Kinky Friedman: Success against all odds -- Page 2
By Jay MacDonald • Bankrate.com

Bankrate: You spent much of the '70s, in your words, "lost on 11 herbs and spices." Do you recall how you made ends meet during that time?

Kinky Friedman: Where I got that money, I don't know. I think I just had a lot of people around me. You've got to find what you like and let it kill you. When I started writing "Greenwich Killing Time" in New York in 1984, I had no money. I was broke. I lived with my parents for a long time, about as long as Jack Kerouac lived with his mother. I had my loft in New York on Vandam Street at that time.

Bankrate: What would you have done if you hadn't sold that book?

Kinky Friedman: I was going to commit suicide by jumping through a ceiling fan. These days, there are many people around the world who listen to the songs that made me infamous and read the books that made me respectable.

Bankrate: But the book did sell.

Kinky Friedman: Yeah, that was a single-book deal after being rejected by over 20 publishers. I think I got $7,500 for it. I don't know where that money went. I don't know why, but I can piss money away with the best of them. Just like I'm in Vegas right now, playing the slots. William Bennett is my patron saint, one of them. Redd Foxx is another.

Bankrate: Almost despite yourself, you became a successful author.

Kinky Friedman: Yes, the books paid off and they've been a financial pleasure for the Kinkster. The music never has, but I had some bad breaks. My song "Sold American" was recorded by Glen Campbell, but unfortunately it was on an album called "I Knew Jesus (Before He Was a Star)," which tanked rather severely.

Bankrate: Has the income from your novels changed your lifestyle?

Kinky Friedman: No, nothing has changed in my life at all, and nothing would change if I had millions. I've always said money may buy you a fine dog, but only love can make it wag its tail. It's ironic that I should be doing this interview at all because money means absolutely nothing to the Kinkster. Less than nothing. That's why I'm in Vegas, and it wouldn't change if I had no money or a lot of money. I'm just not a money-oriented person. I don't understand it. I think it's the root of all tedium.

Bankrate: What did you do with your money?

Kinky Friedman: Nobody knows! Before my father died, he was trying to determine that. He said, "You don't have ex-wives, you don't have an art collection." And I'm the oldest living Jew in Texas who doesn't own real estate. I don't have land, I don't have cars. I don't pay huge mortgages on anything. I'm not being extorted by somebody in a blackmail scheme or anything. Cuban cigars is a big expense because I do smoke a lot of them, eight to 12 a day, so that would be almost as bad as a cocaine habit, a hundred bucks a day. In Vegas, I'm what you call a high roller, which is a loser, but I don't come here that often. So where does the money go? Part of it I give to Utopia Rescue Ranch. I'm a soft touch, and I vastly overtip because I want people to like me and they never do; they either think I'm a chump or the male waiter will think I'm a homosexual trying to pick him up.

Bankrate: We must ask about your gubernatorial campaign. Where's the war chest coming from?

Kinky Friedman: I'm relying on my campaign treasurer, John McCall, "the shampoo king of Dripping Springs" who sold his company, Armstrong-McCall, for $100 million last year ... and he and his partner Farouk Shami, my Palestinian hairdresser, are pretty much my war chest. But I think we're going to have no trouble raising money. The campaign is looking dangerously real, mainly because of the slow-leak nature of the big-party candidates. I'm running as an independent. A lot of Texans are saying, "If Arnold can do it in California, Kinky can do it here."

Bankrate: Are you prepared to assume office if elected?

Kinky Friedman: The first thing I'll do if elected is demand a recount. There's not a lot of heavy lifting going on in the governor's office. I intend to do some spiritual lifting though, as far as the state is concerned, but I don't intend to work very hard. I'm a Jew; I'll hire good people. I'm going to change the state song -- because everybody hates "Texas, Our Texas" -- to maybe "The Yellow Rose of Texas" or "The Eyes of Texas are Upon You," or maybe "Suicide is Painless." Or "They Ain't Making Jews Like Jesus Anymore." That would be a good state song. Remember my promise: If you elect me the first Jewish governor, I'll reduce the speed limit to 54.95.