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I’ve read most comedians’ books. This one is very disappointing. Mohr’s a real wit but there’s none of it displayed here. Mohr’s a non-jew, actually comes off quite Aryan in the book, much more than some of the characters he’s played. He’s excels at playing jew producers, think small and deceitful; he also does great impressions. This book, Gasping for Airtime (Hyperion, 2004) is about his two years at Saturday Night Live. Basically he was thrown into a situation where the rules weren’t clear, no one had any incentive to help him, and he spent a lot of time panicking until he found some drug with a P to even him out. Even so, his sketches seldom were accepted, meaning he was on the SNL writing team but seldom on screen. Bittersweet at best. After two years he was out and back to stand-up, on to the movies.

All that affects not the WN perspective, but the book gives insight into some of the folks at the top of the network/comedy food chain. Lorne Michaels runs SNL, and the woman below him, at least at the time, was named Klein, and very likely a jew. SNL is basically a bunch of Harvard grads and actor-comic-writers desperately pitching ideas to jew deciders, as our eloquenter-in-chief put it.

As pretty much any Aryan finds, even if racially unconscious, as Mohr seems to be, jews aren’t very attractive, taking one with another. The facts speak for themselves – once they’re extracted and arranged. There is nothing caustic in this book, which is remarkable given Mohr’s bent. This book is as cautiously, as respectfully written as a still-working pol’s. It’s like that for pretty much anybody in the public eye, not much difference between actor-singer-politician. Either you’re on tv or you’re not – in the existential sense. Mohr loses prime speaking seconds when notoriously bitchy Shannen Daugherty throws out one of his strongest sketches for fear of offending Sean Young. Think about that. Really, where one word can kill a career, how strong can televised — FCC hence dictator-approved — humor really be?

As said, though, the faithfully reported facts, when arranged, plot the jew in the unattractive-to-freaky section of the chart. Let’s mingle and get to know the humor hebes…

Al Franken: Mohr, first time out of the box, thinks up “Barkley and Barney.” Next morning…

It turned out that the producers had assigned Al Franken to “oversee” the sketch. No one told me this, I gleaned it from his body language. I had naively assumed that if I wrote a sketch, my role during the filming would be to explain how everything should go creatively. … But I quickly became a spectator at my own sketch. I’m sure the “Salk” polio cure didn’t go down that way.

Putting Al in charge wasn’t a bad idea [a good example of his ridiculous circumspection], but I felt that someone should have filled me in on the protocol. Al was from an entirely different generation than most of the cast members. He was a grumpy fellow with a constantly furrowed brow who was fast approaching fifty. Despite the fact that Al was going into his eleventh year on the show, he was still a featured player and not a full cast member. He clearly didn’t want a rookie’s input on the “Barkley vs Barney” sketch. I can’t say I blame him. [Why not sink or swim right off?] I had no idea how to produce a sketch with an entire crew and sound guys. Whenever I offered a suggestion, Al would look at me like I just farted.

. . . Weeks later, when Emma Thompson hosted the show and Smashing Pumpkins was the musical guest, Al and I had another dustup. Emma Thompson had just broken through in American film, and though I knew who she was, I made the mistake of wandering through the writers’ room, a blank on ideas that was causing me to blank on everything, and bothering Franken about it. He was sitting at the writers’ table chewing on a pencil. He would go through about three pencils a night with his mouth. I asked Al, “Who is Emma Thompson?” He went ballistic. “Are you fucking kidding me?” He threw his chewed pencil across the room. “She was nominated for a fucking Academy Award!”

I thought he was remarkably angry for such an innocuous question. Most of the writers were seated at the table with Al and had seen and heard the entire exchange. I was being screamed at like I was a child in front of my coworkers. I looked around to see if anyone was going to tell Al to calm down, but they didn’t. I was on my own. I looked at Franken and asked, “Hey, Al, who are Smashing Pumpkins?” Franken turned red and then bluish red. Getting up from the table and storming out of the room, he yelled over his shoulder: “I don’t know. But they didn’t get nominated for a fucking Academy Award!” Uh, touche, I guess.

Rob Schneider: Only he and Ellen Cleghorne [nogina] were assholes to me on a constant basis.

Rob enjoyed dressing the new guys down in front of everyone. He would always call me a rookie in front of the other writers. … I don’t mind a little hazing, but after a while it got real old. The cycle of asshole would start with Schneider chiding me as a rookie in front of everyone and then proceeding to treat me like garbage for two weeks straight. Then, for some bizarre reason, he would wander into my office and start massaging my shoulders and ask, “How have you been, man?

Adam Sandler: In a way, I resented Sandler. Not Adam the person, but the audience’s familiarity with Adam. I felt that if I could just get on the air more often, people would become familiar with me and look forward to a sketch I was in. Having an audience know who you are as a performer is an amazing freedom. It’s true of stand-up comedy. When you reach the status of headliner, doing stand-up becomes easier. You don’t have to worry about winning everyone over.

[That goes for political ideas too. Only room for a few “characters”/ideas, endlessly repeated. What is repeated becomes normal; it almost doesn’t matter how bizarre. Who gets the face and airtime in America? Jews – more than any other subset of humanity. What political material do the jews bring to the table? “Blacks are whites’ equals.” Are you kidding me? Control of television is everything.]

Marci Klein [Michaels’ #2]: Then Marci turned to me and barked out, “Jay, get me my coat.” … I looked at her and said, “Why don’t you get it?” I wasn’t snarky or hostile; I had merely reached indifference to my entire situation at the show. As I finished my sentence, she pointed at me and screamed, “I fucking discovered you.” [Rather like Krusty screaming at Bart: “I own him – and all subsidiary rights thereto!”] (p. 155)

Roseanne: I have always been a fan of the television show Roseanne, and I respected Roseanne as a comedian. Roseanne was pleasant to me and never did anything to me to distort my perception of her. I’d read the tabloid journalism about her; but I’d never paid any attention to it. When Roseanne arrived on the Monday of the week she was to be host, it was like meeting a bossy, wry old housewife. By Saturday, she was like a six-year-old.

The cast had filed into Lorne’s office between dress rehearsal and air and had taken up their positions. Some muttered to themselves about their sketches being dropped from the rundown. Lorne waited for everyone to settle and began to give notes. The moment he started to speak, Roseanne belched.

At first we thought it was by accident. Roseanne excused herself and motioned for Lorne to continue. As Lorne detailed the changes being made to the show, Roseanne continued to belch. She wasn’t doing it by accident, either. She would belch to punctuate a particular note of Lorne’s. She would belch during people’s questions to Lorne. After each burp she would look around the room and smile as if we were all in a grade school classroom. Her burps weren’t exactly ladylike, either. She was letting out some real whoppers. Halfway through the meeting Roseanne literally ran out of gas.

Refusing to stop a good party, Roseanne started to make herself burp. If she opened her mouth to burp and nothing came out, she would hold up her hand and say “Wait! Wait!”

Lorne wasn’t waiting. During the entire meeting, he acted as if her antics weren’t happening. There were a few scattered giggles at first when the belching began but they quickly dissipated. Farley thought it was funny, so he threw out a couple of fake burps. As she continued the burping, it became unfunny fast and Farley stopped. Lorne spoke to us softly and made eye contact with everyone in the room. The more Roseanne burped, the quieter Lorne spoke. We had to lean in toward him to make sure we weren’t misssing anything. I wasn’t on the show, so I had no reason to be attending the show meeting, but I was, and I was hanging on to Lorne’s every word. Lorne’s professionalism and savvy obliterated Roseanne’s little-kid routine. It was impressive, to say the least. Because of Lorne’s low voice, Roseanne’s burps were just annoying.

A few minutes before the meeting ended, Roseanne gulped a bellyful of air and let out a monster. With a stern look, the assistant stage manager, Bob Van Rye, shushed her. The scoldings only made Roseanne’s burps more important to her. When the meeting was over, she walked out of the office burping. My take on this is that she is obviously mentally ill.

My take is she’s a jew on a power play. This, in exaggerated form, is how jews get their way. Whether Roseanne or Schneider or Franken – they out-obnoxious their politer competitors. Are they more talented? There is no evidence. Jews do not occupy the top rank of any occupation. They are thick through the second and third rank in many sectors, though, because while genius is rare, connections are common. Soon the jew who might be equal or slightly worse has an advantage in experience over the gentile who might have begun as equal or superior. It is surprising in how many fields the jews have managed to network themselves to the top – to predominance. Talent is only part of the equation.

Courtney Love: Hole…was the musical guest…and she brought Frances Bean, her baby… At first I was appalled by the number of nannies — male and female — doting on this baby. Then I realized something strange. They weren’t really nannies; they were guys from the neighborhood. They could have been roadies. They didn’t look like they had had any formal nanny training or were even particularly good with kids. Halfway through the show, another thought hit me: It was past midnight and the baby was awake. Why wasn’t she in the hotel asleep? Because she was being passed around among these rocker maggot types while her mommy rocked the place. Courtney Love breeding with Kurt Cobain is genetic piracy of the highest order. Jews have always mixed, or tried to, with Aryan elite, the better to insinuate and trip them. See the Giant Book of Jewish Hate, aka Bible.

As a postprandial mint, here’s this on TLC, the nigger girl group with the houseburner. TLC was even more ridiculous. They arrived with an entourage of at least forty people. It was asa if there was someone to work the pinky, someone else to move the index finger, and another person to watch over the thumb. The band members all wore overalls with sweatshirts tied around their waists. After each rehearsal, a guy who probably made $50,000 a year would walk out onstage and adjust the knot in each of their sweatshirts. That was all he did. A different person measured the distance between the girls’ wrists and the cuffs on their sweatshirts.

So much for “Gasping for Airtime,” which title White Nationalists could well adopt. Then again, we’re living in the age of youtube, and SNL never really was that funny.