Playboy Interview: Jackie Gleason

Nattily bedecked in loafers, dark blue slacks and an eye-searing tomato-red cardigan, the gifted comic-composerconductor-actor-occultist-egotist who calls himself "The Great One" – otherwise known as Jackie Gleason – sat like a beached whale on the lawn outside the clubhouse at the Shawnee Inn in Pennsylvania's Pocono Mountains. Though he had fared poorly that morning in a golf tournament (he generally shoots in the low 80s), Gleason greeted Playboy with hale-fellow expansiveness, possibly gladdened by contemplation of his equally expansive career. In the wake of his powerful performance as the imperturbable pool shark, Minnesota Fats, in "The Hustler," two of his latest movies – "Gigot" and "Requiem for a Heavyweight" – were in the can and ready for world-wide release; and still another film, "Papa's Delicate Condition" (in which he performed as producer and director as well as star), was being scored and edited. Meanwhile, back in Manhattan, his office staff was keeping busy filing offers for him to produce, direct and star in dozens of new screenplays. His syrupy but salable mood-music albums were grossing to a six-figure tune; in "Take Me Along" he had demonstrated delightfully that he could also pack a theater in a Broadway show; and CBS was paying him $100,000 a year to keep him exclusively theirs. A millionaire many times over, he could have spent the rest of his life there on the fair ways or in the Gleasonian splendor of his $650,000 home near Peekskill, New York, rousing himself occasionally to shoot a game of pool, to partake of strong waters with his cronies, or to sit back and watch the residuals rolling in on one of his three television sets with reruns of his old "Honeymooners" series. But he was just taking a breather before returning to the medium which made him a star, this time with a live weekly variety show. Early in our interview, we bowed to the Gleason ego and infectious logorrhea, abandoning the role of probing questioner in favor of playing straight man and using our questions as cues to keep The Great One talking. Our first cue concerned his reputed monumental self-esteem, our notion being to test the myth against the reality.

[Q] Playboy: Producer David Susskind has called you "a thundering talent – the kind of raw, brilliant talent that has gone out of style, with as much instinct in drama as in comedy." Do you agree?

[A] Gleason: One hundred percent. David often has been guilty of exaggeration, but when he said that, I feel he was guilty of understatement.

[Q] Playboy: Do you also agree with your former writer, Coleman Jacoby, who said, "Gleason is the most egocentric comedian of our time"?

[A] Gleason: Coleman was showing rare perception when he uttered that gem. An actor has to have a healthy ego. Otherwise how is he going to go out and entertain 25,000 people at a concert in the Hollywood Bowl and demand $30,000 for it? Anybody who asks for that kind of dough and has that in mind, he can't be as shy as Albert Schweitzer. If you don't think you're good, what the hell are you doing in show business? Those actors who hire press agents to prove to the public that they're really sweet and humble, that's a naive impression they're trying to disseminate. It's counterfeit. It's like Mary Pickford saying to a stevedore, "Let's go upstairs." Look, I was lucky enough to have been given talent, a gift from God. I'm grateful. But let no man say that this diminishes my opinion that I'm very, very good.

[Q] Playboy: Why do you want to communicate this image of yourself?

[A] Gleason: You're here asking me these questions because it's your job. Well, that's my job.

[Q] Playboy: Is it possible that you exaggerate the ego bit just a little to maintain the image?

[A] Gleason: How can you exaggerate something that's already exaggerated? Certainly I work hard to maintain the position of The Greatest. How many guys do you know who go across the country in their own private train at a cost of between $80,000 and $90,000? We had some fun that trip, but mainly it was hard work. Every place we stopped we had a schedule that put us all in bed – by ourselves – at about 10 o'clock every night. Except for the first night out, right after the party in L.A., there was practically no partying. Two of our group may have hit the booze a little hard. They wanted to work, but I couldn't because I was so busy shaking hands everywhere, so they had nothing to do but drink. Jack Philbin, my executive producer, my right-hand man, came to me and said, "We ought to get them into a steam room." I said, "They don't need a steam room, get them Bishop Sheen." But the whole trip was designed to promote the TV show, and from what we've heard it was the most successful promotional gimmick CBS ever tried. They are now running smaller trips for smaller stars. They've got a news commentator they're thinking of running all the way from New York to Newark. But I can't really say I exaggerate – to get back to that question. Other people do my exaggerating for me. They judge me by their standards, not by mine.

[Q] Playboy: Then you sincerely believe you're The Greatest?

[A] Gleason: I see no one greater in my field. I think I do what I do better than anybody else. That leaves a lot of areas for others to be great in.

[Q] Playboy: Some find this attitude engaging, but it can't be said to have made friends of others. How do you feel about them?

[A] Gleason: What others? An actor shouldn't worry too much about making friends, he should worry about an audience. His friends get to see him for nothing anyway.

[Q] Playboy: Have you ever had a moment of stage fright or self-doubt?

[A] Gleason: I had one once when I thought that a chorus girl I was enamored of wouldn't show up. Incidentally, she didn't. But in the great tradition of the theater, I did the show anyway. Once I wrote that an actor has failure snapping at his heels like a vicious mongrel, but because ego is his propulsion, he considers the mongrel a puppy. The first thing an actor must do is train himself to have no doubts. If he can't play that role, and his own critique on his performance is negative, he'd better get out of show business. I began playing it the day I got in the business. Sure, when I first began I had stage fright. It happened that first day; I didn't know the address of the theater. But when I found it I wasn't afraid of the audience – I was afraid of my own performance. And besides, I had a spot on my lapel. I didn't know if I could charm them or not. See, I was born in Brooklyn 46 years ago. My father walked out and left my mother and me alone, and because she had to work I was left pretty much on my own. I found out I could make people laugh by consorting with them, but when I got to that theater that time, I wasn't sure I could handle an audience. Especially with that spot on my lapel. Well, I emceed a few amateur shows, and played some clam clubs in Allentown and Reading, P.A., and through the experience of finding out I could charm them I gradually lost the stage fright. And I got a bottle of spot remover,

[Q] Playboy: It has been said that you are afraid of only two things: strangers and airplanes. Is this true?

[A] Gleason: Whoever said that must have been a stranger on an airplane. He certainly doesn't know me. My whole business is meeting strangers. If I'm afraid of them, so is Jack Kennedy. As far as airplanes are concerned, I was taking a cross-country flight from California to New York and the plane came down fast in Phoenix. I've flown once since then to do a benefit. But I don't like flying and I see no reason why I should fly. Besides, if you've ever been on a train with me, with all the girls and the refreshments and the band, you have to admit that if you really want to fly, that's the only way. The train is the only place, practically, that I ever get to be alone, to think, to soak up some of the country. Don't forget, I'm not just working to people in New York. I've got a whole nation I've got to charm. Also, I like the train because I've got no reason to get anywhere in a hurry.

[Q] Playboy: You are one of the few performers who makes no bones about his fondness for drinking. What does alcohol do for you?

[A] Gleason: I drink for the sole, simple, honorable purpose of getting bagged. I never drink alone, I never drink when I'm sad or angry. I only drink with friends. Drinking removes warts and pimples, not from me, but from those I look at. Everybody becomes more beautiful.

[Q] Playboy: Your liquid capacity is legendary. What was the most you ever drank in one bout?

[A] Gleason: I'm no saucer-counter. But I probably drink less than most people think I do. If I drank as much as they say, I'd never be able to pick up a pool cue, let alone perform. Beside a real drinker such as Eddie Condon or Joe E. Lewis, I'm a terrier beside a Newfoundland.

[Q] Playboy: Could you outlast Dean Martin in a fair contest?

[A] Gleason: I've never gone up against him. But I think his drinking is magnified by reporters as much as mine. How can you stay bagged and do your work? As for going up against him, I think drinking contests are ridiculous. You don't prove anything except that you can get sicker than the other guy. One time I sat down with Toots Shor in a brandy-drinking contest, but that was the only one I ever was in. He said I fell down and that he left me laying there in the entrance to the dining room all through the dinner hour. He also said people had to jump over me to get to their tables. Can you imagine anybody jumping over somebody to get to Toots' food?

[Q] Playboy: There are those who regard Toots as something less than a stimulating fellow. What exactly is the bond between you?

[A] Gleason: I think he's harmless. Also, he's a very, very good friend to me and has been for years. When I was scuffling, all I needed to get a meal in Shor's was my fountain pen. Many times I should have eaten the pen – it would have been tastier. One time I had to tell Toots – I owed him about $800, I think – that if the food didn't improve I was going to turn in my pen. Sometimes I wonder how I survived, eating Toots' food day in and day out. One night I ordered a bowl of soup in there, and it was the only time in my life I ever had to chew soup. But I'll say this for Toots – the next day when I came in I didn't have to chew it. I cut it with a knife and fork and ate it in chunks. That was when I found out why Toots' customers always sit around his place so long – they can't get up.

[Q] Playboy: Your fondness for food is at least as legendary as your taste for spirits. What's the most you've ever eaten at a sitting?

[A] Gleason: When I was broke and someone invited me to dinner. But I don't wish to defend my eating. I eat when I get hungry ... I just get hungrier oftener than other people.

[Q] Playboy: What's the best meal you ever had?

[A] Gleason: When I devoured the reviews of The Hustler.

[Q] Playboy: If you were counseling a prospective dieter, what would you advise?

[A] Gleason: Forget it.

[Q] Playboy: Do you like the way you look?

[A] Gleason: I might as well ... I'm stuck with it. I've had fun being thin and fun being fat, but I've been fat more than I've been thin, so I've had more fun fat. I weigh about 235 right now. My best weight for TV is around 225, and I'll be down to that before I go back on the air. I move a lot on TV, move fast, and I have to weigh less for that.

[Q] Playboy: Will you have to go on a rigorous diet to take off the 10 pounds for TV?

[A] Gleason: Nothing heroic. Play golf. Cut down on food and booze. Be more sensible than usual.

[Q] Playboy: Has eating – or dieting – ever interfered with your work?

[A] Gleason: Nothing interferes with my work. It used to be that when I dieted I went into Doctors Hospital so a physician could supervise. I used to work on the show from my hospital room. The writers would come up and we'd discuss everything. Sinatra came up one day and he was sitting there and a new nurse came in. She looked at him and she looked at me, and then she put a pillow behind his back. But I don't believe there's any excuse for allowing personal problems – like a knife and fork – to get in the way of a spotlight.

[Q] Playboy: What do you think, then, of the recent publicity about the temperaments of such stars as Marlon Brando and Elizabeth Taylor holding up production and costing their studios millions of dollars over budget?

[A] Gleason: I wasn't there so I don't know what went on, but I do know the studios must think the stars are worth it if they put up with it. It's absolutely up to the studio. If a star horses around, and the studio doesn't want them, they fire them. I remember the first time I was in Hollywood, I said, "Hello," and they fired me.

[Q] Playboy: Method actors are said by some directors to be the worst production-delayers. What do you think of the Method?

[A] Gleason: I'm not opposed to the Method as long as everybody can have his own. I did a scene with an actor who kept questioning and analyzing everything about his own motivations at such length I wanted to get him a lawyer. All I know about the Method and Method actors is what Charles Laughton said. "Method actors give you a photograph. Real actors give you an oil painting."

[Q] Playboy: Some critics have said that in Gigot you gave only a sketch. What do you say?

[A] Gleason: That was your review, Playboy. Get a load of the others – four stars from Kate Cameron, for instance. I say the picture was designed to entertain people, not critics. If all the critics came to Loew's State, all of them in the whole U.S., there'd still be an empty balcony. But who likes criticism anyhow? The only thing I know that feels secure when it's rapped is a nail.

[Q] Playboy: Did you enjoy working in Hollywood on Papa's Delicate Condition?

[A] Gleason: The working conditions were ideal. They set up a bar next to my dressing room, and I didn't have to smuggle. As for living there ... well, the weather's a little too vanilla for me. I'd rather see some snow and rain, spring and fall, the changing of the leaves. I think a person's creative abilities are stimulated by different seasons. Living in a one-note climate is not as invigorating. But I enjoyed the work much more than I did the first time I went out. That was in (continued on page 197) Playboy Interview(continued from page 66) 1940. Before that I'd been working in clubs, mainly the 18 Club on 52nd Street in New York, a comedians' club where they did nothing but rib the customers. I didn't do jokes, I did impersonations and impressions of anybody and everybody: Humphrey Bogart, Charles Boyer, the owners of the club, anybody that deserved to be impersonated. Jack Warner came in one night, and the nicest guy I know, Freddie Lamb, one of the managers, pointed me out to him. Warner must have been loaded – he put me under contract and I started out for the Coast. In Chicago I found out I could change my ticket and stay overnight. I ran into Red Skelton, Danny Thomas and a couple other guys there and I did a little gambling. I don't gamble often. I have a philosophy: Why put money on something you think when money is already something you know? But this time it wasn't working for me, and I lost everything but about six bucks. I knew I couldn't eat in the dining car all the rest of the way to Hollywood on that, so I got off at some clam-town stop, bought myself a box of Baby Ruths, and Baby Ruthed myself all the way to Hollywood. I was so hungry when I got there I would have eaten lime jello. The pictures I made were not Award contenders. I played sailors, gangsters, Arabs, musicians. I had a lot of fun in those pictures, but now that I look back on them I realize it was a waste of time. It's always a waste of time when a comedian plays an Arab.

[Q] Playboy: Now that you're no longer playing Arabs, and have won a position in Hollywood where you can write your own ticket, why are you going back into television?

[A] Gleason: Simple. I like the action. It's too big an industry for me to sit around and watch it go by, and I'm too big a ham. Besides, it's part of my business. I'm not just one kind of entertainer.

[Q] Playboy: With a weekly series, aren't you concerned about overexposure?

[A] Gleason: I've been exposed as much as anybody else, and I'm still breathing. Being exposed doesn't worry me as much as not being exposed; that's why I came back. I never forget that I started with nothing and I can wind up with nothing. See this lighter and this cigarette case I carry? Solid gold. But they're not monogrammed. You can't hock stuff that's monogrammed.

[Q] Playboy: Might it not be better for you if you did only one show a month, or big shows on an irregular schedule?

[A] Gleason: You can't do that. You can't build an audience that way. It's a habit an audience gets into, watching you every week. If you're on once a month you have to have a big publicity campaign to get people aware that you're coming back on. Networks aren't interested in specials anymore. You'll see very few this season. They can't gauge ratings on single shows, they don't know what they draw, and therefore they can't sell them to advertisers. Besides, can you imagine people sitting around for four weeks waiting to see The Great Gleason?

[Q] Playboy: What do you think of advertisers, sponsors, and the Madison Avenue mind in general?

[A] Gleason: I never had much formal education – a couple weeks at Bushwick High in Brooklyn and a few more at John Adams. And because I lacked formal education, I used to worry about going up against the Madison Avenue crowd. Then I remembered how it was in Brooklyn. When I was hanging around in front of poolrooms and drugstores, cigarettes were a luxury. Guys were always grubbing them from you, and you had to be ready for them. What you did, you bought a pack and put 19 in your pocket and kept one in the pack, so when a guy tried to bum one you'd say, "Last one." Then you'd try to bum one from him. Well, what I found out was that whether you're dealing with kids in Brooklyn or Yale men on Madison Avenue, whether you're doing it in front of a poolroom or in 21, you oughta always have just one cigarette in the pack.

[Q] Playboy: Does this mean you have to be prepared for some horse trading when you do business with Madison Avenue?

[A] Gleason: I'm saying you can't leave your brains on the bedside table. I've been lucky in that I've always had good people negotiating for me. I haven't had to do too much myself. One time I remember we were negotiating the contract for The Honeymooners. I think it amounted to something like $17,000,000 for three years. That sounded like a dream to me, so I fell asleep. I wasn't being disrespectful, I was sleepy. That's like the time I sent a CBS vice-president out to get me a bottle of red wine. It wasn't that I wanted him to be my flunky. He just didn't seem to be doing anything at the moment, and I was thirsty. He enjoyed the wine, too, by the way. But I'll tell you one thing about Madison Avenue and network guys. Their word is solid gold. It might be tough to get their word, but once they give it they stick to it. I'll have to admit that their language is pretty funny sometimes. An agency friend of mine gave me a new one the other day. In a meeting, his boss said, "Don't let's issue them uniforms until we're sure they're on our team." You got to fall down when you hear that kind of language. People have a lot of fun at the expense of those Madison Avenue boys, but you shouldn't underestimate their intelligence. They're smart, you got to hand them that. But maybe they're not as smart as I am in one area: comedy. If they were, they'd be doing it.

[Q] Playboy: Have they ever tried to interfere with your ideas?

[A] Gleason: They've tried sometimes. They would make suggestions, ask why I didn't do a particular scene this way or that way. But I never took their advice because I knew what I was doing and they didn't. If they didn't think I knew what I was doing, why would they have hired me? You get used to their trying to interfere. It's only human for them to try. Early this year when we were putting together our first show, we thought of an idea and one of the writers said, "They won't let us do that." I said, "Fine. That'll give us our first chance to fight with them and we'll get that over with." I've never come to the point of walking out because of interference. You resolve these things. They'll let you win one or two fights ... but you gotta win them. You gotta be right. And I always was. Once you establish that, they don't question you.

[A] The greatest example is The Honeymooners. They said it would be inferior on film. They didn't realize that two-thirds of the nation never saw it any way but on film – inferior film, Kinescope, because of the change in time from East to West. They argued against film, but I went ahead and did it on film, and it's in its ninth time around in syndication. I think that's a pretty good record of knowing what I'm doing.

[Q] Playboy: You're returning to a much maligned medium. Do you feel that the criticism is justified?

[A] Gleason: I don't think there's much wrong with it. I think it's a great medium and that it's progressing faster than any other entertainment medium ever progressed. I think children are much smarter because of it, they have a greater scope of intelligence, wider vocabularies than they might have without it. The only thing wrong with TV is the viewers. They don't economize on their watching. You can't do that with any medium. If they would view it a little less they would appreciate what they see a little more. I don't see that Pay TV is going to improve it much except to enable people to select what they think they want to see. The way it is now, they get it all for nothing and they don't know when to quit. If they're paying maybe they'll be more selective. But the same things will be on it, except a few things that aren't on now – plays, operas, big fights. Maybe they'll let you see the big fights for nothing.

[Q] Playboy: It has often been said that network television, a mass medium, places inhibitions on creative freedom. Wouldn't you have more scope to do what you want, say, on Broadway?

[A] Gleason: I was on Broadway in Take Me Along, and I never had a worse time in my life.

[Q] Playboy:But wasn't that because of your much publicized feud with David Merrick, the producer?

[A] Gleason: I don't know any David Merrick, the producer.

[Q] Playboy: Well, would you ever perform again in a musical or a Broadway play for a David Merrick, if you knew such a Producer?

[A] Gleason: I never performed for him, I worked for the audience. No, I wouldn't do it again. Nor for anybody else. It's too dull. I was in it 15 months, and that's a long time. They just recently offered me a show and said they'd run only five days a week if I'd do it. That would make theatrical history. I turned it down. It was a good idea, too – a musical version of Born Yesterday.

[Q] Playboy: Of all the things you do professionally – comedy, dramatic acting, song-writing, conducting – which gives you the most satisfaction?

[A] Gleason: Just performing. And creating. Most of the things I do are my own creation. The TV show, although it's written by writers, is a creation of mine.

[Q] Playboy: Are the comic characters you've created – Reggie Van Gleason, the Poor Soul, Ralph Kramden – in any sense autobiographical?

[A] Gleason: No, they aren't any Jekylls or Hydes. They all were created with malice aforethought.

[Q] Playboy: What about The Honeymooners? Did you ever know a couple like that?

[A] Gleason: Everybody knows a couple like that. That's why the show lasted so long.

[Q] Playboy: What is your actual technique of creation on a show like The Honeymooners? Do you sit at the typewriter?

[A] Gleason: No, when I write I sit with a pencil and pad. I put down some ideas and I tell the writers, "If any of these hit you, fine." We might go from one idea to something a million miles away. If none of the ideas hit them, we try something else. We discuss them, and they go away and write them, and I either like what they do or don't, and they fix them or whatever, and then we got a scene. Same way with my music. I can't read music. I play a little trumpet, some one hand piano, and bottled-in-bond drums. I get the ideas and discuss them with arrangers, and they give me what I want to hear on paper, the way I've heard it in my head.

[Q] Playboy: How do you account for the fact that you never learned to play the piano with two hands?

[A] Gleason: I need one free to hold a glass. Hell, I'm glad I'm not a real musician. No real musician would do what I do in music. My theories aren't musically sound, they say, but they're sound public theories. For example, a Dixieland band with strings behind it – what real musician in his right mind would think of doing that? Or a choir of trumpets? Or 32 mandolins? We had a hell of a time getting those mandolin players. It turned out that every mandolin player was an Italian barber, and for two days while we were making that record you couldn't get a haircut in the Bronx, Manhattan, Brooklyn, or Queens. Also, I had the first big vocal group that made noises like musical instruments. It was a riot. Everybody's copied it since.

[Q] Playboy:Time described your music as suggesting "Log Cabin syrup poured over slowly turning pizza." What do you say to that?

[A] Gleason: A hell of a lot of people seem to like Log Cabin syrup poured over slowly turning pizza.

[Q] Playboy: One of your former associates says that your income from records alone is over $100,000 a year. Is this true?

[A] Gleason: That must be his cut.

[Q] Playboy: Do you really think, as you have been quoted as saying, that the $100,000 a year CBS pays you to stay off other networks is "peanuts"?

[A] Gleason: I never said it was peanuts. I said it was just enough to keep me exclusive, and just enough to make me aggravated that I wasn't on regular.

[Q] Playboy: How much do you earn in a year?

[A] Gleason: I really don't know. Five dollars more or less than the bills. Everybody's happy.

[Q] Playboy: How much do you spend in a week?

[A] Gleason: I never keep account. Honestly. I do overtip. One night in El Morocco I asked a waiter how much was the most he ever got and he said $100. I gave him $200. Then I asked him who gave him the $100. He said, "You did, Mr. Gleason." Who else but The Greatest? But I don't know why anybody would earn a lot of money except to spend it. My family's taken care of, I got no one dependent on me, so other than admiring a savings account I don't know what the hell else I could do with my money. People have the strange idea that I throw money away, simply because I spend it quickly. They think I don't know the value of money. It might be that the reason I spend it is because I do know its value. You can't sit on it, wear it, make a house with it. You sure can't kiss it. What else can you do but spend it?

[Q] Playboy: On what do you spend most?

[A] Gleason: My home. The only thing that made it so expensive was not that there is anything garish in it, but that the materials used are so unusual. Marble came from Italy. Special wood was used, the kind they build ships out of. And the workmanship cost a lot.

[Q] Playboy: How would you describe the decor?

[A] Gleason: Gleason Contemporary. I designed most of it myself. It's the most comfortable place I've ever been in, and I've devoted most of my life to being comfortable.

[Q] Playboy: Is it true that there is a $38,000 Rolls-Royce in your garage?

[A] Gleason: No, not anymore. I gave it away to a charity. Anyone can get a Rolls. Few can give one away. Besides, the ashtrays were full.

[Q] Playboy: What do you do with your spare time?

[A] Gleason: I have no spare time. I'm either working or I'm playing golf. Oh, I might drop into Toots' place to kill a couple hours every once in a while. But, you know, talking to Toots is hard work, too, the way he goes.

[Q] Playboy: How's your golf game?

[A] Gleason: I've shot scratch, but not recently. The thing I like about golf is you can't lick it. I had a hole-in-one some time ago. It cost me $380 in buying drinks. I yelled so loud they came from miles around. But I don't get as much time for golf as I'd like. When I'm not working or on the green, I'm studying.

[Q] Playboy: We understand you have a huge library of books on psychic phenomena, ESP, UFO, and the occult sciences.

[Q] Gleason: I think I've got about 12,000 books on those subjects. When I was a kid I studied the lives of the saints. They had some peculiar manifestations and experiences and I wondered if that could happen to ordinary people. From there I got into psychology and then paranormal psychology and then supranormal psychology, and that led to medicine and biochemistry, and that's how it came about.

[Q] Playboy: Do you believe in ESP?

[A] Gleason: Oh, sure. And precognition, I believe in. But I would like to have somebody show me a ghost. I've seen some real spooky people in my time, but I've never seen a ghost and I've never heard of anybody who's really been able to prove they saw one. Everybody makes the same mistake about this. They think the study of psychic phenomena has to do with death, or the fear of it. That's as ridiculous as saying a doctor studies medicine because he's afraid of disease. The study of ESP and related subjects is a legitimate study. It's recognized as such today.

[Q] Playboy: Do you believe in life after death?

[A] Gleason: Of course.

[Q] Playboy: Reincarnation?

[A] Gleason: If playboy comes back as Better Homes and Gardens, then I'll believe in it. Why don't you ask me what I think of Playboy.

[Q] Playboy: All right, what do you think of Playboy?

[A] Gleason: As long as the epidermis of any girl is attractive, you will prosper. However, if your girls put on clothes and my ego goes into hibernation, we're both cooked.