Tim Allen: Don't Stand Too Close to a Naked Man

I said, "My brother's head just popped in above your head because. ." I tried to explain it to him. I couldn't stop laughing.

He said, "You're crazy. Getting your ass kicked and you're laughing about it?"

"No, no. ." I still tried to explain, "No, no, go ahead and hit me. I didn't mean to be rude."

He let me go. It was fabulous.

One other story: An overmuscled tough guy also wanted to mess me up. Just because he could. Just because he was bored. But he never did because I knew that every time I started talking like Elmer Fudd he'd lose it.

"Yeah, it's pwetty cwose to cwosin' time."

It would devastate the guy.

You could kick butt anytime. But you don't get to laugh that much in prison. It proved very valuable to me.

- -

I called my mom once because I got moved up from a cell block to my own cell. If your crime is not violent and you behave well, it's sort of a reward. I got it on Thanksgiving. I walked in and went, "Wow!" My own room, my own toilet! And two storage lockers. It was still the size of a bathroom or a New York luxury apartment, but I was in heaven. The floor had its own phone, as well, so I called my mom.

I said, "Mom! Mom! Guess what?" She said, "What's wrong?" because I wasn't calling at my usual time. And even then no one really wanted to talk to me because my stories were so interesting: "Yeah, Johnny got knifed, I saw two guys in the yard get punched, and the food still stinks. Oh, and there's a wedding coming up."

So I said, "Guess what? I got my own cell!"

She goes, "What?"

"Got my own cell."

"Oh," she said. "I'm so proud."

Meanwhile, I realize she's thinking, "Is this a joke? Hold on. Everybody? It's Tim! Davy is in Europe, Geoff's just graduated from Michigan State, Dave's got a brand‑new job with a construction company, and my brightest son. . has just got his own cell! I'm just bursting with pride. Look, Tim: Don't call here anymore."

- -

Prrison food sucks. Big surprise. One reason is that they road‑test food on you. Hormel had some sort of magic meat they wanted to supply to the Army, but they wanted to let us lucky prisoners try it first. It was some soy‑based thing. I don't think the Army ever bought any, so they turned it either into cat food or a laundry product. To be honest, I liked it. Especially the heavy barbecue taste. I could have been eating erasers for all I knew.

- -

Lots of guys are behind bars for crimes that the government wants to do something about, but can't figure out how.

For instance, are stiff sentences for cocaine and other drug use stemming the tide? Right. Now we have crack-as if coke wasn't bad enough. This is a menacing trend. This problem is vexing the population. What I've learned in my life is that the truism is often true: If first you don't succeed try try again. Try it from another angle. Right now, it's like we're running through the forest with our heads down and banging into a tree, and just backing up and running into the tree again life the tree's going to move. Look up, step around the tree, and continue on your way.

Now, I'm in no way advocating drug use, just the rethinking of policies that don't seem to be working. The English plan for making opiates legal and monitoring their use is a small step. I don't think that people are saying, "Well, since the government is providing it, I might as well become a heroin addict."

Here's my solution.

Put cocaine in a beverage the way they did when Coca‑Cola was first invented. It's soluble in water. (What did you think Coca-Cola meant?!?) There would be very little left for street consumption, and we'd allow the farmers in Colombia to sell a product we want. We could buy Colombia's whole crop. We could control it, tax it, and-here's the elegant part-make it into an afterdinner liqueur with somewhat the same effects, but it's also extremely fattening . Very tasty but full of calories. And believe me people would not be willing to get fat over cocaine.

You'd know the coke abusers right away.

"Hey, Frank. Put on a little weight, there."

"Uh. . yeah, and I didn't get much sleep, either."

People will do anything not to get fat.

Oh, and no Cocaine‑Lite, either.

Behind bars, men always steal glances at other men's penises. No matter how hard they try not to. You get used to it.

In the prison shower it was quick, but definite. You try to act as if you're looking at the drain, but everyone knows better. What you discover is that there are some men who would make women terribly happy. Also, some terribly misshapen men. I think when I say "misshapen" you know what I'm talking about.

In camp, you don't want to stand too close to a naked man. In prison, you have to-like it or not. There are no private facilities, which bothers some guys more than others.

In fact, in prison they like naked men so much that every time you finish a visit with anyone from the outside you have to strip down for inspection before you go back inside.

Kinda makes you want to stay in your cell.

- -

Admit it, you've been waiting for this.

One guy inside liked me a lot. He'd been convicted of killing two FBI agents. (Didn't do it, of course.) He took care of my clothes. Most of the gay men worked in the laundry. It's a job; they get to sit and gossip.

Even guys who weren't homosexual before will, after a while, try something. Prison and Hollywood are exactly the same thing.

One night this guy came on to me. He tried to convince me that he could satisfy me better than a woman could.

My eyebrows went up as I recoiled.

Then I thought, you know, he's probably got a point there. Who could satisfy a man better than another man? We know what we want. Men hugging men is great. I think we should kiss other men like the Italians. And I think the day is just around the corner when you can blow another man.

"Tony, sorry you lost your job, sit down, let me blow you."

"Hey, let go of my ears. Hell, I know what fm doing!"

This is one of my favorite stories to tell onstage because you get everyone laughing and suddenly two guys who have been high‑fiving each other will stop, and their expressions will say it all: "Hey! What are we laughing at? This is off‑color."

But I told the guy in prison "No."

- -

Guys end up in jail because they don't have goals. Or their goals are the wrong ones.

If life is, in fact, a river, then you have very few options, all of them very clear. You're in a canoe. You can try to paddle upstream and live in the past, looking backward. Then you're going to hit something, and you'll keep wondering why life keeps hitting you in the back. Or you can fight the current but face forward, and not get anywhere. Or you can casually go with the flow and think about pulling over to the side now and then to explore the land. Smell the roses. And some people want to go as fast as they possibly can, straight to hell.

I think I was backpaddling and the canoe flipped over. I had no idea about looking forward and setting a goal. Then I met a guy in prison, at one of these groups, who summed it up best. The greatest missile in the world is useless, he said, unless it's targeted. A torpedo is adrift unless it has someplace to go. An arrow is pointless unless it hits something.

So it's important for kids-for everyone, even if you fail at first-to target something and head in that direction.

With all your might.

- -

In a way, I was luckier than most. While awaiting sentencing I decided to give stand‑up comedy a shot. The judge had suggested I get my act together, and I took him seriously. It was better than sitting around wondering why I wasn't getting any job offers. I thought that at my sentencing hearing the judge would take my efforts into consideration. He didn't. But, as you know, being funny saved my life-on the inside, in my inside, and, as I was soon to discover, on the outside.