Television Quotes

 All television ever did was shrink the demand for ordinary movies. The demand for extraordinary movies increased. If any one thing is wrong with the movie industry today, it is the unrelenting effort to astonish. 
Author: Clive James
Nationality: Australian
b. 7 October 1939
  
 Anyone afraid of what he thinks television does to the world is probably just afraid of the world. 
Author: Clive James
Nationality: Australian
b. 7 October 1939
  
 I find television very educational. Every time someone switches it on I go into another room and read a good book. 
Author: Groucho Marx
Nationality: American
b. 2 October 1890  - d. 19 July 1977
  
 I resign. I wouldn't want to belong to any club that would have me as a member. 
Author: Groucho Marx
Nationality: American
b. 2 October 1890  - d. 19 July 1977
  
 Ninety-eight percent of American homes have TV sets, which means the people in the other two percent have to generate their own sex and violence. 
Author: Franklin P. Jones
Nationality: American
b. December 1881  - d.  December 1960
  
 Television is a corporate vulgarity. 
Author: John Leonard
Nationality: Australian
b. December 1965
  
 The television is an invention that permits you to be entertained in your living room by people you wouldn't have in your home. 
Author: Sir David Paradine Frost
Nationality: Australian
b. 07 April 1939
  
 I never had my own name on a bathing suit on Baywatch. I was always given one that said Pamela or Yasmine. I earned my own suit, at the end of the season, which I now have framed. 
Author: Carmen Electra
Nationality: American
b. 20 April 1972
  
 We call them Twinkies. You've seen them on television acting the news, modeling and fracturing the news while you wonder whether they've read the news - or if they've blow-dried their brains, too. 
Author: Linda Ellerbee
Nationality: American
b. 15 August 1944
  
 At Chicago Hope they have a technical staff that works real hard to make that O.R. as realistic as possible.  
Author: Mark Harmon
Nationality: American
b. 02 September 1951
  
 I like this job - most days I have a chance to make breakfast and take the kids to school or to read 'em a bedtime story. It's almost like a normal life. 
Author: Mark Harmon
Nationality: American
b. 02 September 1951
  
 I think if you get asked to do this, then that's called doing your homework, and I try and do it. 
Author: Mark Harmon
Nationality: American
b. 02 September 1951
  
 I'm just beginning to direct. For all intents and purposes, this is the first time for me. 
Author: Mark Harmon
Nationality: American
b. 02 September 1951
  
 I'm thankful to get the opportunity to direct. I hope I don't mess it up. 
Author: Mark Harmon
Nationality: American
b. 02 September 1951
  
 It's a lot easier to do good work when you have good words to say and work with good people. 
Author: Mark Harmon
Nationality: American
b. 02 September 1951
  
 People think what you are doing is real, on a TV show. 
Author: Mark Harmon
Nationality: American
b. 02 September 1951
  
 St. Elsewhere was certainly a great show. 
Author: Mark Harmon
Nationality: American
b. 02 September 1951
  
 When I got divorced and moved into an apartment, I started keeping the TV on, just for company. 
Author: Mark Harmon
Nationality: American
b. 02 September 1951
  
 There is hope, but not for us. 
Author: Franz Kafka
Nationality: Austrian
b. 03 July 1883  - d. 03 June 1924
  
 Sometimes cameras and television are good to people and sometimes they aren't. I don`t know if its the way you say it, or how you look. 
Author: Dan Quayle
Nationality: American
b. 4 February 1947
  
 Murphy Brown is doing better than I am. At least she knows she still has a job next year. 
Author: Dan Quayle
Nationality: American
b. 4 February 1947
  
 I doubt there’s ever been a true thing said on Fox. Maybe the weather report, maybe not. 
Author: Fran Lebowitz
Nationality: American
b. 27 October 1950
  
 He who is created by television can be destroyed by television. 
Author: Theodore Harold White
Nationality: American
b. 06 May 1915  - d. 09 May 1986
  
 I don't want my president to be a TV star. You don't have to be on television every minute of every day - you're the president, not a rerun of 'Law & Order'. TV stars are too worried bout being popular and too concerned about being renewed. 
Author: Bill Maher, Jr.
Nationality: American
b. 20 January 1956
  
 Diplomacy, n. is the art of letting somebody else have your way. 
Author: Sir David Paradine Frost
Nationality: American
b. 07 April 1939
  
 Don't aim for success if you want it; just do what you love and believe in, and it will come naturally. 
Author: Sir David Paradine Frost
Nationality: American
b. 07 April 1939
  
 Having one child makes you a parent; having two you are a referee. 
Author: Sir David Paradine Frost
Nationality: American
b. 07 April 1939
  
 Love is staying up all night with a sick child - or a healthy adult. 
Author: Sir David Paradine Frost
Nationality: American
b. 07 April 1939
  
 Love is when each person is more concerned for the other than for one's self. 
Author: Sir David Paradine Frost
Nationality: American
b. 07 April 1939
  
 Vote Labor and you build castles in the air. Vote Conservative and you can live in them 
Author: Sir David Paradine Frost
Nationality: American
b. 07 April 1939
  
 It's like watching a Disney movie about the news. 
Author: Stephen Colbert
Nationality: American
b. 13 May 1964
  
 Thank you for videotaping "Dharma & Greg" and freeze-framing on my vanity card. I'd like to take this opportunity to share with you some of my personal beliefs. I believe that everyone thinks they can write. This is not true. It is true, however, that everyone can direct. I believe that the Laws of Karma do not apply to show business, where good things happen to bad people on a fairly regular basis. I believe that what doesn't kill us makes us bitter. I believe that the obsessive worship of movie, TV and sports figures is less likely to produce spiritual gain than praying to Thor. I believe that Larry was a vastly underrated Stooge, without whom Moe and Curly could not conform to the comedy law of three (thanks, Lee). I believe my kids are secretly proud of me. I believe that if you can't find anything nice to say about people whom you've helped to make wildly successful and then they stabbed you in the back, then don't say anything at all. I believe I have a great dog, maybe the greatest dog in the whole wide world, yes, he is! I believe that beer is a gateway drug that leads, inevitably, to vodka and somebody oughta do something about it. I believe that when ABC reads this, I'm gonna be in biiiig trouble. I believe that Tina Turner's "River Deep, Mountain High", is the greatest rock song ever recorded. Once again, thanks for watching "Dharma & Greg". Please be sure to tune in again to this vanity card for more of my personal beliefs. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Once again, thank you for video-taping "Dharma & Greg" and freeze-framing on my vanity card. I'd like to take this opportunity to share with you some more of my beliefs. I believe that the guy who invented those speed bumps in the freeway that snap you back into consciousness when you're drifting into a nearby semi should be given a big hug. I believe that there are actually several cures for the summertime blues. I believe that in my earlier statement of beliefs, I erroneously believed that beer was a gateway drug that led to vodka. After intensive consultation with ABC executives, I now believe I was very, very wrong. Beer is good. Especially beer brewed by major manufacturers, and enjoyed in a responsible fashion. I believe I've spent my life expecting people to behave in a certain way. I believe that when they didn't behave according to my expectations, I became angry, sad, confused and occasionally fearful. I believe these expectations are the reason I've been angry, sad, confused and occasionally fearful more than I care to admit. As a result, I now believe my expectations are the real problem. I believe that everyone has this very same problem, and they ought to start acting accordingly. Well, that's all for now. I hope you continue to watch "Dharma & Greg" and check in on my vanity card for more of my personal beliefs. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Once again, thanks for video-taping "Dharma & Greg," and freeze-framing on my vanity card. The following are a few more of my beliefs: I believe that El Nińo is an international conspiracy perpetrated by evil roofing contractors. I believe it's high time The Beatles came clean on that whole "Paul is dead" thing. I believe that anyone who can read and speak clearly can be a network news anchorperson - but not necessarily a weatherman. I believe that if I rid myself of insatiable cravings, lusts, paranoia, deep-seated anger and ill-will towards others, I'll be a much better person. I believe that TV is the cause of all the violence and immorality in our society - ha! just kidding. I believe there's no business like show business, although if you're over-paid for feeding a big, scary monster, then that might be sort of like it. That's all for now, gotta go make a TV show. Once again, thanks for watching and keep checking for more of my beliefs real soon! 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 I believe I'm growing skeptical of cynicism. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 I believe that all work and no play makes Chuck a dull boy. I believe that all work and no play makes Chuck a dull boy. I believe that all work and no play makes Chuck a dull boy. I believe that all work and no play makes Chuck a dull boy. I believe that all work and no play makes Chuck a dull boy. I believe that all work and no play makes Chuck a dull boy. I believe that all work and no play makes Chuck a dull boy. I believe that all work and no play makes Chuck a dull boy. I believe that all work and no play makes Chuck a dull boy. I believe that if you've read this far in my vanity plate you are an extraordinary person infused with great love and compassion. I believe that all work and no play makes Chuck a dull boy. I believe that all work and no play makes Chuck a dull boy. (thanks, Jeff) I believe that all work and no play makes Chuck a dull boy. I believe that all work and no play makes Chuck a dull boy. I believe that all work and no play makes Chuck a dull boy. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Well, once again I'd like to thank you for not only watching, but videotaping "Dharma & Greg." I know you're busy, so this shows a wonderful commitment on your part and I want you to acknowledge that commitment with a big ol' Chuck Lorre vanity card hug. Okay, with that done let's get on with why you're here, to learn more of my personal beliefs. I believe that this episode, which on the surface deals with a funny Valentine's adventure, in fact grapples with the weighty issue of Weltschmerz. Weltschmerz is a German word which loosely means "world suffering deriving from the inevitability of reality to never match up with our expectations." Boy, only the Germans could come up with a word like that. Anyway, in this episode Greg is in Weltschmerz hell as he discovers that life is never quite like the brochure. Dharma, on the other hand, recognizes that life is a flowing river and happiness exists only when one embraces its ever-changing nature. From this dilemma we draw the comedic essence of our story. Finally, I believe that when I retire and teach sitcom writing at a community college, I'll use this theme for one of my classes to impress the kids. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Once again, thank you for videotaping "Dharma & Greg" and freeze-framing on my vanity card. For those of you who are new, this is my sporadic attempt to share my personal beliefs with millions of people (hence the term "vanity"). This attempt has led me into communicating many deep thoughts, and, I'm afraid to say, quite a few shallow ones as well. But what I've found most interesting is that after a few weeks, I've discovered myself scrounging for new beliefs. Things about which I could stand up and say with pride, "I believe in this, dammit!" Now that's not to say that I couldn't fill the card with a lot of mindless aphorisms. But do I waste my precious moment in the sun by proclaiming, "I believe that sex with multiple partners in a moving vehicle isn't all it's cracked up to be?" No, I do not. Do I squander this priceless opportunity to announce, "I believe we are better than the animals because we're capable of reading in the bathroom?" Once again, I do not. And so it is for this reason, I have no beliefs to share with you this week. No wait... actually I do believe that JFK had a much better understanding of the word "perks". 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 I believe that the very act of believing in something causes us to distance ourselves from that thing, thus a duality is created: oneself and the thing in which one believes. Now since we all know that in order to fully understand a thing one must be that thing - walk a mile in its shoes so to speak - it seems obvious that the state of believing in something inevitably causes us to not truly understand that thing in which we believe. This noncomprehension leads to all sorts of difficulties. "I believe in love" has a better than even chance of leading to divorce, while "I believe in God" seems to end in variations on the Spanish Inquisition. But - and it's a big but - if one were love, one couldn't help but be affectionate and caring towards oneself and others. If one were God, one would act toward all beings and all things as if they were one's own creations. And that, my friends, is the secret of life in a two-second vanity card. Of course, the secret could also be "Sit, Ubu, sit." We have to keep an open mind. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 I believe that words have power. Sticks and stones may hurt our bones, but bones heal in a relatively short time, while one critical parent can cripple you forever. With that in mind, let's try a little experiment. As you read the following words notice whether you feel the impulse to smile. Did it work? Did you smile immediately upon reading that? If not, that's okay. Don't get down on yourself. Remember, this is just an experiment. We can try it again. This time feel your lips curl up gently at the corners. You try to fight it, but your mouth seems to have taken on a life of its own. As you continue reading you can't help but notice that you are now smiling like the execs at Paramount after they realized they got a piece of Titanic for chump change. See? The power of words. In this case used for good. If you would like an example of words used for evil, call your mother and tell her you're really starting to make progress in therapy. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 I believe I think too much. I believe I'm literally drowning in a thick swamp of thoughts. No, swamp's not right. It's more like being in the middle of a swarm of bees, all of them flying insanely about, occasionally stinging for no apparent reason. Yup, bees, definitely - thoughts are bees. In fact, I believe my entire understanding of the world is based on my thoughts, which are generated by my emotions, which are generated by ... well, I guess my reaction to stuff that happens. Anyway, I understand the world through the filter of my thoughts and emotions. If this is pretty much how you understand the world, it brings up an interesting concept. Probably since we were infants, none of us have directly perceived this world we live in. What does it mean to directly perceive something? Well, I suppose it would mean to be totally with that thing, as opposed to observing and thinking about it. It's a duality issue. Here's me, here's you. here's me, here's the sofa. Ya dig where this is going? We live on a planet dominated by a race of beings whose only connection to reality is constantly buzzing, mental bees. We're all walking through life in a dream state that is, at best, a funhouse mirror-image of what's really out there. It makes you think, doesn't it? Ouch! Dammit! 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 When I began writing these vanity cards, the premise was simple - it's a vanity card - be vain. And what could be more vain and self-serving than to use my two seconds of ABC's broadcast day to share my personal beliefs with millions of viewers? But as time passed I realized I was missing a major opportunity. Rather than just tell a few jokes, I could use the two seconds to unravel the mysteries of life and death and share my discoveries with those of you who can operate a VCR or log onto the Internet sites where my words are regularly posted (yes, I lurk). So, anyway, that's the new plan. The meaning of life, once a week, right here at the end of each Dharma & Greg show. HOW'S THAT FOR VAIN, BUCKO?! Okay, let's get started. The secret of life is we're all writing a vanity card. I'm not kidding, follow me on this. If we're in agreement with the concept "I think, therefore I am," then what are we in those rare moments when we're not thinking? Do we cease to be? No, of course not... unless we never "were" at all, unless our actual identity is a nothing that embraces everything, but an "everything" can't look at itself so we create the illusion of separate selves, which leads to the illusion of survival, which of course leads to all of our pain and suffering. Pride, i.e. vanity, goeth before the fall. And you thoughteth I was joking.  
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 In February of '97, Dottie and I set out to create a series revolving around a woman whose personality is not a neurotic product of societal and parental conditioning, but of her own free-flowing, compassionate mind. In short, we tried to create a character we personally knew nothing about. Then the most astonishing thing happened: this fictional character began to teach us to think differently. For instance, while writing, we'd be forced to ask, "how would Dharma deal with the emotion of anger?" Oh sure, she'd feel it - feel it completely. But then she'd be just as likely to let it go like a cluster of ugly balloons. Okay, fine, she'd let it go. How did she let it go? Probably by recognizing that no matter what the circumstances, emotions are self-generated. No one reaches inside your brain and flips the "anger" switch. So what does that teach us? Well, for me it means that all the anger I feel toward Cybill is ultimately created by... me. Whoa, there goes an ugly balloon! Thanks, Dharma! 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Richie didn't know he was beginning a journey into darkness when he made love to Kate. All he knew was bliss. For a few surreal hours his identity simply melted away. Of course, he tried to maintain his objectivity. Sex for Richie was traditionally an ego-ridden activity - an athletic event designed to win the "you're incredible" trophy. But something else happened that night with Kate. He actually made love. He kissed her with love. He touched her with love. And finally, he entered her with a sense of devotion that dissolved all the fear boundaries which had caused him to be so alone. Unfortunately, Kate was just drunk and horny. Nothing even remotely special was happening in her camp. Richie had his first nervous breakdown shortly thereafter, although he preferred to think of it as a learning experience. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Dave really looked like he was paying attention. He smiled, pursed his lips and nodded as if he were giving their comments and criticisms much thought. And why wouldn't he? They were the Grand Pooh-Bahs who protected the simple folk from unnecessary art. But the truth is, Dave's mind was elsewhere. And that's not just a figure of speech. His mind was actually in one of those little butt bags that kids like to wear these days. Now, of course, Dave didn't start the meeting with his mind in a butt bag. When one of the muckamucks was summing up a vague thesis with a meandering generality, Dave's mind was very much in and around his head. But then, on its own volition, Dave's mind imagined all the attendees dancing around naked and squirting one another in their private parts with brightly-colored water pistols. And that was when it happened. That was when Dave's mind inexplicably slipped into a butt bag... right alongside his heart. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Some days Richie would wake up crying. His first thoughts would be of Kate and the emptiness he felt without her. Those were the darkest days. The days when the pain of her rejection reached back and formed an alliance with his earliest childhood memories. The woman who couldn't love him now and the woman who couldn't love him then, working together like a Sino-Soviet monolith lumbering toward total Richie domination. So, bright boy that he was, he worked hard, drank hard, and chased soft women. Anything to forget. Anything to kill the pain. Until his dream came true. Until that amazing day when Kate came to him and said she had been wrong, that Richie was indeed the man for her and she wanted them to be together always. Which is when Richie suddenly realized that Kate was nuttier than rat crap in a pistachio warehouse. Richie still wakes up crying. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Dave was mildly disoriented when he realized he and Richie were the same person. This sort of cognitive moment tends to undermine a guy's sense of self. But it didn't stop there. When Dave looked around the room, he realized he was also Kate and Lorraine and Ted and Lenny. Heck, he was also the dying philodendran on the windowsill. Suddenly he felt enormous compassion for all these variations on himself, or rather "ourself", which he thought was a more appropriate label. The pain of loneliness and the fear of death were suddenly swept away by this one blinding flash of insight. It was so obvious! There are no separate forms of life. Life was life, just sort of wandering around looking at itself, loving itself, and unfortunately killing itself. Which is when Dave woke up, *#@+, showered and shaved, went to work, worried about nonsense, drove home, watched a supposedly funny show, had a stiff drink and went to sleep again. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Richie was excited about his upcoming death. He rented a medium-priced banquet hall and invited all of his friends, family and co-workers to the happy event. But when the big day arrived, many were confused. There was Richie, walking and talking, actually having quite a good time. What kind of death was this? What Richie had failed to explain in the invitations was that the death he was celebrating was that of his carefully constructed ego. From this day on, Richie would cease to be Richie (except for tax purposes). For all other purposes he would simply be a continuously unfolding manifestation of the universe - a process not a thing. He tried to explain how blissfully liberating this was, that this was the enlightenment sought by wise men throughout the ages, but no one really understood. Of course it didn't help matters much that he kept pestering several female guests to show the continuously unfolding manifestation their sweater puppies. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Dave still had vivid memories of when his mind was a quiet, useful ally - a handy-dandy accessory that would discreetly remind him not to stick his little Dave fingers into light sockets. But that was long ago. Dave's mind was now in full revolt. One moment it would be idling nicely, waiting to notice, judge, critique or consider - then, without warning, like a spider monkey on metha-amphetamines, it would start thinking ugly, angry, snarling monstrosities. Dave didn't know what to do. It was the only mind he had. And then he realized, it was out of his control because it was never his mind. It was just some scanning mechanism generated by billions of years of evolution, genetics, and conditioning. That made Dave feel better. At least until #*&^ #&$^^# mEeP ^%$^&!#^grrrrr %^%_+ +*&^) &% MWHA-HA-HA!&*( &^ *&*&78=07 WHOOO-gaa !$^& )argeep++tynoop!&* 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Surrender is a powerful word. It runs directly counter to everything Dave was taught. Dave was taught to fight for dominance - to struggle to be the best. And after years of doing just that, Dave finally arrived at the mountaintop, the pinnacle, the hallowed place where eagles crap. But Dave was still unhappy, because no matter how hard he fought, winning was an illusion - a mirage. But then, Dave thought, what would happen if I just gave up? This universe isn't meant to be dominated. It's an incomprehensible vastness which created us and to which we'll all return. So Dave surrendered and discovered a happiness he never dreamed of. A sea of bliss in which he willingly drowned. But then, he met this guy who was even happier and more blissful. You can guess the rest. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 The carotid artery. I think that's what it's called. The big blood vessel in the neck - maybe it's the jugular, I don't know. Whatever you call it, the damn thing was spouting blood, probably with each beat of his heart. It was late, I was coming back from a gig and saw his car wiped-out on the side of the road. I pulled over and tried to help. I knew the thing to do was to somehow stop the bleeding, but my hands were frozen. Instead, I told an unconscious teenager to hang in there, everything would be okay. A better Good Samaritan joined me eventually. He found an old shirt in the car and applied pressure to the kid's neck while I directed traffic. Then a cop arrived and told us that he would take over. I nodded, got in my Corolla and slowly drove home. That was twenty years ago. I still think about that kid and my frozen hands. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Richie was in perfect health when he began reviewing his life. His reasoning was simple: if your life passes before you moments before you die, why not do it when things are going good? That way, when you're coughing up blood and forgetting your childrens' names, you can just lay back and enjoy the morphine-drip carpet ride that takes you back to God. Richie's life review began with his teenage years because his actions during those years effectively blocked out all memory of the preceding years. He began slowly, looking for moments when he'd been kind and loving, generous and cheerful. Unfortunately, all he could remember was a bewildered, terrified, selfish, horny, angry, pimple-faced knucklehead. But that was okay. Part of the life review involved extending forgiveness. So Richie forgave that miserable teenager of long ago and began scanning his young adult years. Which is where he found a treasure trove of memories that caused him to cough up blood and forget his childrens' names. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 It was a novel thought for Dave: What if he's not someone who is perpetually in need of repair? What if the real grunt work of self-improvement is simply being aware of the things one thinks, feels, says and does? Dave decided to put his novel thought to the test by being aware of the first feeling that came along. As it turned out, his first brain guest was the feeling of horny. Dave was aware that he was horny. But, his awareness told him he was not so much horny as lonely. And the loneliness was really just a deep-seeded fear that he was unworthy of being loved......even by himself. Suddenly, Dave no longer felt horny. Now he felt hungry. But not so much hungry as sad. And the sadness was really just a deep-seeded fear that he was unworthy of being loved......even by himself. Which caused Dave to no longer feel hungry. Now he felt insane. But, that was okay because he was aware of it. And it wasn't so much insane as psychotically giddy. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 If he had pondered the problem for a hundred years, Hollywood agent Mort Tayback couldn't have dreamed of a better way to kill her. His plan was elegant and simple... he would make Carolyn famous - and not just Courtney Cox famous or David Schwimmer famous. For Mort's murder to work, he'd have to make Carolyn a legend, an international icon, a transcendent luminosity upon whom men, women and children from San Bernadino to Zimbabwe would dream about. He liked the sound of that - "San Bernadino to Zimbabwe!" Carolyn, of course, wouldn't feel like she deserved such adulation (and who does, really). At which point she'd quickly descend into a deadly spiral of drugs and miscellaneous self-destructive behavior, culminating in her untimely death. The world would mourn, but not Mort Tayback. For this was his perfect plan of revenge, based on a maniacally simple premise: "If you want to kill someone you hate, make them famous. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 My eulogy. I know I'm not dead, I just thought it would be kinda cool to write it myself, while I'm alive and well, and stick it on the end of a TV show. Okay, first, I meant well. Despite all the things for which I need to be forgiven, in my heart I know I meant well. I believe that my sins were driven by fear - fear of being unloved, fear of poverty, fear of death, fear, fear, fear. What can I say? I was deeply influenced by a frightened mother. I'm not casting blame here; God knows what she dealt with as a little kid. Second, I tried hard. When it came to taking care of my children, I allowed nothing to get in my way - even a closer relationship with them. I attribute that sin to "fear of being a bad provider." There's so much more to say but as you can see, space is limited. I'll continue eulogizing myself on future vanity cards. In the meantime, there's nothing to fear but fear itself... and lethal diseases, random violence, and tragic accidents. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 To pierce through the illusion of separateness, to realize that which lies beneath the tormenting wound of duality - that was a goal worthy of a lifetime. Richie, however, never really believed he could unravel this mystery which had baffled the greatest minds of humankind. He certainly didn't have anything resembling a great mind. Then it occurred to him... maybe a great mind was not what was needed to see behind the veil of illusion. Maybe true perception comes from a great heart. This realization troubled Richie, for he knew in his gut that he didn't have a great heart either. But then he thought, perhaps with some desperation, maybe the secret was in having a great gut. Or nice shoes. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 I wanted to take this opportunity to wish all my faithful vanity card readers a Happy New Year. I also wanted to thank all those tireless people who transcribe the ol' card and upload it onto the Internet. I'm hoping '99 will be a great year for the vanity card, filled with fresh insights into the meaning of life and plenty of pithy zingers that bring a smile to one and all. I don't have anything insightful or pithy at the moment. Truth is, I'm vamping like crazy here. Just killing time, looking for a clever point of view, a sweepingly original articulation on the mystery of life, anything. Oh hell, who am I kidding? This has become a terrible burden -- week after week, exec produce D & G and write this freaky vanity card. No, "Sit, Ubu, sit" for me. Nooo, I had to create a monster -- a voracious little stinker that gnaws at my peace of mind like a slightly irregular freckle which could be melanoma... but I digress. HAPPY NEW YEAR, EVERYBODY! 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 A valued member of the D&G staff, Informio the Clown, has been encouraging me to use the vanity card to exercise the non-verbal, or right-side of my brain. Well, Informio, this hemisphere's for you. Thanks a lot, Informio. Now I have to go back into therapy. Stupid clown. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 When Richie figured out that the universe truly was an illusion, he was quite dumbfounded at the simplicity of the insight. Unless some sort of awareness exists to perceive the whole shabang, the whole shabang effectively does not exist. It could be an infinite space filled with stars and planets, or a plaid snot rag wrapped around a bottle of pseudoephedrine hydrochloride. Or, to put it another way, when a tree falls in the forest and no one is around to hear it, there is no sound. For a sound to be a sound, there must be some sort of ear hooked to some sort of intelligence that says something like, "What was that?" Otherwise the sound might as well be a plaid snot rag wrapped around a bottle of pseudoephedrine hydrochloride. So now Richie understood that energy and mass only exist because of awareness, which means they have no inherent existence. Of course he had this insight while fighting a bad head cold, so that might have had something to do with it. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 When I was a young man I got this guitar and sorta learned how to make it talk. Not as articulately as the guys I worshipped, but I did manage to get that old Strat to speak with a certain fluency and syntax. On good nights, I could make it scream with anger or cry like a baby. There were even times when my hands did things that would utterly surprise me - when the thousands of hours of practice exploded into music that seemed to come from someone else entirely. I couldn't imagine a life without three pickups and that cool setting between treble and midrange. But eventually I realized my teenage dream was turning into an adult nightmare. In order to provide for my family, I traded the six-string Fender for a four-camera sitcom. I guess in hindsight it was a good trade, although on good nights while writing and producing "Roseanne," "Grace Under Fire" and "Cybill," you could hear me screaming and crying like a baby. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 As an experiment, I just set my computer's calendar to 1/1/00. So far so good. The system seems to be dealing with the 00 date without too much trouble. Although I did just notice that President McKinley is running for re-election, and Americans are certainly smelling better, now that one home in seven has a bathtub. On a sour note, bubonic plague has struck Honolulu and the entire city had to be set on fire to destroy the disease-carrying rats. I just read about a fellow named Harvey Firestone who claims to have a bright idea about attaching rubber tires to rims. Rubber tires? What good will those be on trolley cars? Finally, as I sit here on my porch, sipping lemonade, I feel comfortable in predicting that the 20th Century will be a peaceful one.  
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 I feel that the alter-egos of Richie and Dave are beginning to wear out their welcome in my vanity cards. The spiritual searcher, "Richie," is named after my childhood friend, a gentle giant and bonafide genius. "Dave" is derived from the classic Cheech and Chong piece "Dave's not here." I used Richie and Dave to explore themes I was personally uncomfortable with. As fictional characters, I could send them charging into emotional, intellectual, moral, sexual and spiritual machine gun nests, while I sat safely behind the lines. This is literary cowardice. Beginning now, any vanity card musings will be written from my own point-of-view. "Wait one darn minute! I'm real, and so is Dave! This should actually be called The Richie and Dave Vanity Card!" "You're damn right, Richie. If anyone's fictional, it's Chuck Lorre." 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 There's a wonderful story about a learned man who went to see a Zen master to debate the merits of Zen. The master poured him a cup of tea, and purposely kept pouring so the tea ran over the cup and spilled onto the table. The man was startled and asked the master what he was doing. The Zen master replied, "You are like this cup, too full of your own opinions to receive anything else." Now I'd like to ask everyone reading this vanity card to empty yourselves of all your opinions, beliefs, fears, hopes, resentments and desires for just one moment. Just let them all go... empty your cup. Good. Some call this emptiness nirvana - attained by years of meditation. I would suggest that there's another path to attain this state of emptiness: write and produce twenty-four sitcom episodes in thirty-five weeks. Which is the origin of another Zen riddle: if no one hears a comedy writer weeping inconsolably while curled in a fetal ball, is he still funny? 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 The secret of life: praise and blame, gain and loss, pleasure and sorrow come and go like the wind. To be happy, rest like a great tree in the midst of them all. Did you get that? Okay, here it is again: praise and blame, gain and loss, pleasure and sorrow come and go like the wind. To be happy, rest like a great tree in the midst of them all. Got it? No? All right, don't panic. Once again: praise and blame, gain and loss, pleasure and sorrow come and go like the wind. To be happy, rest like a great tree in the midst of them all. Are you a great tree yet? ... Aw, geez. Okay, once again: praise and blame, gain and loss, pleasure and sorrow come and go like the wind. To be happy, rest like a great tree in the midst of them all. Ya' happy?... Good. Unfortunately, that's not the secret of television, so tell all your friends to watch "Dharma & Greg" and while you're at it, see if you can get a Nielson box... get a Nielson box... get a Nielson box... get a Nielson box... 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 I happen to believe that a life unexamined is a life not worth living. I also happen to believe that a life examined will cause an incredible amount of heartache. With that dilemma in mind, here's where my examination has gotten me so far. The only real progress I've made as a human being came at those times when my carefully constructed ego was completely shattered by people and/or events. Unfortunately, that progress was always short-lived because each and every incident of ego deflation was followed by years of building up a stronger, more resilient replacement. Son, friend, athlete, musician, rebel, space cadet, husband, daddy, TV writer-producer, divorced guy, jerk, smart guy, wiseguy, fool, seventeen handicap, success, failure are all false selves because they are fleeting processes with no real substance or permanence. So where does this leave Chuck Lorre? Egoless? I wish. But it does make one think, maybe Prince was on to something when he shed his name for a symbol. Hmmm... 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 The more I investigate the non-realm that lies just beyond, beneath or throughout the non-realm I think we're in, the more I'm convinced that it will take the heart of a warrior to continue. I suppose part of the reason for that is it requires courage to not be seduced by the comfort level generated by this particular illusion. Isn't it easier to just lay back and slip-slide into the daily grind of unconsciousness? And then there's the cultural conditioning which proclaims, "This is it! What you see is what you get." Now, let's think about that for a moment. What we see is what we get. Hmmm... We can't see electrons. We can't see a virus. We can't see getting an honest profit participation in anything we write - and yet we still believe these things exist. Which brings me to God. Isn't it strange that we can look up at a night sky, at a majestic mountain, at the sculpted behind of a beautiful woman in spiked heels, and have trouble believing in God? But I digress. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Dharma & Greg adopt a baby, they break into a diner and serve pie, their closet is haunted by devil dolls, Kitty sues Larry for a broken ass, Pete lets the bad air out, Dharma goes to the big dance, a dead friend sends D&G to the big trees, Greg falls asleep in a very bad place, Dharma goes into the nothing business, Edward comes out of retirement in a simple blue frock, Greg says "y'all," Dharma runs a button hook with Steve Young, D&G run from an angry bear, the in-laws are attacked by an angry sea lion, confused ducks attack a fund-raiser, a horse falls for Dharma, Greg is nibbled by a curious goat, Dharma tries out a Stradivarius, a coffin and a Ferrari, Good and Evil meet on a trampoline, politics gets ugly, Pete and Jane tie a bad knot, D&G peel potatoes, Santana bonds Greg and Larry, food fight with Kitty, Greg and Pete crash and burn, and marriage doesn't stop D&G from dating. You don't believe me? Watch the reruns, dude! Thanks to everyone who taped and paused. See you next year! 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 I recently mentioned to an engineer friend of mine that I get slightly crazed when things are less than perfect. To my surprise he looked at me with a crooked little smile and said, "Oh, but things are perfect." A few days later our conversation continued. This time he told me that the universe was expanding at exactly the right speed to keep it from flying apart or collapsing back into itself. He also noted that the subatomic makeup of our bodies was calibrated so magnificently that were it off by less than one percent, two human bodies approaching one another would release enough energy to blow the Earth out of its orbit. And consider this: if a plane loses its wings at thirty thousand feet, and DOESN'T fall to the ground, then we would be living in a world where fat people could stick rockets in their ass and fly to Miami for a three-day weekend. Now, if you're like me and don't find that to be an improvement on the laws of nature, then I think you have to agree with my friend - things are perfect. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 I wanted to take this opportunity to welcome all my loyal vanity card readers back for year three of D&G. As you can see, I've changed the card to black print on a white background in the hope that this will facilitate reading while you "pause" your videotape. I also wanted to use this card to talk about what I did on my summer vacation. Rather than go to Europe, or some exotic locale, I chose to go on a spiritual journey. Among other things, my journey led to this stunning realization: For as long as I can remember, I've mistakenly felt that God, or some kind of higher power, had taken everyone aside and explained to them what this life was all about. And for some twisted, cosmic reason, it was decided that I alone would remain in the dark. Uncovering this self-centered misconception was an enormous breakthrough for me. For the first time in my life I didn't feel like an ignorant, frightened outsider. As a result, next summer, one more ignorant, frightened insider is going to Paris! 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Dear Dad, I want to apologize for being such a rotten son. I want to say how sorry I am for all the pain I brought into your life. For the years I humiliated you with my ridiculous hair, my moronic clothes and my stupid, stupid behavior. For all the times I ignored your heart-felt advice and hard-won wisdom. And finally, I want to apologize for despising you for reasons I still don't understand. Please know that my thoughts, words and actions were the best I had at the time. I also want to thank you for endowing me with a sense of humor. It has proven to be a priceless inheritance, and I don't use the word priceless loosely. You should see where I live. I also need to thank you for showing me what courage, strength and personal integrity looked like in action. I'm still trying to live up to that part of my inheritance. I miss you so much, Dad, and yet I feel your presence more and more with each passing year. Love, Chuck. P.S. You'll be happy to know that your grandchildren are a definite improvement on their father. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Inspiration. Noun. 1. Stimulation of the faculties to a high level of feeling or activity. 2. The condition of being so stimulated. 3. An agency, such as a person or a work of art, that moves the intellect or emotions. 4. Something that is inspired, as an idea or action. 5. Theology: Divine guidance or influence exerted directly upon the mind and soul of man. 6. The act of breathing in; inhalation. (From the Latin inspirare, to breath into) I'm under a lot of pressure to get one of these vanity cards written every week and to be perfectly honest, some weeks I've got squat. Like this week. Nothing of substance to say. Nothing even marginally amusing. Which is why I'm hoping for a little of #1 or perhaps even #5. I'm just sitting here waiting... just sitting here... Oh, well, at least I'm doing well with #6. Which, if you read the definition again, still counts as inspiration. How about that, I'm inspired... and expired... and inspired... and expired... inspired... 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Once upon a time there was a wave. The name of the wave was, no surprise, Dave. Dave the wave. Dave was a big, powerful wave. His massive blue body surged across the surface of the ocean with great majesty and deceptive speed. Oh yes, Dave was quite a wave. From the moment he rose up from the ocean he felt special. He felt invincible. Ferocious storms battered him with wind and rain, great ships sliced through his very heart, and yet he rolled on. It was not for him to stop and consider the other waves. To stop was to die. Waves have to keep moving... or else. But then one day Dave saw a strange darkness on the horizon and, for the first time in his life, felt fear. What could it be? Was it connected to the laughing creature sliding across his face on a piece of wood? But before he could make sense of it all, he crashed down into the darkness. For a brief moment he felt a weird, splashing feeling, then oblivion. Dave was no more. He was now a part of the sea. And as we all know, the sea loves to make waves. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 In an earlier vanity card I made a joke that involved sticking rockets in the asses of fat people, thus enabling them to fly to Miami for a three-day weekend. At this time I am forced to admit that the joke was in bad taste and may have hurt the feelings of some of my readers who are calorically challenged. I especially regret the gaffe since frankly, I should know better. I spent two years on "Roseanne" where I was repeatedly beaten over the head with a simple truth: "fat" jokes are cheap jokes. I was also told that I was an incompetent hack intent on destroying the show, but that's another matter for another vanity card. The purpose here is to make amends to my corpulent compadres; my endomorphic, abdominous buds; my swag-bellied, moonfaced, roly-poly pals. This is not the place for any more thoughtless japes at the bloated, bulky or broad of beam. From this moment on, I solemnly vow to restrain from any and all juvenile badinage aimed at the jumbo dumplings who walk among us. Thank you, and good night. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Thirty thousand feet in the air. Strapped into a seat that doubles as a flotation device. Thinking about faith. Faith in airplanes. In jet engines. In pilots. Faith that the sullen, unshaven guy across the aisle isn't the mindless pawn of a master terrorist with a deep hatred for America, the Great Satan. Then, assuming a safe landing, faith that the cabbie didn't have a fight with his adulterous wife who hides her deceit behind sly jokes about his unremarkable sexual prowess forcing him to soothe his anguish with that fifth of Jim Beam he keeps stashed beneath the seat. And, of course, faith that the doorknob leading out of the public bathroom isn't tainted with a flesh-eating bacteria that came to Earth imbedded in a small, flat meteorite that some unsuspecting child picked up to skip across the surface of a lake. Yes, faith is a wonderful thing. Without it, this world would surely be a fearful place. Once again, thanks for reading my vanity card. Have a nice day. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 For many years I've been fascinated by the phenomenon known as automatic writing. If this strange occurrence could be made to work in television comedy, and I could harness it, my productivity would no doubt increase tenfold. I decided that there was only one way to find out. I would have to turn on the computer, close my eyes, and trust that some cosmic power would embrace my humble consciousness, causing my fingers to fly across the keyboard in an explosion of cutting-edge humor. Please keep in mind that I claim no authorship for what follows. Ally felt strangely powerful knowing that she was not wearing panties and by what she had just done in the bathroom. ALLY Your Honor, my client's injuries were clearly masturbated by the actions of the defendant. Oops! I meant exacerbated. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 The concept of prayer, as I've always understood it, was that one beseeched God for what one wanted. Make me rich, famous, sexy, happy, married, single, whatever - just improve upon the status quo. In my humble opinion, this is a waste of time. That's not to say that I think prayer is a waste of time. In fact, I now believe that prayer is essential to a happy life - just not the kind of prayer that asks for stuff. What I now believe is that the true purpose of prayer is for us to get our actions and thoughts into alignment with the universe as it really is, as opposed to how we wish it to be. If we assume an omnipotent God, then God is everything. In other words, God is the universe as it really is. With that in mind, I've been praying a lot lately so that I might properly align myself. The two messages I've received thus far are: "be kind and loving" and "have fun while it lasts". While I find that comforting, it troubles me that the two ideas seem incompatible. Maybe I've been in L.A. too long. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Dear Vanity Card Readers, I regret to inform you that I will not be writing a vanity card this week due to illness. Nothing serious, just your average, common cold versus aspirin, antihistamines, vaporubs, humidifiers, throat lozenges, vitamins, homeopathic remedies, buckets of chicken soup that I can't smell, and enough squeezably-soft facial tissue to exfoliate my nose down to the skull. But what I find most fascinating is that while nothing's worked, I persist in thinking I can "beat" a common cold. Why am I incapable of accepting my helplessness? Is the inability to accept helplessness a survival trait or the cause of suffering? I can't amaze my friends at cocktail parties by levitating the dip, but I accept that I'm powerless over gravity and thus do not suffer. Likewise, I can't sing like Joe Cocker, but I accept my inability to emulate Ray Charles and feel just fine about it. Anyway, there won't be a vanity card this week. Geez, I feel clammy, maybe I should take some more zinc. Yeah, zinc, that'll do it. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 I recently found myself in a room with a group of complete strangers. As each one spoke, I noticed I was making a snap judgement about that person. Sometimes the judgement was warm and appreciative. But more often, it was of the "Geez, what a vacuum tube this guy is" variety. At first I was troubled by this ugly mental reflex. But then I was hit with a flash of insight. As I gazed around the room I realized that if each person was animated by the same energy - call it God, call it carbon-based, chemical doowhackies - then each person was essentially life doing the best that it can. Suddenly my judgements were replaced by a pervasive feeling of love. Emboldened by my epiphany, I meditated upon a TV executive with whom I'd recently had difficult relations. I visualized this person not as an arrogant prig, but as "life doing the best that it can." Which is when my insight grew deeper. I now believe that the ability to suspend judgement and flow love works really well with complete strangers. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Zen mind, beginner's mind. The phrase, popularized by Zen master Shunryu Suzuki, means exactly what it says - the Zen mind is a beginner's mind. It has no preconceptions or fixed ideas. It is open, questioning and delighted. When I began in television, I had a beginner's mind, but over the years I acquired a mind that was filled with so much stuff that my creativity became frozen. My joy became a dim memory. Obviously the answer was to re-cultivate the "beginner's mind." Less obvious was how to jettison this "acquired mind." Well, after many months of meditation, I've done just that. The rules and boundaries of the "acquired mind" have been replaced with the wonder and delight of a child-like beginner's mind. My writing once again flows effortlessly, and the result is a new sitcom entitled "Pooping!" or "Mr. Poopie" - whichever tests better. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 For the last two and a half years I've been amazed and delighted at the response my vanity cards have received from all the folks who watch and tape D & G. I've also been very appreciative of the many Internet sites where each week the cards are transcribed (sometimes accurately, sometimes not). Anyway, it seemed like a logical next step for me to make the cards even more available. Unfortunately, and for reasons I can't go into, I'm not allowed to tell you how this has been done. I can't even give you any hints. About all I can tell you is that all the cards are now out there for your easy perusal, but the only way to find them is to use your imagination. I would also like to mention that if you are clever enough to locate them, please pass it on. Thanks, ChuckLorre. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 I was recently asked by a journalist why I write these vanity cards. It seemed like a simple enough question, but the truth is, I was stumped. Why do I write them? Not for money certainly, although I continue to hold out hope. Is it a creative exercise from which I derive great pleasure? Not really. I've always felt that the act of writing isn't nearly as enjoyable as the feeling that comes from "having written." So why do I do it? Well, after careful consideration I've come to believe that had I been even a moderately successful communicator in my formative years, I would feel little compulsion to communicate now. This leads me to wonder, would it have been appropriate to have told the journalist that I write these vanity cards because I was incapable of expressing myself as a youngster, a situation which caused me unbearable anguish and is only now beginning to dissipate? Maybe. But I didn't. I told him I write them because it's fun. And this leads me to a question: if he's writing about my writing, what kind of miserable childhood did he have? 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 I've never understood the phrase "God's will be done." It certainly wasn't bandied about while I was growing up on Long Island. Were it not for TV and the movies, I probably would never have heard it at all (prune-faced sodbusters in the Old West seemed to say it a lot). The American psyche of the Fifties and Sixties celebrated our will, not God's - and we believed our will was limitless. But thankfully, as I've gotten older, I've come to realize that my will is anything but limitless. I can will myself to knowledge, but not to wisdom. I can will myself to pleasure, but not to happiness. I can will myself to money, but not to a sense of security. I can will myself to veggies and aerobics, but not to good health. Hell, I can will myself to bed, but not to sleep. All of which leads me to conclude that my deepest desires were never attainable through the exercise of my will. There's a feeling of relief in that conclusion. And unless God has a Manhattan attitude towards people from Long Island, there's a small bit of hope. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 In a recent New York Times article about the King of Jordan, the King discussed an episode of Dharma & Greg which explored some of the issues he faces in running his country. Can I just tell you... this makes me very happy. I mean, c'mon, the King of Jordan watches our show and finds wisdom in it! Not the King of Big Screen TV's, mind you - the King of Jordan! Now if Sting is right, and we live in a universe of synchronicity, it then follows that a single episode of Dharma & Greg could bring peace to the Middle East. It could even bring peace to Sting. Heck, as long as I'm chasing this pussycat, let me just ask, are there any more world leaders out there watching the show? If so, please feel free to contact me directly. I know you're busy and can't watch every week, so we'll discuss your problems and then determine which episode of D&G would be best for you to watch. Who needs think tanks and big shot consultants? The reason you guys are world leaders is that you know where the truth is: Dharma & Greg, the sitcom fit for a king! 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 I just got home from the Writers' Guild of America awards banquet. We lost. For the second year in a row, we lost. I'm not bitter we lost. We just lost. I expected we'd lose, and we did. Again. A few months ago we went to the Golden Globes. We lost there, too. For the second time. But that's okay. It's nice to see old friends at these show-biz shindigs. It's nice to be acknowledged by my peers and by members of the foreign press. And let's not forget, good work is its own reward. Knowing that I did my best and had fun doing it is really all I can ask for. But the most important thing is, three more awards shows - win or lose - and I'll have fully amortized my lousy tuxedo. Okay, maybe I'm a little bitter. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Miracle. The dictionary defines it as "an event that appears unexplainable by the laws of nature and so is held to be supernatural in origin or an act of God." When I reflect on the people and events that led me to this moment in time, this "place" in my life, I am forced to conclude that a miracle - no, a series of miracles - has occurred. How else can a devastating car accident and a terrible illness turn out to be, in the long run, blessings? But then my inner critic says, "Are you so self-obsessed as to believe that the hand of God moves through your puny life?" Well, if I postulate an infinite God, the answer is, why not? The dictionary definition of infinite is "having no boundaries or limits." With that in mind it seems self-obsessed to think that the influence of something infinite wouldn't extend to me, or anyone else for that matter. Of course I could also postulate that we're all chemical accidents in a dead and meaningless universe. It just doesn't make a very interesting vanity card. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Let's try a little experiment. Turn and look at someone near you - a loved one, a friend, a co-worker, a stranger - it doesn't really matter. Now, as you look at this person, consider this: he or she is a completely unique, never - before - in - the - history - of - the - universe - has - there - been - anyone - exactly - like - this - person... person. Reflect on the fact that you are gazing at an impossibly complex and totally original work of art which will never be duplicated. I'm sure you see where I'm going with this. We so easily lose sight of how truly magnificent we are. Which is something to keep in mind if you chose to look at a stranger for this exercise. Even though he's looking back at you with grinning, spittle-covered lips that are a miraculous construct of living tissue - even though perverse thoughts of what he'd like to do to you are racing through a meat-based computer that no Pentium chip will ever approximate, he is a masterpiece. If he were hanging in a museum, a security guard would most likely tell you, "Don't touch." 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 One of the great blessings of getting older is realizing, without shame and remorse, what an idiot you've been at earlier stages of your life. I can think of nothing that breeds humility better than this on-going epiphany. The knowledge that with a few exceptions, I was the human version of the "don't pass" bet on a craps table, is oddly comforting. Let's take a look. In 1977 I tried to talk a friend out of investing all his money in stores that only sold running shoes. A few years later, I told anyone who would listen that the female singer of "Lucky Star" was a one-hit wonder, while the singer of "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" was here to stay. I saw no future in bottled water or fancy coffee shops. Cellular phones? What for? I already have a phone. And let's not forget that in 1988 I read William Gibson's "Neuromancer," logged onto the Internet, and STILL didn't see it coming. Shall I go on? Shall I share with you some of the moronic things I've done, thought and said in my personal life? Of course I won't. I'm not stupid. I'm just humble.  
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 A friend of mine recently asked me if I was responsible for any of the countless jokes that are told in offices and homes throughout the country. His question certainly had a valid premise. One would assume that comedy writers write jokes. Following that line of reason he thought, well, Chuck's a comedy writer (remember, he's my friend), ergo Chuck must write some of these "a guy goes into a bar with a duck on his head" deals. Well, I had to tell him that nothing could be further from the truth. In fact, I've sat in many rooms with many talented comedy writers and every one of them was as mystified as I was as to the origin of jokes. What wonderful madman writes "a pig this good you don't eat all at once?" What evil genius cooked up the comic recipe for "I feel good, but I look awful?" I don't know. But if you're out there and you dreamed up "You want me to numb that for you, Mrs. Johnson?", thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Well, some things never change. I've had four and a half months to write this season's first vanity card - four and a half months - and here I am, the morning the damn thing is due, writing like a madman. If nothing else, this exercise in blind panic causes me to reflect on how I crawled out of high school in June, 1970. And to reflect on how my son, following in his father's hand and kneeprints, executed the same escape maneuver in June, 2000. And finally, how thirty years from now, perhaps his son will be putting off for tomorrow what could have easily been done today. Procrastination. I'm good at it. Since I began writing this vanity card, I've managed to peruse both the L.A. and New York Times, drink yet another cup of coffee, hide in the bathroom to read a few more precious pages of a Philip Roth novel. (Reading Roth causes me to seriously question my vocation. It's sort of the prose version of when I was a young, journeyman guitarist and I first heard Pat Metheny. I think that was around 1974.) Anyway, procrastination... oh, look! I'm out of room! The space constraints of the vanity card have forced me to stop writing before I'm able to cleverly fini 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 When I was a little kid my parents often used a phrase that, to their way of thinking, described the ancient art of meditation. The phrase was "staring at one's belly button." This bon mot was most often used to describe someone who was sitting on their butt practicing the equally ancient art of underachieving. "Look at that guy over there staring at his belly button," would be considered an acceptable use of this witticism. Another common remark heard in my formative years was "He's got a head on his shoulders," which was used to express admiration and respect. Smart people who were doing something with their lives had "heads on the shoulders." Those who were not quite so clever, well, there was another phrase for where their heads were. The reason I'm bringing this up is that while meditating recently I had a tremendous flash of insight - I have never stared at my belly button, not while meditating, not while underachieving, and my head has always been on my neck. When I mentioned to my mother that my head was filled with these sorts of nonsensical sayings and I considered it a subtle form of child abuse, she told me not to be such a Wisenheimer. Wisenheimer was an old country name that was later anglicized to Smartypants. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 It's strange to think of one's life as analogous to climbing a mountain. It's even stranger to discover, after years of striving to reach the summit, that it's the wrong mountain. This is what happened to Dave. Dave spent twenty years climbing the wrong mountain. And yet he had to consider it time well-spent. After all, no one could have told him he was relentlessly scaling the wrong pile of dirt (not that they didn't try). Dave had to find out for himself. Which is why, in the perverse way life happily screws with us, it turned out to be exactly the right mountain. In order to see things clearly, to understand the actuality of his existence, Dave had to crawl up a treacherous incline that only led to happiness in his poorly-formed, childish dreams. There was never an alternative mountain for ol' Dave, because he was incapable of envisioning one. So he climbed. Until one day, he looked around and saw that he'd reached the top. The pinnacle. The apex. The place where eagles crap. And that's when he noticed the mountain he was always meant to climb far off in the distance. And he noticed something else... everyone climbing that mountain was truly happy. So Dave did the only thing a sane man could do in his situation, he sent word to those people and told them they were on the wrong mountain. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Here's a funny thing. I've been trying to create a sympathetic male character in his early twenties for another project I'm working on. After struggling with a variety of generic, off-the-rack prototypes, I thought why not use myself as a template (at least myself as I was in my early twenties) - which is where the funny part comes in. When I began using an autobiographical approach I discovered - to my horror - that I don't find the "young me" to be a particularly sympathetic character. Needless to say, this sort of thinking brings to light all kinds of personal issues I don't really feel are appropriate for a vanity card. But the question remains, what does it mean when you reflect on your life and find that you didn't make a very good hero? Your actions were either self-serving, thoughtless, shallow, craven, vain, vengeful, manipulative or, when you really got it going, all of the above. Well, it means that even though we go through life thinking of ourselves as the leading man, the truth is some of us are better cast as mischief-making sidekicks. Or, in a few cases, unwitting villains who have to learn to forgive themselves. Regardless, I've decided not to take any chances. I'm basing my sympathetic male character on a young Tom Hanks. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 On October 18, 2000, I celebrated my forty-ninth birthday. I approached the day with a sense of mild dread. This was, after all, the last birthday before the Big Five-Oh, the age where juvenile behavior starts to look pretty pathetic (even in California). Anyway, the natal anniversary arrived and was warmly celebrated by friends and loved ones. I felt good. I felt - dare I say it - vaguely mature. Then my old friend and accountant Steve called to wish me well. We joked about getting old. Where have all the years gone? What about the music the kids listen to these days? How's your prostate? Etc. Then, thinking myself to be his elder, I inquired as to Steve's age. He replied that he'd be turning forty-eight in December. I quickly did the math and determined that since I graduated high school in 1970, he must have graduated in 1971. To my surprise, he said he graduated in 1970. I did some lightning fast re-calculations and asked if he skipped a grade. He said no. Then he asked a simple, penetrating question. He asked me what year I was born. I replied confidently, "1952." To which he, always the accountant, asked, "Well, then how on earth can you be forty-nine?" I started to protest, but then the impact of his question hit me like a wheelbarrow full of bricks falling on the head of a stupid person. Somewhere along the line, I don't know when, I had omitted a year of my life. But my friend, with his mysterious ability to add and subtract had returned it to me. I got some nice sweaters this year, but how often do you get the gift of life? I'm only forty-eight! Screw maturity! Neener, neener, neener! 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 I recently spoke with a man who is tormented. He thinks he is tormented because he thinks he has a tormentor. He cannot think of a scenario wherein he leaves his tormentor and thus ends his torment. He thinks his only path to serenity is to destroy his tormentor. He thinks the appropriate weapon to accomplish this task is a lawyer. This got me to thinking that perhaps thinking was the real source of his torment. But how can that be? Don't we value thinking? Don't we worship great thinkers? How can this God-given gift that separates us from the animals be deemed a curse? Isn't the alternative to thinking, stupidity? Or is there another alternative? Ask yourself this question, "When I have a good idea, do I think my way to it, or does it just hit me?" Which brings me to the theme of this vanity card (finally). I'd like to suggest that we all have inspiration at our disposal at all times. How does inspiration work? How the hell would I know? I just know it's there. Nothing else but inspiration explains a great work of art, and nothing else but thinking could be responsible for making all those "Lethal Weapon" movies. I mentioned all this to the tormented man. I told him that perhaps he could find a solution to his troubles by quitting thinking and being open to inspiration. He said he thought I was a moron and threw his shoe at me. It just hit me. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 I've got to share something with you. Every time I write a vanity card, I'm quietly astonished that I get away with putting these things on television every week. I mean think about it, at the end of every episode of Dharma & Greg I get two seconds to communicate whatever's on my mind directly to millions of people. This is a remarkable thing, folks. Secret messages from a sitcom writer using the most powerful medium the world has ever known. Sixty-six cards at two seconds a piece means I've received a total of two minutes and twelve seconds of broadcast time to THINK OUT LOUD. Do you know what that kind of time costs? You don't have to be Bill Gates' building contractor to see that they can't keep letting me get away with this. In fact, just writing this might be some sort of death wish. Number 66, the card that killed the cards. The card that never aired. In years to come, people will talk in hushed tones about the fabled #66. Its very existence will be debated. Did Lorre actually write #66? If he did, was it so inflammatory that the big boys pulled the plug on the whole deal? Could it be that the missing #66 held the vital clue to the puzzle, the enigma, that was Chuck Lorre (graduate thesis, anyone?), or is what happened far more mundane? Number 66 was read by the network censors. They thought it a meandering mixture of hubris and paranoia that lacked a good solid joke at the end, but otherwise containing nothing to merit keeping it off television. One thing's for sure, if you're reading this, you know the answer - but don't let that discourage you from talking about me in hushed tones. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 As I write this I'm sitting in a big, dark cloud of anger. The feeling is highly energetic, almost electric, and, for some strange reason, seems to be most evident in my skin. The experience is vaguely uncomfortable and is dissipating slightly as I write these words. Thinking back, I see now that there was a brief moment when I had a choice as to how I would react to the situation that led to my current condition. I could have just as easily chosen resignation, or amusement, or even sadness. So the obvious question is why did I choose a destructive emotion? I suppose that on some deep, unconscious level I must be hard-wired to believe that anger is the appropriate response. Which leads to the next obvious question: how does one undo a damaging mental process that appears to be inextricably woven into the organism itself? Well, let me state right here, that burning it out doesn't work. God knows I've tried and therefore will not be running for public office anytime soon. Thinking it away (which I'm doing now), is terribly ineffective. And I'm certainly not ready to line up at the great pharmaceutical "happy" trough. So what then? Well, perhaps I could give my anger away. I know it sounds silly, but maybe silly is what's called for. Perhaps I could simply give my anger to everyone reading this vanity card... whoa, suddenly I'm feeling very affable. CAUTION: This is not a chain letter. Do not pass the anger on. Gently put it in a box, bury it in your backyard and blame it on the dog when no grass grows on that spot. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 I DON'T HAVE A LOT TO SAY THIS WEEK SO I'VE WRITTEN REALLY BIG. I'M HOPING THE SHEER SIZE OF MY WORDS WILL MAKE UP FOR THE LACK OF MEANING IN THEM. SOMETIMES BIG CAN BE GOOD. THE GRAND CANYON IS GOOD. SOMETIMES BIG CAN BE BAD. WORLD WARS ARE BAD. I HOPE THIS IS GOOD, LIKE THE GRAND CANYON AND NOT BAD LIKE WAR. OKAY, THAT SHOULD DO IT. BYE, NOW. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 I recently pierced the veil of a long-standing delusion which I had considered to be reality. The delusion was simply this: I thought people were deeply aware of me. I thought the things going on in my life - my work, relationships, problems, joys, thoughts, insights, attitudes, tastes, desires, fears, good hair days, bad hair days, choice of pants (that's right, choice of pants), etc. ad delusium, were all of some significance to other people. I'm not certain, but I think the delusion is a twisted sort of family heirloom, a neurotic hand-me-down of the fiercely-held immigrant desire to fit in, to be acceptable. Be that as it may, the impact of this hallucination has been a constant state of low-grade anxiety. While it's still a little early to tell, it appears that freedom from it will create an enormous sense of relief and... well... freedom. You people out there, kind and considerate though you may be, don't really give a rat's ass about my life. You give a rat's ass about your life. This means I need no longer obsess over what others think of me (they don't). This means that I am, much to my amazement, more or less invisible. But most importantly, this means that I can begin living a fearless, delusion-free life that is fundamentally true to my basic, God-given nature. All that's left to do is discover what kind of pants my basic, God-given nature looks good in.  
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 If you're reading this it means I failed to write a vanity card this week. Early in the season, recognizing that I was bound to miss a deadline sooner or later, I wrote this as sort of an emergency generic card. As such I have no idea when this will air. Which means that I have no clue as to what might have happened or might be happening while you're reading this. So... I'm just gonna have to wing it. First off, I want to congratulate Al Gore on a hard-won victory. What a hoot it was to see the vice-president dance the horah with Tipper at the inauguration. I'm also delighted that I took a deep breath and jumped into the stock market with both feet in August when it hit its all-time low. What a buying opportunity that turned out to be! And how about that Eminem country album, huh? It's a little dark, but man, it's all I've been playing in my car for two weeks now. Needless to say, we all mourn the passing of Howard Stern. And finally, the really big news - I know I'm going out on a limb here, but what if I'm right? -- who would have thought that we'd finally make contact with an alien race during halftime at the Super Bowl? Boy, that was a shocker. The Jets came back from a four touchdown deficit to pull off the upset of all time. Oh, Howard, I wish you could've been here with us to see it. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Interesting Dharma & Greg facts: In the first draft of the first script Greg had a teenage sister who was a pyromaniac. Also in that script was a scene where Dharma's dad was about to be arrested for plants growing on his property that he swore did not belong to him - while at the same time insisting he had a prescription for glaucoma. The first time I met Jenna was at a breakfast meeting. I ate before she arrived so she wouldn't see what a sloppy eater I was. The original inspiration for these vanity cards came from exec producer Bill Prady, who has also edited each and every one. There's no way I can confirm this, but I suspect Bill might be the smartest man in the world (edit that, buddy). In the first episode exec producer Don Foster came up with the immortal lines for Dharma, "Comb your frog," and, "Drive your coffee table to Idaho." I can't confirm this either, but I suspect Don might be a bodhisattva, a fully-realized soul who has voluntarily returned to the physical plane to help lesser souls achieve spiritual freedom. The actual premise of D&G was inspired by the Bruce Springsteen song "She's the One" on Born to Run (which has one of the great Bo Diddley riffs of all time). The first time I heard the word dharma was in 1968. The debut Jethro Tull album, (a killer album by the way, far superior to Aqualung) had a song entitled "Dharma for One." For the next twenty-five years I didn't know what the word meant. Now I do. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 I've been told that we're only as sick as our secrets. I like the sound of that. It would make a particularly good bumper sticker here in Southern California. With that in mind I'd like to engage in a little vanity card therapy and reveal one of my deepest, darkest secrets. There've been times when the mere thought of this secret has nearly overwhelmed me with self-loathing. And yet, there've been other times when I actually took a perverse pride in it. So what is this personal bit of esoterica? I've got your attention now, don't I? You probably even skipped ahead to see if this is really juicy. Well, skip no further. My secret is this: I'm not that smart. Yup, there it is, dug up and thrown into the sunlight. Since I was a little kid I've known that (like it or not) there were an awful lot of people who had a lot more on the ball than I did. Oh, believe me, I've tried to suppress this awareness. I've tried to convince myself that I was special, that I was gifted. But I eventually learned that this secret could be my greatest asset. I learned that with enough bright friends even a dim bulb can light up a room. I like the sound of that. With enough bright friends even a dim bulb can light up a room. Someone ought to print that on a bumper sticker and slap it on Air Force One. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 I guess it's not news to anyone that we've been getting clobbered in the ratings for the last few months. I have to tell you, it's been a very humbling experience. It's an experience that's caused many hours of self-reflection, self-doubt, and, on a few occasions, debilitating bouts of depression, rage, paranoia, and a mild lack of appetite - nothing unhealthy, I'm just not very hungry (mostly at night, but I think I sleep better on an empty stomach). My point is, we work really hard on this show and when we lose in the ratings it just plain hurts. There's nothing to be done about it except to sit in the pain and pray for it to pass. Of course you could call twenty friends and encourage them to watch the show. That might help. I'm not actually saying you should do that. But you could... if you cared. I'd do it for you. If I had twenty friends. And you had a show. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 To whom it may concern, We have taken Chuck Lorre hostage. Do not try to find him. Do not alert the authorities. Until our demands are met he will be held in a really nice house in Los Angeles where he'll be forced to eat rich foods and watch satellite TV with all the premium channels and pay-per-view. The following are a list of our demands: We must never again receive "official" letters from big political parties informing us we've been selected to be part of blue-ribbon panels that determine our country's future, provided we donate five grand to be so honored. Sometime, somewhere, in some city, an oriental rug store will have to actually go out of business. All salespeople in nice clothing stores who act like they're better than the people shopping in the store must take acting lessons from people who don't know anything about acting but know a good thing when they see one. This demand also applies to snooty waiters in nice restaurants. You have twenty-four hours to comply with these demands. Until then, Mr. Lorre will be forced to spend his nights sleeping on a very cushy bed that is dangerously close to a snoring dog with bad gas. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 As I write this I'm being interviewed by Jeannie McDowell, a reporter for Time magazine. Jeannie's writing an article about comedy on television. She agreed to let me take notes of the interview for my vanity card, but I'm not sure she really knew what a vanity card was. Throughout the Q & A, I try to maintain a mildly-amusing, self-deprecating manner. When asked why TV comedies are struggling these days, I cleverly quip that maybe the problem lies in poor diet or lack of exercise - but I don't think she writes that down. When she asks about the proliferation of "dramadies," my response is immediate, sharp and insightful. But, neurotically afraid to offend, I hedge my bet by adding that maybe audiences prefer a show that succeeds at being amusing, rather than fails at being funny. I also mention that the media doesn't write treatises about movie comedies sucking because they're not shoved down our throats every week like bad TV shows are. Unfortunately, I can tell that's not a good sound bite - even for print, which requires, I guess, "print bites." I sense that the interview isn't going well so my mind begins to wander. I imagine a sitcom about a reporter for Time magazine who's interviewing a writer. He's a smart, sexy writer... 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 As I write this there exists a substantial threat of strikes in the film and TV business - first from the writers guild, then from the actors guild. Well, I'd like to make a prediction. I predict that after all the yelling and finger-pointing is over, when the smoke finally clears, the single issue that will actually be the cause of these strikes will be... the internet. The folks who run the conglomerates that own the companies that produce the various entertainment products have seen the future. And that future, despite the NASDAQ's current problems, is the internet -- what's on it, who owns what's on it, and, most importantly, who profits from what's on it. As the future of this incredible, planetary network is being fought over, I can't help but think back to the first time I logged on in 1989. For a nominal sum, I signed up for Compuserve. If I recall correctly, I had 2400 baud. There was a dial tone, a horrible noise, then, miracle of miracles, a world of goofy teenagers chatting with each other via badly written sentences. I sat there and marvelled that my little computer was suddenly linked to other little computers in faraway places. I marvelled, then I logged off. It was incredibly slow and boring. Well, it's not slow and boring anymore. And it may put a lot of people out of work for a very long time. Which, IMHO, isn't a LOL situation. :>) 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Once again, I'm sitting in an impossibly bad mood. This one's gone beyond the normal mental stew of fear, depression and resentment, and has morphed into a nasty physical sensation encompassing my entire body. The reason for the mood is almost besides the point. To the best of my knowledge, I have no power to change the conditions which brought it about. Which leaves me where? Well, as far as I can tell, it leaves me with nothing but these ugly feelings, a desire to be free of them, and the knowledge that I have never been able to lift myself out of my emotional state through the force of my will (the force of bourbon, sure - but the force of my will, never). The only thing I have even the vaguest control over is my attitude which preceded the precipitating, bad mood-causing event. That attitude could best be described as a fiercely held conviction that people are supposed to behave in a Chuck-approved manner. When they don't, Chuck immediately becomes the organic repository for the aforementioned bad mood. Now one might deduce that my only escape from these foul states of mind is to discard my fiercely held conviction. But to do that, I'd have to lovingly accept a world that infrequently lives up to my expectations. In other words, I'd have to be somewhat God-like (assuming an all-forgiving God). Which means that in vanity card #78 I'll have to start working on a plan 'B'. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 I was told last night that I absolutely must have a vanity card ready by this morning. Well, here it is, morning, and I'm scrambling to compose something worthy of my weekly, two-second blast of self-indulgence. As I ramble into the third sentence I remain clueless as to what my theme or motif might be. Of course, my lack of theme might be exactly what I'm looking for. Perhaps this is more of a jazz-style vanity card. A riff. An improvisation that strips words of their meanings and hurls them at the reader like cascading arpeggios from a tenor sax as played by a guy with a porkpie hat and a nasty predilection for a major export of Southeast Asia. BEGIN RHYTHM SECTION: Shotgun Momma with more than she needs to get the job done. Smoke-colored dogs running from a gasoline alley. Perfect. Talk to me about the brutality of your skin. As you walk away... END RHYTHM SECTION WITH CYMBAL CRASH PLAYED WITH BRUSH. Cool. We'll be back in twenty. Don't forget to tip your waitress. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 I believe that I suffer from two fundamental forms of fear: fear of not getting what I want, and fear of losing what I have. In that both stem from actual or "perceived" threats to my actual or "perceived" survival, I also believe that both aspects of fear are derived from my underlying fear of my actual or "perceived" death. It would then follow that a good deal of my daily anxiety is a result of my faulty perception. And by faulty perception I mean, "wow, am I a whack job or what?" Which leaves me with only two possible solutions regarding fear - change my perception, or, failing that, ignore my perception. The reason I bring this up is that in the ever-widening world of self-improvement, I never see "ignoring yourself" offered up as a viable solution to problems of the mind. And yet, it works! Next time your head is filled with anxious thoughts, simply take note of it, thank your mind for trying to ensure your survival, then act as if you just got a stock tip from a homeless person. Of course, ignoring fear messages no longer applies if you're standing in line at the post office and the guy behind you is hiding something beneath a large overcoat and audibly talking to God. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Okay, I don't know about you but I'm impressed. Eighty vanity cards! C'mon, that's really something. As a general rule, the only time I ever do anything with the number eighty attached to it is play fifteen holes of golf. But I can now look back with pride on having had the discipline and creativity to communicate something of value eighty times. Now I know some of you are thinking the phrase "something of value" might be overstated. Well, may I remind you, I've always had the option to create a vanity card which had value only to to me (a photo of my dog drinking from the toilet springs to mind). Instead, I chose to wrestle words into some sort of meaningful form... eighty times. Have I been successful? That will have to be determined by people who haven't written eighty vanity cards. What remains indisputable, however, is that the deed is done. Eighty vanity cards can be read, relished, or rejected. I now have something in common with the legendary author, Jules Verne. He wrote a story entitled, Around The World In Eighty Days. I wrote eighty vanity cards. At this rate, it won't be long before I have something in common with secret agent Maxwell Smart's beautiful partner and a lot of bottles of beer on the wall. Oh, that'll be a vanity card to remember. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Exhausted... can't form sentences... wrapping D&G, shooting two pilots, moving Mom, learning to dance, planning a wedding... must get help... so tired... can't go on like this... need to sleep... evil secret... hoping for strike... so physically depleted my face hurts... yeah, I know, it hurts you too, ha ha, aren't you clever... seem to get cranky for no reason at all... newfound conviction that I can play piano like Herbie Hancock... bad sign... can't play piano at all... over-using ellipses... Dammit, why is her nose shiny?! Where the hell is makeup?!... Wondering whether I'm paranoid in thinking that an overdue phone call is the first sign of the apocalypse... gleefully looking forward to long plane ride in reclining seat... Dim awareness that all this shall pass... fight or flight... or fandango... uh-oh... language skills slipping away... must finish vanity card before power belt loses charge... must close with joke... knock, knock, who's... oh, dear God, the phone's ringing! 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Gone fishin'. Gone fishin'. Gone fishin'. Gone fishin'. Gone fishin'. Gone fishin'. Gone fishin'. Gone fishin'. Gone fishin'. Gone fishin'. Gone fishin'. Gone fishin'. Gone fishin'. Gone fishin'. Gone fishin'. Gone fishin'. Gone fishin'. Gone fishin'. Gone fishin'. Gone fishin'. Gone fishin'. Gone fishin'. Gone fishin'. Gone fishin'. Gone fishin'. Gone fishin'. Gone fishin'. Gone fishin'. Gone fishin'. Gone fishin'. Gone fishin'. Gone fishin'. Gone fishin'. Gone fishin'. Gone fishin'. Gone fishin'. Gone fishin'. Gone fishin'. Gone fishin'. Gone fishin'. Gone fishin'. Gone fishin'. Gone fishin'. Gone fishin'. Gone fishin'. Gone fishin'. Gone fishin'. Gone fishin'. Gone fishin'. Gone fishin'. Gone fishin'. Gone fishin'. Gone fishin'. Gone fishin'. Gone fishin'. Well, not really. I don't particularly care for fishin'. I enjoy a nice piece of fish, but not fishin' per se. I suppose I could've said "gone nappin'," but that doesn't sound quite right. There will be moments when I'm quite conscious. Other phrases I considered were "out to lunch," but you can see the problem there. So, for the time being, we'll just stick with the fishing metaphor, ignore its dated quality, yet take the time to relish its timeless intent. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 The first time I got married I was twenty-six years old. I wasn't nervous. I was filled with certainty as to the rightness of my decision. I was centered and calm and blissfully unaware of all the challenges that lay ahead. My consciousness was completely unaware of my own shortcomings and how they would spring up at a later date to do what they do best. In short, I was twenty-six and dumber than soup. As I write this I'm well into my forty-eighth year and preparing to marry for the second time. The event is scheduled to begin eight hours from now. I find it amusing that this time I'm riddled with fear to the point of mind-numbing disassociation. A zombie with a tux. Of course I have to assume that this difference in my awareness is a result of the extensive knowledge I now possess of both my defects of character and the pitfalls of relationships. I have to assume that. I really do. In the meantime, my plan for the rest of the day is to wander around with a goofy smile and try not to bump into the furniture. When it's finally time to walk down the aisle, I feel fairly confident that I'll be having an out-of-body experience as well as an inability to recognize my closest relatives. The good news in all this is I'm deeply in love with the bride. The bad news is... well, there is no bad news, unless you count the goofy smile. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 In certain cultures people greet each other with a little bow and their hands pressed together in a prayer position. This is meant to convey that one acknowledges the divinity in the other. In our culture we greet each other by shaking hands, a gesture meant to convey the cheery thought, "See? I'm not holding a weapon." Personally, I like the divinity "hi, how are ya" a lot better. In fact, sometimes I like to walk down the street and remind myself that each and every person I see is of divine origin and on a journey that is unique, profound, tragic, joyous and, to them, immensely important (airports are also good for this exercise). Now that's not to say that I don't often consider others as being mere speed bumps on my little drive through life. I just find that when I make the slightest effort to acknowledge that spark of divinity in the people I meet, I feel better. Life is less threatening. I feel safer. More inclined to being open and loving. More inclined to leave the safety on. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 This is my fourth attempt at writing this vanity card. My first attempt was a not-very-witty "welcome back" sort of thing. You know the type. I've done them at the start of earlier D&G seasons and thought it might again bear fruit. Needless to say, fruit was not borne. I then tried my hand at a cute little essay on workaholism and its psychic roots in my painfully juvenile demand for admiration. I think we can all agree that no more need be said about that (actually quite a bit can be said about it, but nothing I want to share with strangers who might taunt me in public). Then, seeing as how I'm currently sitting in a plane flying across the country, I took a feeble pass at how I feel simultaneously powerless and awestruck when strapped into a slender metal tube that is soaring through the sky. During this last piece I never actually wrote the word "sophomoric," but a thin, nasal voice in my head kept repeating it over and over. And finally, I tried to make sense of my new position on D&G as a consultant, while at the same time wrestling with the cultural implications and definition of the word "has-been." (For the record, I defined a has-been as a someone who did something which resulted in their becoming a somebody, but then stopped doing it, causing them to revert to being a someone, which is not nearly as good as a somebody.) It should come as no surprise that I was soundly defeated in this semantic battle as well. Which leaves me with no vanity card this week. I just hope you know I tried. I really, really tried. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Depression. Sadness. Grief. The blues. Self-pity. Melancholy. Regret. Remorse. Low. Broken-hearted. Down-trodden. Morose. These are but a few of the words that come to mind when trying to describe my mood as of late. Now before you call a suicide prevention number on my behalf, please know that I am aware that the condition these words describe will pass. The problem as I see it is not the condition but the feeling implied by my gloomy list of words (I can't believe I forgot to put 'gloomy' on the list). The feeling is so bad that my tendency in the past has been to feel anger whenever sadness threatened, for the simple reason that sadness feels worse than anger. Anger at least can flow outwards. Sadness flows in. On the other hand, anger generates road rage and getting your head caved in by a guy in a pickup truck with a tire iron, while sadness inspires you to watch unbelievably bad TV to distract you from feeling sadness. And, of course, both sadness and anger stem from fear - fear of losing what you have or fear of not getting what you want. And fear stems from the tightly-held belief that what you have and/or want is even remotely important. To be fearless is to be free from desire - even desire for one's own life. Don't get me wrong, I'm not even close to that consciousness. Heck, as soon as I finish this vanity card I'll probably go watch the Oxygen Channel. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 The following should've been vanity card #86. Sorry - Chuck Lorre I was nothin' but angry, lost and on the run, 'til I stumbled and hit my knees, under the California sun. Found love on Haight Street, where an angel shared with me, the secret of happiness... one and one is three. Now my angel was made from, pure Wisconsin light, she said we would have a son, I said no, that can't be right. She laughed and showed me, the deepest mystery, the numbers of heaven. One and one is three. One and one is three. One and one is three. One thing about angels, they ain't always right, we had a little baby girl, made from San Francisco light. We called her Dharma, 'cause the truth was plain to see, the miracle of life, one and one is three. One and one is three. One and one is three.  
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Perhaps it's part of our basic nature to drift into a waking dream state when there are no serious threats on the horizon. Perhaps that's why the universe is constructed as a dangerous universe - to keep us awake. Maybe God felt it was redundant for the creatures inside his/her/its dream to be dreaming as well. If that's the case, the plan is working, my dream is over. In this dream, I lived in an invulnerable fortress, safe from the misery, ignorance, jealousy, hatred and chaos that surrounded it. I dreamt that the minutiae of my life was important. I dreamt that I could make my little plans. I dreamt that everyone was essentially playing by the same rules. And finally, I dreamt that my dream was reality. Which is why I feel a strange tinge of gratitude bubbling under my grief, fear and rage. I'm grateful to be even a little awake. The way I figure it, this is a miraculous universe, but also a remarkably dangerous one. Sleepwalking is ill-advised. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 I don't know about you, but my fundamental character flaws are so deeply embedded in my consciousness, it actually feels as if they're entwined with the strands of my DNA. Lately I like to imagine that as a child I was a sort of brand new, meat-based computer that had an operating system installed with big, whopping design problems. The result is that when my scanning mechanisms bring in data from my environment, I invariably process that data in ways that do not reflect reality. Example: I walk into a room that contains people. They are speaking amongst themselves and laughing. My immediate computational response is summed up by a voice in my head which says, "They're laughing at me. Why are they laughing at me? I hate them." Or: I see, hear or read about someone who has achieved great success in my field. My organic computer processes this info and spits out, "Danger! Danger! Survival is threatened!" Are these fundamental character flaws? You betcha! Taken to an extreme this sort of thinking can cause a lot of suffering -- and not just to me. In my rare moments of mental and emotional clarity I've come to realize that this is an unavoidable part of who I am. The trick now is to overcome or at least soften my flaws before I'm sent back to the factory as damaged goods. Example: When I wrongly think I'm the center of the universe and my problems take precedence over the problems of others, I pause and say to myself, "Error. You are useless, ugly and unworthy of being loved." At which point I say, "Why should I listen to you? A broken computer can't repair a broken computer." At which point I put myself into sleep mode before the whole system crashes. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 I wrote what I thought was a particularly clever essay for my ninetieth vanity card. Unfortunately, you can't read it because it did not make it past the censor. Apparently it was considered to be disrespectful towards certain unnamed people I dubbed "corporate overlords." Upon re-reading it I can understand how one might view it that way. I guess I was hoping that those in power would simply laugh at my juvenile irreverence and that would be the end of it. "Oh, that Chuck! What a wild and iconoclastic sense of humor he has!" (In my in imagination when they speak about me all their sentences end with exclamations because just the thought of me excites them.) Anyway, the premise of my now dead essay was that I wielded immense leverage as a result of a large, devoted, cult-like group of vanity card readers who could, when sent into action by me, positively influence the ratings of D & G. This personal leverage could then be used to force the unnamed power brokers to negotiate with me "on my terms." The big funny of the essay was that I had no idea what "my terms" might be. I visualized a scenario wherein I sat in a boardroom eating deli sandwiches with important people who "trembled" at my ability to command vast legions of TV viewers through my vanity cards. Hopefully when my time here on Earth has drawn to an end, the original draft of number ninety will be discovered and cherished by generations as yet unborn. But until that day, this card will have to do. Number ninety with an asterisk. Unless of course this card gets axed because it too fails to meet broadcast standards. Okay, let me quickly mention that "corporate overlords" is what we in the TV business say when referring to people with big hearts and even bigger senses of humor. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Do you ever feel like you're experiencing a powerful and terrifying shift in your fundamental consciousness? Do you ever have thoughts that horrify you? Oh, dear God, was that me who just thought that evil thought? Do you ever open your eyes in the morning and wonder if you're the same person who went to sleep the night before? Do you ever think, "Aw, screw it. Why do I even try? What's the point? Everything always goes to hell anyway." Do you ever wonder if the guy bringing you your soup hates your guts because he has to wait on you and pretend to be pleasant all the while knowing in his heart that he's a better man than you and his current servile status is final proof of an unjust universe? Do you ever think, "People are only nice to me because they want something?" Do you ever think, "I'm only being nice to this person because I want something?" Well, the reason I bring all this up is to reassure you that I don't. Just thought you'd like to know... although I can't help but feel that you're not particularly happy for me. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Forgive me if I've been through this before, but I feel it needs repeating: my mind is not my friend. Its ability to look into the environment, perceive "what is" and relate it back to me here at Chuck Central, is depressingly inadequate. As a result, I find myself listening to this sort of interior dialogue: "Hmm, the people I work for want to have a meeting with me on Monday regarding my new script. They probably want to tell me they don't like it. They'll tell me that because they're power-hungry and if they like it they have no power. Power is derived from not liking it and forcing changes. Maybe I should just call them now, tell them I'm sick and tired of the endless politics, and quit. Yeah, that's what I'll do. I'll quit and write movies... that will never be produced. I'll wind up one of those bitter, old guys who sits around the union hall, playing pinochle and complaining about how lousy TV comedy is and how much better it was in my day. So, no, I won't quit, but I won't take any of their stupid notes either. Besides, I don't know how to play pinochle. Here's what I'll do -- I'll be a prima donna. I'll be insanely difficult. Or, better yet, I'll simply roll over and do whatever is asked of me. Covert apathy, that's the ticket! They can't get to you if you don't care! By Monday morning, after a weekend of this sort of cerebral noise, I was ready to lash out at the slightest provocation. "Chuck, would you like some coffee?" "Screw you! I quit!!!" To my great surprise, they like the script. My mouth humbly uttered the words, "Thanks, but it still needs a lot of work," while my mind maliciously whispered to me, "They're lying. Learn to play pinochle." 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 When someone loves you, do you really feel their love? To feel their love you'd have to assume that there are 'love particles' (or waves) that radiate from person to person. If you believe that then you'd have to believe that movie stars are constantly bombarded by a warm, fuzzy feeling as a result of the worldwide emanations of love flowing toward them. Trust me, they feel bombarded, but not by the warm and the fuzzy. Or try this: When you look at your beloved and feel that special feeling, does your beloved look up from their oatmeal and realize they're the lucky recipient of your love? It is my contention that if they did look up, the only thing they'd realize is that there's a big gob of oatmeal on their pajamas. I would also contend that their only inkling that you love them is when you smile and say, "Honey, would you like me to make you some oatmeal?" And that wouldn't actually be feeling love as much as inferring love (she cooked me oatmeal, she smiled at me, my mother cooked me oatmeal, my mother smiled at me, my mother said she loved me, ergo she loves me). My guess is that when you're feeling loved, what you're actually feeling is the love you have for the other person. That's good news, right? If all we ever wanted was to be loved, the key to that love was in our hands the entire time. To feel love, give love. Simple. Or, if you prefer, spend all your time becoming famous so you can be bombarded with 'love particles' while you're checking into a rehab facility in the desert. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 If you saw our Thanksgiving episode you might have noticed that we had a bit of fun at the expense of Fort Wayne, Indiana. It is my sincere hope that this vanity card will help to unruffle any Hoosier feathers by stating that the only city worthy of comic derision is a city of substance - a city that was ranked in the nation's top ten to "Earn and Save Money" in the year 2000. A city that was ranked 21st in the top 50 U.S. Best Small Metro Areas for Growing and Starting a Business by Inc. Magazine. A city that, like a rose, smells as sweet when it's called The City of Restaurants, the Gateway to the West, Summit City, City of Churches, The Happiest City, The City That Saved Itself and the All American City. A city that is the birth place of the man without whom there'd be no Honeymooners, no Roots, no I Love Lucy, and no Chuck Lorre Vanity Cards, the inventor of television, Philo T. Farnsworth! And finally, a city that is home to a number of Exec. Producer Bill Prady's relatives. Which, to be perfectly honest, is the main reason we picked Fort Wayne and picked on it. So Bill can go to family re-unions, tell everyone that the episode where Dharma and Greg go on a romantic holiday and get stranded in Fort Wayne was his idea and then "humbly" accept their good-natured, finger-wagging acclaim. Hey, you know what? Why am I doing this? You got a problem with the story, call Prady. But don't bother wagging your finger at him, he gets off on that. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Procrastination is the thief of time. I had a fifth grade teacher named Mr. Penzel who taught me that saying. I never forgot it. I also never put it to good use because here it is Sunday night and this vanity card is due tomorrow. Mr. P also taught me that "fool me once shame on you, fool me twice shame on me" thing. Of course that saying neglected to mention that throughout my life the one person most likely to fool me would be me, so it too proved to be somewhat limited in its effectiveness. In addition to clever little axioms, Mr. Penzel tried to teach me to think for myself, to have the courage to be unique, to rebel against the status quo. During the height of Beatlemania (and it was most definitely a mania) he mischievously tried to get our class to embrace a "we hate the Beatles" attitude. He failed. But let me tell you, asking a bunch of thirteen-year-olds in 1964 to even consider not being part of a youth phenomenon like the Beatles was as iconoclastic as you could get. It's funny, I don't remember what I ate for breakfast yesterday, but I vividly remember Mr. Penzel, short, dark-haired, almost impish, putting up a new "wise saying" every Monday on the small bulletin board near the door, directly below the clock. It took me thirty-seven years to realize that he put it there because he knew that's where we were looking most of the time. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Sitting on my desk are several week's worth of show biz trade papers. On the cover of each paper is a request that I consider an actor or movie for an Oscar nomination. The ones I find most touching are Reese Witherspoon, best actress for Legally Blonde, and Drew Barrymore, best actress for Riding in Cars with Boys. In Drew's ad, Gene Shallit of the Today Show calls her "a meritorious actress," while in Reese's ad, Susan Wloszczyna of the NY Observer says she "serves justice in delicious fashion." That, my friends, is high praise indeed. Personally, I hope they're both nominated, and then tie for the win. That way no one's feelings will be hurt, Mr. Shallit and Ms. Wloszczyna's plaudits will not have been in vain, and Oscar night will be truly memorable. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 The sun rises, the sun sets The seasons change Rivers flow Leaves fall It's raining somewhere Spiders make webs Fish eat each other Babies are born Stars are born People and stars get old then stop getting old All this happens and more day after day after day At no time am I consulted  
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 It's funny how writing takes you down roads you never imagined travelling. When I began this vanity card I had what I thought were several sophisticated themes worth delving into. One dealt with the quantum physics discovery that the very act of observing a phenomenon changes the phenomenon. Another explored how I might behave if all my problems were suddenly and mysteriously solved (my contention was that I would obsessively create more problems almost immediately). And still a third premise discussed the always popular ideas of self-love and self-forgiveness. My premise here was that these sorts of concepts are inherently flawed and potentially destructive in that they deal with the individual as something that is split in half: the forgiver and the forgiven, the lover and the beloved. But in the end I managed to abandon all my heady themes the minute I realized the deep personal significance of this card number. I was thirteen years old when "Get Smart" debuted in 1965. I thought it was hilarious and had an immediate and massive crush on Agent 99. To further complicate matters, I was tormented by the knowledge that 99 had a crush on 86 (Maxwell Smart). Thankfully, 86 was moronically oblivious to her affections, so I retained a childish hope that one day she would be mine. Needless to say, my love remained unrequited. But it was not in vain. Thirty-seven years later that innocent boyhood crush would bear fruit as vanity card #99. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 A hundred vanity cards on the Web, a hundred vanity cards, download one, then son-of-a-gun, ninety-nine vanity cards on the Web. Ninety-nine vanity cards on the Web, ninety-nine vanity cards, write one at a time, and one day you'll find, ninety-eight vanity cards on the Web. Ninety-eight vanity cards on the Web, ninety-eight vanity cards, witty or not, it's all that I've got, ninety-seven vanity cards on the Web. Ninety-seven vanity cards on the Web, ninety-seven vanity cards, did 'em for free, oh, woe is me, ninety-six vanity cards on the Web. Ninety-six vanity cards on the Web, ninety-six vanity cards, a few about bliss, but more were like this, ninety-five vanity cards on the Web. Ninety-five vanity cards on the Web, ninety-five vanity cards, how often I'd stall, with no beers on the wall, ninety-four vanity cards on the Web. Ninety-four vanity cards on the Web, ninety-four vanity cards, insightful or grave, and one about Dave, ninety-three vanity cards on the Web. Ninety-three vanity cards on the Web, ninety-three vanity cards, there's not much more room, so this'll end soon, ninety-two vanity cards on the Web. Ninety-two vani 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 The following are my opening remarks in a speech I made at a fund-raising dinner for a free clinic in Los Angeles. As I began speaking I could hear the audience gasp at the darkness of my story (a true story by the way). Thankfully, when I arrived at the end, the somber mood was broken. I hope it has the same effect as a vanity card. "In 1976, when I was very ill with ulcerative colitis, weighed 120 pounds and was without any health insurance, I went to the old Cedars of Lebanon hospital and was given free medical attention by allowing myself to be what was essentially a lab rat for their teaching program. What I didn't know at the time, was that the incredible pain and humiliation of receiving a colonoscopy in front of a classroom of medical students was perfect preparation for writing and producing 'Roseanne', 'Grace Under Fire' & 'Cybill'. It's good I spoke after dinner, isn't it?"  
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 In an early draft of the very first episode of Dharma & Greg, Dharma's last name was Lowenstein; Greg had an angry and neurotic sister named Penny; Greg's father was romantically involved with a beautiful Swedish au pair named Gjerta; Greg's mother was a lush; Dharma's best friend was named Veronica; Dharma and Greg never go to a baseball game or Reno for pie but they do go to a local coffee shop where they deal with a sarcastic waitress named Connie who has every laugh in the scene; Dharma nobly offers Greg an annulment; Dharma's dad tries to convince some policemen that the pot on his property is not his (and if it was it would be legal since he has glaucoma); and finally, Greg arrives to refuse the annulment and save Mr. Lowenstein. I bring this up as a way of reminding myself that I get deeply attached to things I write (in this case co-write) and become fiercely resistant to change, even though I know from experience that every thing I've ever done got better with each successive draft. Taken a step further, perhaps this obsessive drive to protect an early draft is a microcosmic view of the struggle to resist evolution on a macro scale. Perhaps the struggle to resist is an essential part of the process. Perhaps the human race is merely an early draft, a minor blip in an inexorable and endless process of cosmic re-writes. But I digress. Gjerta? Whoa, what were we thinking. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Tell your friends, family, co-workers, and strangers who at first glance might seem threatening to watch the show! 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 The following are a few questions I've been wrestling with: Who decided that trendy mens' footwear should look like bowling shoes? When did charming start passing for funny? Aren't we as a nation sophisticated enough to hunt down and kill our enemies without constantly referring to them as "evil"? Shouldn't people who drive those monster sports utility vehicles be required to take a truck-driving test? And while we're on the subject, what does it say about us as a civilized and compassionate society when we allow our children to drive at the age of sixteen? What does it say about us as a civilized and compassionate society when Jay consistently beats Dave? Are we almost done with entertainment based on humiliation, teenage girls singers, prefab boy bands and rap, or is this an eternal punishment? Shouldn't fashion models look a little like us? And finally, why can't I shake the feeling that the infinite emptiness that gnaws at my soul and refuses to be filled by any external means is the secret engine that drives our entire culture? I eagerly await your answers. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 It seems to me, in brief moments of clarity, that the only way to proceed is with a tub of popcorn, a good seat and a willingness to be surprised, delighted, horrified, amused and/or bored as I watch the play unfold, while simultaneously being grateful for having been given a bit part. The upside to this way of thinking is increased compassion for the other bit players, a sense of perspective as to one's true size, and a release from suffering. The downside, as previously stated, is this way of "thinking" is brief and I spend most of my time complaining bitterly that the popcorn does not have real butter flavoring. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 The Buddha taught that the first principle of existence is impermanence. Absolutely everything in this universe is impermanent. Impermanence creates uncertainty. I don't know about you, but I have a very low tolerance for uncertainty. Uncertainty causes me discomfort. Discomfort causes me to think stupid things. Stupid thoughts cause me to take stupid actions. My stupid actions bring about unfortunate results. Luckily, the unfortunate results are impermanent. Is this a great universe or what? 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 When Dharma was cancelled my heart was broken. Over the next few years my efforts to mend it by creating a new show led to an even deeper emotional nadir when I noticed that I had somehow become the author of a seemingly endless succession of failed pilots and pilot scripts. This was not a big enough string of stinkers to lower AOL-Time Warner's stock price (that had already been done by people more incompetent than myself), but my ill-advised attempts at heart-mending were sufficient enough to cause people in suits to not look up from their cobb salads when I ambled into the WB commissary (in Hollywood even has-beens amble). But I was indomitable. I kept writing... and failing... and ambling. And then, about a year ago, my good friend and favorite cross-to-bear, Lee Aronsohn, told me he needed to write something fairly quickly in order to keep his Writer's Guild health insurance. Everyone - friends, agents, execs - told me not to get involved. They assured me that I was too big, too successful, for such a partnership. You see where this is going. Lee and I wrote "Two and a Half Men." Which brings me to the glaringly obvious spiritual lesson in all this. How do you mend a broken heart? The Bee Gee's never figured it out, but I did. You help a friend keep their health insurance from lapsing. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 The Two and a Half Men Pledge: We assume an intelligent audience holding remote controls. The only laughter you will hear is the laughter of real people. We will do no "very special" episodes. Nobody's having a baby. No one's getting married. Someone is getting divorced. Our characters are flawed, yet smart. The kid is, and will remain, a real kid. There will be no bachelor auctions. No one's getting stranded in a cabin or stuck in an elevator. There will be no dream sequences, talent shows, or fantasies.... at least in the first season. Ditto for homages to "Rashomon", "It's a Wonderful Life", and "A Christmas Carol". A car horn or other random noise will never be used to cleverly disguise naughty words. We will never have a character enter a scene if it reminds us of Lenny and Squiggy. Pop culture reference jokes are cheap, easy and date the show. We will not do them. There will be no pedantic, socially conscious stories. No matter how poignant the moment, we will never broadcast our studio audience going, "ahhh". Similarly, no matter how titillating the moment, we will never broadcast our studio audience going "wooo!". If we see 'it' coming we assume you see 'it' coming and we will therefore do our utmost to avoid 'it'. No fat jokes (unless they're really, really funny). The same goes for penis jokes. And finally, unless Chuck gets hit by a bus and Lee takes over, there will be no wacky scenes with little people or night-vision goggles. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 THE DREAM: I'm in a cemetery, attending a funeral. I'm not sure whose it is. My mother, who died a year ago, is there - alive but not well. We leave the funeral and I take her back to a place I used to live that is now unfurnished and cold. There is no food there. I leave her there anyway. I then find myself shopping in a supermarket while holding a baby swaddled in a blanket. The supermarket is run by young people. They play rock music too loudly for a supermarket and seem to be having a good time. I keep losing the baby, putting it down and forgetting where I put it. I select two items and go to the checkout stand where I'm told that one of the items, some sort of raisin bread, is very expensive. I tell the check-out girl I don't want the raisin bread and then realize I've lost the baby again. Thankfully I find the baby but then decide I can't leave my mother in an empty house. I hurry off to bring her back to where I now live, a comfortable home with all the amenities. MY ANALYSIS: The funeral is for my inauthentic self. The self that's been conditioned by parents, culture and environment to survive by whatever means necessary. It is a frightened, angry thing which I'm just now realizing is not my true identity. My mother played a powerful role in its formation. I take her to a barren place because I have not been able to confront nor integrate her influence into my consciousness. The baby is my authentic self. The essential soul that exists before conditioning. I alone am responsible for that self's well-being and am constantly abandoning it in favor of the illusory comfort of the false self. The supermarket is filled with food, music and youthful energy which symbolizes the wisdom, creativity and vitality which nurtures the soul. There is a high price to pay for these things. It is the price of freedom. I balk at paying that price. Finally, I retrieve my mother and bring her back to the nice house, which means I'm ready to bring her influence in my life up to a conscious level. CONCLUSION: My wakeful thinking is not drenched in metaphor, therefore the dream must have originated from some eternal source of compassionate wisdom, or, I shouldn't read books about Jungian psychology before I go to sleep. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 When I was in the shower this morning, I thought: If we assume a Big Bang beginning of the universe, then every molecule, every atom, every proton, every electron, every quark, every wavelength, every vibration, every multi-dimensional string, every everything that makes up everything else shares an ineffable property of pre-Bang Oneness. Assuming that, then every everything is always moving in one of two directions: either away from that primordial state, or returning towards it. We feel these quantum movements. Moving away is experienced as loneliness, fear, anger and despair. Returning is experienced as one or more of the infinite variations and gradations of what we call love. Now, while some might say that equating the miracle of human feelings to the meandering of sub-atomic bric-a-brac robs them of their mystery, the truth is quite the opposite. Connecting our fundamental experience of life to the great mystery of existence ties us to the eternal within our every waking moment. We are not separate. We are made of the same stuff that existed at the beginning and will exist at the end. Therefore, the question we must each ask ourselves is simple: "In what direction am I moving today - towards oneness, or away from it?" When I was done reflecting on this, I stepped out of the shower, toweled off, and, while glancing at the mirror, pondered a new thought: "I have a pretty nice ass for a guy my age." 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Every so often I'm hit with an overwhelming urge to write. An inchoate feeling wells up inside me and demands to substantiate itself through the power of words. When I sat down to write this vanity card, I was in the grip of just such a feeling. Thankfully, it has passed. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 NO NEED TO FREEZE- FRAME THIS ONE! 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 FOR IMMEDIATE PRESS RELEASE: A WHITE KNIGHT FOR DISNEY! Sources in Hollywood announced today that Chuck Lorre has made a friendly bid to purchase the Disney Company. His all cash offer of five million dollars (in small bills) plus an S500 Mercedes with only 34,000 miles, Braebus rims and a tricked-out sound system, combined with his successful track record of writing, producing and creating hits for ABC (Roseanne, Grace Under Fire, Dharma & Greg) offers the Disney stockholders an opportunity to escape the clutches of cable giant Comcast. Should his offer be accepted, Lorre plans to create a major motion picture based on the "Teacup" ride and the ride with the fake hippos in the water. As far as ABC was concerned, Lorre said creating hits for network TV is a very difficult proposition but he doubted that he could do much worse than that "Are You Hot" thing. In exchange for rescuing Disney, his only demand was that he be allowed to run the company part-time. His reasoning being that he loves writing and producing Two and a Half Men. He did indicate that he would come in on the weekends to read scripts and approve price increases at the theme parks. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 AN OPEN LETTER TO THE BOARD OF DISNEY If you are indeed seeking new leadership, I urge you to think outside the box. And what's outside the box? Me. Overlooking for the moment my ill-fated attempt to buy your company outright, I would like you to now consider me as an appropriate choice for CEO. What are my qualifications? Well, to begin with, I own a beautiful Zegna suit and I know where to buy more (this may sound silly but let's face it, half the job is lookin' CEOish). I am in awe of Harvey Weinstein and Steve Jobs and will act like a slavish sycophant in all my dealings with them (at least until I get a deal to write and direct a quirky movie for Miramax about a troubled sitcom writer and a Mac G-5 from Jobs at dealer's cost). While we're on the subject of key corporate relationships, I will also make every effort to get along with Roy for the simple reason that he looks so much like his uncle it's spooky. I think internationally (e.g. I will make a respectful, but action-packed buddy movie about Krishna and Buddha which won't open big in the U.S. but will do boffo box office in parts of the world where there are lots of people). I will be a real team leader and encourage our network execs to make TV shows that don't suck. I will lessen our reliance on minimum wage teenagers dancing around dressed as big-headed, cartoon characters. I'm not a big hockey fan but I'll keep the Ducks going because as a professional comedy writer I understand the importance of the word "puck", not to mention the inherent laughs that come with big guys on skates hitting each other with sticks. And finally, to demonstrate my comprehension of corporate synergy, I will immediately commission thrilling new roller-coasters to be built in Anaheim that incorporate elements of two legendary ABC series, Dharma & Greg and Grace Under Fire (I can personally guarantee that the Grace ride will be very scary). 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 I just wanted to take this opportunity to thank you for watching the show. I know that for many of you, particularly those who go to the trouble of reading my vanity cards, a real and continuous effort is being made to support what we're doing. So this is my little attempt at reaching out and saying how truly grateful I am. It's hard to grasp the idea that roughly sixteen million people watch each episode. But, according to the statistics, that is the astonishingly large audience we're getting every week. The fact that much larger audiences turn out to watch derivative, soulless singers being humiliated by a panel of unqualified dildos, or a bunch of pathetic shmucks jumping around like spider monkeys on crank to get a make-believe job with a goofy-haired guy on the brink of bankruptcy, does not lessen my profound gratitude. The fact that a few TV critics, who would probably eat a hole through their loved ones and crawl through if it meant they could get my job, insist on ignoring or denigrating our success, does not diminish my joy. I am a man who knows how to cherish the blessings that have been bestowed on him. And I just wanted to say so. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Hi, I'm Lee Aronsohn, co-creator of "Two and a Half Men". When Chuck invited me to borrow his card for this one episode, I jumped at the chance. I mean, I've been in the business for over 25 years but I've never had a vanity card. It's not that I lack vanity, it's just that the cards themselves have eluded me. And now that the time has finally come, guess what? I actually can't think of a thing to say. It's like, you wait and wait for something but then when you finally get it you don't know exactly what to do with it. Fear takes over. What if I embarrass myself? I only get one shot. If I blow it, my humiliation will be preserved on videotape and other digital media for decades to come. You know, I was never very good with pressure - that's why I decided not to go to law school. Well, that and the fact that my grades kind of sucked. But I digress. What I need here is a really profound thought - something which expresses a unique aspect of my personal philosophy. Okay, how about this: Contrary to conventional wisdom, time is not a dimension. In fact, time does not, in itself, exist. 'Time' is simply the name we give to one aspect of the ever-changing relationship between moving objects in the universe. If nothing moved, there would be no time. Hence, 'time travel' is a meaningless concept and I will never be able to go back and avoid having written for 'Charles In Charge'. Thank you, and good night. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Let me explain. I was born Charles Michael Levine and went by the name Chuck Levine until I was twenty-six years old. The reason I changed my name was simple. My mother, never a fan of my father's family, had an unfortunate habit of using Levine as a stinging insult. When displeased with me, she would often say/shriek, "You know what you are? You're a Levine! A no good, rotten Levine!" So, for as far back as I can remember, every time I heard my last name I would experience acute feelings of low self-esteem. Whenever roll was called in school I would sit in quiet dread as the teacher ticked off the L's: "Labianca, Lepkowitz... Levine - Arghhh!" My first wife was the one who suggested I change my name to remedy the situation. In fact, it was she who came up with the name Lorre, complete with the fancy spelling. I thought it sounded great. Chuck Lorre. Charles Michael Lorre. Finally a name that did not make me squirm. It didn't occur to me that in England my new name translated into Chuck Truck. Nor did I realize that the famous actor, Peter Lorre, was mostly famous for playing smarmy, closeted gay guys (not that there's anything wrong with it). But most interestingly, I had completely forgotten that when I was around eight years old my father's business began to fail, forcing my mother to find work in a clothing store called... Lorie's. Pretty creepy, huh? Did I abandon my father's name only to unconsciously name myself after a place associated with my mother's abandonment of me? Or, even creepier, did my ex-wife somehow know all this and propose the name Lorre just to screw with me. Hmmm... I was a no good, rotten husband so I certainly had it coming.  
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 There are moments when I feel driven to tear through the sitcom surface of things and expose the rage, fear, greed, envy and lust that quietly fester in the shadows of my being. In order to accommodate these dark, corrosive feelings, I've decided to use my vanity card to begin writing a novel. The book will be a work-in-progress. This means you will often come across passages that will be re-written or simply thrown out. You will also join me in occasional episodes of writer's block and/or lethargy which bring the entire process to a grinding halt. A word of caution, I have never written a book before and fear I'm not up to the task. Of course part of that fear may stem from the fact that as I write these words, I don't know what the book is about. I just know it will have no easy jokes; just the bitter, hurtful truth that is our daily human condition. With that said, I now present chapter one of: HOPE DIES SLOWLY By Chuck Lorre I AM THAT I AM By Chuck Lorre When Larry Sudarkis woke up that cold, dreary October morning he had no plans to start a new world religion. He was in too foul a mood to articulate a set of spiritual principles that would someday inspire millions to commit genocide. If anything, he simply planned on putting in an honest day's work and then return home to kill his wife himself. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 My name is Larry Sudarkis and my first memories are of the basement. That was my entire world since before I can remember. My mother and father always told me I had to stay down there for my own safety. But I knew that wasn't true. I wasn't locked in that cold, cement-walled room because I was in danger. I was down there because they were afraid of me. They tried to hide their fear, but I could smell it on their skin. The saddest part is they could never bring themselves to tell me they were afraid -- not even the night I drank the life from their warm, lying bodies. LARRY By Chuck Lorre Pa n'Ma says me Larry and lives me in basementroom since I was floor crawlin. Pa n'Ma says it safest for me in basementroom. But I knowed Pa n'Ma fraid Larry. I knowed cuz skin smell wuz powerfill fear. Sad wuz Pa n'Ma not truthed me bout fearin Larry. Not even nite I dranked up all Pa n'Ma's warmy blood. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 California State Mental Health Hospital - Camarillo CASE NUMBER: 28-569-J PATIENT: CHUCK LORRE DATE: 10-11-04 TIME: 10:30 AM Okay, let me just check that the tape recorder is on... And let's slide the microphone a little closer... That looks good. Alright, we can begin. Please state your name and age. Chuck Lorre. I am forty-eight... fifty-one years old. Thank you. Mr. Lorre, do you know why you're here? Yes. This is a sanity hearing. You want to determine if I'm mentally fit to continue running Two and a Half Men. I am, you know. Well, why don't you let us decide that. I no longer believe God instructed me to co-create and exec produce Two and a Half Men in order to usher in a golden age of love and understanding that heals the hearts and minds of people everywhere. And why do you no longer believe that? Because those were my instructions on Dharma & Greg. With Two and a Half Men my instructions are just to hold onto Raymond's audience and bring it to C.S.I. Miami. I see. Mr. Lorre, do you understand how personalized instructions from God could be symptomatic of a serious mental illness? No, not really. I mean, this is just about writing a sitcom. It's not like God wants me to be President or something. Can I go home now?  
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 California State Mental Health Hospital - Camarillo CASE NUMBER: 28-569-J PATIENT: CHUCK LORRE DATE: 10-18-04 TIME: 9:15 AM Good morning, Mr. Lorre. I'd like to continue our conversation regarding - The food here sucks. Okay, well, I'm sorry about that but - Can you get me a seared tuna ahi, cooked rare of course, with a little sticky rice on the side? Mr. Lorre, do you know why you're here, in a state mental health facility? Because my vanity cards haven't been very good lately? No. Because I believe that my life is an infinitesimally small expression of something beyond words, beyond thought? That the ultimate reality, the only reality, is an inexpressible stasis from which all else flows? That you and I are just brief flickers of light in God's dream? Um... no. Then I'm stumped... You're not upset about the brief flicker of light comment, are ya? It's a compliment in a pantheistic, cosmotheistic sorta way. You are here because you took off your clothes, dipped yourself in honey and went running down Ventura Boulevard yelling, "Look at me! I'm a Golden Globe!" Oh. Well... the food here still sucks. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 This is the official "I have nothing worth writing about" vanity card. It will run whenever I have nothing worth writing about. Don't be surprised to see it quite a bit. From now on, when our schedule requires me to deliver a new card and I'm empty, I'll simply say, "Run one-eleven." A check of the one hundred and ten cards I've already written will quickly demonstrate that I should have written this card a long time ago. Why didn't I? Vanity. I had become vain about my vanity cards. I was determined to write a new one each week because, well... I'm just that kind of guy. But I'm older and wiser now. I know when I have nothing to say. And that knowledge is freedom. Freedom from the constant need to win your approval. And more importantly, freedom from the obsessive and relentless need to end each vanity card on a joke. The Electoral College.* 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 I was told earlier this evening that I had to write a vanity card immediately in order for it to make this air date. Lacking inspiration and desperate for a theme, I flipped through my beloved, dog-eared copy of Letters to a Young Poet by Rainer Maria Rilke. It was there that I found the following words of wisdom: "Go into yourself. Search for the reason that bids you to write; find out whether it is spreading out its roots in the deepest places of your heart, acknowledge to yourself whether you would have to die if it were denied you to write. Alright, well, it's worth a shot. I'm going into myself... I am searching for the reason that bids me to write... Oop, there it is. It's actually three reasons: a thin veneer of prestige to cover up a lifetime of low self-esteem, enough cash to protect against ever again being bone-crushingly poor, and finally, a good health plan so I never have to crawl into a teaching hospital and get a colonoscopy without an anesthetic while fifteen grinning med students watch. Okay, now that my reasons are clearly located, I'm determining if the roots of those reasons are in the deepest places of my heart... That's a toughie. I've been in TV for too long to still have a heart... I'll just skip ahead to the next question: Would I "have to die if it were denied me to write?" Wow, that's pretty heavy... I know I felt that way when I was younger... Oh, wait! This is Letters to a Young Poet. I found a loophole! The hell with writing a vanity card. I'm gonna take a nap. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Sitcom Erotica He tore feverishly at her bodice, ripping it off her sweat-drenched body. Having just bought the bodice, this really bummed her out. Still, she wanted more than anything to be devoured by his earthy passion. Unfortunately the idea of saying "devour me with your earthy passion" creeped her out, so instead she murmured "Hum daddy bow-wow." He had no idea what she was talking about and found himself wondering whether it was positive verbal feedback in regards to his foreplay technique, or signs of early onset dementia. He went with positive feedback because the notion of making love to a woman who would soon be drooling into a cup was not terribly arousing. Not un-doable, but not a big turn on either. Thus resolved, he threw her to the bed, missing high and to the right. Her head careened off the night stand, somehow turning on the clock radio to an easy listening station. Tina Turner was singing "Proud Mary", but just the nice and easy part. They paused briefly to check for signs of a concussion. Not knowing what those signs might be they decided to forge ahead and make love as if they'd never made love before, as if it were the first time. And so they did. They made love in a hurry and badly. Afterwards, she wondered how she could have been foolish enough to leave a good job in the city, working for the man every night and day. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Bad Mantras If I can transcend my ego, I will be amazingly cool. I'm only as good as last night's ratings. TV critics are your friends. Confide in them. We're never gonna get nominated. Breathe in fear, breathe out serenity. I am love, I am stardust, I have a suspicious mole.  
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 THREE UNFINISHED VANITY CARDS I haven't played guitar professionally in twenty years and I'm still haunted by a recurring dream where I find myself playing in a rock band on an instrument I don't know how to play -- usually drums, tenor saxophone or a Hammond B-3 organ. The organ dreams are the least frightening. I hold down chords for an inordinate amount of time, swoop my hands up and down the keys like Greg Allman and hope no one notices. I recently told a TV reporter that I need to feel love for my work in order for the quality of the work to rise to a level that has any merit. I surprised myself with this comment. Most of my life my work has been motivated by my fragile, child-like ego. If I do good work, people (okay, women) will like me. Is this a sad, Freudian mommy thing? Probably. It sure attracted a lot of women who were more than happy to mommy me. But that's not what I want to talk about. The act of writing is often a painful ordeal for me. This got me to thinking; what would happen if I began from a place of simple, unabashed joy? Would the words and ideas flow? Would I be a vessel rather than a forge? A conduit as opposed to a generator? Would the work cease to have a belabored, manipulative quality and become something else? Something better? Something... freer? These questions, and several others which I deleted because they were belabored and manipulative, caused me to look at all the blessings in my life so I could experience a state of joy from which to write. After a little soul-searching I became aware of the grace and bounty which surrounds and sustains me. And then I began to write this vanity card which, I have to say, sucks so badly it staggers the mind. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 There are many impressive-sounding credits at the beginning of every episode of Two and a Half Men. While I do not want to diminish anyone's contribution, I do want to take this opportunity to point out who actually participates in the writing of each and every show. In alphabetical order, and in a ridiculously large, propitiative font, they are: Jeff Abugov (quit Cheers to go to My Two Dads), Lee Aronsohn (a sweet-natured, teddy bear of a man without an original tooth in his head), Susan Beavers (her real name), Don Foster (a bodhisattva in a crappy hat), Eddie Gorodetsky (if you don't know him you might not exist), and Mark Roberts (happily married until his wife finds the secret room where he prays to head shots of Mariska Hargitay). All kidding aside, it's impossible to put a price on the enormity of their individual and collective contributions to the making of the show. I therefore hope that acknowledgements such as this will serve in lieu of cash. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 I've always wanted to coin a new word, to create a simple sound that so completely captures a universal human experience, it quickly becomes part of the fabric of our culture. That would be something. People everywhere using my word to express a feeling they had hitherto been unable to articulate. Here are a few of my word ideas, and an example of their proper usage, for your consideration. I hope you use them. doorgasm - The feeling of relief and pleasure when the person you had casual sex with finally goes home. I feigned a bittersweet smile as she walked out of the bedroom, then was rocked by a powerful doorgasm the second I heard her car start. gridlove - A delusional fantasy that occurs when you glance at the person in the car next to you in a traffic jam and are momentarily convinced that they are the answer to all your hopes and dreams. Were her feelings real, or were they just gridlove? She didn't care. She just prayed that her lane would catch up to his lane. homortified - The uncomfortable feeling straight men have when they're watching porn and are momentarily turned on by the wrong ass. Bert was so homortified by the skin flick he was forced to use his imagination. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 AN OPEN LETTER TO MY SISTER Dear Joan, I was a little thrown by our recent phone call in which you told me you had gone online to read some of my vanity cards and were now concerned about my emotional well-being. Based on your reading of a few cards, you felt I clearly had anger issues I needed to deal with. You were also kind enough to remind me that there are many things in my life I should be grateful for. When I put the phone down I was, no surprise, angry. Did my sister, my only sibling, and my last surviving immediate family member call me to say the show was funny last night? Nope. She called to point out that her baby brother was an emotionally retarded ingrate. Well, Joan, I just wanted to take this opportunity to tell you that your assessment of me is absolutely correct. love ya, Chuck P.S. I look forward to reading your response to this letter in one of your vanity cards at the end of the hit TV show you created. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 I was recently asked by a journalist if I could sum up the secret of my success in one sentence. FRANNIE'S TURN VENUS ON THE HARD DRIVE (twice) IT'S GOOD TO BE KING NATHAN'S CHOICE SLIGHTLY DAMAGED PEOPLE DIRTY GIRLS THE TYLER PERRY SHOW TWO FAMILIES FEEDING THE MONSTER COUPLES THREE CINDERELLAS I told her there's no secret, I just have the magic touch. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 There was a scene in this episode which was drastically cut down in order to appease the censors. Their problem with it was the length of time we spent on the nude back of an attractive young woman. My problem is knowing that I work in an industry, or perhaps I should say a culture, that is more comfortable showing a dead naked body than a live one. A glimpse at any of the prime-time police procedural shows reveals that the powers that be, both in Hollywood and Washington, are perfectly at ease with graphically detailed autopsy scenes that show female corpses being carved up in order to reveal the titillating (pun intended) cause of death, or, if it's during sweeps, examined for traces of semen. Now I don't for one second believe that this little vanity card vent of mine will accomplish anything. I even strongly doubt that, despite living in a country that espouses "free speech", it will even be broadcast. I just needed to get it off my very alive, and very sexual chest. p.s. If I get away with this card, I'll write one about how television networks love erection-producing drugs and yet fear erections. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Last night I dreamt that Ellen DeGeneres was inexplicably hot for me. We were at some sort of party where she told her friends that she found me irresistibly sexy and that, despite being a lesbian, she wanted to do me. As for myself, I was torn. I'm a big fan of Ellen's. She's incredibly smart and funny, not to mention cute as the proverbial button and sassy as the equally proverbial all get out. I think my ambivalence stemmed from being confused about why, given her sexual orientation, she would be interested in me. Anyway, as the dream progressed Ellen made advances toward me that were, well... very sensual. My ambivalence did not stop me from doing a little smooching and copping a feel. She has a great body. Very lithe. And that was the end of the dream. Or all I could remember. Ellen, if this vanity card should get to you, please know that your passion for me was a beautiful and natural thing. And I thank you. P.S. Please don't tell my wife. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 I was recently interviewed by a tabloid reporter who was writing a story based on information he was given by "informed sources". He told me that he knew the information was false. When I asked why he'd bother to continue with the story, he said, "Well, I have informed sources." I said, "Yes, but you know that those informed sources are, at best, misinformed, or, at worst, lying." To which he replied, "That's why your comments are good for the story. They give it balance." Need I say more? 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 PERSISTENT VEGETATIVE STATE: Pilot script FADE IN: INT. CHUCK'S OFFICE - DAY As we open we find CHUCK curled up in a prenatal ball in the corner of the room. His assistant TATIANA enters. TATIANA Chuck? You Okay? No response. TATIANA (CONT'D) Les Moonves is on the phone. He wants to congratulate you on finishing the season. Still no response. TATIANA (CONT'D) I'll just tell him we'll call back in June. Tatiana starts to cross out, then returns for: TATIANA (CONT'D) I don't care how much you pay me, I am not inserting your catheter. She EXITS. We PUSH IN on Chuck, who does nothing. FADE OUT. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 I believe that there is an unspoken contract between those who purport to make comedy and those who watch comedy. That contract states that in exchange for the viewer's time and attention, he or she will experience the simple joy of laughter. Anything less constitutes a breach of contract. We've worked very hard to hold up our end of the bargain. We hope you've laughed. We certainly have. For those of you who have not fully given us your time and attention, we would expect you to do better in the future. Talking to loved ones while the show is on, even if it's to comment on the show, means you're not really holding up your end. Try waiting for the commercials to discuss specific jokes and startling plot developments. Another thing to look out for is eating loud food that gets in the way of hearing all the dialogue (this includes eating in a hurry so your dinner will be fully digested before the folks at CSI Miami start poking at cadavers). Needless to say, all phones must be shut off and toilet visits are allowed only if clothing, furniture and slow-moving pets are threatened. In such cases, viewers are encouraged to leave the bathroom door ajar so they can still hear the show (men are advised to pee on the porcelain part of the bowl to reduce unnecessary "stream" noise). If the above demands seem onerous, please keep in mind that we have entered into an unspoken comedy contract. Failure on the part of either party to comply with its terms will result in reality TV.  
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Cards with Imagery - 138 Gone Fishin' http://www.chucklorre.com/images/vc138jpg.jpg 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 FORMATIVE MOMENTS IN MUSIC: Ten years old: Learn to play Elvis' "You Ain't Nothin' But a Hound Dog" on guitar. Have absolutely no idea what the words mean. Is someone misbehaving in a dog-like fashion? Eleven years old: The Beatles come to America. I deeply understand the obsession to hold a girl's hand, but more importantly, I notice that girls willingly throw the less accessible parts of their bodies at skinny musicians. Get serious about practicing guitar, forget Charles Atlas, start a band and befuddle parents, teachers and friends by insisting on speaking with a British accent. Twelve years old: Buy my first forty-five rpm record. After playing it repeatedly I'm able to visualize a woman walking down a street singing "doo - wah - diddy - diddy - dum - diddy - doo." In my mind's eye she's quite attractive, snapping her fingers and a'shuffling her feet. Thirteen years old: Buy second forty-five with a three note riff that changes my world as it wraps around "baby better come back, maybe next week, cause ya see I'm on a losing streak." At thirteen I've yet to have a losing streak but I have had a bar mitzvah that did not bring me satisfaction. Fifteen years old: Jimi Hendrix asks me if I'm experienced. I dodge the question and begin to play guitar with my teeth, which is hard to do with braces. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 CBS EXECUTIVE: So basically the story is Charlie running Alan's office while Alan is away. CHUCK: Yep. CBS EXECUTIVE: Oh, that'll be fun stuff. (LAUGHING) CHUCK: Oh yeah. And that's just the beginning. Once he's there he inadvertently turns the place into a brothel. CBS EXECUTIVE: (LAUGHING STOPS) A what? CHUCK: Um... A... bro...thel. CBS EXECUTIVE: You mean with prostitutes? CHUCK: No, no! Masseuses. Masseusi? Anyway, it's important to keep in mind that Charlie's entirely innocent. It's all... inadvertent. CBS EXECUTIVE: So he doesn't -- CHUCK: Of course not! He just takes the money and keeps an eye on the clock. CBS EXECUTIVE: The what? CHUCK: The clock. Time. And remember, he's only there because he's trying to help his brother. So it's actually more than inadvertent, it's... altruistic. CBS EXECUTIVE: Okay. I get it. Sounds... funny. CHUCK: Oh, it is. CBS EXECUTIVE: I'll have to run it by my boss. CHUCK: I understand. CBS EXECUTIVE: What's it called? CHUCK: "The Best Little Whorehouse in the San Fernando Valley." Just kidding. It's called "Altruistic Charlie." 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 As we go about our day, as we sleep peacefully in our warm beds, a battle is raging. A battle between the forces of darkness and the forces of light, between those who seek chaos and those who cherish and defend order. Many brave and good men have taken on this eternal struggle, but there is only one who has never bent, never hesitated to do what needs to be done. He is a rough, violent man who risks his own soul so that the rest of us may safely live out our lives in ignorant bliss. He seeks no credit. There are no medals, nor parades for men such as he. He fights for us and then, weary and bloodied, he returns to a life of simple anonymity, writing and producing a sitcom for CBS. Who is this soldier? His name does not matter. But you can be sure of one thing, he wouldn't mind a freaking Emmy nomination once in awhile. And he could probably hit evil people on the head with a Golden Globe. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 A Few Thoughts on Turning Fifty-Three I don't care what anybody says, I am not a middle-aged man. The middle of something is equidistant from the beginning and the end. A new term has to be coined for people my age. Five-eighth man is accurate but not likely to catch on. When people say I look young for my age what they really mean is, "you're not fat and you have hair." When I see guys my age who are fat and bald I feel happy. My ears and nose are getting bigger. Gravity is defeating my testicles. My waist is on a collision course with my chest. Sleeping is becoming more important than sex. I am now capable of injuring my shoulder by brushing my teeth. I no longer exude testosterone. If anything, I exude Crestor and Tums. When beautiful young women look at me, they instinctively know, on a deep genetic, cellular level, that I can buy them a house. I do sit-ups anyway. I've begun to resent young men and find reassurance in the knowledge that most of them can't go around buying houses for young women. I no longer fear that I'm becoming more and more like my parents. I now fear that I'm going to stay like them. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 October 19th, nine-seventeen in the morning. In order for this vanity card to air on Monday, October 24th, it has to be written and turned in by ten o'clock. I have nothing. No theme, no jokes, no philosophy. The clock is ticking. It's a digital clock, so not really. I suppose the blinking colon between the hour and the minutes is a sort of ticking. I pause for a moment to determine whether there's any value in writing about mechanical versus digital clocks, then decide there isn't. The pressure builds. I pause again to drink a protein shake that my wife insists is good for me. Once again I stop to consider if there's something comedic to be mined here. Maybe a fantasy card about how she's trying to poison me. No. She reads these things, probably not wise to give her any ideas. I keep thinking how this is just like my entire academic career. Waiting until the last minute to do my homework. It is now 11:45. I've asked for more time. It's not helping... The dog ate my vanity card. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 We are the afflicted, the fallen, and the wounded. We are born into separateness, suffering, and eternal longing. Our salvation lies not in the things of this world, but that is where we seek it. For to do otherwise would tank the economy, and then we'd be really screwed.  
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Cards with Imagery - 145 http://www.chucklorre.com/images/vc145big.jpg 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 THE WRITERS OF TWO AND A HALF MEN FOOLISHLY PRESENT THE 25 'OLD' JOKES WE DIDN'T USE She was an early investor in Apple... the fruit. She actually robbed Peter to pay Paul. She was a fluffer for the Kama Sutra. She got a senior citizen discount to see Birth of a Nation. Her social security number is 9. She's the third drawing from the left on the evolutionary chart. She remembers the mini-mall they tore down to build Stonehenge. She won't give her real age because she pre-dates counting. She remembers the best thing BEFORE sliced bread. Methuselah dumped her for a younger woman. She remembers when Helen of Troy's face had only launched a couple of ships. Her favorite hobby: Respiration. She majored in Spanish. Not the language, the Inquisition. Pre-menopause, she had geologic periods. Social life: Not Speed Dating -- carbon dating. Likes older men, but there are none. First job: a papyrus route. She's so old she remembers when: If you looked green around the gills you REALLY did. Old Faithful was new and unreliable. Tuesday was hump day. Incest was just called "sex." There was only one way to skin a cat. In school Geology was called Current Events. The Twin Cities were Sodom and Gomorrah. Amphibians were just called "show-offs." 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 WARNING TO MALE VIEWERS! Despite the comic conceit of tonight's episode, ingesting "semi-lethal quantities of alcohol" in order to overcome the deep-seated fear that women will reject you, is a terrible idea. We, the producers of Two and a Half Men, do NOT recommend it. If you are struggling with this fear we strongly urge you to seek healthier solutions. A few to consider are: Becoming handsome. Becoming rich. Becoming a famous musician, actor, writer, director or artist. Becoming a famous athlete. Becoming a brooding loser who is also handsome. Becoming funny. Becoming thin. Becoming old. Becoming apathetic. Becoming a woman. Becoming a college professor. Becoming a religious leader. Becoming psychotic (this allows one to achieve the steely confidence bestowed by alcohol, but without the attendant liver damage). Having really big muscles and hanging around simple women. Having drugs and hanging around women who are addicted to them. Having food and hanging around hungry women. Having the inner joy that comes from knowing you're a one-of-a-kind miracle of creation, and that even if women reject you, you are still a beloved child of God... you just ain't gettin' laid tonight. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Cards with Imagery - 148 http://www.chucklorre.com/images/vc148jpg.jpg 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 People often ask me, "Chuck, where do the ideas for Two and a Half Men come from?" Well, the answer is very simple. Tonight's show, for instance, was inspired by many of the great films that have been out recently. Two handsome young cowboys share a hidden love that society condemns. A love that torments them and presumably requires a lot of lubrication. A brilliant homosexual author is not tormented about being homosexual but drinks a lot and is tormented while writing a book about tormented men who have killed people. A brilliant and tormented country singer is tormented until he stops drinking and finds the love of a good woman who is not tormented. A brilliant TV news man is tormented by his moral obligation to stand up against a tormented bully. A spy is tormented by the corruption and deceit that lies beneath the politics of oil (a lubricant). A cross-section of Los Angelenos are tormented by the endless cycle of racism that lies beneath the surface of Los Angeles. An Israeli soldier is tormented by the endless cycle of violence that lies above the surface of the Middle East. And finally, a big monkey is tormented because he loves a really small woman, who, if their love were to proceed, no amount of lubricant would help. Now, if you go back and review tonight's episode you'll see that both Charlie and Alan were tormented. See how it works? The lubrication stuff we're saving for sweeps. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 I wanted to take this opportunity to express my gratitude for your loyal viewership of Two and a Half Men. I know there are many terrific shows on competing networks that you could have chosen. As a way of saying thank you, I thought I'd catch you up on what you missed. 24: 10 AM to 11 AM. Jack had three close calls but survived by being resourceful. Several people died violent deaths. Some of the people who died had it coming. Some were just in the wrong place right before a commercial break. Cell phones were used extensively to connect the split-screen action. Despite missing breakfast, none of the characters discussed possible lunch plans. VEGAS: Sonny Corleone was outraged over the shooting of his dad and foolishly drove to a toll booth where he was riddled with lead. EMILY'S REASONS WHY NOT: THE BACHELOR: Laughter ensues as pretty girls demean themselves competing for the bachelor's affection and a flower. THE HISTORY CHANNEL: Compelling new evidence that UFO's can go underwater. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Dear Oprah, The following is an excerpt from my forthcoming autobiography, Soul Soiled, a story of degradation, despair and, finally, redemption. I look forward to discussing it with you on your show. Sincerely, Chuck Lorre The thing is, she shouldn't have stolen my heroin. But as I looked down at her battered, cheerleader's body, a bloody twirling baton in my right hand, a dirty hypodermic needle in my left, the only thought rattling around my fevered, junkie brain was whether I could trade her baby for a gun. I wish I could say I hit rock bottom that night. But my moment of clarity wouldn't come until years later when I was doing hard time in a hard prison. I was in the hole, which frankly was hard, when Mother Mary came to me. She was speaking words of wisdom, (I think "sagacious" was one of the words) and told me that the only way I could wash the soil from my soul was if I brought laughter to millions of people. She suggested I get started by writing freelance scripts for Charles in Charge, but not until I found an agent. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 As I write this I'm moments away from pitching an idea for a new comedy series to the president of CBS, Leslie Moonves. I've done this before and it's always an anxiety-producing experience. Months of work can evaporate in seconds if he does not respond favorably. To make matters worse, I always know when I'm getting a negative response because Les has what poker players call a subtle "tell." When he doesn't like something he frowns. Many of the people who work for him are familiar with this tell. When they see it they respond with a tell of their own - they start examining their shoes as if they've never seen them before. Anyway, I have to go to the meeting now, keep your fingers crossed!.... Okay, I'm back and I think it went fairly well (no perceivable tell). I did make an amateur mistake by telling Les that he and I drive the same cool car, but he didn't seem to hold it against me. He and his team were courteous, pleasant and appropriately cautious. They ended the meeting by saying they looked forward to seeing a finished script before making a final decision... hold on, my cell phone is ringing... That was Peter Roth, president of Warner Brothers TV. Apparently moments after we left the building, Les told his execs he liked the idea and to move forward on it. Our project has received a green light! In a matter of seconds my anxiety about pitching it has transmuted into anxiety about writing, casting, shooting, editing, waiting to find out if it gets on the Fall schedule, and, if it does, juggling two shows, promotion, staffing, time slots and ratings -- not to mention worrying about whether Les will be pissed off when he reads this vanity card. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Fifteen years ago I bumped into Donald Trump. Literally. I wasn't looking where I was going and, I suppose, neither was he. Our collision caused his very large bodyguard to charge toward me in order to neutralize any possible threat to his boss. Now what happened next is why I've never forgotten the incident. Trump quickly looked me up and down and correctly assessed that I posed no danger. With a small, smirking frown and a dismissive little wave, he instantly communicated to his hulking assistant that I should be ignored. The entire incident couldn't have lasted more than ten seconds. No one said, "sorry," or "excuse me," and we all went our separate ways. After all these years, the memory that lingers, the image that haunts, is of his smug pout and condescending hand gesture that somehow caused me to feel utterly insignificant. I was reminded of all this when I looked at the ratings of Two and a Half Men versus the ratings of The Apprentice. Hey, Donald, I just bumped into you again! 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 WISDOM OF THE AGES Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself. Which is not to say they won't occasionally break your f#*king heart. Kahlil Chuck Gibran There is but one life. God breathes through the scuttling cockroach and the soaring hawk. And yet, I am not a cat person. Ralph Waldo Lorre Let's trade Al Michaels for Oswald the Lucky Rabbit. Bob Iger 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 AN OPEN LETTER TO THE FCC Dear Commissars, Trying to determine vulgarity on a case-by-case basis is clearly confusing everyone. In order to avoid any further misunderstanding, I would like to propose the following: USUALLY GOOD USUALLY BAD The celebration of body holes that God makes The celebration of body holes that man makes The consensual kissing and fondling of the body The non-consensual shooting, stabbing, and exploding of the body Seeing any part of the body Seeing any part of the body being shot, stabbed, burnt, blown up or otherwise violated Words meant to provoke thought, emotion and laughter Words meant to provoke violence Call me crazy, but isn't this a much saner approach to censoring what we see on TV? I suppose you might quibble with it if you had an unconscious agenda to use mass media to create a fear-based, blood-thirsty, war-happy culture that is addicted to the adrenaline rush provided by graphic images of violence and death while simultaneously imbedding everyone with feelings of shame and self-loathing in order to foster obsessive-compulsive consumerism, not to mention brisk drug and alcohol sales. But thankfully, that's not the case. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 PROPERTY OF FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION SUBJECT: ANTHONY PELLICANO EVIDENCE #3287BJ: TRANSCRIPT OF ILLEGAL PHONE TAP OF CONVERSATION BETWEEN CHUCK LORRE AND WIFE, KAREN LORRE MARCH, 14, 2004 - 5:36 PM CHUCK: Hey, it's me. KAREN: Hey, you. CHUCK: Are you gonna cook, or should I bring home some take-out? KAREN: I'll cook. Whataya want? CHUCK: What do we got? KAREN: I could heat up those chicken fingers. CHUCK: Ooh, with the honey mustard sauce, yum! You know who's a great guy? Brad Grey. KAREN: What? CHUCK: Brad Grey. A great guy who's good to all the little people in this business. Although, he's not little, he's more wiry. KAREN: Um... alright. You should invite him to dinner sometime. CHUCK: If he likes chicken fingers, I just did. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Now that the networks are eagerly exploring new income opportunities via dvd packages and internet downloads, I thought it might be time for me to start looking at ways to mine my vanity card as a potential revenue stream (I love saying "revenue stream." Not having an MBA, it conjures up an image of a large, green cartoon character peeing money.). Anyway, since this card represents one second of weekly prime-time exposure, not to mention re-runs, downloads and dvd sales, some national advertisers might want to start talking to me about the soft drinks I enjoy, the cars I covet, the cholesterol-busting drugs I take, the golf balls I hit in the water, the cell phone service that constantly drops my calls, the airlines that treat me like cattle, the satellite car radio I got as a birthday gift that loses the damn signal every time I drive in a canyon or past a tall building, etc. See how it works? I can like your product, or not. It all depends on how much you like me. Too subtle? Okay, let's try this approach. You have a very nice, publicly-traded, multi-national corporation and we wouldn't want anything to happen to it... now would we? I'll be in touch. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 I am continually surprised that someone could posit a surpreme being, a timeless, primal source from which all things emanate, every living creature and every inert piece of matter, every sub-atomic particle and every galaxy, and then insist that such an ineffability could take sides, declaring that it takes one person, or group of persons, over another. But then again, I am continually surprised that someone could be fascinated by American Idol. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 A Scientific Theory for Male Promiscuity For obvious evolutionary reasons, strange causes a chemical to be released in the brain that makes a man feel good. He is thus driven to seek out strange. Unfortunately, this euphoric brain excretion quickly becomes ineffective because strange is only strange once (although with alcohol and some creativity, its strangeness can be lengthened, sometimes for several years). Nevertheless, eventually strange ceases to be strange, which forces the brain, designed over millions of years to avoid pain and locate pleasure, to find new strange. Scientists disagree as to when this simple evolutionary mechanism created the mutation known as divorce lawyers, or why the entire concept is not accepted by the formerly strange as a good reason for sleeping with her sister. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 I want to take this opportunity to say thanks to the greatest crew and production staff on TV. After three years and seventy-two episodes, I'm ashamed to say I still don't know everyone's name or what most of you actually do. The important thing is that you all know me and make half-hearted attempts to suck up. In no particular order, but c'mon, I have to get points for finding a staff list and writing out all your freaking names, thank you to: Tatiana Nell, Mona Garcea, Mike Collier, Joe Bella, Mary Quigley, Maria Pearce, Alissa Neubauer, Carol Anne Miller, Mark Samuels, Marilyn Bagley, Jean Sagal, Steve Silver, Bobby Burton, Bo Miller, Ann Shea, Lee Lee Baird, Toti Levine, Joe Stafford, Marc Peterson, Kathy Nawabi, Jed Linder, Josh Stuart, Jennifer Ullrich, Aundre Johnson, Rhiannon O'Harra, Pat Eyerman, Adria Later, Mark Sweet, Vicky Wright, Missy Nocera, John Shaffner, Francoise Cherry, Matt Russell, Mark Davison, Hunt Hibler, Buzz Jochheim, Brian Brockway, Chris Hinojosa, John Yant, Jamie Hitchcock, Steve Lund, Brian Johnson, Michael Nash, Brian Armstrong, Cleo Terrio, Nigel Stewart, Nikki Valko, Ken Miller, Peter Pappas, Pat Whalen, Mike Smith, Daniel Armstrong, Claude Petty, Scott Dietz, Tom O'Brien, Mike Love, Anne Woodward, Catherine Ridaeaux, Laura Flett, Jeff Kilgore, Noelle Quigley, Susan Turcot, Larry Liddell, Jim Sobiegraj, Tony Vanmeeteren, Trent Anderson, Casey Jones, Sam Arroyo, Janice Berridge, Gabriel Solana, Shelly Woodhouse-Collins, Peggy Nichols, Ralph Abalos, Janice Zoladz - Allison, Lisa Cubero, Terry Dillon, Nicole Eberhardt, Scott Bernstein, David Klein, Aimee McCue, Edward Nedin, Kenny Millen, Sylvia Jahshan, Jennifer Stitz, Jeanette Scheibe, Gabriella Pollino - Rodman, Jim Marchwick, Paul Jimenez, Sammy Medina, Kathy Oldham, Bob Lamasney, Tom Seller, Eric Erickson, Dennis Brown, Grant Geissman, Dennis McElroy, Ahmadu Garba, Ben Bosse, David Saltzman, Roger Abell, Bruce Peters, Michael Rizzolo, Leroy Castelina, Ron Arnold, Terrel Richmond, Dan Berlin, Jim Marshall, Don Johnson, Anne Nevison, Maureen Tamblyn, Kenda Nichols, John Rebber, Jerry Gourre, Ernie Talyor, Shawn Soloman. Thanks for a terrific season. See you in August, unless you ask Warner Brothers for a raise. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Actual phone call from Warner Brothers executive Exec: Chuck, I just want you to know that there are two Kuwaitis in your studio audience tonight. Chuck: What? Exec: Just thought I should alert you. Chuck: Kuwaitis at Two and a Half Men? Are they lost? Exec: No. They just want to see the show. But don't worry, we checked them out, ran them through metal detectors, and they're not on any watch list. Chuck: Are you drunk? Exec: Not yet. Maybe later. Chuck: Are you purposely fostering a climate of fear so I'll vote for you? Exec: No. Chuck: Okay, I appreciate the head's up, but if you're truly concerned about our security, I'd suggest keeping an eye on the TV reporters at Entertainment Weekly. They hate our success and believe that if they martyr themselves they'll wake up in show business with real jobs. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 RANDALL & NADINE A play in one vanity card Nadine: Randall, is your car a male or a female? Randall: Well, I spose it's kinda female. Nadine: Why not male? Randall: I dunno. Maybe cuz when I get in my car and make it go, I don't wanna be havin' no homosexshul experience. Nadine: Now how on earth can drivin' a car be a homosexshul experience? Randall: If the car's got a dude vibe and I climb inside, well... let's just say I got a problem with that. Nadine: Awright, now lemme ask you another question. When y'all talk about me to your friends, what do y'all say? Randall: I brag about ya. I say Nadine Loomis is my hot, lil' sex machine. Nadine: Exactly. A machine. Y'all treat me like an object and ya' treat your car like a woman. (Randall stares into space for a moment, lost in thought, then:) Randall: You know what? I can't do this anymore. I just loathe this hackneyed, stereotypical southern dialogue just to make a point. Nadine: Stay in character, Randall. Randall: And it's not even a good point! Women are objectified and objects are venerated. Ooh, like that's some kind of big revelation. Nadine: I think it's a terrific theme. Randall: Sure you do. You're Lorre's voice in this play. His surrogate. But I don't have to be the fictional character who helps him work out his issues with women. That's what the fictional guys in Two and Half Men are -- (Nadine pulls out a phallically symbolic snub-nosed, .38 caliber pistol and shoots Randall) CURTAIN 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Two and a Half Men has crisp, hilarious, cutting edge writing, pitch-perfect acting from leads Sheen, Cryer and Jones, and a brilliant supporting cast made up of Taylor, Ferrell, Lynskey, Hinkle and Bowlby. Add it all up and you've got the funniest half hour on television. I can't believe how wrong I've been about this show. Gillian Flynn Entertainment Weekly - August 29, 2006 Is there a Nobel Prize for comedic chemistry? If so, I nominate Two and a Half Men. Sometimes I laugh so hard I actually wet myself. I can't believe how wrong I've been about this show. Virginia Heffernan N.Y. Times - September 8, 2006 I can't believe how wrong I've been about this show. I mean, how often does a comedy come along that fills your heart with joy, gratitude and hope? Two and a Half Men may be just a sitcom for some folks, but for me it's a reason to go on living. I'm not a religious man, but God bless you, Two and a Half Men. Noel Holston Newsday - May 16, 2006 Just kidding. They still hate us. Chuck Lorre 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Cards with Imagery - 164 Here's me between Brian Lowry from Daily Variety and Andy Wallenstein from the Hollywood Reporter. I've just supplied whem with cash, hookers and drus in exchange for some favourable press. Keep your fingers crossed. http://www.chucklorre.com/images/vc164big.jpg 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 I have always been a literal and linear writer. For better or worse, when I put words on paper, my mind seeks logic and clarity. I think this is the reason my song-writing career peaked at, "They're the world's most fearsome fighting team, they're heroes on a half shell and they're green." But more importantly, my creative defect has caused me to live with a dirty little secret - I don't really get classical or pop poetry. When Bob Dylan sang, quite assertively, that "the answer was blowin' in the wind," I knew it was not. The only thing blowin' in the wind was wind, dirt, leaves and miscellaneous crap light enough to become temporarily airborne. Not that I could share this with anyone. It was not for me to question the voice of my generation. But privately I always thought it would have been a better song if he simply told us what the 'answer' was. ("How many roads must a man walk down, before they could call him a man?" Nine. Six if he jogs.) The reason I bring this up is that I aspire to break free from the confines of logic. I yearn to write thought-provoking, surrealistic sojourns into the realm of the unfettered spirit. I dream that just once, the muses will infuse my soul with graceful poetry that speaks to the heart. That my "Blowin' in the Wind" will not be the cheap punch line to a dirty joke that I tried to sneak past the network censor. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Corpses don't bleed. At least that's what I kept telling myself as I watched the warm red stuff bubble out of the two bullet holes in my chest. I still had a chance. Not a good chance, but hell, beggars and chumps with thirty-eight caliber slugs in 'em can't be choosers. How did I end up a blood-dappled throw rug? Would it surprise you if I said there was a dame involved? No, I didn't think so. At the end of the day - drained, damp and dyin' - it's always a dame. Her name was Lola. Lola Levine. You know the type. California blonde with a brunette bikini wax, actress without a SAG card, naughty pictures on a members only web site, and junior cantor at the Beth Israel Synagogue in Beverly Hills. Well, let's call it Beverly Hills adjacent. Ah, what the hell, West Hollywood. Still, a nice neighborhood to belt out the high holiday Torah favorites. Anyway, Lola Levine. The reason this Buddha-dabblin' gentile is about to get tucked in for the long dirt nap. I wish I could say my sudden loss of precious bodily fluids was the result of me gettin' caught doin' the horizontal horah with the very zoftig Ms. Levine. You know, the ol' jealous rabbi with a loaded Smith and Wesson hidden under his milk dishes story. But it's not. Lola didn't like sex. And the rabbi didn't like Lola. No, I am sittin' here in all my ventilated splendor because Lola's sister liked sex. Her name was Christine. Christine Levine. You know the type. California blonde with a brunette bikini wax, actress without a SAG card, naughty pictures on a members only web site, and trans-sexual Franciscan monk. (TO BE CONTINUED) 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 November 8, 2006 I'm relieved that he's reached across the aisle to fight global warming. I'm delighted that he's worked to increase the minimum wage, reduce the cost of pharmaceutical drugs, improve the infrastructure, and bring accountability to the school system. My problem, and let me state for the record that it's my problem, not his, is simply this: Whenever I hear the governor of California speak I find myself nervously looking around for a train that will take me to Poland. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Cards with Imagery - 168 Listed as 838* http://www.chucklorre.com/images/vc168big.jpg 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 CENSORED: 171c AVAILABLE TO BE READ IF YOU KNOW WHERE TO LOOK: Then - The censored 171c: We on Two and a Half Men are aware that our humor has offended some viewers with, shall we say, more delicate sensibilities. We have read your blogs, articles and postings which detail your outrage. If you are one of these viewers, and you have just watched and been appalled by tonight's episode, I'd like to tell you the old joke about the hunter who goes into the woods to hunt for a bear. THE JOKE A hunter goes into the woods hunting for a bear. When he is deep in the woods he feels a tap on his shoulder. He turns to see an enormous grizzly towering above him. Before he can fire, the beast rips the rifle out of his hands and proceeds to sodomize him. Mortified, the hunter retreats to his cabin, arms himself with a double-barrelled shotgun, and races back into the woods to find and kill his furry assailant. But once again, the bear sneaks up behind the hunter, pulls the weapon from his hands and has his lusty way with him. Undeterred, the hunter equips himself with a machine gun and treks back into the woods where he is again ambushed, disarmed and defiled by the bear. Now, apoplectic with moral outrage, the hunter flies to a third world country where he buys a heat-seeking, shoulder-launched, nuclear-tipped rocket from an international arms dealer. Convinced he finally has the upper hand, he returns to the woods, tracks the bear to his lair and patiently waits to vaporize him. And yes, again, the bear surprises, disarms and sexually assaults him. But this time, before the hunter can run off to acquire more lethal armaments, the bear enfolds him in his massive arms and says, "You don't really come out here to hunt, do ya?" Well, that's the joke. Take from it what you will with one caveat: The moral is not "beware of homosexual bears." 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 This week, as a little bonus for all my loyal vanity card readers, I thought I'd give an inside look into the making of Two and a Half Men by telling you about a joke CBS insisted we cut from the final scene in tonight's show. The scene, as I'm sure you remember, involved Charlie finding Alan, post-coital, tied to his bed, and wearing nothing but a bustier and red nylons. The offending line in the scene was what we in the comedy biz refer to as a "callback" since it references a line that was said earlier in the episode (in this case two lines, the first being when Alan's date implies that she hopes to spend the night with him by coyly saying "I brought a toothbrush with me," and the second, when Alan tells Charlie that "that lady in there brought a toothbrush with her because I have a penis and a job!"). Now before I tell you the joke which was cut, it's important to point out that I'm not doing this to make a point about censorship. In this particular case we never felt unfairly edited. The excised joke was, without question, in terrible taste and we didn't even try to defend it. But we did think it was funny. In any case, here it is: In the original, uncensored final scene, Charlie nonchalantly exits the bedroom without untying his hapless brother. Alan reacts with astonishment and calls out, "Charlie?... Charlie?! This isn't funny! Come back!... At least take out the toothbrush!" When we shot this version our studio audience laughed loud and long. Our CBS censor's head exploded, injuring several writers standing nearby. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 I GET MAIL! Dear Chuck, I watch your show and find it to be disgusting. I am a religious person and I am sure God hates you. Sometimes people say I am just like the character of Charlie. Do you think he could give me tips about how to meet dirty women? Also, can you send a photo of Jon Cryer in a bathing suit. sincerely, Rapturedude 666 Chockawalla State Prison Dear Rapturedude, Thanks for watching! Always good to hear from a fan. Do they have Nielson boxes where you live? Not to be argumentative, but I believe God views me with a mild ambivalence - not unlike how the folks at CBS feel about me. Anyway, the character of Charlie is a fictional construct so it's a little hard to ask him questions. Have you tried an on-line dating service? You could increase your chances for success by signing up as several different people. all the best, Chuck P.s. Photo enclosed. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Cards with Imagery - 174 http://www.chucklorre.com/images/vc174big.jpg 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Alan, a dad masochistic, sought to parent in ways unrealistic. In the wet and the wild, he did camp with his child, though the kid dug his damp onanistic. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Cards with Imagery - 176 http://www.chucklorre.com/images/vc176big.jpg 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Cards with Imagery - 177 As we enter a period of dificult labor negotiations, it's citical that TV writers be seen as tough-minded equals to our corporate paartners. http://www.chucklorre.com/images/vc177big.jpg 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 CENSORED: AGAIN - 178c Once again the powers that be have chosen to censor this week's vanity card. Oh well. Comedy, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder. If you're still interested in reading the card in question, it exists elsewhere. I hope you think it's pretty. It is definitely sophomoric. If you find it as offensive as the CBS execs who nixed it, I apologize in advance. My goal, as always, was to elicit laughter... and bite the hand that feeds me. What was censored 178c: There are no gay people on the writing staff of Two and a Half Men. Nevertheless, we wrote and produced tonight's episode in the hopes that we would be nominated for a GLAAD Award. Our reason for this was simple. We all wanted to go to a big party where we could, for just one night, pretend we were marvelous. But in order to get to that party, we knew we'd have to write a penetrating exploration of a delicate, often inflamed area. At every step of the way we reminded ourselves that if our attempts at comedy made anyone wince, we needed to immediately withdraw and come at it from a different angle. After all, there was no reason to add to the swelling piles of asinine homophobic comedy. We chose, instead, to write a show that reaches around the obvious in order to swallow the truth. And what is that truth? Well, in a politically correct world, the truth is not an easy thing to spit out. But we think, in the end, it finally comes down to this: healthy human sexuality cannot be compartmentalized. It is a liquid thing, ever-expanding, contracting and flowing, and certainly not something that one can simply put in a box. That being said, we hope the folks at GLAAD will judge this episode as being worthy of honor and that we get to meet Elton John. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Doctor: Any other physical problems lately? Me: Well, yeah... frequent urination. Very annoying. Doctor: Oh, that's just a result of your prostate getting larger as you get older. Me: It could be a result of your index finger. Doctor: Hey, I don't enjoy that part of the exam either. Me: So you say, but you do it every time. Doctor: If you're interested, there's a new drug you can try that will help with the frequent urinating. Me: Oh yeah, I think I saw a commercial. Bunch of middle-aged guys driving in a convertible, drinking bottles of water and celebrating not having to pee. Made me weep for the Age of Aquarius. Doctor: Huh. Well, I don't watch much TV. Me: Thanks. I support your profession. Doctor: Would you like to try some free samples? Me: Maybe. Are there any side effects? Doctor: Not really. Occasional retrograde ejaculation. Me: I'm sorry, what? Doctor: The ejaculation reverses direction and goes into the bladder. Me: I think I'm okay peeing a lot. Doctor: Are you sure? Me: Positive. In fact I'm peeing right now. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 I love golf. I find it to be a terrific workshop for dealing with the everyday problems of life. The problem that most comes up for me in golf is fear. Fear of looking foolish, fear of choking, fear of scoring badly, fear of scoring well, fear of letting down a playing partner, fear of hitting it in the water, the sand, the street, the snack bar, the woods, dead left, dead right, two feet in front of me, or into the soft head of an innocent child at play. Fear causes my mind to race and my muscles to tighten. The swing that follows causes my opponents to smirk and count my money. Golf teaches me that I cannot suppress the fear, nor think my way out of it. My only option is to acknowledge it and swing anyway. This is a lesson that I have tried to apply to my work. Every day I make a conscious effort to gracefully accept my fear of being judged as inadequate, my fear of letting down people who count on me, my fear that I have nothing of consequence to write about, my fear that no one will watch the show because they'd rather watch mediocre celebrities dance, my fear regarding the welfare of my children, my fear that my sister will never talk to me again, my fear that I will die alone, my fear that the mole on my leg is melanoma, my fear that aneurysms happen without warning, my fear of global warming, bird flu, random violence and dirty bombs - and work anyway. The result has been astonishing. I believe my work is better than ever. I have also tried to apply this golf lesson about fear to my dealings with women. No luck so far. I think I need to swing slower and keep my head down. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 "Working for Caligula" "Who's Vod Kanockers?" "The sea is a harsh mistress" "A pot-smokin' monkey" "A live woman of proven fertility" "Apologies for the frivolity" "Repeated blows to his unformed head" "Release the dogs" "Corey's been dead for an hour"(FKA: "They defrosted Mom's head") "Kissing Abe Lincoln" "Walnuts and Demerol" (FKA: "Can't Bono airdrop some cheese?") "Castrating sheep in Montana" "Don't worry, Speed Racer" "My damn stalker" "Young people have phlegm too" "That's summer sausage, not salami" "I merely slept with a Commie" "It never rains in Hooterville" (FKA:"Rah-rah-sis-boom-dead") "Smooth as a Ken doll" "Aunt Myra doesn't pee a lot" "Tucked, taped and gorgeous" "Mr. McGlue's feedbag" "Anteaters, they're just crazy lookin'" "Prostitutes and gelato" It's been a great season for us. Thank you for watching. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Back when I was writing and producing Dharma and Greg, the only way to read my cards was to record each episode on a VCR and hit the "pause" button. This was not an easy task. The image wobbled like crazy making the tiny words of my weekly tomes very hard to see. Then it hit me. What about building a device that records video images digitally? Wouldn't this allow for a much more precise "pause" function? I took my little notion to an impoverished computer whiz by the name of Schlomo Tivowitz. At the time of our meeting Schlomo was feverishly trying to invent an improved version of the George Foreman Grill. Schlomo's grill would contain a hard drive that remembered all the details of your last barbecue, as well as an address book. I didn't really see the point of it, but, not being a tech guy, I held my tongue and presented him with my idea. I will never forget his reaction. With hamburger-flecked spittle flying from his blubbery lips, he laughed, called me some very unkind names and demanded that I leave his mother's basement immediately. My hopes dashed, I went back to work on Dharma and forgot about my silly idea. Well, I'm sure you can figure out what happened next. The fact that you're reading this card right now should tell you. Thankfully, it's not in my nature to be bitter. But there are times when I feel a little used - usually when I've forgotten how to effectively grill a fatty piece of chicken. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 SITCOM SPIN-OFF IDEA FOR THE SOPRANOS "Paulie and the Cat" Reeling from the assassination of his beloved leader, Paulie Walnuts tries to vent his anguish by whacking the pesky cat that hangs around the Bada-Bing. After hitting the cat with a shovel, Paulie throws its limp, little carcass into a plastic garbage bag and drives it to the East River for disposal. But wouldn't you know it, at the very last second a tiny "meow" is heard from inside the bag. Paulie is torn. Should he spare the determined feline, or toss him into the polluted waters that separate two great states? Uncomfortable with ambivalence, Paulie flies into a rage and begins shooting at the bag. But wouldn't you know it, once again a sad "meow" escapes from the generic store brand plastic prison that is neither Glad, Hefty or Ziploc. His psychotic fury spent, Paulie mumbles a misogynistic curse in Italian and frees the cat. But wouldn't you know it, the cat, his tiny head slightly caved in, his patchy fur matted with blood, curls up in Paulie's arms and begins to purr. Thus begins a tale of love and laughs for the whole family as Paulie and the cat become inseparable goombahs and dependable earners. Paulie never once suspecting that the "hit" placed on him, was put there by his furry, little partner. But wouldn't you know it? 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Don't fall for a woman who has had sex with one of your rock n'roll heroes. No matter how emotionally evolved you think you are, you will never enjoy listening to Eric Clapton again. Don't lurk around web sites where people comment about your work unless you're drunk. Don't use emoticons. You're too old to communicate like a twelve-year old girl. Don't forget that you are the product of a culture that went stark raving mad about ten thousand years ago. Adjust your thinking accordingly. Don't answer TV critics questions about the state of TV comedy. It's a trap. Don't eat anything bigger than your head. True in the sixties, true today. Don't believe that crap that you're as young as you feel. Your feelings lie. Don't hug men while shaking their hand. Enough already with that. The shake/hug (shug?) is probably something Roman guys did when their empire was in decline. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 THE EMMY SPEECH I DIDN'T GIVE: I've been writing sitcoms for twenty years and I've never won one of these. In fact, this is the first time I've even touched one. And holding it now, I have to tell you, from the bottom of my heart, I want those twenty years back. (PAUSE FOR LAUGHS) Anyway, I want to thank the TV Academy for this incredible acknowledgement. The fact that it pisses off TV critics all over the country just makes the moment a little sweeter. (PAUSE FOR UNEASY LAUGHS FROM CBS PUBLICIST) And I need to thank our amazing cast: Charlie, John, Angus, Conchata, Holland, Melanie, Marin, April. Speaking on behalf of the writers on the show -- we have all been witness to your singular and collective comic genius. But what we are deeply appreciative of is your decency and kindness. Especially me. Given my track record, I am particularly fond of kind actors. (PAUSE FOR LAUGHS FROM MY INTERNIST AND JUNGIAN THERAPIST) Speaking of writers, I also want to acknowledge the most incredible writing staff in the business: Lee Aronsohn, Don Foster, Eddie Gorodetsky, Mark Roberts, Jim Patterson and Susan Beavers. (ADD QUICKLY) That's her real name. Please don't bleep me! (LOOK AT SUSAN AND WINK KNOWINGLY) There is no laughter on Two and a Half Men without all you guys. (MENTALLY PREPARE FOR BITTER CONTRACT RENEGOTIATIONS) I also want to thank all the folks at Warner Brothers for supporting our little show. A little show which, by the way, will probably generate enough profit for those knuckleheads to pay off the remake of the Poseidon Adventure. (PAUSE TO DETERMINE WHY I HAVE IMPULSE TO SAY THINGS THAT WILL DESTROY MY CAREER) And finally, in a world filled with so much bloodshed, so much hunger and disease, poverty and natural tragedies, it is comforting to know that tonight...(PAUSE FOR EFFECT) Two and a Half Men won an Emmy! (FEIGN HUMILITY) 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 ZEN NOIR The hardest journey is the one which leads to the truth. I didn't know that when I began my little midnight ramble. If I had, I probably would've stayed home, drank myself stupid and watched Ferguson until the big nod closed my book for the day. But there I was, standing outside her house, looking up at her bedroom window while a cold rain whipped me in the face like I'd somehow pissed it off. I could see her kissing him. I could see her as she slowly descended beneath the window frame. I could see him too. He just stood there smiling, like the canary who got eaten by the cat. But then a funny thing happened while I was dancing the voyeuristic bebop in my terribly trendy, bright-green plastic shoes. I found myself thinking that the aching loneliness I was feeling had its roots in something much deeper than being eighty-sixed to a one bedroom efficiency in the marina by a dame who digs deep into the degrading bang-bang in order to make up for an emotionally distant father. No, this was the pain of existential separateness. The false sense that one is fundamentally apart from people, things, life, the whole damn universe. In a blinding flash I realized that what I was really experiencing was the result of a life-long indoctrination by a culture which elevates individualism above all else, thus causing a soul-crushing sense of aloneness which demands over and under the counter medication, the constant distraction of sporting events, TV, major motion pictures and a pop-tabloid religion based on celebrity worship/crucifixion. Of course this epiphany did not deter me from pulling the roscoe out of my fanny pack and going into the house to TC of B. As I crossed up the stairs I could feel my wet tube socks squishing through the little round holes of my polyurethane crocs. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Awright, shut up, siddown and listen. I am da immortal spirit Sheldon Leonard and for da last few years I've been using da body of Chuck Lorre to channel my ideas for new sitcoms. For da record, he's a stinkin' lousy channel and my ideas are much better than what he's puttin' on television. Dis is why I am breaking my anonymity. No matter how specifical I tell da kid what to write, he still manages to cock it up. Dharma & Greg? What da hell was dat? I specifically said "do a show about a queer guy who loves a straight chick, and she loves him back, but they can't, you know, bump uglies." But does Lorre listen? No way Jose. The putz turns it inside out, winds up with hippie chick loves uptight lawyer and then wonders why he can't buy an Emmy. (I did find a writing team to act as a channel for dat pitch, which worked out pretty good, Emmy and cash-wise.) Anyway, back to Lorre. Couple years later while he's sleepin', I whisper to him, "Two brudders inherit a midget." Funny, right? What's Lorre do? You got it. Two and a Half Men. Gimme a break! Anyway, I decide to give the mook one last chance. While he's under da gas at the dentist, I tell him to do a show about four wise guys and a sexy dame what knows da score. So what does da knucklehead do? Scientists and a waitress! It just breaks my heart. But at least the dope managed to slip my name in dis one. Now if you'll excuse me, I gotta schlep over to Milton Berle's crypt for a little pinochle with the boys. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 ONE HUNDRED! To all of our loyal viewers, from everyone at Two and a Half Men, a deeply heartfelt thank you for supporting our show. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Last winter the magazine Entertainment Weekly did a story about me in which I was called "the angriest man in television." When the article came out I shrugged and said things like, "Oh, it's just a trashy tabloid, it doesn't mean anything." But you know what? That's a lot of crap. It's taken me ten months to get in touch with my feelings about that article (pretty quick for a guy), and guess what? I'm angry! How dare anyone suggest I have no right to feel what I feel? If you're even barely engaged in this world, anger manifests itself constantly (assuming you're not medicated, which I am not, dammit to hell!). And let's be totally honest here, anger does a lot of good. It clenches my stomach muscles into a tight knot so I can look good with my shirt tucked in. It adds hours and hours of productivity by keeping me awake until five o'clock in the morning. It's a constant reminder that I should never own a gun. It makes golf an opportunity to practice my javelin toss. It fills me with joy every time Lewis Black is on The Daily Show. It adds sizzle to caffeine. It whispers to me that I'm fine, that I don't need to slow down, and that my cardiologist is an idiot. It keeps people at a healthy distance during flu season (and the rest of the year as well). And finally, it encourages me to use my vanity card to foolishly burn bridges with TV critics. Hey EW! Do not screw with me. I've got two vanity cards now, and I'm not afraid to use 'em! Okay, the sun's coming up, I'm gonna try and get some sleep. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Dear fellow comedy writers, As a child of the sixties, I survived being associated with chuck meat, chuck wagons, chucking a ball and a catchy little pop song entitled "The Name Game" ("Sally Sally bo-baly, bananna-fanna fo-fally, fee-fi fo-mally, Sally"). Imagine that rhyming pattern with Chuck and then imagine living through the sixth grade. Later in life I grinned and beared my way through a seemingly endless series of movies about a killer doll named Chucky. Oh, what joy I felt when friends would gleefully point out billboards announcing the sequels, The Bride of Chucky and The Seed of Chucky. And now, there is a spate of film and television projects that have brilliantly re-discovered the humorous use of my name. Beginning with I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry, followed by Good Luck Chuck, then a TV series entitled, get ready to laugh, Chuck, a Kelsey Grammer sitcom in which he plays a guy named, get ready to spit milk up through your nose, Chuck Darling, and Pushing Daisies, a supernatural thing which features a pretty female lead named, because it's so damned, freaking funny, Chuck. And if that weren't enough, I recently received a gift of a John Varvatos designer t-shirt inexplicably emblazoned with the phrase Chuck is God. All of which is why I am respectfully requesting a moratorium on the comedic use of my name. I know we're too far down the cultural road to go back to using "Bob," but I'm sure if we put our heads together we can find some suitably funny alternatives. I know it can be done. My first title idea for Dharma & Greg was Dharma & Chuck, but a strong work ethic and a smart writing partner got me past it. See ya on the picket line! 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 I'm writing this vanity card at six o'clock in the morning on October 18, 2007. It's my birthday. I am fifty-five years old. I have long ago become invisible to young women. They actually do not see me. But I am not writing this to complain. I am at peace with my circumstances. The blessing of fifty-five is a libido in decline. The curse of it is that major pharmaceutical companies are successfully exploiting my insecurities. Suddenly that surreal commercial of a silver-haired guy sitting naked in an outdoor bath tub and holding hands with a naked, slightly younger woman in an adjacent tub makes perfect sense (if I had produced that spot I would've have given him a small plasma screen TV so he could watch ESPN during his hang time). I'm also mesmerized by the commercial featuring middle-aged men gleefully celebrating their ability to drink water and drive long distances (I particularly enjoy that the slightly younger women in that one are turned on knowing that their geezers don't have to urinate frequently). Anyway, it's my birthday today. If you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go suck on my bronchitis inhaler so that later today I can blow out the candles without hacking up a lung. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Cards with Imagery - 192 Sometimes, for no apparent reason, the writers on Two and a Half Men like to get together and beat the crap out of our editor, Joe Bella. http://www.chucklorre.com/images/vc192big.jpg 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Show of hands, during the climactic, face-scrunching moment of the sex act, how many of you out there sometimes find yourself thinking, "Gee, I must look pretty silly right about now"? C'mon, be honest... Okay, I understand. This is a little too intimate for a public conversation. How about if we do it this way: If you're alone right now, just nod. If you're reading this with your sexual partner, simply look at them, smile sheepishly, then, when they smile back, suddenly twist your face into your freakiest orgasm position. If they laugh, know you're in good company. Give them a hug, hit the play button on your DVR and watch Two and a Half Men. If they don't laugh, hit the play button on your DVR, watch Two and a Half Men, then go out and find a new partner. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 I may not have had the best childhood, but I've certainly had the longest. (anonymous) 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Cards with Imagery - 195 United we stand. http://www.chucklorre.com/images/vc195gif.gif 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 my soul's journey To let go of the fear and anger which imprisons my heart, To relinquish all childish expectations and live joyfully in the world as it is - not as I wish or imagine it to be, To be free of the always craven and ever-craving ego, To be released from the endless hungers of the body, To see God in others, To see God in everything, To die without death and merge my consciousness into the cosmic sea of bliss from which I came, To crank out two sitcoms a week that can compete with a deaf chick dancing her ass off... This is my soul's journey. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 About a year ago I received a phone call from a mid-level CBS exec who began the conversation by saying he wanted to give me a head's up. Having been in this business a while I knew that "head's up" is code for, "we've decided to screw you, but didn't want you to hear about it from your agent... or urologist." In this case the head's up was that CBS was going to stream several episodes of Two and a Half Men on their web site. When I asked how they intended to pay the writers, actors and directors of those episodes, I was told that the streaming was considered "promotional," therefore no residuals would be forthcoming. (He didn't really use the word "forthcoming," I just think it's better story-telling if the bad guy is articulate.) I took a moment to let his words sink in, to let the moment play out, if you will. Then, for no reason whatsoever, I switched to a phony southern accent and asked, "Is there paid advertisin' on that ol' internet site you fellas are runnin'?" The exec was completely thrown off-balance by the utterly surreal quality of my good ol' boy act and blurted out, "Yes! I'm sorry! I know it's wrong, don't shoot me, I'm just the messenger!" (Actually, all he said was "yes," but once again I think good story-telling demands a panicked confession from the running dog of evil corporate bullies.) Anyhoo, this was the first time I knew a brutal strike was coming - if you don't count the day, four and a half years ago, when I sat in Patric Verrone's backyard and listened to him lay out his plan to bring justice and fair play to show business. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 CENSORED: 198c Well, wouldn't ya' know it. Just two episodes back from the strike and I've already managed to write a vanity card that is completely unacceptable to the good folks at CBS. I wasn't trying to offend. Honest. I just saw an opportunity to poke some proverbial fun, to knosh on the hand that feeds, if you will. They were not amused. If you would like to read my latest exercise in poor judgement, I'm sure you can find it somewhere on that thing we writers were striking to claim dominion over. Just to be on the safe side, I apologize in advance. Please know that my aim was only to provoke a bit of gaiety through the judicious use of a little thing I like to call "the truth." Unfortunately, in the television business, the truth rarely sets anyone free. More often than not, it just pisses them off. The Censored Version: In tonight's episode we explored the subject of lying to avoid hurting someone's feelings. During the climactic final scene, the character of "Cousin Leo" blamed his fabricated drug addiction on having been molested in the Philippines by an equally fabricated Naval officer named Chaplain Horrigan. In the original shooting script the make-believe molester was called Father Horrigan. CBS strongly objected to this. Their concern was that Catholic viewers would be offended by any suggestion that a Catholic priest would molest a child. I argued that several billion dollars in punitive damage payments established a reasonable link between priests and diddled kids. My argument fell on deaf ears (no offense to our hearing-impaired viewers). Outraged, I decided I was an eight-hundred pound gorilla and threatened to shoot the scene as written. Their lawyers, eight-pound spider monkeys at best, threatened to cut it. I immediately blinked and changed the word "father" to "chaplain." CBS's problem went away. Apparently, a non-denominational, drunken pedophile is inoffensive. But more importantly, our Catholic viewers did not get their feelings hurt.  
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Tonight's episode was about Charlie being drugged and imprisoned by his stalker, Rose. In addition, we did jokes about nasal spray being an effective aid for love-making, a young boy's desire to go to a strip bar, a mother cavalierly assuming that her son has some sort of third-world venereal disease, a Korean woman suffocating from the toxic fumes she inhales painting the toe nails of a "white she-bitch," stalking the British Royal Family, a woman holding a man's penis while he urinates, two men being interrupted while defecating, suppositories as a barbiturate delivery system, and finally, a hooker used to purposely transmit a viral infection. But the joke that we could not put in the show tonight, the one comic moment that CBS Broadcast Standards absolutely refused to bend on, was a harmless bit of word play which required the mention of a name-brand hard liquor. When I asked why, I was told it's against CBS corporate policy. I desperately wanted a drink. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Two hundred vanity cards. I have now amassed a body of work that can safely be called "pointlessly unique." In the history of literary efforts, there has never been a literary effort quite like this one. Okay, literary might be pushing it, but I don't think I'm engaging in hyperbole when I say that it's highly unlikely my achievement will ever be duplicated, let alone surpassed. Why? Well, most show creators who are awarded the hallowed, second-and-a-half, end-of-episode "hey everybody, look at me!" card, have better things to do. Those that have no life (a goodly number), are simply not compelled to vomit up weekly offerings of painfully personal, petty, mock-metaphysical, self-congratulatory, rage-filled, and regretfully sarcastic essays that occasionally haunt them forever. Sure, non-showrunners can write a weekly essay of no particular value. But for it to be considered a true vanity card, it must be attached to the ass end of a television show. And let's keep in mind I've made a lot more shows than vanity cards. There were many weeks on Dharma & Greg and Two and a Half Men when I was too wasted (mostly in the literary sense) to write something coherent. Anyway, I wanted to use this momentous card to celebrate my accomplishment because, well... no one else was jumping up to do it. Two hundred cards! Boy, oh boy, that is really something... Oh God, I'm so lonely. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 The Four Formless States of Consciousness in Buddhism: AKASANANTYAYATANA: We become limitless space. VIJNANANANTYAYATANA: We reach the state of limitless consciousness. AKINCANYAYATANA: We meditate on the non-distinction between the knower and the known. NAIVASANJNANASANJNAYATANA: We become the state of neither perception nor non-perception. Just thought you should know so that when you achieve these states you'll know what to tell your friends. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Tonight's story about Sheldon's ego being crushed following his encounter with a young prodigy has its roots in my own life. Around 1974 I was playing guitar for a living in Miami Beach. I was twenty-two years old and thought I was really something. In the parlance of musicians, I felt I had some "serious chops." Nights I played clubs, hotels, and private parties. For a few months I worked in a lounge band on a cruise ship. I even landed a day gig playing acoustic solo stuff at a coffee house in South Beach. That was where a professor from the University of Miami saw me play, dug what I was doing, and invited me to audit his jazz guitar class at the university. I happily accepted, thinking I might be able to teach the kids a thing or two. I still remember the first class, me sitting in the back proudly holding my beat-up '64 Fender Strat, while the college students all cradled expensive Gibsons. Of course, this only made me feel more smug. I was a working musician. These were rich kids in a rich school with instruments that daddy bought 'em. But then something happened that would change my life forever. A painfully shy, sixteen year old boy walked into the room. He could barely speak nor make eye contact with anyone, seemed dwarfed by his big jazz guitar, and was ludicrously introduced as a visiting professor to the university. His name was Pat Metheny. I'll never forget how I felt when he began to play. It was an imploding feeling, like the kind you get when your ego is being demolished like an old Vegas casino. Thankfully, the feeling was accompanied by a soft, reassuring voice in my head that whispered, "Find work in television, nobody's a prodigy there." Thirteen years later I listened to that voice (I may have been deluded, but I was no quitter). Oh, and Pat, if you happen to read this... thank you. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 WHAT I'M LOOKING FOR He or she should know the difference between Shiites and Shinola...and Sunnis, too. Whether it's true or not, he or she should not brag about taking their child into a sniper zone. He or she should avoid religious leaders who wear dashikis. He or she should be forgiving when it comes to adultery. He or she's favorite movie should not be The Manchurian Candidate. If he or she dumped their first spouse for a rich broad who owns a liquor company, they should promote this aspect of their resume. They're my kind of guy... or gal. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Audio http://www.chucklorre.com/index.php?p=204 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Audio http://www.chucklorre.com/index.php?p=205 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 I think we can all agree that the cliche, "no pain, no gain," is a fundamental truth. When we experience physical pain in the gym, we gain muscles and stamina. When we endure hardship and sacrifice in order to succeed, we gain a feeling of satisfaction and achievement, not to mention financial rewards. When we truly embrace emotional pain, we gain compassion for the suffering of others, an appreciation for the fleeting nature of things, as well as wisdom and spiritual humility. Every act of birth is an act of pain. Our very lives are sustained by the suffering and death of plants and animals, who in turn are sustained by other organisms having a very bad day. That being said, I think we can also agree that this system sucks and needs to be seriously re-jiggered. Now I'm not saying I have a better approach than this pain/gain thing that's been in place for millions of years - but that doesn't mean we couldn't start tossing around some ideas. For instance, why couldn't an infrastructure for life be developed around the theme, "no dream, no gain?" Sounds like heaven, right? Or is dreaming too easy? Would life quickly become complacent and cease to gain? But then, is gain really that critical? Or is gain the whole point? Is the fact that life exists at all proof that God or the universe hates complacency? It certainly explains why aboriginal people are constantly being murdered for the sake of "progress." It even explains why HBO went down the toilet. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Hey, Chuck, what do all those TV writing credits mean? I'm glad you asked. The first credit you see on the screen is story editor. It's worth noting that story editors don't edit stories. Their main job is to exist in a constant state of paranoia about being fired because no one sees how brilliant they are. An executive story editor is a story editor with a cool-sounding word added to their title. In order to qualify as a story editor, one must have spent some time as a lowly staff writer. Interestingly, staff writer is the only writing credit that actually has the word "writer" in it. It is also the only credit that does not appear on the screen. I'm told that this curious lack of acknowledgement was devised by The Writers' Guild. The writing credit above story editor is co-producer. No aspect of the show is produced by the co-producer. Next up we have producer. Again, nothing about the show is produced by a producer, but if they aren't fired they're pretty much guaranteed becoming a supervising producer. One would think there'd be some supervision or producing at this level. One would be wrong. Climb the ladder another rung and you reach co-executive producer. This is usually a talented writer who has endured years of emotional punishment for creative input, an office with a window, infertility and/or premature baldness. Then there is the consulting producer. Consulting producers are usually former executive producers who are willing to work for less than their usual fee but don't want anyone to find out. Finally, at the top of the TV food chain, is the executive producer. The executive producer is either the creator/head writer who will die of a massive heart attack trying to supervise every aspect of production, a co-executive producer who was conned into dropping the "co" from their title in lieu of money, the star, the star's boyfriend, the star's manager, or a former network executive who fell ass backwards into a pot of gold. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Audio http://www.chucklorre.com/index.php?p=208 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 REFLECTIONS ON AN EXPERIMENT - From the writers of "CSI: Crime Scene Investigation": Never underestimate the value of feeling stupid. Year after year, you toil away in your own little corner of the world - decapitating, eviscerating, electrocuting, suffocating, occasionally squishing Đ- and pretty soon, you've got it all down pat. You use phrases like "subdural hematoma" in casual conversation and laugh when someone mistakes the color of urine fluorescing under an ALS for that of blood. And then one day, for reasons which can only be explained by some form of mass chemical imbalance, you and several other maniacs decide that it would be fun to rip yourselves from your wombs and visit a very different world, one in which all the arcane knowledge and craft you've carefully accumulated over the course of a career is suddenly and utterly worthless. A world where the only rule is whether or not it makes you laugh, where actors say exactly what's on the page so it better be funny right down to the syllable, and where puns are the lowest form of humor. And as you grapple with your fundamental inability to do any of these things particularly well, you realize that you have so much more to learn. And that's a good thing to be reminded of, at least from time to time. So thank you, Chuck, and Lee, and everybody else at "Two & A Half Men" for making us all feel stupid. We look forward to returning the favor this Thursday night at 9. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 I believe that in order to walk through grief, fear, loneliness, despair, confusion and anger without recourse to drugs, alcohol, over-eating, over-sexing, or the endless mind-numbing distractions provided by Western culture, one must become a spiritual warrior. I further believe that the pay-off for enduring suffering, for soberly embracing the inevitable bouts of emotional pain that life brings, is wisdom and serenity in the face of calamity. But make no mistake here, the path of the warrior is treacherous and cannot be walked alone. To survive, he must have brothers and sisters-in-arms to carry him when he buckles. When we lived and died in small tribes, this principle of mutually supporting one another through the trials of life was deeply woven into the fabric of the group mind. With the advent of towns and cities we were forced to live with the daily dilemma of being desperately alone and yet desperately needing one another. Which is why we are, by design, always seeking new tribes. With that in mind, I humbly offer a simple guideline to evaluate the efficacy of any tribe you might encounter on your path to becoming a spiritual warrior: if they ask for your money or access to your crotch, run away. If they ask for your money, smile unceasingly, never blink, and guarantee to make you a demi-god, running away will not suffice. Change your mailing address and briefly reconsider drugs, alcohol, food, sex and TV. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 When I began writing these vanity cards, I never in my wildest dreams imagined that one day they would be the subject of an extensive article in The Wall Street Journal (or as I like to call it, The Depressingly Inevitable Next Step Toward the End of a Free Press in America, Thanks a Lot Rupert, Journal). But I digress into a bitter diatribe on the profit-fueled degradation of journalism that spells the end of any hope for rational debate in this country from my initial point - which is, gratitude for all the attention my cards are receiving. I mean, let's face it, a vanity card, by definition, is merely an exercise in personal vanity. The truly legitimate production card at the end of each episode belongs to the Warner Brothers Corporation. They're the monolithic, multi-tiered, entirely un-integrated, boy-did-we-make-a-colossal-boo-boo-with-AOL entity which owns the facility we shoot in, deficit-finances production, distributes the shows around the world, and most importantly, maintains the shaky book-keeping necessary to hide the profits while blowing a fortune on Speed Racer. But once again, I digress. I should also add that I am aware and deeply appreciative of the blogging that goes on around my cards. I do occasionally lurk at various web sites to see what folks are saying. I enjoy the discourse while simultaneously feeling a deep, nagging fear that any of these people might someday learn my home address 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 I believe that the voices of fear, both from without and within, can only be dispelled by trusting the voice that comes from the heart. Be still and listen to it. If it speaks of love and compassion for others, for the world itself, it just might be the voice of God - or a reasonable facsimile. If, however, it snarls with fear of the unknown, fear of losing what you have or of not getting what you want, then it just might be the voice of Rupert Murdoch - or a reasonable facsimile. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Tonight's show ends our fifth season. It's hard to believe that when we began I was thirty-eight years old, could bench press two hundred and sixty pounds, run a four minute mile, calculate pi to eighty decimals in my head, kick a fifty yard field goal into a stiff head wind, hit a ninety mile an hour curve ball, play scratch golf from the gold tees, sing like Ray Charles, write like Philip Roth, make love like a jackhammer that's not afraid to share its feelings, and dance the fandango. But hey, isn't suspension of disbelief what this business is all about? Anyway, the point of this card was not to wax nostalgic for a me that is hopefully thriving in an alternate universe. The point was to express my gratitude to everyone who made time in their busy lives to watch Two and a Half Men. Your loyalty and support is something we never take for granted. Please know that our sole intention has always been to create laughter, never to offend. It is on this basis, and this basis alone, that I am constantly defending jokes to the CBS censor (a lovely, sweet-tempered lady who regularly proves that people of color can blush). Although to be completely honest, in tonight's season finale, Evelyn's line to her handsome young beau as to which movie to see at a multiplex, "You pick darling, you're the one who'll be facing the screen," kind of offends me. Where's a blushing censor when you need one? 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 We confuse naming a thing with knowing it. For instance, how does one know a chair? Well, what is a chair? Is it the word? The sound, "chair?" The image in your mind of four legs, a seat and a back? Or is it wood from a tree that sprouted into existence from a seed that has travelled from tree to tree for millions of years, each tree's survival dependent upon a fragile ecological balance, a perfect blend of minerals, sunlight, weather, and, ultimately, sub-atomic particles that have been zipping around since the birth of the universe? Add to that the billions of years and infinite forces essential to creating the conditions needed for human beings to exist, cut down the tree, haul it to a mill, carve it into smaller pieces, send it to a chair factory, shape it into a chair, ship it to a store, purchase it, stick it in an SUV and drive it home so that an equally complex ass can sit on it, and you begin to know a chair. In other words, when we truly look deeply into the one thing, we see it is, in fact, the all, and, of course, contained within the all, is the one thing. Which is why I never get upset about winning or losing an Emmy. How can I? I am an Emmy. Right now Tina Fey is sitting at home clutching me to her relatively ample bosom. Feels good. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 *Mr. Misogyny's Tips For Breaking Through the Glass Ceiling SHRILL BAD, DUSKY GOOD: No man can happily work or vote for a woman whose voice sounds like a mom or wife yelling at him. Whether running a Fortune Five Hundred company or running for office, women should practice speaking like Kathleen Turner in Body Heat. (If you have small children present, rent Who Framed Roger Rabbit and check out Jessica Rabbit.) POWER WORDS: Down through the ages there have been secret words and phrases that a select group of women have known and used to give them control over men. Use them wisely and you'll be on the other side of that glass ceiling before you know it. A short list includes: panties, huge, amazing and "anything you want, just hurry." For increased effectiveness, say these power words like Kathleen Turner. BOOBS: If you got' em, flaunt' em. If you don't got' em, buy' em. (CAUTION: This will cause other women to hate you. Do not despair. Once you and your terrific rack are running things, you can fire the jealous bitches.) POLITICALLY CORRECT FLIRTING: There is no such thing. That being said, if, by subtle words or actions, you can make a man feel sexually viable, he will act like a fool and you can steal his job. If you think that's cruel, you're not ready to break through the glass ceiling and should instead consider marrying a fat guy with hedge fund money and a history of confusing his erection pills with his heart medication. * The views and opinions of Mr. Misogyny are not endorsed, held, or shared by Chuck Lorre Productions, Chuck Lorre, anyone who works for Chuck Lorre, or any of his friends, neighbors and relatives. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 A MESSAGE TO MY DISCIPLES From the deathless guru Swami Shamalamadingdong In my former incarnation, I passed beyond the state of sabikalpa samadhi into the rapturous bliss of nirbikalpa amadhi. Shortly thereafter, at the age of three hundred and four, I let go of my body and released my consciousness into the swirl of the infinite, uniting with the Primal Divine. In 1952 my essence reincarnated into a blue-collar Jewish family on Long Island. Since then I have dropped out of college, dropped a lot of acid, smoked a bunch of reefer, gargled with bourbon, divorced twice and am currently not talking with my sister (not my fault, honest). So, now that you're all caught up, I need to ask, why have you not come to find me, oh faithful disciples? Wasn't that the plan? Well, no biggie. Holy water under the bridge (heh, heh, heh). I just wanted you to know I'm currently in L.A writing and producing sitcoms. Feel free to drop by and worship in the ol' radiance. Maybe we can even start a religion. I could sure use the tax break. Thursdays are a little tough because of editing and preshoots, but Friday before the audience show can probably work (after my nap, please). Call my loyal assistant Mona and ask for a drive-on. Please don't tell her I'm a perfectly realized spiritual being. She's not ready to hear the truth which is why, out of kindness, your swami pretends to be a pampered, grouchy schmuck. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 CENSORED: 217c Tonight's vanity card is about censorship. It was censored. So here it is: Words that confuse the CBS censor: fecund, penal, taint, titmouse, cockamamie, cockatoo, cocksure, coccyx, ballcock, cockeye, prick, prickly, kumquat, titter, cunning linguist, insertion, gobble, guzzle, swallow, manhole, rimshot, ramrod, come, fallacious, lugubrious, rectify, Uranus, angina, paradiddle, spotted dick, dictum, frock, cunctation, engorge, turgid, stiff, bush, uvula, crapulence, masticate, Dick Butkus, gherkin and, of course, the always bewildering lickety-split. As you can see, context is everything. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Starting a family when you're young is tough sledding. I know. I did it. And without a sled. Heck, without snow! Which is why I am hereby offering Levi Johnston $100,000 to help him and his lovely young bride-to-be, Bristol, get started.* Levi, if you're reading this, please know that all I'm asking for in return is an opportunity to sit and talk with you in a casual, private setting (I'll happily supply the beer). My reason for wanting to do this is simple: I'm a comedy writer and I get the feeling you have some funny stories to tell. In addition, if the video of our conversation should generate any income, I will not only split the profits with you, I will also donate my share to the charity of your choice (is there a foundation for children with hockey-related head injuries?). Anyway, Levi, I look forward to hearing from you. And no matter what your decision is, always remember, I'm pulling for you, dude. P.S. Don't listen to your friends, you look good in a suit. P.S.S. See if Bristol is open to having two more kids. If so, you can call the last one "Hat Trick." How cool would that be? *Offer expires at midnight, November 3rd. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 On a recent trip to Las Vegas I watched a grim, beer-bellied man row a gondola filled with tourists through the "canals of Venice." This was his job. At some point he had to have filled out an application and undergone an interview process to determine if he had the necessary skills to be a pretend gondolier eight hours a day, five days a week. As he glided past me I found myself imagining him walking into his house at the end of a long day, tossing his keys into the cheap ceramic bowl by the front door and sadly calling out to his wife, "I'm home." To which she would cheerfully respond, "How was work today, sweetie?" But instead of saying "fine," which was how he answered that question every other day, he paused and considered the days' events, and all the events that had led him to this point in his life. Then he crossed to the hall closet, took down a shoe box from the hat shelf, removed a small caliber pistol that he'd bought for home protection, and immediately blew his brains out all over the badly framed photograph of him rowing Barry Manilow. Waking from my brief reverie, I found myself suddenly filled with compassion and respect for this stranger of the inland sea. Compassion for his quiet desperation. And respect that he chose not to take his cheerful wife with him. I don't know about you, but Vegas always does this to me. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Friday morning, October 10, 2008 Watching the market fall as precipitously as the hopes and dreams of NBC and ABC executives, I can't help but think that there are two bets I can make right now. One is on the simple inertia of a world economy created by hundreds of millions of people creating and servicing stuff that other people need and want. The other bet is on canned goods and guns. Since I've never actually fired a weapon and I'm not sure where my can opener is, I've decided to go with bet number one. If I'm wrong and the market continues to descend like a drug-addled hooker with vertigo, it's reasonable to assume that any new world order created by the complete collapse of the free market system will have little use for a comedy writer. For that reason I think it only prudent to hedge my bet. This weekend I plan on learning a few new survival skills, beginning with foraging for berries and hiding from people whose skill set includes shooting wildlife from helicopters. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 We have once again arrived at a moment in history where the truth can be defined as "that which you can make other people believe." The methodology for creating that belief is repetition. Say something enough times and it becomes, for millions of people, the truth. I am endowed like a stallion. This is why control of the media equals control of the populace. I am endowed like a stallion. And also why a state run television news channel is so very dangerous. I am endowed like a stallion. Now there are those who would argue this has already happened and that a certain cable news channel is actually a covert extension of our government. I am endowed like a stallion. The fact that the channel is run by a high-ranking party official, an anchor person from the channel became a White House spokesman, and another top-ranking party official became an on-air news commentator is often used to make this argument. I am endowed like a stallion. Of course, this fact would be entirely inconsequential if the oft-repeated falsehoods they attempt to imbed into the Zeitgeist were simply amusing, or at worst, inane. I am endowed like a stallion. But, unfortunately, that is not the case. I am endowed like a stallion. The heavy repetition of lies and smears for political gain are by no means inconsequential. I am endowed like a stallion. Which is why each and every one of us must use whatever resources we have at our disposal to disseminate the actual truth. I am endowed like a pony. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 The Racism of King Kong In all three film versions of the basic story, we are led to believe that Kong regularly feasts on native girls. Female human sacrifice is how the locals appease him. Then, in each re-telling, he is transformed from mindless, blood-thirsty carnivore to smitten, suicidal love monkey by a skinny, blonde-haired white girl (Fay Wray, Jessica Lange, Naomi Watts). Given this behavioral trend, it is my contention that King Kong would eat Halle Berry. This troubles me deeply and I wanted to share it with you. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 CENSORED: 223c Once again, my efforts at comedy have been rebuked by the powers that be. And so here it is: OPEN LETTER TO SUMNER REDSTONE Dear Sumner, Just saw that you're single again. I'm sorry, dude. Love hurts. I too have recently returned to being the loneliest number. Which is what got me to thinking that maybe you and me could hang out, you know, hit some clubs, chat up the ladies. I've gotta believe you'd make a killer wingman (ooh, great idea for a dating/reality show: "Prenup Chuck and the Endless Sumner"). I also saw that you're going through a little tough time in the ol' money department. Not to worry. The drinks are on me. You can tip the waitress... if you promise not to marry her! (Just kidding. I kid the moguls. Ask Rupert.) Your pal, Chuck 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 EXT. CEMETERY - NIGHT The CAMERA PANS across the headstones and crypts as we HEAR: JOHN (V.O.) Some people say there's no god. I disagree. I think there're actually four gods: The god of money, the god of medicine, the god of war and the god of technology. Like it or not, these are the gods that rock our world. I mean, when stuff goes seriously wrong who do you call? Your priest or your lawyer? Your rabbi or your doctor? Your minister or a cop? Your monk or the smug little geek who set up your home entertainment system? But while the gods of tech, medicine, guns and money give us the illusion of being safe, they don't give our lives meaning. For that we need other gods. And who are these other gods? Well, look around. They're sports stars, movie stars, rock stars, the occasional political and business figures, cute chicks who become princesses, and rich chicks who don't seem to require food. These are the deities who connect us with our abandoned inner selves. Their joy is our joy, their suffering is our suffering. We love and fear them, and occasionally crucify them. Which is a long-winded way of getting to what I do for a living. I buy and trade relics: the physical remains of dead gods. The CAMERA FINDS: JOHN, a happy-go-lucky, long-haired guy in his late twenties. At the moment John is digging up the body of JIMI HENDRIX. In between shovels he looks up, smiles and WAVES AT THE CAMERA. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 We exist to bear witness. We had to be. The infinite needs us to see it. Without the perceiver, the perceived does not exist. That gives us leverage. Don't look until you get what you want.  
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 A special thank you to the Parents Television Council Every time you single out Two and a Half Men for being a horrible and tasteless television show, our ratings go up. Since you do this pretty regularly, I've gotta believe that's your intention. Well, kudos! Very crafty on your part. Were you to simply label the show as being funny and naughty (what my eighty-nine year old aunt in Fort Lauderdale calls it), our viewership would probably remain unaffected. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that I'm sending you a big box of tasty cupcakes as a way of expressing my gratitude. I hope they add a little sweetness to your next meeting. Keep up the good work Parents Television Council! Oh, and if it's not too much trouble, could you please condemn The Big Bang Theory... and my stock portfolio. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Dear George Lucas, May I call you Mr. Lucas? On behalf of the writers of The Big Bang Theory, I would like to thank you for your astounding body of work, which has awakened the child within us and unleashed our dreams. That being said, we hope you don't take offense at our good-natured jest regarding your most recent animated efforts. Yes they were cheap shots, but we can't help but hold you to a higher standard - a standard of your own making. In closing, we are all looking forward to Indiana Jones 5 - The Curse of the Golden Catheter. Oops, sorry again. Very truly yours, The Writers P.S. To William Shatner, director of Star Trek 5. Go ahead, sue us. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 We were recently slammed by something called the Parents Television Council. Rather than protest, I wrote a vanity card thanking them for the plug and sent them a box of fancy cupcakes. They promptly responded with a cute thank you letter suggesting that I might've poisoned the cupcakes. The letter went on to explain how they planned to employ one of their young interns as a food taster. If he did not die from eating one of my cupcakes, the rest of the PTC staff would happily dig in. If he did die, they would happily hire an attorney, sue me and become wealthy. Cute, right? But then I got to thinking, this is an organization that exists solely to protect the youth of America from entertainment they find objectionable. And yet their immediate response to a box of cupcakes - albeit in joke form - was to sacrifice a young member of their team. Say what you will about the comic content on Two and a Half Men, when suspicious food arrives at our offices we would never dream of asking a young intern to test it. We'd ask an old writer. And only because the body of an aging comedy writer is capable of ingesting poison and turning it into TV. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 NOVEMBER 16, 2008 As I sit by my window and watch the leaves on the trees turn from green to brown, and from brown to fire, I can't help but reflect on the two seasons of Southern California. Inferno and flood. Soon the stinging smoke, raging wildfires and inevitable pyromaniacs will give way to months and months of biblical rain. And with that rain will come the memories... a home perched on a hilltop becoming garbage nestled in a valley, an idiot falling into the L.A. River and trying unsuccessfully to crawl up its cement banks, another genius being lifted off the roof of his car by a helicopter in Encino, the cliffs above Pacific Coast Highway collapsing yet again and causing Malibu residents so much inconvenience, Bob Myer reassuring me that writing the second act of a Roseanne episode at two in the morning is more in my self-interest than trying to drive home and move my stuff to the second floor (but more likely becoming one of the knuckleheads standing on the roof of his car praying for a chopper). But I, as is my nature, whataya gonna do, I yam what I yam, digress. Eventually the rains will stop, the underbrush will grow, the drought will come, the drought will linger -- maybe for years, until the mountains and hillsides once again explode with "Live At Five", "Film at Eleven" hellfire, and thus continue the cycle of seasons of Southern California... if you don't count earthquakes and riots. And strikes. And award season. No insurance policy protects against the damage done by award season. Oops, I digressed again. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 As the great wheel of our democracy rolls forward, I think it's important to take a moment and remember a forgotten hero. A man who so loved his country, he was willing to put on a suit purchased by a personal shopper, stand on a Minneapolis stage in front of a national audience and fake being happy about his impending shotgun wedding. Then, because he is a true patriot, he voluntarily ceased to exist for the next eight weeks. Of course I'm talking about Levi Johnston. Well, Levi, if you're reading this, know that you've served your country well and you're free now. Go! Run! Live your life! Or, you could acquiesce to marriage (look up acquiesce, you'll get a kick out of it), in exchange for a plum job fighting crime in the frozen wilderness. Who knows, maybe there's a TV show in your life and you'll be famous again. I'm thinking we could call it, Tundra Heat, or, Permafrost Flatfoot, or, Glacier Gumshoe, or, Dude, I Forgot the Condoms. Oh, I so smell an Emmy. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 I believe that inherent within the God-given right to the pursuit of happiness, is the equally God-given right to the pursuit of unhappiness. That is why I support gay marriage. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 The classic song New York, New York contains the following stanza: If I can make it there, I'll make it anywhere It's up to you - New York, New York. The implications of the lyric are clear - if one has the personal qualities to overcome the formidable obstacles presented by New York City, then one is guaranteed success in less imposing places. Having "made it" in Los Angeles, this troubles me. Is my success forever tainted with an asterisk? Even more upsetting, are there certain zip codes where my talents would most likely fall short? Am I doomed to fail as a sitcom writer in Dripping Springs, Arkansas? Or Mud Hole, Florida? Hell, what are my chances of getting a primetime show in Dry Prong, Louisiana? Having not initially succeeded in New York, the answer, of course, is slim and none. All of which is a long way of explaining why, whenever I hear New York, New York, I have no choice but to mentally replace the lyrics with words more suited to my experience. If I can make it here, I'll make it in several places with a temperate climate but still have the capacity to break your freakin' heart. It's up to you - Los Angeles, California, Los Angeles, California. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Recently the magazine Entertainment Weekly had an article entitled the "The 25 Smartest People in Television." Yours truly was ranked at number twenty. If the article is to be taken seriously, and God knows, why wouldn't any sensible person take it seriously, that means there are currently nineteen people in the TV biz who are smarter than me. Now I'm just thinking out loud here, but if something were to happen to those nineteen people... if say, they were to, one by one, have horrible accidents, or mysteriously disappear, then that would make me, ipso facto, the number one smartest person in television. Then I'd just have to keep an eye on number twenty-one. Christina Wayne, Senior VP of original programming at AMC, looks like the kind of woman who would stop at nothing to move up a spot. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 In tonight's episode, the great James Earl Jones delivers Charlie's eulogy during Charlie's imagined funeral. We wrote a portion of it to play in the background so that the scene could progress between Charlie and his pal, Andy (played by the one and only Emilio Estevez). But, as you'll see below, the sub-audible eulogy still managed to become a tale worth telling. JAMES EARL JONES I'd like to take this moment to read one of Charlie's favorite parables. A story which I'm told gave him strength and inspiration during trying times. "Dear Penthouse Forum - I always thought your letters were made up until this happened to me. I was stranded at O'Hare Airport one rainy night when two stewardesses from Lufthansa Airlines noticed the bulge in my carry-on bag. The bulge was actually nothing more than a Monte Cristo sandwich I brought with me in case I got a bit peckish. But homeland security being what it is these days, they requested that I step into a utility closet for a quick pat down and cavity search. The two stews, both named Greta, took turns *#@!&% me like a wild stallion. First it was me and Greta, then it was me and Greta, then it was me, Greta and Greta. Finally, it was Greta and Greta while I finished my sandwich." 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 FOR YOUR CONSIDERATION: (spoiler alert) It's that time of the year when movie studios seeking Oscar nominations for their films start asking for my consideration. Every trade ad and mailing begins with the words, "For your consideration." It's kind of a Hollywood tradition. Anyway, this is what I've considered so far: Milk (a well-meaning gay guy is shot to death by a homophobe), Doubt (A really mean nun accuses a really terrific priest of being a pedophile), Revolutionary Road (a married couple fight a lot, cheat on each other, then the wife bleeds to death following a botched abortion), Slumdog Millionaire (incredibly poor kids subjected to unthinkable evil, but with a happy ending), Defiance (starving Jews fight Nazis in the woods), The Wrestler (a broken-down, over-the-hill wrestler on steroids has a tough life), Changeling (a woman's son is abducted and the police put her in an insane asylum), Gran Torino (a dying widower commits suicide to help his neighbor), Benjamin Button (a guy grows old in reverse and then dies), Rachel Getting Married (a drug addict kills her baby brother and then pisses off her family during a wedding), and The Reader (Nazi atrocities, under-age sex and illiteracy prove to be a lethal combo). So, what am I considering? Well, for a moment or two I actually considered hanging myself. But then I thought, if I do that, the movies win. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Starting 2009 with a bang! CENSORED And this is it: Mom and Dad are fighting again. I used to think they didn't get along 'cause I wasn't good enough. For years and years I tried to be better, hoping that would make them happy and love each other. But even though I became the most popular kid in my class, they still fight - now more than ever. God, if you're listening, please make Mom and Dad be nice to each other. I'm too little to make a difference, but you're God, you can do anything - even help Dad sell off his chain of movie theaters for ten cents on the dollar. Or Showtime. Doesn't matter as long as it's worth forty-nine million dollars and makes Mom stop crying.  
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 There's a funny moment in tonight's episode where Sheldon gets stuck on a rock-climbing wall and remarks, "What part of an inverse tangent function approaching an asymptote don't you understand?" I thought it'd be helpful to take a moment and examine that joke. A linear asymptote is essentially a straight line to which a graphed curve moves closer and closer but does not reach. In other words, given a function y=fn(x) with asymptote A, A represents a number that, no matter how big (or, given the function, small) you make x, y will never make it to A. The particular example Sheldon quotes is the inverse Tangent function, or Arctangent, which has two asymptotes. If you graph it, it sort of looks like a horizontal S: Graph: No matter how big you make x (that is, how far you move to the right), the function is never going to hit that top line (?/2), and no matter how small x gets (moving to the left), y is never going to be smaller than - ?/2. The more you know, the funnier it gets. Go to for Graph: Chuck Lorre Productions - The Official Vanity Card Archives - Number 237 - 1st Aired: 19 January 2009 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 HOW TO CREATE A HIT SITCOM A simple, step-by-step guide to prime time success. by Chuck Lorre © April 2004 Start drinking early. I don't mean early in the day. I mean early in life. Eight years old oughta do the trick. Heavy drinking isn't necessary. All you need is enough hooch to get through a Cub Scout meeting without tearing your skin off. Your ability to make the big bucks as a sitcom writer is directly tied to the sickness of your parents. Stop whining to your therapist and send mom and dad a thank you note for royally fucking you up. Fail to become a member of any group worth joining. Once again, this is something you need to get an early start on. Whether it be athletics, academics or crime, make sure you don't measure up. Social rejection combined with the hard-wired damage done by your folks creates the insecurity and self-loathing necessary for a writer to "know where the funny is." Nurture your fear of women. Long for them. Ache for them. But always keep in mind that you don't deserve them. If you should happen to get involved with one, always remember: If she loves you there is something fundamentally wrong with her. You just can't see it yet. Don't start as a sitcom writer. Find something you love more than life itself and then fail at it. Once the reason God put you here has been revealed to be a cruel hoax, you'll be a better team player. Thoroughly defeated people are more inclined to take those tough network notes. Don't be afraid to experiment with soul-crushing poverty. You'll find yourself ahead of the pack when it comes time to write that warm, family sitcom because you know what it means to enjoy a big bowl of ketchup soup. Don't cheat yourself out of being a colitis patient in a rundown teaching hospital. Dealing with psychotic sitcom divas is a snap for someone who's had an anesthetic-free colonoscopy in front of twenty giggling med students. Join a religious cult. Any cult will do. Just make sure they promise you the one thing you desperately need: power over people, places and things. When, after many years and thousands of dollars you still don't have power over your ulcerative colon, become a bitter door-to-door greeting card salesman and patiently await the day when you can sell your cult accessories on eBay. Marry a woman who is beautiful, kind and loving and encourages you to drink. Have a kid when you're poor and uninsured. Convincing an OB-GYN and an anesthesiologist to perform a caesarean section on credit is invaluable training for really tense pitch meetings. In fact this is such a helpful exercise, have another kid so you can do it twice. Walk in the first door that opens. It doesn't matter if it's the door you want. Someone wants you to write shitty Saturday morning cartoons in order to sell a bunch of shitty toys? What do you care? You left your last shred of personal dignity in the teaching hospital. And your kids still don't have medical insurance. Write the damn thing and see if the check bounces. If it doesn't, write as many as you can before they find out you don't have a fucking clue what you're doing. Ignore your ignorance and make yourself irreplaceable. Work harder than everyone else. If it helps you get through the night, con yourself into thinking that your My Little Pony script will actually impart life lessons to some snot-nosed, lead paint licking kid somewhere. Eat staggering amounts of condescending shit from condescending assholes who don't have children and whose only hope of getting any is with candy and a panel truck. Now that you've scratched and clawed your way into a stable, well-paying job writing Saturday morning cartoons, watch passively as your wife runs out and buys a house. There's nothing like a big mortgage to make sure you don't quit a job that has already begun to kill you. Don't be complacent. A moving target is harder to hit. When the limited animation geniuses go home at night you stay late and write sitcom and drama spec scripts. It doesn't matter if your next job involves writing, "Hey, which one of you kids put a chicken in my pants?" Or, "We caught a floater in the East River. John Doe, shot twice at the base of the skull with a small caliber pistol. Probably a twenty-two." Your goal is to charge through the first open door that has health insurance, residuals and enough prestige to show those dickweeds in high school just how wrong they were about you. Slowly start to destroy your marriage because of many of the unresolved issues mentioned above. Now that you're working it's easy to get an agent. Don't dwell on the fact that the little fuckers wanted nothing to do with you when you were unemployed. Get one anyway. It doesn't even matter which one you pick. For the sake of simplicity, take the first one who says they love your writing. Don't get hung up on whether or not they're lying. You'll be firing them soon. Get your first freelance, sitcom writing assignment for which you are paid the incredible sum of six thousand dollars. Become a proud member of the WGA for the incredible entry fee of six thousand dollars. Attend a 'new members' cocktail party and feel like you've finally joined a club worth belonging to. Enjoy the night immensely because you're blissfully unaware that the next WGA event you'll attend will require you to carry a picket sign. Roll your freelance success into your first sitcom staff job. Sure it's an embarrassingly silly show, but you don't embarrass easily. You still have vivid memories of playing guitar and singing "Big Bad Leroy Brown" at a Filipino wedding in Long Beach for forty dollars and all the lamb kabob you can eat. Continue to work harder than anyone else so you can't be fired. Turn in your first script which follows the executive producer's outline beat for beat. Almost get fired. Quickly write another script which follows your instincts and get an atta boy. Learn a priceless lesson that you will ignore over and over again during the course of your career. Write four scripts in succession that are produced and get paid for none of them because "term writers don't get script fees." This is your first clue that the WGA is not completely on the ball. Continue to eat condescending shit from condescending assholes while working fifteen to seventeen hours a day and six days a week. Discover the boundless joy of driving home when the sun is coming up. Make friends for life with the aforementioned assholes because you are now one of them. Drink more. You can afford the good stuff now. Notice that writers further up the food chain are quitting in frustration. Take this as an opportunity to ask for a promotion. Get one. What the hell, ask for another. Get it. Rise from term writer to supervising producer in two and a half years because you are a glutton for punishment and everyone else quit. Remember the phrase "two and a half" for later use. After three years of miserable, seventy hour weeks someone at the network belatedly realizes that when the premise of a show is two men who have never met agreeing to live together and raise the daughter of a dead woman they both slept with twelve years ago because either one of them could be the little girl's father but no one wants to go to the trouble of taking a blood test, the show should be cancelled. Facing unemployment, fight to get on a hit show that everyone else is fighting to get off of because the star, while undeniably talented, has a few personal issues not to mention a coke-addicted boyfriend she just made executive producer. Consider the shit you've lived through and think, "How tough could it be?" Quickly discover that working on this show causes you to look back at the anesthetic-free colonoscopy with fond nostalgia. Sign non-disclosure forms that threaten you with dismissal and legal action if you tell anyone the truth about what actually goes on there. Take more abuse than you ever considered possible but hang in there for two years and fifty episodes because you're making more money in a week than your father made in a year. Think to yourself, "The suffering and sacrifice of my ancestors is redeemed through my success," in order to avoid thinking, "If I'm a whore, does that make my agent a mack daddy?" Become single again and, after an initial surge of joy and freedom, discover that she was not the reason for your misery. Oh, well, no time for self-reflection now, you're on your path to creating a hit sitcom! Quit drinking. For almost a whole day. Roughly nine years after walking through that first door, finally get a chance to create your hit sitcom. But it won't really be yours. You have no creative clout. Your employers have lots of clout so, ignoring the priceless lesson, rely on their series premise, their casting choices and their comic instincts. Your hit sitcom is cancelled in five weeks. Your employer calls it a "noble failure", but noble isn't the word used in any of the reviews. The word putrid is used twice. Get back on your feet by pitching a single-camera film comedy based on Douglas Adam's "Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency." Your employers think it's a swell idea but instead want you to write a sitcom about a blue collar single mom on videotape. You see little room for compromise. Write a heart-warming script about an heroic single mom who struggles against overwhelming odds to raise her children and make a new life for herself. Fail to take into account that the gal cast by your employers to play mom, hates kids, hates people, hates sitcoms and, most importantly, hates you. Wake up to discover you have created a hit sitcom and Ralph's doesn't sell enough Stoli to ease the pain. Find yourself looking back at the bent superstar and her twitchy consort with fond nostalgia. Quit the hit show you created and get right to work creating another hit sitcom for another wack-job diva because you are just plain stupid. Get fired from your second hit show because the co-star wins a fucking Emmy... and you're stupid. FINALLY learn from your mistakes and create a hit show with wonderful, loving people. Late in the second season during a rehearsal suddenly realize they are not going to hurt you. Stop drinking. Marry again. This time to a beautiful, warm and loving woman who encourages you to drink water. Write a half dozen pilot scripts that are used as landfill. Write and produce three busted pilots in a row because you think you know what's wrong with TV comedy, but are really still stupid. Then, when you're about to quit the business in disgust, write a pilot script with an old friend. Not because you like him. No one really likes him. Write it because he has two young kids, dental problems that would scare English people, and if he doesn't write something quickly he'll lose his WGA health insurance, which is something you know about. Anyway, a script is written and when it's time to come up with a title, the phrase "two and a half" effortlessly floats into your consciousness. To everyone's surprise and delight, the script attracts an incredibly talented, easy-going, warm and generous star. The star attracts a green light. Green lights attract Jimmy Burrows. He has script notes. You have creative clout now, ignore them. Brilliant, sane actors join the cast. A young boy who was obviously a world-class actor in a previous life and is simply picking up where he left off makes the whole thing feel like it's really going to happen. A group of extraordinary writers overlook that you're a condescending asshole pummeling them with condescending shit and help you make a great pilot. Great pilots get killer time slots. Killer time slots get lots of viewers. Lots of viewers are required for a sitcom to be considered a hit... if the viewers come back week after week. They come back. Drive to your big, fancy house in your big, fancy car, drop to your knees and whisper, "Thank you, God, for showing me this simple, step-by-step guide to prime time success but couldn't we have done this without the teaching hospital?" Share the guide with others. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Excerpt From Publisher's Weekly: This delectable collection of entertaining essays by more than 50 TV and screenwriters is a treat not only for neophytes hoping to break into the business, but also for film buffs. While most of the contributors write about their first paying job in the profession, many of the tastiest tales venture off to detail other "firsts": Chuck Lorre (Roseanne; Cybill) hilariously recalls the first time he was fired (from a Beany & Cecil revival show); Melville Shavelson recollects the first time he was sued (by former First Lady Mamie Eisenhower to stop the filming of a movie about the Ike-Kay Summersby affair); and 12-time Emmy winner Carl Reiner remembers getting $1,000 to write his first novel, Enter Laughing... 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 In 1970 I enrolled at the State University of New York at Potsdam under my given name, Charles (Chuck) Levine. I lasted two years. Most of my memories are of playing guitar in rock bands at bars and frat parties (Casey Jones, Whipping Post, Southern Man, Aqualung), trying desperately to get coeds to wrap their legs around my 27 inch waist, learning to juggle, playing frisbee, Zig-Zag rolling papers, repeatedly listening to Voodoo Chile, and playing acid chicken with my roommates (the game involved who could watch their face melt in a mirror the longest without suffering a full-blown psychotic break). Oddly, I have only two memories of actually being in class. One in which my pupils were inordinately dilated and the professor was rude enough to notice, and the second when the alcoholic bastard who taught creative writing mocked my work and informed me I'd never make it as a writer because my grammar was awful. I only bring this up because someone at my old alma mata figured out I was once Chuck Levine, contacted me and offered me an Honorary Doctor of Humane Letters degree along with an invitation to speak at this year's commencement ceremony. Thrilled and proud to finally have a college degree, I immediately accepted. In fact, I have already begun writing a speech which I hope will prove inspiring to the fresh-faced graduates. The theme is "personal reinvention, or how I stumbled ass-backwards into a job where grammar was ignored and neurosis, fear, desperation, childhood wounds and mediocrity was richly rewarded." I've also started practicing throwing a tassled hat up in the air using my old, wickedly accurate, frisbee wrist flick. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 TO DO LIST Live to see a highly educated, deeply thoughtful, articulate, cool, biracial President who is not overly crippled by childhood wounds and capable, in no particular order, of freeing the nation of its oil dependence, restoring its international standing, creating universal health care, resurrecting the economy, ending two wars, rebuilding the public education system, finally bringing about an end to the mindlessness of racism, encouraging science and technology, firmly addressing environmental issues and global warming, and uniting the nation - and the world - in a giant cultural, tipping point leap forward. Meet super-intelligent aliens who disarm the entire planet, cure every disease and take us all for rides across the galaxy. Play a round of par golf. Trade solos with Eric Clapton. Win an Emmy. Get married, stay married. One down, five to go.  
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 A wise man once told me that we are all God in drag. I like that. Sometimes when I'm in a public place or sitting at a stop light, I'll watch people walking by and I'll silently say to myself, "He's God. She's God. He's God. She's God." Before long I always find myself feeling a warm sense of affinity for these strangers. The experience is even more powerful when I do this while observing a person who is clearly suffering. On occasion I'll test my little spiritual practice by turning on Fox News. Within minutes I become an atheist. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 COMMONLY ASKED QUESTIONS Q: Will you change the name of the show to Three Men to accommodate the growth of your 'half man'? A: No. As Jake grows, Charlie and Alan will shrink, so the cumulative amount of 'men' stays at Two and a Half. Q: How do you get away with the dirty jokes? A: Our network censor is a drunk. She often comes to rehearsals completely bombed. This gives us a lot of leeway. Q: Sometimes the laughs on the show are too loud. Why is that? A: Sometimes the show is too funny. Q: I have a great idea for a sitcom, would you like to hear it? A: No. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 A NOTE TO MY COLLEAGUES After writing and producing TV for twenty years, I have developed a survival mechanism I like to call "show biz peripheral vision." What this means is that I can set my attention on the work at hand and still be able to see what's going on around me. The huddled confabs, the whispered asides, the sideways glances, the roll of the eyes, the smirks of disdain, the sulking pouts, the exhalations of disgust, the looks of admiration (few and far between), and the endless variations of body language that reveal impatience, rejection, jealousy, and simple disbelief that I'm in charge and you're not. I see it all. And I don't comment. I just make note of it. Occasionally I will respond in a roundabout fashion that might make you think I'm clairvoyant. I am not. I am simply watching. Just thought you might like to know. Carry on. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Trying to get a break as a song writer I find out where Harry Nilsson lives and bring him a box of reel-to-reel tapes of my original songs. He threatens to kill me if I ever come to his house again. Not funny then, funny now. While working at Marvel Animation I'm told I don't have what it takes to write for the Muppet Babies. Sadly, it's true. Not funny then, funny now. Write French Kissin' in the USA which is covered by Debbie Harry and released as the first single for her debut solo album. It effectively ends her solo career. Not funny then, funny now. Co-write theme song for new animated series called Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. The show is a massive international success. The music publisher tells my partner and I that we will not be paid music royalties for the millions of video games and video cassettes being sold. The reason we are given is that they'd rather not pay us. Not funny then, still not funny.  
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 The Parents Television Council has asked Apple Computers to stop advertising on Two and a Half Men. Their reasoning is, surprise, surprise, the show's adult humor. I thought I might use my vanity card to send another message to Apple Computers. Dear Apple, You have always been known, rightfully so, as the tech company that stood for freedom and individuality. Big Brother and the suppression of those principles was that other company's calling card. Remember them? I do. But that's not the reason this vanity card, as well as every budget, schedule, story, outline and script for Two and a Half Men, was written on an Apple. The reason is I believe your products are ahead of the curve, elegantly designed and just darn fun to use. Oh, and you should also know there are so many iPhones used by myself and members of our cast and crew to make calls, email, text, surf the internet, and play games, it's a miracle we get anything done at all. Anyway, we trust you'll make the right decision regarding the boycott request. Thank you, Chuck Lorre P.S. To the PTC. With the world economy in complete free fall, it's good to know you're still sweating the small stuff. Shall I send you more cupcakes so you can snack while attempting to suppress free speech? Or perhaps you can just change the freakin' channel. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 More of "Not Funny Then" I decide getting on staff at Roseanne would be a great opportunity for me, even though every writer who had ever worked on the show had been fired. Four weeks into the job I deliver my first script and I'm almost fired. Not funny then, funny now. I create Grace Under Fire, realize what I'm in for and try to quit after pilot is picked up to series. I try to quit again during Christmas. A few weeks later the Northridge earthquake hits. During a large aftershock I drop to my knees and pray for the sound stage to collapse and kill me. Not funny then, funny now. I think developing a new series starring Cybill Shepherd is a swell idea. The show is an instant hit. Cybill wants me to fire Lee Aronsohn because he's a misogynist. She's not wrong, but I jokingly tell her, "Why do you care? You're not a woman." She fires us both. I get the call not to come back to work on Yom Kippur from a Carsey-Werner exec named Dirk Van De Bunt. Not funny then, still not funny. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 A PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT Charlie drinks a lot on Two and a Half Men. With the exception of the occasional "funny hangover" scene, he regularly makes drinking to excess look elegant, cool, sexy and fun. Given that the reality of drinking like Charlie is a nightmarish descent into alcoholism, liver disease, broken marriages, lost jobs, devastated families and friends, jails, insanity, institutions and, very often, death, the argument could be made that this is extremely irresponsible on our part. To redress this lapse of judgement we ask that you not drink to excess. While you're at it, eat a balanced diet, get plenty of rest and exercise, and avoid degrading yourself by having meaningless sex with strangers in a futile attempt to fill the emptiness in your soul. Thank you for your cooperation. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 The quantum physics joke Penny tells the guys in tonight's episode was told to us by Nobel award-winning physicist, Dr. George Smoot. Penny tells it in about twenty seconds. Dr. Smoot's version probably took about three minutes, although it felt a lot longer. No one had the heart to tell him to get to the punch line, proving my hypothesis that in addition to time slowing down as you accelerate, it also grinds to a halt when you're being courteous to a genius. Thanks for the joke, Doc! 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 I believe that Newton's first law of motion is the reason we will emerge from our current economic woes. That law states that an object at rest tends to stay at rest and an object in motion tends to stay in motion with the same speed and in the same direction unless acted upon by an unbalanced force. How does that relate to the financial #$%*storm we're now cowering under? Allow me to explain. There are slightly less than seven billion people on this planet. Assuming that roughly half that number are either too young, too old, too lazy, or too loaded to work, that still leaves almost three and a half billion people getting up in the morning to chase the almighty dollar, the transcendent rupee, the zen yen,the dear ol' euro, the what's goin' on yuan, the... well, you get the idea. Now, call me crazy (and many have called me far worse), but I happen to think that three and a half billion motivated people is one big damn object in motion. And the only thing acting against that object is the friction caused by a small bunch of greedy, dumbass, screw-the-pooch, Ivy League pot stickers (the unbalanced force). I therefore assert that the unbalanced force (you know who you are, shame on you), will eventually be overwhelmed by the object in motion (three and a half billion people with pluck, aka pluckers), thus allowing the object in motion to continue its relentless journey forward, thriving and conniving until it is once again slowed down by other unbalanced forces, or a very large meteorite. Or a plague. Or fundamentalists with nukes. Or atmosphere-eating nanobots. Or a super volcano. Or Skynet. Or Cylons. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 More and more, it seems like people are yelling at me. This is especially noticeable on local and cable news, TV and radio ads, morning, afternoon and late night talk shows, religious channels, entertainment tabloid shows, and, NPR aside, radio. It's almost as if all the news anchors, reporters, product pitchmen, talk show hosts, politicians, sportscasters, DJ's and preachers have forgotten how good modern microphones are. Regardless, the purpose of vanity cards is not just to point out the problem, it's also to propose the solution. And here's one: The Whisper Channel. A cable news channel where everyone, including advertisers, speaks in gentle, dulcet tones. Our marketing tag line will be one word, "shhh." Instead of grinning, shouting, overly-coiffed failed actors, our news anchors will be regular folks with beautiful speaking voices who, just to be on the safe side, have been heavily sedated. Think of it. You've had a brutal day at work. Traffic on the way home was a righteous bitch. You crawl into your home which is worth far less than you paid for it, and, because you want to stay informed, you turn on The Whisper Channel where a pleasant-looking woman with real hair, real nose, real wrinkles, real breasts and teeth the color of teeth, soothingly tells you about the latest terrorist attack, stock market fiasco, school shooting and, just to keep it interesting, emergency recall of the anti-anxiety meds you've been taking because they might cause impotence, blindness and insanity. But because of the way she says it, you are hunky dory. ALTERNATE MARKETING TAG LINE: the whisper channel... where human civilization sliding into the abyss is nothing to shout about. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 For months I've woken up to a mysterious, intermittent banging sound coming from somewhere in my home. I can't tell you how many mornings I groggily walked around in my pajamas searching for its cause. Frustrated by my inability to locate the source of the banging, I falsely accused my ancient refrigerator and began seeking a replacement. But then I caught a break. Rising early one morning for reasons urinary, I stumbled across the real source of the strange noise - a small, yellow-breasted bird living in a tree next to the kitchen window. Periodically, he would fly to the window, furiously peck at it with his beak, then quickly retreat to a nearby branch. At first I assumed that the morning light caused him to see his reflection and, being of limited intelligence, or filled with self-loathing, attack it. But once again, my initial instinct proved to be wrong. After a long conversation with the bird, I learned that he was banging on the window because he had it in for my refrigerator. I have since apologized to the fridge, but it has been, not surprisingly, cool towards me. Sorry, that really wasn't worth the journey. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 CENSORED: 251c - 1st Aired: 4 May 2009 What was not shown: There was a joke in tonight's episode that was cut because the CBS censors felt it was offensive to Koreans. The joke involved Charlie telling his fiance that one way to get rid of her cat was to "slap some soy sauce on it and drop it off in Koreatown." When I complained that there is ample evidence that cats and dogs are eaten in Korea, I was told yes, there is, but that's not the point. The point is when material like this has aired on CBS in the past, angry Korean Americans, no doubt sensitive about their culinary image, held angry meetings with network executives which made the network executives unhappy. That's it. That's why the joke was cut. No one at CBS wanted to go to another angry meeting that would make them unhappy. Now please understand, I'm not bringing this up because I'm upset about our show being censored. I'm way past that. Waste of time and energy. No, I just wanted my vanity card readers to know that they can influence the content of CBS, or any of the major networks, by simply making the appropriate executives unhappy. It's simple: flood the network with angry form letters and/or emails, demand a meeting, threaten a boycott of their advertisers, then have fun making the creative choices that best suit your tastes. But be careful. You will inevitably make someone angry, and they will damn sure make you unhappy. Which makes me happy. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 The following is an excerpt from my keynote speech at the 2009 SCIENCE FICTION AND FANTASY WRITERS OF AMERICA NEBULA AWARDS. When I was 12 years old, my teenage sister had a boyfriend whom my parents lovingly named "Cross-Eyed Larry." In my official capacity as the "obnoxious little brother," I took it upon myself to annoy and harass poor Larry at every opportunity. In fact, I specifically learned to cross my eyes so I could welcome him to our home with the appropriately juvenile comedic flair. (My mother constantly warned me that if I didn't stop doing that my eyes would stay crossed. In hindsight it appears as if she was lying or, at best, misinformed.) Anyway, my speech tonight is a long overdue attempt to make amends for my childish pestering and cruelty towards this polite young man whose only discernible character flaw was a poorly-aimed libido (no way he was getting over on my sister). But even more than an amends, I needed to find some way to thank him. And here's why: way back in 1964, Larry did something that would change my life forever. In order to get rid of me so he could stick his tongue down my sister's throat, Larry gave me a dog-eared copy of Ray Bradbury's The Martian Chronicles. His plan worked brilliantly. The book not only turned my prepubescent, Hardy Boys world upside down, it would begin my lifelong love affair with science fiction. Unfortunately, Cross-Eyed Larry was not so lucky. Ultimately rejected by my sister, he descended into a life of drugs and crime that ended tragically when he was murdered in Attica State Prison because another inmate thought he was looking at him funny. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Disciple: Oh, Enlightened One, is it not a karmically positive act to create laughter in this troubled world? Master: Tell that to Richard Pryor. Disciple: Sure, he had his troubles, but Master: Or Sam Kinison... Disciple: No question, I'm just thinking that providing joy Master: Andy Kaufman, John Candy, John Belushi, Bill Hicks... Disciple: All brilliant men, no argument. It's just Master: George Carlin for Gods sakes! Disciple: Getting back to my original question, I was wondering Master: In the meantime Dane Cook is probably immortal. Disciple: Well, maybe he works out. Master: Ask me whether being an amazing musician is "karmically positive." Disciple: That's okay, I'd rather Master: There's a freakin' list of dead people for you! Disciple: I'm gonna go meditate now. Master: Yeah, you do that. Focus on your third eye. Disciple: Yes, Master. Master: The one you sit on. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 EXCERPT FROM MY COMMENCEMENT SPEECH AT THE STATE UNIVERSITY OF NEW YORK AT POTSDAM Before I get started I just want to point out that the commencement speaker for the 2009 graduating class of Notre Dame is the President of the United States. The commencement speaker for the 2009 graduating class of SUNY Potsdam is a deeply neurotic, twice-divorced sitcom writer with chronic bronchitis. Just thought you should know. You do get what you pay for. Anyway, my commencement speech: Thirty-seven years ago I dropped out of SUNY Potsdam and packed my 66 Mustang with all my worldly belongings. Those belongings included one cardboard box filled with clothing, one Panasonic FM-AM stereo and turntable, one record collection, one Fender Stratocaster, one Fender twin reverb amp and one Boomerang wah-wah pedal. I then took a deep breath and drove to Los Angeles with four hundred dollars in my pocket and the dream of being a rock star in my head. I sincerely hope that none of you here today are that stupid. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 CENSORED: 255c As always, the offending material is available to be read if you know where to look. I think you'll find that the card, while mildly amusing, is nowhere near as entertaining as the raging paranoia of our network censors. P.S. For selfish reasons I would ask that you wait to read the censored card until after The Big Bang Theory. Vanity Card not shown: In film and television there exists a rule that all phone numbers spoken in dialogue or seen on the screen begin with the fake prefix 555. The reason for this rule is that somewhere along the line idiots began calling the phone numbers used on TV shows and movies. This resulted in production companies and networks being sued by the unhappy people who were harassed by the prank calls from the aforementioned idiots. All of which means that whether you're trying to enjoy a humble sitcom or a hundred million dollar action movie, every phone number will begin with the hateful, illusion-wrecking prefix, 555. In tonight's episode of Two and a Half Men we tried to get around this dilemma. The phone number Charlie rattles off in the first scene is actually one number short of a real number. Then, later in the scene, he discusses a memory trick which involves replacing numbers with letters in order to remember them. If you check your phone, you'll see the letters we used, OXOFEMPAL, or 696-336-725, is again one number short of being an actual working number, and JKLPUZO is the broadcast acceptable 555-7896. A lot of work, not to mention endless negotiations with our CBS censor, was necessary to come up with these numbers. So, to all the idiots out there, let me just say, 555-382-5968. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Cards with Imagery - 256 THANKS. COMIC-CON! http://www.chucklorre.com/index.php?p=256  
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 I was born in a women's prison in Mississippi. My mother was serving a life sentence for shooting her boyfriend's roommate. According to court documents, her defense was, "I was aiming at my boyfriend." My father was a prison guard who would later in life write and illustrate a children's book about a rooster who enjoyed the attention of many chickens. The book was short-listed for a Newbery Award. I was taken from the prison and sent to live with my maternal grandparents who eked out a meager living selling bathtub thalidomide to circus folk. My early years were uneventful except for being forced to stay up way past my bed time in order to "keep an eye out for angry circus folk." Desperately unhappy as a teenager, I was sent to a therapist who determined that I was possessed by deeply disturbed spiritual beings that had been imprisoned in a volcano billions of years ago and then blasted with hydrogen bombs by an evil alien warlord. After the twisted spirits were successfully purged from my body, my depression magically vanished, only to be replaced by self-loathing, arrogance and ulcerative colitis. This, of course, provided a natural segue into my current life as a twice-divorced sitcom writer. As a footnote, one of the tormented beings pulled from my body went on to unsuccessfully run NBC for several years. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 The day Carl was made henhouse rooster had to be the proudest day of his life. Oh, how he strutted and preened outside the little hut where all the chickens lived. From the corner of his eye he could see them nervously peeking out to see the new cock of the walk. You could hardly blame him for smiling so smugly. He knew that from that moment on, if a chicken wanted extra feed, well, she had to ask Carl. Same thing for pecking privileges in the yard. And of course, when it came time to lay eggs, the premium spots nearest the warming lamps were handed out by you-know-who. Yep, life was good for ol' Carl. Up at dawn, a loud clearing of the throat, a largely ceremonial patrol of the perimeter, and then, an afternoon and evening of doling out favors to the chickens. And the best part about it was he never had to actually ask for anything in return. He would simply tell each chicken to decide for herself what, if anything, she should give him to ensure his continued friendship. But let me tell you, it's no accident he named his rooster hut "Casa Quid Pro Quo." Yep, Carl had it knocked. At least until he was forced out of his job by a class-action paternity suit that was entirely without merit and probably politically motivated by bitter, eggless chickens. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Sometimes I have heated arguments with people who are not physically present. The content of these arguments usually involve me explaining to them how and why they are wrong. I generally make my case with such passion and logic that they have no choice but to admit to being foolish and weak. The fact that some of these people are dead does not interfere with me mentally correcting them. Recently I had one of these arguments while driving alone in my car. After making a particularly cogent point to a flawed family member in need of my wisdom and guidance, I noticed that I was being watched by an attractive woman in a nearby vehicle. Desperate to make a better impression, I quickly picked up my cell phone and continued talking as if I were on an urgent business call. I glanced at her, smiled and shrugged like a man whose work was never done. A policeman then pulled me over for using my cell phone while driving. I tried telling him that I was not actually talking on the phone, but was merely using it as a prop, so as to not appear insane. He smiled, nodded as if he understood, and then made me blow into a breathalyzer. I passed with flying colors. After he wrote me a ticket for using a cell phone while operating a motor vehicle, I drove away and had a loud and intense argument with him in which he laughed at my predicament and apologized for doubting me. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 FASHION TRENDS: Dead is the new unambiguous. Bipolar is the new undecided. Heavily armed is the new born again. Bald is the new head... and the new crotch. Hairy is the new face. Sheepishly admitting to having an STD is the new flirting. Purell is the new face of fear. Finding the time that's right for you is the new impotence. The smiley-face emoticon is the new "sincerely yours." Smoking is the new outdoorsy lifestyle. Looking forward to insanely expensive private schooling, thousand dollar a week nannies and soccer is the new yuppie birth control. Misinformed is the new patriotic. Veganism is the new "tastes like chicken." Serotonin uptake inhibiting is the new crowd control. Texting is the new talking. Talking is the new singing. Singing is the new hubris. Gay marriage is the new "be careful what you wish for." And finally, and only because I really need this to catch on, fifty-seven years old is the new forty-five. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 I've decided that writing down my own thoughts in these vanity cards is no longer of interest to me. From now on, I will write down other peoples' thoughts. The following belong to Regina Gooden, age twenty-two, currently living in Davenport, Iowa. "Why do I keep cheating on Andy? He's a pretty good boyfriend. I mean, sure, I wish he were better looking... and like five inches taller. I really do hate that he's so short. Stubby legs on a guy are such a turn-off. Yech. But on the plus side he makes real good money and always buys me nice stuff. And I don't even mind that he's kind of a clean freak. His apartment is spotless - like a hospital surgery room. Oh, and right after sex he has to run and take a hot shower. Then he makes me take one too. That's a little weird. But nobody's perfect right? Anyway, from now on I'm gonna be a better girlfriend. No more fooling around behind his back - unless the dude is really cute... and tall. Hee-hee!" And this is from Andy Mindenhauser, also from Davenport, Iowa. "I love Regina so much that sometimes, when we have dirty sex and she gets all sweaty on me, I'm pretty okay with it. Well, for a few minutes anyway, then I have to go wash up. But now I find out from following her that she is having dirty sex with a man who plays basketball at the park. This made me very angry. This was like an ugly stain on a white carpet. A stain that has to be scrubbed and scrubbed until the carpet is clean again. Tonight I will scrub the stain from Regina. I will clean her nice and thorough. After tonight she will never get dirty again and I will love her forever." See? Isn't that more fun than my thoughts? Stay tuned to upcoming vanity cards where we'll eavesdrop on more thoughts from Andy, but not Regina. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 As best as I can tell, life is intolerable. Oh, not always of course. A case can be made for all the big wonders and little blessings and blah, blah, blah. But when you really boil it down, our entire existence rests on a few really ugly premises. First, life, and by that I mean the big life, life with a capital L, must ingest other life in order for it to remain life. Or, put another way, in order to witness the miracle of creation, we must continually eat, and then poop out, a little bit of that miracle. Second, one of the charming side effects of sentient life is emotional pain. The fact that dead and fermenting plant life creates alcohol - a terrific anesthetic for emotional pain - might cause one to think that this is, by nature, a compassionate universe. Think again. Keep dulling that pain with booze and you wind up, if you're lucky, in a church basement sharing your tears with complete strangers. If you're not lucky, you wind up on a waiting list for a motorcyclist's liver. And finally, there is the ever-present knowledge of death. In order to "more fully appreciate the gift of life," we all get to ponder a violently sudden or slow and agonizingly painful descent into oblivion - after which our beloved bodies turn into the stuff of nightmares. Which brings me back to my original premise: life is intolerable. But rather than go gently into that creepy night, I've decided to start a petition to protest the fundamental conditions of existence. I know it's not much, but it's a start. And damnit, I'm just the guy to do it! The petition is available at chucklorre.com. Sign on now and make your voice heard before you're dead and your vocal chords are being eaten by a swarm of disgusting bugs. PETITION FOR IMMEDIATE CHANGE IN THE CONDITIONS OF EXISTENCE! 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 PETITION FOR IMMEDIATE CHANGE IN THE CONDITIONS OF EXISTENCE! We, the undersigned, disagree with the fundamental conditions of existence, including, but not limited to, hunger, sickness, death, emotional pain, and having to get up and pee in the middle of the night. By affixing our names to this petition we announce our dissatisfaction to whoever or whatever designed this ridiculous system and demand immediate change. NAME EMAIL ADDRESS (in case I want to try and sell you something someday, you know, a Chuck Lorre t-shirt -- or maybe a hat) Check to agree I PETITION FOR IMMEDIATE CHANGE IN THE CONDITIONS OF EXISTENCE! First Name Last Name Email Address  
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 ME: I believe that watching tonight's show might constitute a spiritual experience. YOU: That's a pretty bold statement. How do you figure? ME: Glad you asked. Since the concept of past and future is entirely man-made (ask any other living creature about past and future and all you'll get is a dumb, non-comprehending stare), then it follows that if there is a god, a unifying spirit of the universe, be it "intelligent" or simply a pervasively unifying quantum particle sort of deal, then the present, "the constantly unfolding now," is the only possible place it can exist. Which brings me to my bold assertion: If you laughed at any time during tonight's show, you had to be paying attention. If you were paying attention it means you were, for that moment, in "the now" - the same place as the previously mentioned pervasive, unifying quantum particle we, as a species, enjoy worshipping and committing genocide over. Ergo, you had a spiritual experience. YOU: Assuming you're right, so what? ME: So what?! This is huge! If a simple sitcom can lead to communion with the eternal, then I can make a case for my work having religious significance. Next step... The Church of Chuckology and a tax break! Ooh, maybe even a sleepy little burg in Florida I can call my own.  
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 A guy goes into a dentist's office. The dentist says, "How can I help you?" The guy says, "I'm a moth." The dentist says, "Excuse me?" The guy says again, "I'm a moth." The dentist says, "I think maybe you should be seeing a psychiatrist, not a dentist." The guy says, "I saw a psychiatrist." The dentist says, "So what are you doing here?" The guy says... (SEE PUNCH LINE IN VANITY CARD #265 AT END OF TONIGHT'S EPISODE OF THE BIG BANG THEORY)  
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 "Your light was on." 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 This is the official "I have nothing worth writing about" vanity card. It will run whenever I have nothing worth writing about. Don't be surprised to see it quite a bit. From now on, when our schedule requires me to deliver a new card and I'm empty, I'll simply say, "Run one-eleven." A check of the one hundred and ten cards I've already written will quickly demonstrate that I should have written this card a long time ago. Why didn't I? Vanity. I had become vain about my vanity cards. I was determined to write a new one each week because, well... I'm just that kind of guy. But I'm older and wiser now. I know when I have nothing to say. And that knowledge is freedom. Freedom from the constant need to win your approval. And more importantly, freedom from the obsessive and relentless need to end each vanity card on a joke. Glenn Beck is sober.* 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 *NEWS! Chuck Lorre announced today that he was making his second run at purchasing Universal Studios. Lorre said, "Back when they were on the block to Matsushita I offered to keep the company in American hands by personally buying it for one hundred thousand dollars - eighty-eight five in cash plus a late model Jeep Cherokee with low miles. My offer was rudely rebuffed. The chaos that ensued under foreign ownership was my only satisfaction. This time around I'm upping my offer to a cool one million dollars -- all in cash, but I'd be open to throwing in a 1995 Mercedes sedan." Lorre said his goal was twofold: to liberate Universal from the cruel yoke of Canadian domination and, once in charge, to quickly greenlight a big-budget motion picture based on "Major Dad." Lorre went on to say that if he failed in his bid for Universal, he would consider making a run at UPN. Lorre says for that coveted prize he's willing to go as high as eight thousand dollars and a home stereo system that is still under warranty. *This card first ran at the end of a Dharma & Greg episode on February 22, 2000. Change the '95 Mercedes to a '61 Fender Jazzmaster, substitute CW for UPN, and the offer still stands. Oh, full disclosure: the home stereo is out of warranty. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Last weekend I went on a movie date with a very nice lady. During the coming attractions I managed to get a piece of popcorn down the wrong pipe. I started coughing. People nearby glanced at me nervously. Then, as the movie was about to begin, I got a tickle in my nose and sneezed. Twice. The young couple sitting to my left immediately got up and moved across the aisle. The old lady directly in front of me leapt to her feet and literally vaulted over her husband in order to sit further away from me. For some reason, I was a little miffed. But then I realized the newfound power I had. I got up, crossed closer to the old lady and young couple and coughed again. They all glared at me and once again moved their seats. The game was on! Maneuvering like a knight on a chess board, I countered their move by moving two rows down and one seat over. I looked at them. I smiled. I coughed. They were stunned. How could this be happening? How had their simple movie outing turned into an Edgar Allan Poe short story? But it had! In a matter of minutes, they had become Prince Prospero and his noble cohorts, while I, I had become the Red Death! The old woman covered her mouth and nose with her hand and cried out, "Why are you doing this to us?!" I laughed and said, "Why? You want to know why? Because death, my dear woman, is the inevitable end for us all! And there is no hiding from it. Even at the AMC!" A horrible silence hung over the theater, no one moved, no one breathed. Then the movie started and we all settled down to enjoy the whacky, 3-D antics of Jim Carrey. Oh, and I'm hoping to go out with the nice lady again, but she has not returned my calls. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 I have long believed that part of our problem with resolving race issues in America is our inability to accurately name what we are. Aside from the occasional Johnny and Edgar Winter, there are no white people. Any child with a box of crayons can tell you that white people are, in fact, beige. The sickly ones are gray. Following this crayon logic, one can easily see that there are really no black people. They are brown. Or perhaps raw umber. Or maybe burnt sienna. Frankly, every time I hear someone comment on America's first black president, I can't help thinking, "No, he's not. He's more like caramel." Which is why I think we should all get in the habit of calling each other what we really are. How can you racially slur a man by calling him "beigey" or "umber?" The answer is you can't. Because that's exactly what he is. The melanin doesn't lie. Buy a box of Crayolas and see for yourself. We are all members of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People. Can I hear a kumbaya? 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Jillian had a urinary tract infection... again. That sentence appeared in my head a few days ago, just as you see it above. I have no idea what it means, other than the obvious, and I don't know anyone named Jillian. Regardless, I thought it'd be interesting to begin a vanity card with it and just see where it goes. Jillian had a urinary tract infection... again. Her doctor liked to abbreviate the condition to UTI. She liked to abbreviate it to TMH - Too Much Humping. Regardless, the road back to vaginal happiness was always the same: cranberry juice and abstinence. Thankfully, her boyfriend, Dudley, was always very understanding. He'd just smile, hold her in his arms and say, "Well, babe, when one door closes, another one opens up." She'd always giggle and blush when he'd say that, but deep down she wished she had the courage to cover his mouth and nose with a chloroform-soaked rag, and then, while he was unconscious, snip off his testicles with the little scissors she uses to groom her schnauzer. All of which explains why the next sentence popped into my head recently. Nobody sang Bee Gees songs on karaoke night like Dudley. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Cards with Imagery - 272 Is this a great world or what? Happy Holidays from Chuck Lorre http://www.chucklorre.com/index.php?p=272 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 I am writing this vanity card from deep in the jungles of Borneo. The heat is oppressive. The mosquitos are relentless. And the natives.... the natives are hungry for meat. American meat. Specifically, ground chuck. What was I thinking coming here for my Xmas break? What insanity led me to this godforsaken hell?! Oh, how I wish I were back in Burbank. Oh, Burbank, Burbank, Burbank! Forgive me for not seeing your beauty when you thrust it in my face. But now that matters not. Or, that matters not now. Either way, my time is running short. Funny how your perspective changes when the end is near. Being overlooked by the Golden Globes, yet again, seems so unimportant to me now. The fact that one of the natives about to eat me is a freelance show biz reporter for the Kota Kinabalu Daily Bugle and a voting member of the Hollywood Foreign Press even provides me with some comfort. For as I close my eyes on this world I'll at least know that while I may not be to everyone's taste as television, if sauteed with butter and lemon, I will be to everyone's taste as lunch. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 I have coined a new word which I'm hoping will catch on. The word is "fuv." Fuv came about due to my frustration with the phrase, "making love," specifically its inability to capture the wonderfully lusty, grunting nature of the act. I was also unsatisfied with the mono-syllabic Anglo-Saxon word commonly used to describe intercourse. That word failed miserably at describing the deep spiritual and emotional bonding that can occur during sex. But now with my new word, couples engaged in that most intimate of human activities can look into one another's eyes (assuming they're facing one another) and whisper the simple, all-encapsulating phrase, "I fuv you." And yes, they can do all that while listening to my new album of remakes of classic pop hits, including, "If Fuving You Is Wrong, I Don't Wanna Be Right," "I Feel Like Making Fuv," and the immortal, "Come Rain or Come Shine" featuring the lyric, "I'm gonna fuv you, like nobody's fuved you." 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 ASK CHUCK! Dear Chuck, At a recent dinner party, I found myself in an awkward situation when the host, a devout atheist, sneezed between spoonfuls of his gazpacho. Without thinking, I said, "God bless you." He gave me a withering look and said, as if to a child, "Golly gee, I sure hope he does." The other guests exploded with laughter, while I imploded with humiliation. To avoid future embarrassment, what is the correct response when an atheist sneezes? Troubled with ahchoo Dear Troubled, First, a little background information. Saying "God bless you" following a sneeze is thought by some to have originated in the sixth century in order to protect the sneezer from falling ill to the bubonic plague. Another possible origin is that people once believed that the devil entered the body during a sneeze and saying "God bless you" could help ward him off. Since the plague has killed something like two hundred million people and the words "God bless you" have, in all likelihood, been said countless times to Glenn Beck, we can safely assume the phrase has no real power against germs or demonic possession. What it does contain is simple human courtesy - a means by which we express concern for one another. As to how to respond to a sneezing atheist, well, that's easy. Simply say, "Sounds like you're coming down with something, I hope you don't die and rot in a box."  
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 The following text was sent to one of the producers on Two and a Half Men. He forwarded it to me. Hi my name is sindy I am dawns friend from childhood and I wanted to say my husband and I watch ur show and love it even though we live in bible belt but please tell that fella that write that letter at the end I say a prayer for him now and then .... He seems so sad... U tell him a gal named sindy in Texas prays for him... Well, Sindy, I first want to thank you and your husband for watching our show, despite the fact that you live in what appears to be a geographically undesirable location for Two and a Half Men viewing. Secondly, I want to tell you how deeply touched I was to learn that you not only read my vanity cards, but you also feel genuine concern for my emotional well-being. Now while I do take issue with your description of me as "sad," (I think morose would be more accurate), I do love knowing "a gal named Sindy in Texas prays for me." Going forward, I would like to ask if you could extend your prayers to some other folks here at Two and a Half Men. Feel free to pick whomever you think is most in need. Just hurry. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Belarus is a small, land-locked country next door to Russia, Ukraine, Latvia, Lithuania and Poland. According to Wikipedia, one of its major exports is cattle by-products. Which begs the question, what horrible shape are the cattle in, if all they're good for is felt hats and wallpaper paste? But Belarus does have a bustling TV production industry. One of their most recent hits is a sitcom about four nerdy scientists who live next door to a beautiful blonde waitress. The characters are named Sheldon, Leo, Hovard, Raj and Natasha, and the show is entitled, The Theorists. Each episode begins with a rapid-fire montage of images which takes us from the dawn of time to the present moment. Keeping with that theme, the montage is scored with what is probably the worst piece of recorded pop music since the dawn of time. And finally, each episode appears to be a Russian translation of a Big Bang Theory episode. When we brought this to the attention of the Warner Brothers legal department, we were told that it's next to impossible to sue for copyright infringement in Belarus because the TV production company that is ripping us off is owned and operated by the government of Belarus. Having no other recourse, I'm hoping that this vanity card will be read by the fine folks making The Theorists, and, wracked with guilt, they break down and send us some felt hats. The Kyrgyzstan version of Dharma & Greg already sent me some wallpaper paste. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Last Christmas I visited Hong Kong. This was my first trip to Asia and the cliché "sea of humanity" was never far from my mind (at times it was so much in my consciousness, it crowded out other clichés like, "never kiss a prostitute on the mouth.") Anyway, there are a lot of people there. And one day, while walking through a crowded marketplace, I found myself thinking that every one of these people has a story. Each individual in this endless, teeming throng has experienced joy, heartache, success, failure, fury, and despair. They've all struggled with love, money, work, family, friends, illness and death. Just like the actual sea contains an endless array of living organisms, this "sea of humanity" contains an infinite number of unique, poignant, hilarious and tragic stories. Which is when I realized that my purpose in life, my true calling, is to be a fisher of stories. And all I need for bait is simple curiosity. Armed with this insight, I walked up to an old, prune-faced woman at a seafood stand and asked her if she enjoyed her work. She looked at me with a toothy grin and said, "American?" I said, "Yes." She said, "How you be so stupid to elect George Bush twice?" I shrugged and said I did what I could. She laughed and said, "You try my octopus balls, very tasty, good for real balls." And so I did. Before long we were sharing tales of our childhood, her marriage, my marriages, our children and our jobs. Afterwards I realized that I'd learned a powerful lesson. In order to successfully fish for stories, you need more than curiosity, you need octopus balls.  
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 I worked for Stan Lee twenty-five years ago at Marvel Animation in Los Angeles. My favorite memory is sitting in his office with the legendary Johnny Carson writer, Bob Smith. We were discussing an animated series featuring Rodney Dangerfield as “a dog that got no respect.” (Bob was the actual brains behind the project, I was just hanging around hoping to be included.) Anyway, the meeting was going along nicely, the idea of creating an unloved mutt modeled on Rodney seemed both poignant and hilarious. Then Stan rose from the throne-like seat behind his desk and said, “what this project needs is a real comedy writer.” I looked over at Bob, one of the whitest guys you’ve ever seen, and watched him get even whiter. I glanced down and saw his fists curl into bloodless mallets. A cold, eerie silence filled the room. It felt as if time had stopped. I remember thinking I’m about to see a legendary Johnny Carson writer kill the guy who invented Spider- Man. And then the oddest thing happened. Bob smiled and said, “Yeah, Stan, that’s what it needs, a real comedy writer.” Stan was happy to be agreed with. The clock started ticking again, the atmosphere returned to normal. Bob and I left the office. Stan never had a clue. When I told him this story on the set of The Big Bang Theory, he jokingly said, “So? You’re still not a real comedy writer.” We both laughed. It was funny. But I’m still gonna sic Bob Smith on his wrinkled old ass. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 You know you're getting old when... You throw your back out on the toilet. You shave your ears. Your second wife calls your first wife “ma’am.” You're genuinely excited when your prescriptions arrive in the mail. You read the obits in the newspaper to check the ages of the dead people. You read a newspaper. You're bummed out that the smokin’ hot chick from Body Heat now looks like William Shatner in drag. You say “bummed out.” Women your age have real breasts and artificial hips. Masturbation leaves you winded. You try to amuse the kid hooking up your Blu-ray player by telling him about Betamax. You pee in morse code - dots and dashes -- and have to look down to see when you’re done. Your car radio is set to “classic rock” so you have something to switch to during NPR pledge drives. Your doctor says things like, “that’s normal for a man your age” and “consider yourself lucky.” Beneath your chin is what appears to be a neck skin hammock. Beneath your penis is what appears to be two ping pong balls hanging from a flesh-colored bolo tie. You choose your new car because it offers great lumbar support and convenient cup holders. Watching “The Who” perform at the Superbowl made you inconsolably sad. You wonder if the orgasm you're about to have will actually end your life. Your doctor tells you a new medication will reduce the amount of semen in your body and your only response is, “so what.” Your car radio is set to “classic rock” so you have something to... oh, wait, I already did that one. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 :-) Sideways Smiley Face (1982-2010) Sideways Smiley Face died on March 14, 2010, surrounded by his loved ones. The cause of death was over-use. Born on a Computer Science on-line bulletin board at Carnegie Mellon University, Mr. Face devoted his life to pointing out that the previous sentence was meant to be funny. He also gained worldwide recognition for his tireless efforts as a glib substitute for the words “I’m amused.” His other interests included frowning and winking. He is survived by his children, Sideways Surprised Face, Sideways Glasses Face, Sideways Abraham Lincoln Face, Sideways Santa Claus Face, Sideways Pope Face, and, of course, his beloved wife, XOXO. In lieu of flowers, Mr. Face’s family has requested that people use actual words to express their feelings. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Cards with Imagery - 282 We are often accused of using a 'laugh machine' on The Big Bang Theory. This is our laugh machine. http://www.chucklorre.com/index-bbt.php?p=282  
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 The smoke curled out of the barrel of her gun and drifted up to the ceiling where it caused an odd halo effect above the bare light bulb protruding from the cheap glass fixture that was meant as decoration but only served to sharpen the 100 watt glare that shone down upon the blood-soaked body of the man who had only moments before told her he loved her and would marry her as soon as he divorced his wife and worked out a financial arrangement that would allow them to leave this godforsaken city and never look back nor be haunted by the dark memories of lust and betrayal that she more or less had forgotten about but now came rushing back with a sudden ferocity when she remembered that she'd recently escaped from an insane asylum where she'd been held for eighteen years as a result of shooting her big sister's high school boyfriend after having sex with him and listening to him tell her that he loved her and wanted to marry her in a way that was eerily reminiscent of the dying man on the floor who had no idea that his wife was her big sister until she whispered it in his ear and then shot him in the head causing a hole that looked like a period 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 2010 Census 1) How many people were living or staying in this house, apartment or mobile home on April 1, 2010? Well, after a difficult divorce and several failed attempts at a meaningful relationship, I guess the answer is one. One lonely, middle-aged guy. But I shouldn't get too down on myself. I mean, at least I'm trying. At least my intentions are good. Well, mostly good. I am guilty of what I call self-righteous self-centeredness. You know, that workaholic syndrome which requires everyone to adapt to my “very pressing needs,” rather than being available to theirs. In fact, that actually might be the core of my problem. That, or my compulsive desire to make women happy, which, no surprise, stems from a deep fear that unless I'm perfect, they'll leave me. Oh, and they sure let you know when you're not perfect. They don't mince words when you fail to live up to their expectations. You hear about it. Or worse, you don't hear about it and then have to deal with their subliminal rage that you're not healing their deep-seated daddy wound. But that's beside the point. Bottom line, one person lives here. There, you happy U.S. Department of Commerce Economics and Statistics Administration/ U.S. Census Bureau?! Anything else you want to know? 2) Were there any additional people staying here that you did not include in question one? I already told you, I'm alone! What is with you people?! Why do you keep taunting me?! Haven't I suffered enough?! 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 The Sitcom Writers' Prayer Lord, if it be thy will, give unto us a story that has lots of comic potential while simultaneously exploring and defining our characters and their relationships (preferably something that hasn't been done on Dick Van Dyke or Friends). If, in thine infinite wisdom, the story you provideth is over-the-top, please help us convince ourselves that we are creating a classic farce so we can look our actors in the eye and explain, with face straight, that jumping the shark is how we demonstrate our love for you. Also make us into a channel through which true and honestly funny dialogue flows to our principal, supporting and guest characters. If, on the day of judgement, thy heavenly words elicit silence from the studio audience, relieve us of our suffering, O' Divine Master, by giving us the strength to tell our friends and family that we are doing a "dramedy." Finally Lord, we call on your infinite mercy, praying that you forgiveth our many network sins, most notably Lenny and Squiggy-style smash cut jokes, and that after we are brought low by the Nielsonites, you lift us up and lead us into the valley of high-concept, vaguely sentimental feature films like thou didst with thine exalted emissary, Judd of Apatow. Amen. Oh, couple more things: May our directors someday figure out a way to start a restaurant scene that does not require a waiter to walk across the room, and may all those internet residuals we fought for during the last strike start rolling in. Amen redux.  
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 In public bathrooms I will sometimes use the "children's urinal" in order to feel like a giant. If no one's around, I'm likely to sing along with Aretha Franklin's version of "You Make Me Feel Like a Natural Woman, but not the Carole King version. I've never understood why anyone would bother making a porn movie that lasts longer than ten minutes. I often pretend that the person standing next to me in an elevator is an unwitting carrier of a deadly airborne disease unleashed by terrorists who hate our freedom. This, of course, forces me to hold my breath until the doors open. Forty years ago I measured my penis with a wood ruler. The irony was lost on me. Sometimes sex just seems like a lot of work. There are mornings when, for no perceivable reason, I turn into a teenage girl and repeatedly change my outfit. I floss so that my dentist will be proud of me. Even when asked, I have never been able to "talk dirty" to a woman without feeling like a complete idiot. My one attempt at manscaping ended in bloodshed.  
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 CENSORED!!!287c Apparently, it's okay to show brutal violence in graphic, vomit- your-Jenny Craig dinner-up-into-your-mouth detail on a forensic cop show, but it's unacceptable to write about it with a little whimsy. As always, you can read the offending material on my web site, Chucklorre.com. Frankly, I think you'll be disappointed - 1st Aired: 17 May 2010 the Vanity Card that was not shown: There's a part of me that yearns to explore the darkness and tragedy of our lives without resorting to jokes that lighten or distract from the fundamental horror of the human condition. Fear, brutality, greed, rage, stupidity, lust, pride, grief, insanity, betrayal. These are but a few of the words we use to describe the ugliness that hides in all of our hearts. But how have I, as a comedy writer, used them? Certainly not to peel away the thin veil of civility that masks the rotting soul sickness that eats at us from within. No. Whenever I attempt to illuminate the pain of our existence, something like this comes out: "Filled with grief and rage over her husband's betrayal, Lenore set his balls on fire then pled insanity." You see my dilemma? Even when I use the appropriate words, my instinct is always to undercut the dramatic. In the above case, with the ludicrous image of fiery testicles. How then shall I write about the harsh reality that is our daily life? The madness and cruelty which assaults us from cradle to grave? I've come to believe that my only hope is to embrace the comedic undercut and then go a step further. In other words, no matter how frightening, I must dive into the nightmare. I must not flinch from the horror. "Filled with grief and rage over her husband's betrayal, Lenore set his balls on fire and then proudly watched as the flames, fueled by a peach-flavored lubricant, leapt to his condom-clad member. She would later plead insanity, but at the moment she was amused to see that "ribbed-for-her-pleasure" latex burns like a son of a bitch." Nope, still not right.  
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Over the years, CBS executives have always been very generous when it comes to sharing their ideas as to how I might better do my job. I have never returned the favor regarding how they might run their network. Until now. Now I have a really good idea. Step One: Create an internal division with workers who do nothing but check out the claims of prospective advertisers. And I mean really check them out. If it's a car, have somebody drive it around to see if it accelerates into walls or slow-moving pedestrians for no particular reason. If it's beer, have someone drink it and report back if it gets them laid. If it's a pill, have someone take it for awhile, then wait to see if they grow a tail, get anal leakage, or commit suicide. Step Two: Quality control. All commercials must be aesthetically pleasing, seriously funny, poignant, or dramatic. Any commercials deemed loud, stupid and/or obnoxious are not aired. Period. No exceptions. Step Three: Tell the world that CBS only airs the coolest and most honest commercials. It's always Superbowl Sunday at CBS! Step Four: Watch the money roll in. A Final Thought: Don't worry about the initial loss of income created by dropping the dumb stuff (e.g. Cockney lizards who sell insurance). You'll more than make that money back by demanding that your high-quality advertisers cut you in for a piece of their action. You have, after all, earned it by giving them the CBS seal of approval. Another Final Thought: If you adopt my idea, my consulting fee is one million shares of CBS stock. Or better yet, one hundred shares of Apple stock.  
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Dear (Name Omitted by Network Censor), Please know that I am committed to making season eight of Two and a Half Men as easy for you as possible. I have vowed to eliminate all the penis jokes, vagina jokes, boob jokes, ass jokes, orgasm jokes, masturbation jokes, oral sex jokes, prison sex jokes, insertion jokes, pee jokes, poop jokes, booger jokes, puke jokes, fart jokes and ethnic jokes that have caused you and your colleagues at broadcast standards so much distress. Going forward, I sincerely hope this letter helps you to put aside any worries you might have about the creative direction of the show. Your faithful servant, Chuck Lorre P.S. Look forward to hearing your comments regarding tonight's episode which dealt with Jake having a menage a trois while Charlie drinks himself to death and Alan gets caught banging Jake's best friend's drug-addled mom.. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 August 13, 2010 Dear Diary, Yesterday was day one of having all three shows in production. Well before lunch came I knew with a terrible certainty that I was screwed. Producing three sitcoms at the same time is an impossibility. It is my hope that I can keep this information from CBS for as long as possible. Once they start panicking there will be an inevitable domino effect of fear, confusion and regrettable decisions. Emergency meetings will be held. Ideas to "fix the shows" will be bandied about. Perhaps it's time for the characters on The Big Bang Theory to use their knowledge of science to solve crime? What if on Two and a Half Men, Charlie and Alan went into business together? Maybe opened an upscale restaurant with a funny chef and sassy waiters. Even better, what if it was all filmed like a documentary so they spoke directly into the camera? Wouldn't this be a good time to get rid of Charlie's bowling shirts and shorts? For sweeps, what about a heart-warming story where Alan struggles with a secret learning disorder? And Jake... what if we learn Jake is gay? GLAAD award! And hey, as long as we're alt-lifestyling, how about if the characters on Mike & Molly break into song in each episode? Just spitballin' here, but who else is visualizing a big production number of Queen's "Fat Bottomed Girls" with thirty or forty chubby dancers? Ooh, even better, Elvis' "Hunka Hunka Burnin' Love"? September, 14, 2010 Dear Diary, So far so good. No one suspects a thing.  
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 I didn't go to my 40th high school reunion. I agonized over the decision. Part of me wanted to go simply to take a victory lap. Part of me thought that to be a most unworthy motivation for traveling across the country in a private jet with a full head of hair, a 32 inch waistline and a beautiful woman almost half my age. Part of me wanted to see how my classmates turned out after decades of life. Part of me was simply frightened by the mortality issues implied by "decades of life." Part of me did not want to revisit memories of that sad, alienated kid whose best idea for attending the Sadie Hawkins Day Dance was sitting on the handball court swilling Southern Comfort and then blundering into the gym until a teacher threw him out on his ass, after which he threw up on his shoes. Part of me was simply worn out from work and feared the reunion would culminate with a debilitating, schadenfreude-enducing stroke near the punch bowl. Part of me truly wanted to enjoy the company of the people I grew up with. Part of me feared being judged by them, even if the judgment was positive. Well, it's too late now. The reunion is over. Now there's a part of me that has quietly begun to agonize over going to the 50th. And a part of me that regrets not going to the 40th in case I'm dead by the 50th. And a part of me which is thoroughly exhausted by the part of me that worries and thinks too much. But that part of me writes sitcoms and vanity cards so the exhausted part of me just has to suck it up. And yet there's still another part of me that merely watches all the other parts with tender, paternal amusement. Part of me thinks that's my spiritual part - the loving, non-judgmental, ever-present witness. Part of me thinks that if I'm still alive for my 50th, that part would have a good time at the party. Re-reading this card now, part of me thinks I should be heavily medicated. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 When I was a child I was taught the saying, "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me." At the time, I saw the sense of it. Words, being intangible, have no ability to inflict physical harm. Whenever another child said something mean to me, I would loudly recite the saying at them, using it like a magical incantation that would protect me from getting my feelings hurt. I usually said it with tears running down my cheeks. As an adult I've come to see that the saying is, like many things taught to children, a lie. The truth is that bones heal, while the damage done by words can last a lifetime. I bring it up here only to remind those who write about television of the power they wield. And that is the power to wound with words. The power to be mean. They have absolutely no power to affect ratings and the likely success or failure of a TV show. In that arena they are laughably impotent. Unengorged. Limp. Flaccid, if you will. Forever poking, but never really penetrating. But I should tread carefully here. I don't want to now become the very thing I decry. One who uses words to hurt. Having been a victim of verbal abuse, I certainly wouldn't want that on my conscience. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 When one considers the many missteps that one has taken over the course of a lifetime, like, for instance, blowing off a college education in order to be a second-rate guitarist in third-rate Ramada Inn bar bands that play unfortunate renditions of "Bad, Bad Leroy Brown," or throwing away almost an entire decade trapped inside a religious cult that promises to turn one into a happy, super-duper spirit ala Casper the Friendly Ghost all while one is dying of ulcerative colitis, or blowing up a perfectly good marriage because one is just stupid, or creating sitcoms that star actresses who are unhappy about the size of their penises, well then, it's easy to see how one might come to believe that "what doesn't kill us, makes us bitter." But it's still no excuse for referring to oneself as "one." That's just obnoxious. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 "We are one blink of an eye away from being fully awake." Pema Chödrön "Blink already, dammit!" Chuck Lörre  
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 GOLF IN THE KINGDOM PART TWO According to press reports, the fatal orgasm had cost him seventy- five million dollars. Not surprisingly, he tried to make himself feel better about it by doing a little mental amortization. His wife had only caught him the one time, but during the course of their marriage he'd probably had about one hundred illicit encounters with miscellaneous cocktail waitresses, pole dancers and bitter real estate agents. These encounters led to, best guess, one hundred and fifty orgasms. Running the numbers that way, he was able to whittle his per orgasm costs down to roughly five hundred thousand dollars a piece. No pun intended. Or maybe it is intended. Anyway, no amount of math gymnastics helped alleviate his depression over the settlement. His short game also suffered. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 The Wannabe Prayer Oh Lord, let me look upon your children and, in their eyes, see my reflection. Let my name, for good or evil, be incessantly chatted and blogged about by those who are not themselves worthy of being chatted and blogged about. If it be thy will, grant me a cable reality show because my life is just so ca-razy! If that's not thy will, then how about arranging for me to fornicate with a famous person so I can casually say to my friends, "Guess who I'm banging?" Whatever, just free me from the bondage of anonymity so I might be recognized in a nightclub, or trendy eatery, or courtroom, or on line at the DMV. For in that recognition lies my salvation. My eternal reward for looking heavenward and proclaiming, "I have no actual skills, nor the time, talent or patience to learn one, but people still have to look at me when I walk in the room and murmur, 'Hey, isn't that somebody?'" Amen. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Everywhere I look I see Ned Beatty. Not literally Ned Beatty. What I keep seeing appears to be his doppelgänger, or his evil twin, or a Ned Beatty wannabe, or simply some paunchy, red-faced, middle-aged sonuvabitch who has either the great misfortune or great good luck to look just like Ned Beatty. I would also venture to say that if you were to casually glance over your shoulder, you too would see - not now, wait until it's cool... okay, now. See it? There are a suspicious number of Ned Beattys wandering around this country. If one were conspiratorially- inclined, one might even think that someone is growing a secret army of the rotund little bastards. Why? To what end? Retribution on an apocalyptic scale for the lifelong mocking the real Ned Beatty endured after appearing in the sodomy scene in Deliverance? Whatever the purpose, there's ample reason to be afraid. The only reassurance we can have is the knowledge that it's not nearly as scary as a whole bunch of Warren Beattys running around. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 300. An auspicious card. To me. At the very least it represents my having had a hand in writing and producing three hundred episodes of television. Some of which were pretty good. Some of which were... in color. Additionally, it means that on three hundred separate occasions I tried to turn my one second of network time into a form of entertainment. Or, if you prefer, a form of inflammation. Some of the vanity cards were, like the TV shows preceding them, pretty good. Others were... grammatically correct. But still. 300. That has to count for something, right? That's gotta be worth some kind of attaboy. I'm certainly not being paid to write these things. In fact, there are several people at CBS and Warners who'd probably pay me to not write them. (Mental note: Look into setting up a blind auction predicated on the idea that, for the right price, I would permanently change my written vanity card to a cute picture. Maybe a photo from my most recent colonoscopy. Let's see what the market fetches.) Anyway, this is my three hundredth vanity card. I really wanted to write something that was as important as the number seemed to imply. I'm pretty sure I've failed. Attaboy! 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 CENSORED BY ME: 301c That's right. After proofreading tonight's vanity card, I realized there was no way CBS would air it, so I might as well censor it myself. Long story short, they gave me so much grief over material in tonight's episode, I vented my frustration by writing a card that was not terribly flattering to the network. People were mentioned by name, etc. As always, should you want to read the actual card, you know where to look. Just wait until Mike & Molly is over - 1st Aired: 18 October 2010 CENSORED - 1st Aired: Did Not Air IT'S NOT HBO, IT'S CBS! In tonight's episode, Alan has an unfortunate one-night stand with a woman dressed in an S & M Nazi outfit. The unfortunate part is that he wound up blind-folded, hog-tied and with an indelible ink Hitler mustache on his lip. That's pretty much how the story was described in every draft of the script, and, as you just saw, was what we filmed in front of a studio audience (with several happy CBS executives in attendance). Now here's where this gets interesting. Five days before tonight's episode was to air, I was informed by a high-ranking CBS exec that the swastika armband on the hot, crazy girl and the Hitler/Charlie Chaplin mustache on Alan were unacceptable for broadcast. In other words, eighteen years after Seinfeld went to a Neo-Nazi rally, forty-two years after Mel Brooks unveiled "Springtime for Hitler," forty-five years after Hogan's Heroes, and seventy-five years after Bugs Bunny and Donald Duck poked fun at the Third Reich, some genius at CBS who will remain anonymous (Marty Franks), decided that Two and a Half Men had crossed a line. If it were me, I would have saved my censorship scissors for upcoming episodes, like the one where Alan chronically masturbates in order to amortize his erection medication. Or maybe the one with the cute subplot in which Evelyn complains about having a dry vagina. But okay, to each his own, right? Anyway, after many exhausting phone calls, I managed to keep the mustache scene from being cut in exchange for digitally turning the swastika on the girl's armband into a happy face. Yeah, that's right. A fucking happy face. (They actually wanted the entire armband to be digitally erased, but I convinced them nothing makes a Nazi sadist more endearing than a happy face.) After my blood pressure settled back to 280 over 1000, I asked some big shots at Warner Bros. and ICM who Marty Franks was. No one had ever heard of him. Oddly enough, that filled me with hope. It meant that, infuriating though it was, this entire incident had allowed me to stumble upon the secret identity of a real life superhero. Somewhere, deep within the labyrinthian corridors of CBS-Viacom, walks a man sworn to protect us. A stealthy man who performs his work in corporate shadows, seeking no credit, no reward, no applause. He does what he does simply because it's the right thing to do. Sleep well, America. Marty's on the job.  
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Too homophobic to drink from a straw, Richard lifted the milkshake to his lips. The result was vanilla ice cream dripping off his chin, which only served to reinforce his initial concern. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 FAMOUS QUOTES: "Sometimes my life seems to be a never-ending succession of unhappy women." Friedrich Nietzsche "Restaurant bathroom doors should be identified with the words, "men" and "women." Silhouettes and cartoon drawings of sombreros, bowler hats, puffy skirts and pretty mouths do not provide enough information for drunks." Teddy Roosevelt "Jesus" Last Supper was clearly not organized to encourage conversation." Catfish Hunter "My memory of you is better than you." Lao Tzu "Erectile dysfunction commercials cause erectile dysfunction." Words of a prophet, written on a subway wall and tenement hall. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 I have to assume that there's an evolutionary advantage to having a brain which keenly remembers the bourbon-soaked magic carpet ride, but not its puke-on-the-shoes, please-God-help-me-find-my-car aftermath. The same holds true for romantic relationships. The dreamy, eye-gazing moment of transcendent intimacy is recalled with perfect clarity, while the sleepless nights on a bed with enough room between the two of you to park a car is but a dim memory. My theory for this mental preference is that the brain is hard-wired to push the organism toward pleasure and away from pain. It's actually designed to cherish the good times and discard the bad. I can't think of another explanation for why I'm always amused by the "drink responsibly" tag at the end of alcohol commercials. Sure. What other way to drink is there? It also explains why, whenever I call my lawyer, he starts the conversation with "please tell me you're not getting married again." 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Suzie Q for her startling, gender-bending performance as "Jim" Photo - Chuck Lorre Productions - The Official Vanity Card Archives - Number 305 - 1st Aired: 25 October 2010 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Zen and the Art of Sitcom I have been writing sitcoms for twenty-five years. During this time, I have learned a few things. Practical things. Do's and don't's if you will. For instance, do hire actors based on talent not looks. Somewhere between take eight and take fifteen, you will be hating both yourself and the gorgeous, but clueless ingenue who got the job because she looks exactly like what you imagined the character looks like... or worse, like the kind of woman you could live happily ever after with. Don't waste time with a marginal joke that forces the actor to twist him or herself into a pretzel in order to make funny. It's much better to work a little harder and write a great joke that the actor can do in their sleep. This also allows the actor to be well-rested when it comes time to renegotiate his or her contract. Do try to be kind to the power players. The movers and shakers. The people who tell you how to do your job. After they fail in network TV, they will remember you fondly while they're busy tanking fledgling internet companies. But perhaps more important than do's and don't's is learning to trust in the mysterious power of intuition. The soft inner voice that guides you to a better outcome than experience and logic could ever provide. This is what I call the Zen of Sitcom. The willingness to allow transcendence to play a part in the making of a TV show. Try it sometime in your own job. It can be the source of great inspiration. A word of warning though: it's not foolproof. If your business collapses or you wind up getting fired, you're probably hearing the same voice I listened to when I created Grace Under Fire, Cybill and four or five TV pilots that now function as landfill. If it's possible, try not to listen to that one. As inner voices go, it's kind of a douche. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Cards with Imagery - 307 Even though I was not one of them, they welcomed me. They made me feel like I belonged to something special, something bigger than me. At last I had found my true home, my safe haven, my family. All they asked of me was to wear new clothes, with the tags still on them, and be still. http://www.chucklorre.com/index.php?p=307 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Schadenfreude The New York Times recently reported that The Parents Television Council was in trouble. Just to catch you up, the PTC is a non- profit watchdog group charged with sanitizing American television. I'm more than a little proud of the fact that they've spent years trying to blunt the success of Two and a Half Men (as if we weren't capable of doing our own blunting). Currently, their number one priority is organizing advertiser boycotts of a profanely titled CBS series starring William Shatner. But according to the Times article, the PTC has not only lost much of their clout with federal regulators and advertisers, they are also battling allegations of extortion and fraudulent fund-raising activities (i.e. using donated money for purposes other than the ones promised). Which brings me to schadenfreude. The lilting German word that describes the feeling of pleasure one gets from the misfortune of others (leave it to the Germans to coin a word for that). At the risk of coming off as petty, vindictive or heaven forbid, Germanic, I have to admit to feeling a wave of schadenfreude when I read the article. The sensation was almost as good as the warm feeling I get whenever a pro-family politician is caught on his knees in an airport bathroom. Again, this may be a measure of my own flawed character, but every time I read the article (once with my morning coffee, once on the toilet and twice for this vanity card), I felt an odd sense of reassurance. The number one rule of human behavior might be "do unto others as you would have them do unto you." But the number two rule is "people who try to exert moral authority tend to be hypocritical $#*! heads." 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Following Kaley Cuoco's horseback riding injury, I've instituted new rules governing acceptable leisure activities for the cast of The Big Bang Theory. 1. No friggin' horses. This includes those found on merry-go-rounds and in front of supermarkets. 2. The only motorcycle you can get on is the one you're accidentally crushing in your big-ass, air-bagged SUV. 3. All cast member motor vehicles must adhere to U.S. Army guidelines for attacking Kandahar. (Galecki's Tesla is a terrifically fuel efficient vehicle but is essentially a hundred thousand dollar go-cart. From now on it is only to be used for backing down his driveway and retrieving mail.) 4. The only permissible boating activity at Comic-Con is in your hotel room bathtub. 5. Alcohol should only be ingested at home, and while seated in a big comfy chair. Wild and carefree dancing that celebrates your incredible and well-deserved success is only allowed on New Year's Eve, and only with a sober celebrity parasitic flunky to lean on. 6. And finally, sexual acts must be performed while horizontal. Certain high-risk Kama Sutra positions might be allowed, but only after consultation with Chuck Lorre. Like with dancing, a spotter might be required. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Did You Know? Mental images can stimulate the human brain with the same power as events that are actually occurring. If this were not the case we could not argue with long dead relatives or masturbate. In Bob Dylan's classic song "Mr. Tambourine Man," the title character is urged to "play a song for me." The extreme difficulty one might face trying to play a song on a tambourine is never dealt with. The greeting "Hey, how are you?" is a popular method of saying hello. The person using it is not really interested in your current state of being. A way to punish them for this deception, and ensure it never happens again, is to answer, "Not so good, I just had an accident in my pants. Can you accompany me to the bathroom and help me tidy up?" 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 When I'm not working on The Big Bang Theory, I work on other TV shows. One of those shows gets a lot of bad press. Sometimes, when I read the very unkind things written about that show, I'll remember the words of a sleazy music manager I was briefly associated with back in my rock 'n' roll days. The guy was right out of central casting. Bald, middle-aged, pot-bellied and sucking on a cheap cigar, he would sit behind his metal desk in his ratty little office and pontificate to dumbass musicians hungry for career guidance. One of his speeches has remained vivid in my memory for thirty-five years. He said, to a soon-to- be-nonexistent, dumbass power trio I was then a part of, "Boyz, if halfs da peoples loves ya, and halfs da peoples hates ya, you're a star!" At the time I had no idea what he was talking about. It wasn't until fifteen years later when I was writing for a TV show called Roseanne that I figured it out. I was once again reminded of all this when the star of the show I was talking about earlier came out for a curtain call in front of a packed studio audience. They went wild with applause. I looked at the man taking the bow and thought, "there is a big star." Then I looked up at the screaming, cheering audience and thought, "there are halfs da peoples." 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 I believe I have identified a debilitating psychological syndrome that has infected a large number of people, myself included. Simply put, the sufferer, in varying degrees of intensity, is convinced that he or she is "not alive enough." This delusion drives them to carry out all manner of self-destructive acts in a vain attempt to "feel more alive." I've dubbed the syndrome Peggy Lee Disease (in honor of her classic song which first identified the malady, "Is That All There Is?"). The list of misguided actions caused by PLD is almost endless; over-eating, over-sexing, over-shopping, extreme sports, sadism, masochism, alcoholism, drug addiction, workaholism and spending all your money to run for governor of California (for a more complete list check web sites such as TMZ and Radar Online). To date, the only sure cure for PLD is altruism -- putting aside selfish interests and giving unto others. I'm embarrassed to admit that I'm waiting for something better. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 WARNING! Continued refusal to behave in a manner that pleases me will result in my unhappiness. This warning applies to people I love, people I work with, friends, relatives, strangers who wander through my personal narrative, and folks in faraway lands whose thoughtless actions cause me to become upset when I read the newspaper in the morning. As of this notice, all behavior will be required to pass an HWTAC test ("How will this affect Chuck?"). Failure to do so will result in me having a bad day. And nobody wants that, right? Thank you for your consideration. You may now return to your regular activities. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Mornings are the worst. The mind seems undefended, easy prey for both memories and imagination. What happened. What should've happened. What might happen someday. Your fault, my fault, no one's fault. The only way to relieve the torment is to get up, empty the bladder, drink the coffee, read the paper, run the treadmill, perform the animal sacrifice, paint the chicken blood on the groin and call upon the demonic spirits to bring you back. Nights are bad too. Once again, exhaustion makes the mind vulnerable to obsessing over woulda, shoulda, coulda. The only thing to do is sit alone and eat the chicken which was senselessly murdered in the morning. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 To Do List Re-calibrate the line behind fiction and reality Meditate using new mantra, "high ratings do not equate to high self-esteem" Go to Al-Anon meeting Stand in front of a mirror and practice saying "no comment" Stand in front of a mirror and practice saying "as far as I know everything's terrific" Write a country song entitled, "Hooker in the Closet." (Chorus: "There's a hooker in the closet, 'neath the monogrammed robes, don't know how she got there and I can't find my clothes. Officer Krupke, how are you tonight? I've misplaced my watch but I'm feeling alright.") Donate royalties to womens' shelter Quit the business and teach creative writing at Cal State Bakersfield. Fresno? Bite the hand that feeds you because you've had more than enough to eat Hire a publicist to put a positive spin on this vanity card 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 I believe that there are two forces struggling to dominate this country. Reinvention and nostalgia. The first seeks to imagine and work toward a better future by changing the status quo. The second insists that things were better in the past and works to undo change. Oddly, the opposing forces have come to be represented by colors. Blue and red. It's no secret where my sympathies lie. I've always been a big fan of reinvention. My life is a testament to it. There is simply no way that a scared, sickly, vaguely educated kid from Long Island gets to live the life he's living now without being willing to scrap old, unworkable ideas and start over (Of course it helped that I didn't have a rosy past to feel nostalgic towards). Which brings me to the point of this vanity card. I'm confused by people who seek to return to a life that wasn't that great to begin with. Oh, I get it if you used to be the ruling class. If your childhood memories include watching your granddaddy sip a mimosa on the veranda while being serviced by the upstairs maid, then sure, nostalgia makes sense. But, if you're like me and didn't know anyone who had a veranda, let alone a maid, let alone an upstairs, then why not consider reinvention? Maybe we can make this country a better place to live. It's certainly a more exciting way to go. You know, an uncertain future, filled with mystery and adventure. Of course, if nostalgia wins the day, if we are to attempt to reverse the course of history, then I will do my best to cooperate -- starting with bangin' me some household help.* *Relax, Celia. It's just a joke. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 I keep reading that my vanity cards are rants. This troubles me. To my understanding, a rant is an explosive diatribe, a poorly articulated spewing of raw emotion. To successfully write a rant one would need to use a lot of foul language and a small army of exclamation points. Any casual reading of my cards would, I believe, suggest quite the opposite. I have always steered clear from hyperbolic venting, preferring to make my case in subtle, understated ways. In fact, if any one word were to be used to describe my weekly missives, I think it would be "stealthy." Or perhaps "subversive." If I were to use two words, I might go with "winkingly clever." But "rant"? I hardly think so. Even the regrettable card from several years ago in which I suggested that many TV critics would gladly eat a hole through their loved ones in order to tunnel toward a real job in show business, was more a humorous observation than an outpouring of vitriol. And my frequent aggravation toward CBS censorship? Please. That's just a little game we play. Funny jokes are killed off by corporate executives in dead-end jobs and lawyers who are unwilling or unable to actually practice the law, while I make a show of complaining. Theater of the Absurd perhaps, but not a rant. To experience the real thing I would suggest watching video of major league baseball managers disputing calls by umpires, or Fox News. Now those are rants. In the meantime, I will continue to calmly offer my opinion regarding the world as I see it, right here after Two and a Half Men, The Big Bang Theory and Mike&Molly. If, for some reason, my detractors find that unacceptable, I will not stoop to using ugly words and exclamation points. Winkingly clever requires inference. Go inference yourself. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 She didn't like his pillows, his carbon footprint, his air conditioning, his water temperature, his light bulbs, his food, his car, his recycling efforts, his sexual appetite, his house, his housekeeper, his inability to enjoy hiking, his child, his attitude toward her friends, his attitude toward the religion she didn't practice, his attitude toward other people's children, his attitude, his birth control, his gender, his facial hair, and his mindless use of hand soap to wash his face. So naturally, he was madly in love with her. His friends and family began a betting pool as to how long the relationship would last. The smart money was around six months, but one wager, placed by his mother, put the 'over and under' at twenty years. When asked why she saw the relationship lasting, she said, "When he was a little boy, I didn't like his neediness, his lying, his whining, his unwillingness to go to sleep, his dirty fingernails, his farting to amuse himself, his finger constantly jammed up his nose, his poor grades, his filthy room, his idiot friends, his missing the toilet, his fascination with his penis, and finally, and most importantly, his similarity to his father." 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 As I Get Older (a poem under construction) As I get older, I see more clearly, but not with my eyes. I hear more sharply, but not with my ears. I smell more ripely, but not with my nose... As I get older, I see more clearly, but not with my eyes. I hear more sharply, but not with my ears. I touch more intimately, but not with my finger... As I get older, I see more clearly, but not with my eyes. I hear more sharply, but not with my ears. I love more deeply, but not with my penis... As I get older, I see more clearly, but not with my eyes. I hear more sharply, but not with my ears. I think more better, but not with my brain... my head... noggin... As I get older, I see more clearly,  
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Cards with Imagery - 320 Happy Holidays from the Lorres. http://www.chucklorre.com/index.php?p=320 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Sometimes I amuse myself by coming up with a weird title and then, working backwards, try to write a little story that fits it. The following is an example: A DRINK, A GUN, AND FOUR BULLETS When I walked into the bar I was already drunk, ergo I was in a bad mood. When I came to in intensive care the nurse was kind enough to tell me that I must've pissed off a lot of people in that bar. When I raised a puzzled eyebrow she went on to explain that I'd been stabbed five times... with four different knives. She thought that was amusing. I failed to see the humor. Thanks to the "Jesus loves you" qualities of morphine, I failed to see much of anything for several days. When I finally left the hospital, minus a few feet of intestines and a gallbladder that was never more than a mystery to me, I was determined to straighten out my life. But first I needed to get a drink, a gun, and four bullets. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 If, somewhere in the course of this vanity card, I were to use a monosyllabic, Anglo-Saxon word that sits atop the 'no say' list, my guess is nothing would change in your life. You might form an opinion, have a passing thought, or even choose to be outraged. But, and it's a big but, the choice would be yours. It would not be inflicted on you by the word. The word would be, like Kansas once morosely whined, "Dust in the Wind." And yet, we live in a culture that fears the word. In fact, on broadcast television, the phobia for the word has reached the point where the letter f is, in certain instances, no longer acceptable. F has become a subversive letter. According to our network censor, f is often up to no good. We have been warned. F is being watched! Which brings me to my belabored point. I believe that words by themselves are actually quite impotent. They hardly rise above being noise. Ideas, however, the clever, inane and/or insidious grouping together of words, are dangerous. If history proves anything, the wrong idea at the right time can do unbelievable damage. Bad ideas are what the culture should fear and guard against. Which is why I get spooked watching ox News. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 The Mask of Undoogoo Before Undoogoo would venture into the jungle to begin his daily hunt, he would don a mask to confuse his prey. Not a mask meant to frighten. No, Undoogoo's mask was pleasant to look at, designed to trick his quarry into thinking that he was harmless. In this way, Undoogoo was able to get close and strike a lethal blow. Which is exactly what he had in mind the day he spied a beautiful creature drinking at a watering hole. Hiding behind his benign facade, he positioned himself alongside his intended victim and prepared to attack. But what Undoogoo didn't know was that this "beautiful creature" was also wearing a mask. A mask that successfully camouflaged a fierce and merciless predator. And so it was that Undoogoo suddenly found himself being devoured, torn apart, eviscerated! His screams echoed through the jungle. But the jungle was accustomed to the sounds of agony, and no one came to his aid. Bloodied and barely alive, he managed to escape and crawl back to his village where, to his horror, he discovered that his tormentor had taken possession of his hut. Now helpless and homeless, he was forced to live the rest of his days in the wild, feeding on what dung beetles feed on. The moral of the story: Mask or not, if you hunt without a prenup, pack some ketchup for the dung.The Mask of Undoogoo Before Undoogoo would venture into the jungle to begin his daily hunt, he would don a mask to confuse his prey. Not a mask meant to frighten. No, Undoogoo's mask was pleasant to look at, designed to trick his quarry into thinking that he was harmless. In this way, Undoogoo was able to get close and strike a lethal blow. Which is exactly what he had in mind the day he spied a beautiful creature drinking at a watering hole. Hiding behind his benign facade, he positioned himself alongside his intended victim and prepared to attack. But what Undoogoo didn't know was that this "beautiful creature" was also wearing a mask. A mask that successfully camouflaged a fierce and merciless predator. And so it was that Undoogoo suddenly found himself being devoured, torn apart, eviscerated! His screams echoed through the jungle. But the jungle was accustomed to the sounds of agony, and no one came to his aid. Bloodied and barely alive, he managed to escape and crawl back to his village where, to his horror, he discovered that his tormentor had taken possession of his hut. Now helpless and homeless, he was forced to live the rest of his days in the wild, feeding on what dung beetles feed on. The moral of the story: Mask or not, if you hunt without a prenup, pack some ketchup for the dung. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 WARNING! Do not attempt to replicate what you saw in tonight's episode of Two and a Half Men. Despite the seeming lack of serious consequences and regardless of the hilarity that ensued, this is extremely dangerous behavior and could result in injury or death. Please keep in mind that we employ a highly-paid Hollywood professional who has years of experience with putting his life at risk. And sadly no, I'm not talking about our stunt man. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 I have a recurring dream that I've been drafted to play on an NBA team. This is a very upsetting dream because I can't really play basketball. I mean, I play pretty much how you'd expect a middle-aged Jewish comedy writer to play. The words clumsy, hesitant, clueless, short and frightened come to mind. During the dream I'm well aware of my grotesque lack of talent. I run up and down the court hoping the ball doesn't come my way, all the while wondering why the coach doesn't take me out. Even me executing an uncontested lay-up or free throw seems like an impossible, or at least unlikely, event. Assuming dreams work as metaphor and I'm not really subconsciously afraid of having to go mano a mano with Kobe or LeBron, the question I find myself asking is, what in my life do I feel fully engaged in and yet completely unqualified for? The answer is simple: intimate relationships. Once again, the words clumsy, hesitant, clueless, short and frightened come to mind. Well, not short... average. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 In the near future, we will see brain scan technology that can determine, without fail, if someone is telling the truth. Shortly thereafter, we will be able to buy mobile devices that perform the same task on the fly. In other words, we are on the verge of having all of our conversations constantly and instantly monitored for veracity. This would then spawn a counter-technology comprised of personal mind shields that keep oneself from being scanned (the use of which would, of course, imply that one is keeping secrets). The end result? Universal honesty, initially as a result of the duress of surveillance, will become the norm. Then, over time, this mode of thinking, communicating and behaving will become second nature. This will usher in the dawn of a new civilization. After thousands of years of human suffering, world peace and the long-fabled 'good will towards all men' will have finally arrived. The end of lying and cheating will also mark the end of scripted entertainment. So, you know, there'll be a downside. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 I'm writing this vanity card in Israel. I like it here. Not for the geography, or architecture, or even the history. No, I like it because for the first time in my life I'm surrounded with DNA much like my own. Until I got here, until I wandered around Tel Aviv and Jerusalem, I didn't realize how much my double helix yearned to be around similar strands. Now that's not to say that I don't occasionally have that very same genetic experience in Beverly Hills (particularly in Chinese restaurants on Sunday night). But the sheer homogeneity of Israel overwhelms any over-priced kung pao gathering at Mr. Chow's. The cop, the cab driver, the hotel concierge, the pilot, the waiter, the shoe salesman, the beautiful girl looking right through me as if I didn't exist - all Jewish! If I had to sum it up, I'd say the sensation is like being at a B'nai B'rith summer camp that is surrounded by millions of crazy bastards who hate the sound of kids playing tetherball, and all the poor little camp has going for it is pluckiness and nukes. Anyway, I have to believe my visceral and very pleasant reaction is some sort of evolutionary, tribal thing. Some sort of survival gene that makes human beings want to stay with their birth group. Which raises the question, why have I spent a lifetime moving away from that group? How did Chaim become Chuck? How did Levine become Lorre? The only answer I come up with is this: When I was a little boy in Hebrew school the rabbis regularly told us that we were the chosen people. That we were God's favorites. Which is all well and good except that I went home, observed my family and, despite my tender age, thought to myself, "bull$#*!." 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 They weren't not in love. It's just that the subject, as such, never really came up. It kind of loomed over them like a blissfully stupid cloud. The love cloud. Guaranteed to rain on your brain, 'til you're moanin' with seratonin. Maybe what was happening was that they were in love with the idea of being in love. But that's still love, right? Instead of loving each other, they loved an idea. An aspiration. A wish. The other person was more or less of an afterthought. Somewhat expendable, or at the very least, interchangeable. I love that you make me feel like I'm in love. You, on the other hand, I can take or leave. Of course, it was just a matter of time before the truth of each other, the hard fact of their unique selfness, their one-of-a-kind snow-flakiness, became unavoidable. I may be a broken toy, but you are a Chinese crib factory that uses lead paint. Saying goodbye in these circumstances is always very awkward. "I just had your car towed." "That's okay, those Flip videos I said I erased are now on the internet." 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 I exercise regularly. I eat moderate amounts of healthy food. I make sure to get plenty of rest. I see my doctor once a year and my dentist twice a year. I floss every night. I've had chest x–rays, cardio stress tests, EKG's and colonoscopies. I see a psychologist and have a variety of hobbies to reduce stress. I don't drink. I don't smoke. I don't do drugs. I don't have crazy, reckless sex with strangers. If Charlie Sheen outlives me, I'm gonna be really pissed.  
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 He felt dead inside. No matter how hard he partied, he could never escape that simple fact - inside, dead. And that was his life. Running from a feeling. At least until he could run no more. Exhausted, spent and beaten, when the end finally came, he welcomed it. With life ebbing from his wasted body, he was suddenly swept up in a transcendent state of joy that was pure and complete. Moments later he felt dead inside. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Random Things I've Learned in TV Never ask a question when you know the answer is going to be a lie. Silence is always bad news. Strong Nielson ratings guarantee employment, not self-esteem. Actors can smoke cigarettes because they're immune to carcinogens. It's safe to talk openly and honestly with people because they're not really listening. The two major groups in TV show biz are, naturally enough, show people and biz people. Telling them apart is simple. No matter how old they are, 'show' people (usually creative types like writers, actors, directors and musicians) dress like teenagers. Again, regardless of age, 'biz' people (agents, managers, lawyers, company executives) dress like adults. When 'biz' people start dressing like 'show' people it means they've made too much money off the backs of the aforementioned 'show' people. When 'show' people (usually directors) start dressing like 'biz' people, it means they're insecure about their creative involvement and need a hug. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 It was more fun writing these things when I was fairly certain no one was reading them. That is no longer the case. These days it seems like every vanity card is getting scrutinized and criticized by network executives, corporate legal departments and publicity departments, TV journalists and tabloid bloggers. Believe it or not, my musings have been both cheered and jeered by TV Guide! But lately it's gotten out of hand. Which is why I've decided to take a break for a few weeks. Let things cool off a little. Instead of writing short essays that upset people, I've decided to use my one second of network TV to do something simple and hassle-free. Starting with this card, I'm going to display a photograph of a part of my body that is entirely innocuous. No longer will I share some troublesome piece of my mind. Now I will share an actual piece of Chuck that is incapable of offending anyone. You know, a foot, a hand, or maybe a toe. So with that in mind, behold... My elbow. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 CENSORED: 333c What was not shown: It was more fun writing these things when I was fairly certain no one was reading them. That is no longer the case. These days it seems like every vanity card is getting scrutinized and criticized by network executives, corporate legal departments and publicity departments, TV journalists and tabloid bloggers. Believe it or not, my musings have been both cheered and jeered by TV Guide! But lately it's gotten out of hand. Which is why I've decided to take a break for a few weeks. Let things cool off a little. Instead of writing short essays that upset people, I've decided to use my one second of network TV to do something simple and hassle-free. Starting with this card, I'm going to display a photograph of a part of my body that is entirely innocuous. No longer will I share some troublesome piece of my mind. Now I will share an actual piece of Chuck that is incapable of offending anyone. You know, a foot, a hand, or maybe a toe. So with that in mind, behold... 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 I understand that I'm under a lot of pressure to respond to certain statements made about me recently. The following are my uncensored thoughts. I hope this will put an end to any further speculation. I believe that consciousness creates the illusion of individuation, the false feeling of being separate. In other words, I am aware, ergo I am alone. I further believe that this existential misunderstanding is the prime motivating force for the neurotic compulsion to blot out consciousness. This explains the paradox of our culture, which celebrates the ego while simultaneously promoting its evisceration with drugs and alcohol. It also clarifies our deep-seated fear of monolithic, one-minded systems like communism, religious fundamentalism, zombies and invaders from Mars. Each one is a dark echo of an oceanic state of unifying transcendence from which consciousness must, by nature, flee. The Fall from Grace is, in fact, a Sprint from Grace. Or perhaps more accurately, "Screw Grace, I am so outta here!" Questions? 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 We tell ourselves stories. We weave together different plot lines, wondering if the outcome of the story might be different were we to have done or said something other than what we had done or said, all the while knowing that the various alternative outcomes are just more stories - fictions meant to distract us from what's actually happening. And so we pause from weaving and commence breathing, gently and non-judgmentally saying hello to what is... Oy vey. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 This is the official "I have nothing worth writing about" vanity card. It will run whenever I have nothing worth writing about. Don't be surprised to see it quite a bit. From now on, when our schedule requires me to deliver a new card and I'm empty, I'll simply say, "Run one-eleven." A check of the one hundred and ten cards I've already written will quickly demonstrate that I should have written this card a long time ago. Why didn't I? Vanity. I had become vain about my vanity cards. I was determined to write a new one each week because, well... I'm just that kind of guy. But I'm older and wiser now. I know when I have nothing to say. And that knowledge is freedom. Freedom from the constant need to win your approval. And more importantly, freedom from the obsessive and relentless need to end each vanity card on a joke. Governor Schwarzenegger. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 There is hope, just not for us - Franz Kafka There's a fine line between stubborn and stupid - Peter Dexter Kid, any thought you have that doesn't concern yourself, you can consider a spiitual experience - Bob Neuwirth What doesn''t kill us, makes us bitter - Chuck Lorre  
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Cards with Imagery - 170 "Pardon me Sir, Could you spare $28 for seared ahi tuna with a peppercorn crust?" http://www.chucklorre.com/index.php?p=170 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Cards With Imagery - Sometimes, for no particular reason, the writers on Two and a Half Men like to get together and beat the crap out of our editor, Joe Bella. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Cards With Imagery - United We Stand  
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 I recently discovered that the writers of Two and a Half Men had used their free time to compile a 'bucket list.' Here it is, unabridged: Have sex with a bucket. Draw a face on a bucket and have sex with it. Fill a bucket with popcorn, drill a hole in it and go to the movies with your best gal. Fill a bucket with popcorn, drill a hole in it and go to the movies by yourself. Fill a bucket with water, line the edge with paper, then take a dump in it. Put a bucket on your head and go skydiving. Have sex with two women while holding a bucket. Fill a bucket with apple sauce and pretend you're having sex with an extraterrestrial woman. Join the circus, dress up like a clown, fill a bucket with confetti and throw it at the audience, surprising and delighting them in the process. I'm trying to cut down on their free time. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Audio http://www.chucklorre.com/index.php?p=271 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Cards with Imagery - Boris Charminsky Miracle Hair Grower 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 CENSORED: 255 As always, the offending material is available to be read if you know where to look. I think you'll find that the card, while mildly amusing, is nowhere near as entertaining as the raging paranoia of our network censors. P.S. For selfish reasons I would ask that you wait to read the censored card until after The Big Bang Theory. Censored: 255 In film and television there exists a rule that all phone numbers spoken in dialogue or seen on the screen begin with the fake prefix 555. The reason for this rule is that somewhere along the line idiots began calling the phone numbers used on TV shows and movies. This resulted in production companies and networks being sued by the unhappy people who were harassed by the prank calls from the aforementioned idiots. All of which means that whether you're trying to enjoy a humble sitcom or a hundred million dollar action movie, every phone number will begin with the hateful, illusion-wrecking prefix, 555. In tonight's episode of Two and a Half Men we tried to get around this dilemma. The phone number Charlie rattles off in the first scene is actually one number short of a real number. Then, later in the scene, he discusses a memory trick which involves replacing numbers with letters in order to remember them. If you check your phone, you'll see the letters we used, OXOFEMPAL, or 696-336-725, is again one number short of being an actual working number, and JKLPUZO is the broadcast acceptable 555-7896. A lot of work, not to mention endless negotiations with our CBS censor, was necessary to come up with these numbers. So, to all the idiots out there, let me just say, 555-382-5968. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 CENSORED: 236 Starting 2009 with a bang! CENSORED As always, you know where to look. Chuck Lorre Productions - The Official Vanity Card Archives - Number 236 - 1st Aired: Did Not Air Mom and Dad are fighting again. I used to think they didn't get along 'cause I wasn't good enough. For years and years I tried to be better, hoping that would make them happy and love each other. But even though I became the most popular kid in my class, they still fight - now more than ever. God, if you're listening, please make Mom and Dad be nice to each other. I'm too little to make a difference, but you're God, you can do anything - even help Dad sell off his chain of movie theaters for ten cents on the dollar. Or Showtime. Doesn't matter as long as it's worth forty-nine million dollars and makes Mom stop crying. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 An open letter of apology Dear me, Over the years, I have resented you for not being athletic enough, brave enough, funny enough, smart enough, talented enough, handsome enough, rich enough, admired enough, educated enough, New York enough, out-going enough, quiet enough, old enough, young enough, loving enough and loved enough. I have demanded perfection from you and have found you wanting. The result of this obsession with perfection has been to make you terrified of failure and ridicule, angry at any and all obstacles, and finally, incapable of enjoying the bounty that was not only around you, but within you as well. Well, all that's about to change. From now on, I'm going to make every effort to love and accept you as you are. But since bad habits die hard, I'll start with something easy. From now on, you're old enough. Affectionately, Me  
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 YOU MUST READ THIS VANITY CARD! FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT'S SACRED, YOU MUST READ THIS VANITY CARD!! Well, actually, you really don't have to. I just wanted to start the card off with some excitement. To tell you the truth, now I feel a little guilty. After all, aren't we misled enough in this life without having to be duped into reading a Chuck Lorre Productions Vanity Card? Isn't our attention vitally needed at home, at the job, with our children, husbands, wives, parents, and friends? Shouldn't we be using this precious time to call our hermaphroditic, cross-addicted cousin and talk him into giving himself up to the authorities? Wouldn't it be better for all of us if these golden, never-to-come-again moments were used to sneak into work after everyone has gone and take that stupid nanny-cam out of the ladies room? Well, we might as well face it, that's not going to happen now. And all because of two completely duplicitous sentences: YOU MUST READ THIS VANITY CARD! FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT'S SACRED, YOU MUST READ THIS VANITY CARD!! What was I thinking? I'm so ashamed. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 I love Dharma & Greg. I love the fictional characters who populate it, and I love the very real characters involved in the making of it. This was never just a television show for me. This was an opportunity to learn, to grow, and to heal. I am forever grateful. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 HOT, FILTHY SEX! Okay, the truth is I have nothing to back up that first sentence in the way of content. I just thought that since this is a sweeps episode, and traditionally sweeps episodes are supposed to be extremely provocative and highly promotable in order to achieve higher than usual ratings, I'd do my part by writing a vanity card that really grabs your attention (I've also noticed that when the card is broadcast you can only read the first three or four words, so this should raise a few eyebrows). Another tried-and-true element of sweeps episodes is what's called stunt casting. This means that inordinate amounts of money are spent to cast big stars as special guests on the show. Once again, the hoped for result is to pump up the ratings during the specified sweeps period. With that in mind, I'm pleased to announce that JULIA ROBERTS, BRUCE WILLIS, and TOM HANKS were not available for this episode of D & G. 
Author: Chuck Lorre
Nationality: American
b. 18 October 1952
  
 Television has spread the habit of instant reaction and stimulated the hope of instant results. 
Author: Arthur Schlesinger Jr.
Nationality: American
b. 15 October 1917  - d. 28 February 2007
  
 TV happens. And once it's happened, it's gone. When it's gone, you move on, no tears, no tantrums, no videotape. 
Author: Mary Theresa Schmich
Nationality: American
b. 29 November 1953
  
 Crime is at least 10 times as prevalent on TV as in the real world. 
Author: George Gerbner
Nationality: American
b. 08 August 1919  - d. 24 December 2005
  
 On prime-time TV, men outnumber women at least 3 to 1, while in the real world, there are actually slightly more women in the population. 
Author: George Gerbner
Nationality: American
b. 08 August 1919  - d. 24 December 2005
  
 On prime-time TV, there are significantly smaller proportions of young people, old people, blacks, Hispanics, and other minorities than in the U.S. population at large. 
Author: George Gerbner
Nationality: American
b. 08 August 1919  - d. 24 December 2005
  




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