It was a Fantasy Island gig that convinced Bono he needed to leave Hollywood. He had one line and botched it, calling Tattoo “Pontoon.” When the actor started scream- ing at him, Bono decided it was time to get a new life.

-USA Today, Wed. Jan. 7, 1998

I remember reading the obituaries
when Sonny Bono died and
laughing so hard I fell down on
the floor. And I remember trying
to get up--my face ached, my
stomach was cramping--so I could continue
reading this to my brother over the
telephone. But I was choking, literally,
and was so totally out of control
that it no longer had anything to do
with Sonny Bono. I could not stop
this insane laughter, so I stood
up sharply and threw a series
of jabs into the air. Real uppercuts.
I was only partially robed. It was early.
I was having coffee and oranges, I
guess it was Sunday. And now
I’m writing this on a bagel-bag,
glancing down, swerving,
looking up, glancing down again,
as I drive my newly lacquered motorcoach
up an icy mountain pass at dusk
on my way to see my therapist
who once spent 3 years in the circus with
her “Largest Tits in North America.”
She always cries during our sessions.
And then, every time, she wipes her eyes
and carefully states that someday
I will get it all together,
and not drift so blindly
like the seahorse with his throat slit,
leaking a dark scarf across
his moonlit coral homeland.