Seriously one of the funniest things I have ever read. For a man whose on-camera hijinks were legendary, you wouldn't think that what happened to him offscreen would be even funnier, but it was. Among the highlights:
Bob Zmuda tells of his time working as an assistant for "Mr. X," a big time Hollywood screenwriter (though he never divulges Mr. X's identity, he swears that this guy wrote on a lot of movies that you would instantly recognize as major films). Mr. X specialized in gritty, true-to-life dialogue, which he collected by cutting in lines at the donut shop, defecating in the middle of airports and, in one particularly harrowing scene, crashing mob funerals and telling a weeping mother that her son killed JFK. It was Zmuda's job to follow him around with a briefcase that contained a small TV screen and a video tape. Whenever Mr. X was in danger of getting arrested or killed by an angry mob, he'd shout, "Zmuda, the tape! Give them the tape!" At which point Zmuda would open the briefcase and play the tape of a world famous movie star (again unnamed) telling people that everything was fine and that Mr. X was doing important work on behalf of the movie industry. Miraculously, this always seemed to work, though he had enough close calls that Zmuda decided to quit while he was still alive.
While on a live performance circuit, Andy liked to experiment with new routines, especially when he was in Kansas, or somewhere in the Bible belt where people were only really familiar with his work on Taxi and had no real idea of what they were in for. After a bit of standard comic fare, he would announce that he was also a collector of rare films, and that a genuine but incredibly rare clip of the Lincoln assassination had just come into his possession which he would now like to share with the audience. He rolled out the film projector and proceeded to show them a grainy, black and white clip from D.W. Griffith's Birth of a Nation. As John Wilkes Booth dramatically fired his pistol into the back of Lincoln's head, there was a palpable gasp of horror from the audience. Afterwards, instead of letting them in on the joke, Kaufman solemnly led the audience in a group prayer and ended the evening on a somber note.
On another live performance, Andy was performing in what appeared to be a talk show format. At one point, he brought out a hypnotist played by Zmuda (I think he was introduced as "Mesmero"). After a little casual banter, Mesmero asked for a couple of volunteers. After selecting a young man and woman from the audience (they were, in fact, planted actors), he hypnotized them, having them do a variety of silly tricks that grew increasingly obscene until he had the woman stripping completely naked and the man profusely pissing his pants. As the crowd grew increasingly agitated, Andy Kaufman stood up and asked the hypnotist to stop what he was doing. Mesmero responded by looking directly into Kaufman's eyes and commanding him to "SIT DOWN!" Andy, as if his body was no longer under his own control, rigidly sat back down in his seat and yelled, "Whatever you do, don't look into his eyes!" This sent the audience into a panic. People started screaming and running for the doors. The cops showed up. When they tried to arrest both Zmuda and Kaufman, the remaining audience members immediately leapt to Kaufman's defense, telling the police about how he had bravely tried to stop the mad Mesmero.
This book will kill Andy Kaufman fans, and make everyone else wonder just why the hell they aren't Andy Kaufman fans. It's about a hundred times funnier than that Man in the Moon movie.