Jerry, he's got his tie undone, he's sitting there on a stool, he's thanking everybody,

he's thanking his long-suffering wife in the audience, Patty.

You know, the lady behind the man and all that you hear about?

Well, for 34 years, she's taking an awful lot of nonsense for me.

And once a year, she gets a pat on the head if I have the time.

I have to pat that head because without it, I really would be drained

empty. My wife Patty.

Who he divorced two years later. Yeah, yeah, powerful. He says something like, you know,

Patty's put up with a lot of my nonsense over the years, and it's like, yeah, I fucking bet she

has. She won't be doing that for much longer. And then finally he sings,

you know, his epic annual song, which he insists, insists that he doesn't want to sing, but the kids,

the kids want him to sing it. He doesn't rehearse it because it gets too choked up. It's too

painful. And he all, every year he would always cry towards the end, which I always thought was maybe his way of covering the fact that he couldn't hit the high note anymore.

So I have somewhat complicated feelings about the Jerry Lewis Telethon because, yeah, I watched it probably since I want to say 96 or 97.

I didn't necessarily watch every single second of it because on Labor Day, you know,

I might go out for a bit.

Might go swimming.

Might go, uh, what do kids do?

Uh, what I'm watching the Labor Day parade?

I'm sure you're doing that a lot.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Uh, might hang out with my buds and then come back for the end of it.

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