James Lipton, host of Inside the Actor’s Studio, spent his early years working as a pimp in Paris. James has interviewed the top actors of our time for the past 13 years and is revealing the details of his life in a new book. ABC News reports:
“This was when I was very very young, living in Paris, penniless, unable to get any kind of working permit… I had a friend who worked in what is called the Milieu, which is that world and she suggested to me one night, `Look, you’ll be my mec… We would translate it perhaps… as pimp. We were earning our living together, this young woman and I, we made a rather good living, I must say.”
James also set up sex shows in hotel rooms for American tourists:
“I had to accompany my clientelle to the Rue Pigalle, which is where these things occurred. And then I’d take them up to the room and I had to remain there because they were very nervous, they were young Americans for the most part… and they didn’t speak French.”
James Lipton and I are a lot alike if you think about it. We’re just two pioneers trying to help others look at girl’s sexy parts. I mean, sure that’s our only similarity because I’ve never been to France. And maybe I’m not the dean of a distinguished acting school. Also I’ve never interviewed Al Pacino or Harrison Ford. Okay, maybe I’m just a guy in his boxers surrounded by whiskey bottles and Legos. But, if that’s not exactly like James Lipton, then clearly I have no idea who the hell he is. He was in Star Wars, right?
Me and James, we been there, we know, him in Paris France, entertaining shmuckey AmeriTouristas with French stench whores, and me as house foreman to a bunch rock solid beefeaters for brokeback cowboys in Paris Texas. Fortunately, unlike Jim poor Jim, I did not have to watch my talent perform. I like fillies, usually in threes or fours, I wears them out so quickly, it saves time having to call the agency for another or trying to rope one in from the Steak’n'Shake or Dunston Steakhouse. But I digress, but that is forgivable, for I am a manly man and Jim is, well, he is Jim. Anyway, nothing shrinks the turtle and induces bazooka barfing in me than man on man on man on man, you get the picture, I have to retch, one second here
….
Ok, that wasn’t a second it was a gut wrenching ten minutes 48 seconds. Where was I, oh yes masturbating wildly to Halle Berry not being funny on Leno.
He’s creepy. Ever watch one of his shows. He kind of just stares at his guests — longingly. No onder the celebs love him. Such an ego stroker!!!
Suddenly, his whole crappy show makes sense.
The only thing shocking about that story is that James Lipton ever actually lived in Europe. He’s French?
He looks like the old janitor from school who hangs out near the men’s room a little too much.
James Pimpton on Ass&Entertainment
Here are the ten questions (compiled by Bernard Pivot) that James Lipton asks every guest on Inside the Actors Studio.
1. What is your favorite word?
“Pivot”
2. What is your least favorite word?
Lipton’s Iced Tea
3. What turns you on?
Everything
4. What turns you off?
Small Penises
5. What is your favorite curse word?
Cock/Balls
6. What sound or noise do you love?
Butt-Sex.
7. What sound or noise do you hate?
Heterosexual Sex.
8. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?
Pimping.
9. What profession would you not like to attempt?
Acting.
10. If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?
Do you always have to sound like such an assface?
“Look, you’ll be my mec”
Actually, it’s “mac”.
This isn’t really a surprise. Farley Granger’s autobiography (published earlier this year) describes an encounter with Lipton in 1950:
Arthur [Laurents] ran into Jimmy Lipton, whom he had known in New York. Lipton, then an out-of-work actor picking up odd jobs in Paris, is now known as the TV host of Inside the Actors Studio. He convinced Arthur that we had to see an “exhibition”: “It’s as much a part of Paris as the Eiffel Tower or the Louvre.” If we gave him the money, he would take care of all the arrangements. Arthur was sure he was getting a commission. Ethyl was game, so several nights later we went to a tacky brothel in Montmartre, where we were taken upstairs to a bedroom with nothing in it other than a large bed and some chairs grouped nearby. A few minutes after we settled down, a rather ordinary-looking thirtyish nude couple in towels entered and took a very formal bow. When they whipped off their towels Ethyl looked at me in such a way that I knew I would lose it if I looked at her again. Our “actors” then proceeded to demonstrate lovemaking styles from around the world: very formal and stiff as the British; frisky and juvenile as the Americans; harsh and militaristic ass the Germans; exaggeratedly passionate as the Italians. None of this was erotic. By the time they got to “and now the Russian way,” the woman spread-eagled on the bed and the man launching himself at her from the far side of the room, Ethyl and I were laughing so hard that we had to help each other from the room. We went downstairs to a little bar where we sat drinking and talking with all the prostitutes who were not otherwise engaged. Buddy and Arthur soon joined us. It was the highlight of the evening.