. I am not endorsing anybody. But all I’m—all I’m saying is: Adams—criminal.

Sliwa—clearly insane.

Sixteen cats, 320 square feet.

And I’m just praying for someone who has been a political operative, who actually knows how to get things done, and is not refreshing, and is not trying to steal, screw—or whatever else they do.

It’s steal or screw whatever’s in front of them.

Meg: It’s not too much to ask for.

Jessica: I think it’s a low bar.

Jessica: So, Meg.

Meg: Yes?

Jessica: My contribution today is a callback.

It’s a callback to episode 112. 112 that we aired—

Meg: Oh, I know that one.

Jessica: On July 9, 2024: Brat Pack Confidential and Denetra Does SNL.

Meg: Okay, I was kind of joking that of course I knew what 112 was—but yes, of course I know that episode.

Jessica: Of course you know that episode.

Meg: That was the episode when I bared my soul.

Jessica: Yes, you did. Yes, you did. And we were all there for it, and it was beautiful.

Meg: It was a little awkward.

Jessica: No! Not even.

You’re asking me if something you said was awkward? Are you insane?

Meg: It’s like... my love letter.

Jessica: No, your love letter is great.

And nothing—I mean, this is not a point of pride—I’m just acknowledging that for every time you’re unhinged, it’s up against like 14 of mine.

Or like, something wildly inappropriate that I’ve said.

So... no.

It was beautiful.

The love letter to the Brat Pack is a beautiful thing.

And I know that you loved Andrew McCarthy, and the fact that I did not find him sexually appealing at that time is fine.

Meg: Absolutely. To each their own.
Jessica: Yes. He just always looked congested to me.
Now, in 2000, Jerry Lewis said something hideous. I know it’s not the 80s—we’re going to get there—but in 2000, he said something that was a version of what we’re going to talk about today that was so repugnant it echoes through the halls of comedy.
Meg: What was it?
Jessica: At the US Comedy Arts Festival in Aspen, Colorado, in 2000, he was being interviewed by the lovely Martin Short. I can only imagine what Martin Short thought about the response to his question.
He asked whether Jerry Lewis found Lucille Ball funny—whether he liked her. Jerry Lewis’s response was, quote:

“A woman doing comedy doesn’t offend me, but it sets me back a bit. I, as a viewer, have trouble with it. I think of her as a producing machine that brings babies into the world.”
Meg: Oh my God.
Jessica: Yeah.
Meg: What the actual fuck?
Jessica: Yep. So it was just a particular spin on the old saw: women aren’t funny.
Which, despite the fact that I loved Christopher Hitchens on many levels, he was another one who foisted that ridiculous chestnut on people—women aren’t funny.
Meg: Women aren’t funny. All right, there’s that. But also their entire point of being is to produce children?
Jessica: Let’s talk about women in comedy. Let’s go back to 1983.
In 1983, at the YWCA on 53rd and Lexington, Anne Meara—lovely Anne Meara of Stiller and Meara
Meg: Funniest woman Anne Meara alive.
Jessica: Yes. And we’ve talked about her many times, actually, on this podcast—because of her role in Fame as the English teacher who finally found a bond with Leroy.
Do you know, by the way, that I had a senior moment all day today where, in my head, I called him Leon? Leon.
Meg: I’m glad you didn’t do that. I would’ve had to cut it.
Jessica: I know. But I was so excited when finally I was like, “Leroy! It’s Leroy!”
Okay. So anyway—Anne Meara and Marilyn Sokol, who is one of those women you know by face but maybe not by name, did this conference on women in comedy in 1983.
This was the first time that women were coming together as comedians—or aspiring comedians—to talk about: Is there a place for us in comedy?
Now, as we know, women were already starting to make strides in the late ’70s. But prior to that, the number of successful women comedians was about four. We’ll talk about that.
But in 1983, Anne Meara and Marilyn Sokol put this conference together at the YWCA.
Carol Siskind, also one of the presenters, said this about being a comedian:
“Early on, I was very conscious of the fact that I was in a man’s world. I would do some feminist things, then drop them because I sensed they were too alienating to men. I would think that perhaps I was too hostile.”
Diane Houston, also a participant, said that she had a feeling sometimes that she was taking something away from men—or at least, that was their perception—when she was performing in comedy clubs.
Ms. Meara said that was ridiculous and that no comedy should be seen as gendered. You were there to be funny. You were there to speak about your own experience. And that was that.
The people who attended this conference were almost entirely women—almost entirely performers. A few were men—looky-loos, just there to be there. We won’t mention their names.
The women who were there included comedians Rita Noctman, Taffy Jaffe, Ms. Siskind, Rita Rudner, Nancy Lombardo, Jane Brucker, and Danitra Vance—yay!
As well as Carol Hall, who wrote the music and lyrics for The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas, and Barbara Schottenfeld, who wrote the book, music, and lyrics for the Off-Broadway revue I Can’t Keep Running in Place.
Meg: I do.
Jessica: Me too. Me too.
Anne Meara said something that I thought was really interesting, because it is the essence of what it is to be a comedian. It’s cutthroat. It’s competitive. No matter what’s going on, that is not a profession where you’re going to find people to really get your back.
She said:
“Give yourself time. Trust yourself. Yeah, there’s a chauvinistic twinge. But don’t think of comedy as a sisterhood. Comedy is becoming totally involved in sharing points of view with others. Comedy has to be iconoclastic, have its own focus. And femininity? What is femininity?”
She said:
“That is some guy’s point of view. Femininity—defined by whom?”
So these women at this conference were bringing up all the things that became the hallmark of comedy now.
Think about Sarah Silverman—it’s not that her point is to be gross, but gross isn’t a deterrent. Jenny Slate—perfect example.
And these people are already aging up, so they’re not even breaking ground anymore.
I just think it was really interesting that these women actually got together to say: What are we gonna do about comedy?
How are we going to own this? How are we going to inhabit this?
And Danitra Vance, who we talked about in episode 112, came to SNL from doing her own revue.
That was around this time. She was performing her own thing and finding a voice—which is what all of these women had to do.
There was one woman—and this is how the article ended—who said:
“Yeah, you have to be iconoclastic. But you also have to be smart. This is a business that doesn’t like women.”
She had a gig where it was stipulated: No strippers.
She got to the gig, started doing her act, and they told her to take her clothes off.
She sat and waited for her time to be up, went and got her check, and left.
So then I was like—okay, this is what was going on in 1983.
What else was going on for women in comedy in 1983, right?
So the first thing I looked up was: who was on Saturday Night Live?
There were women on.
Interesting dynamic of what Lorne Michaels did.
He had Robin Duke, who always played a scattered, maniacal lunatic.
He had Mary Gross, who was always this prim and proper, overwhelmed suburban mom.
And then—the pretty one—Julia Louis-Dreyfus.
I was like, okay. So that happened like that.
And it was impossible to see it at the time.
I remember, as a kid, being like, “Oh yeah, these are just... there was nothing notable.”
Looking back on it now, I’m like: oh my God, Lorne Michaels. Look at you. Casting—not nish git. Not good.
And this killed me: in 1983, the Friars Club had a roast.
They had a roast of Sid Caesar—another well-known misogynist.
The worst.

Meg: Didn't know that about Sid.
Jessica: Yes. Well, not as bad as Uncle Milty. Milton Berle was the lowest of the low—and also had the biggest dick in all of comedy.
Meg: That's what I've heard.
Jessica: Yes.
But 2,000 people attended, laughing, having the best time. It was blue, blue comedy, and it was almost all comedians.
A couple of people could pay a huge amount of money to attend these roasts, so there were some non-industry people.
And among them was a very slight little man from Los Angeles named Philip Downey.
Philip Downey paid his ticket, he attended, he went to the men’s room, he did all the things you do—he ate, he drank.
Unfortunately... there was no such person.
Unfortunately for the Friars.
Because Philip Downey was Phyllis Diller in drag.
You see, the Friars Club did not admit women.
They were not allowed—in 1983.
You could not be a member, and you could not attend.
Oh, Phyllis Diller, who had been at it for, I think, 25 years at that point, was like: I just want to know what the real deal is here.
And furthermore, I'm going to get the best of you, you chumps.
Meg: Oh, Phyllis.
Jessica: So she went. Comedy legend that she was—more of a legend than the guys up on the dais, exactly.
She said to the New York Post, when she made it known she was Philip Downey:

“I just always wanted to eavesdrop. And it was the funniest, dirtiest thing I ever heard in my life.”
Ever a lady, she never said anything bad—she just did wrong by them.
Two years would go by with the Friars Club trying to figure out what to do about a woman infiltrating them.
Well, at that point after two years, they honored her with her own roast.
But she still couldn’t be a member.
The following year, they invited her to become one—and she became the first female member of the Friars Club.
Which, by the way, I think was extraordinarily gracious of her to accept.
But in doing so, obviously, she broke it open for other women.
Meg: Progress.
Jessica: Indeed.
Meg: It’s now closed you know.
Jessica: Oh, did it recently close?
Meg: Yeah. Relatively recently. Yeah—the pandemic.
Jessica: Well, everyone who was a member was probably 900 years old.
Meg: Actually—guess who was a member? Our dear friend Alex.
Jessica: Really?
Meg: Forstenhauser.
Jessica: Well, that doesn’t surprise me, because he is a 90-year-old man masquerading as a very, very young man.
Actually, the person we’ve referred to as “The Pop Screen”—
Meg: Yes.
Jessica: —was a member as well I know! Not even a comedian. Like, what was that about?
Think about that: 1983, that’s how Phyllis Diller is trying to get her foot in the door of what’s still a closed men’s club, after 25 years of being a legend.
And these other women legends—particularly Anne Meara—are having a conference about it at the same time.
Like, that’s really interesting.
But wait—women are doing more in 1983 with comedy.
Who, you ask?
Meg: Joan Rivers.
Jessica: She’s one of them.
In 1983, after being one of the most successful guests on The Carson Show, that’s when she became the guest host—the first official guest host—in 1983.
Before things went terribly sour between her and Johnny Carson.
And for those of you enjoying the new season of Hacks, do not forget that so much of Jean Smart’s narrative arc is based on Joan Rivers.
That was 1983 for her.
But who else? Who else was getting a big break in 1983?
Oh—Whoopi Goldberg, you say?
Meg: Right, of course.
Jessica: 1983 was when her Off-Broadway show A Spook Show went to Broadway and became known as Whoopi Goldberg.
That was when she did all of that iconic stuff that was on the HBO special that broke her huge.
So—1983.
If you want to look at women in comedy and ask, “When did things change?”
When was there a seismic shift?
That was the year.
Now, to go back to shitty, shitty Jerry Lewis, let’s have a quick moment of Tina Fey.
Tina Fey, in 2011, in her book Bossypants, said:
“Whenever someone says to me, ‘Jerry Lewis says women aren’t funny,’ or ‘Christopher Hitchens says women aren’t funny,’ or ‘Rick Fenderman says women aren’t funny’—”
Meg: John Belushi said it too.
Jessica:
“Do you have anything to say to that?”
Her answer:
“Yes. We don’t fucking care if you like it.”
I don’t say it out loud, of course—because Jerry Lewis is a great philanthropist, Hitchens is very ill, and the third guy I made up.
Unless one of these men is my boss—which none of them is—it’s irrelevant.
“My hat goes off to them. It’s an impressively arrogant move to conclude that just because you don’t like something, it is empirically not good.
I don’t like Chinese food, but I don’t write articles trying to prove it doesn’t exist.”
So there you go.
Meg: That was awesome.
Jessica: That is women in comedy. Yay, Tina Fey.
Fuck Jerry Lewis.

Meg: You have an interesting tie-in, you say?
Jessica: Yes.
First, I thought—my first thought—was how hilarious Curtis Sliwa is, and just putting him side by side with comedy.
Meg: Sixteen cats.
Jessica: But I mean—two. Not one, but two fake kidnappings. I mean, really.
Meg:  I almost called that story: two lies and a truth.
Jessica: Oh my God, that’s awesome.
But what I then realized was—what Curtis Sliwa had in common with these women I just described is that all of them were in a place, doing something they were told not to do.
Meg: Sure.
Jessica: That’s it.
Meg: Revolutionaries.
Jessica: These are people who were breaking ground.
Sometimes successfully, sometimes...
Exactly.
Back to iconoclasts.
Valuable people.
Meg: I can’t wait for us to figure out our list for our dive bars in the East Village pub crawl.
Jessica: Yes.
Well, it is a joint effort.
That’s why I know you are not able to come up with it all on your own.
Meg: No, because Kevin from Malt & Mold is the—he’s the genius behind all of this. And he has very strong feelings.
But once he gives us—
Jessica: I also have very strong feelings.
Meg: But once he gives us our list, we’re going to come up with some awesome fun facts that we can share with the people on the crawl.
Jessica: Yes.
So yeah, just another word on the crawl.
You know, the people who come to our events are diehards, and we hope to see every single one of them at this pub crawl. Because if not, we’re deeply offended. Like, why drop off now? It’s beautiful weather, everyone’s in a good mood.
But there might be some people listening who are in the New York area, who are a little shy—or who might think, “Well, you’re people we listen to. We don’t fraternize with you.”
And I just want to say: everyone is so welcome. Don’t be shy.
It’s a good time. It’s definitely a good time.
And everyone who comes to our events knows—you’re all fans of the same nonsense we cook up every week.
Everyone has a great sense of humor, and it’s very inclusive.
So please, don’t be shy.
And become a regular for our events, because they are really good fun.
Meg: Well put.
Jessica: Yeah, sure.