Playboy Interview: Chris Rock

If President Clinton isn't Chris Rock's biggest fan, he ought to be. Consider how the 34-year-old comedian recently defended the chief executive during a tour stop this past winter in Atlantic City:

''They let Clinton off last week. Let him off! That's right, just let him go,'' said Rock, pacing back and forth onstage, eyes wide with mock surprise. Suddenly, he stops. ''Wait . . . who's booing? What the fuck you booing about? How you gonna boo head? Have you really thought this over? What the fuck did Clinton do? He lied about a blow job so his wife wouldn't find out. Is that so fucking hard to figure out? You got to have a trial for that shit? Get the Supreme Court involved? You could have taken that to The People's Court.''

Most comics would have stopped there. Not Rock. ''Some of this is Hillary's fault. That's right. I put blame where blame is due. Women, you know your man better than anybody else. You know if you got the crazy, needs-a-blow-job-every-day man. Sometimes you got to save your man from himself. Sometimes you got to sacrifice your lips for the good of the country. Hillary let us all down. She's the first lady. She's supposed to be the first one on her knees. Monica shouldn't have stood a chance. 'What you want, girl? Get out of here. I got this under control.'''

Rock certainly has things under control. For almost five years he's been the hottest comic in the country, the darling of the public and his peers, a book author, recording artist, movie actor and host of HBO's Chris Rock Show. Credit his fearlessness at tackling issues such as race, politics, relationships, doctors, insurance, taxes, family dynamics, porn, pimps, crack, black leaders, false role models and the difference between the mall white people go to and the one they used to go to. Despite his success, Rock makes regular visits to the Museum of Television and Radio to study the likes of Woody Allen, Richard Pryor, Ernie Kovacs, Flip Wilson, Don Rickles, Groucho Marx, Steve Martin and Charlie Chaplin. And he still hones his material before last-call audiences at comedy clubs. Then it's all taken to the concert stage where, as in his Emmy award--winning HBO special, Bring the Pain, Rock works the audience with almost evangelical fervor.

Offstage, Rock is surprisingly calm and unassuming. He's a watcher, a thinker, curious, ''I don't have to be the smartest person in the room,'' he says. ''You don't learn that way.'' In other words, he's personable but not easy to get to know. But he can explain that too: ''The only people easy to get to know are drug dealers and prostitutes. No matter where I go, people ask, 'How come you're so quiet?' Even in the library where you're supposed to be quiet. But I don't want to waste my powers. If Superman flew around all the time he might not be able to save Lois when it counts.''

Rock was born on February 7, 1965 in South Carolina. His father, Julius, a union trucker, and mother, Rose, moved the family to Brooklyn. Eventually they settled on Decatur Avenue in Bedford-Stuyvesant, on one of the nicer blocks in a notoriously bad part of town. The family was close, and Rock, as the oldest of six, quickly absorbed his parents' work ethic. He took on odd jobs and, as he got older, often accompanied his dad on rounds delivering the New York Daily News. He was also bused to a nearly all-white school, where he was regularly beaten up and came to learn the many epithets whites have for blacks. He didn't make it through high school--by choice.

Once, in 1983, when he was 18, working at Red Lobster and a huge Eddie Murphy fan, Rock waited in line at Radio City Music Hall to get a ticket to Murphy's show. But when he heard about an open-mike night at Catch a Rising Star, he left Murphy behind and headed to the club, tried out, made the cut and joined the comedy circuit. One night in 1987 if was Murphy's turn to watch Rock, and he liked what he saw. With Murphy's backing. Rock appeared on an HBO's Uptown Comedy Express special. In 1990 he followed in Murphy's footsteps on Saturday Night Live.

Three years and a couple of memorable characters (including Nat X) later, Rock asked SNL executive producer Lorne Michaels to let him go his own way. The pressure to be the new Eddie Murphy had taken its toll. He also admits that he didn't work as hard on the show as he did at partying and spending his newfound money. Even so, he appeared in a few films (including New Jack City), was briefly on In Living Color, made an album (Born Suspect) and, in 1993, starred in the rap parody CB4, which he co-wrote and co-produced. It opened at number one at the box office, but from there both the film and Rock's career went downhill. He ended up right back where he started: playing little clubs. And there was another problem. His act had gone limp. One night in Chicago, upstaged by comedian Martin Lawrence, Rock came back to his senses. As he told Vanity Fair, ''Martin just annihilated me. Blew my ass away. That was a pivotal moment, because I wasn't really prepared. I'd been working with too many white guys.''

The reality check paid off. Rock recommitted himself to his craft, often traveling the country with comedian Mario Joyner, ''the funniest man I know.'' (Joyner is also one of Jerry Seinfeld's best friends.) Rock took more risks onstage and started talking about things that really interested him.

In 1996 Politically Incorrect host Bill Maher asked Rock to be that show's correspondent at the presidential conventions. Rock also taped Bring the Pain, featuring his new strutting stage manner as well as his popular Niggas vs. Black People routine. It was only a small part of the special, and Rock doesn't do it anymore, but it hit home.

Rock followed the special with an album (Roll With the New), a best-selling book (Rock This!) and an HBO variety--talk show (The Chris Rock Show), now in its third season. He also relaunched a movie career, with roles in Lethal Weapon 4, Kevin Smith's Dogma and Nurse Betty with Morgan Freeman. He's writing films as well, with Paramount greenlighting his remake of Heaven Can Wait, called I Was Made to Love Her. Finally, there's another HBO special, Bigger and Blacker, taped at the Apollo Theater in Harlem, and a new album by the same name. And let's not forget his role as pitchman for 1-800-Collect and his playing the voice of Li'l Penny for Nike.

Playboy asked Contributing Editor David Rensin, who co-authored Rock's book, to hook up with the comedian while he toured to get ready for his HBO special. Rensin's report:

''Most people who don't know him think Chris Rock in private is just like he was in Bring the Pain: loud, in your face, wearing a silky silver jacket and unable to sit still. Nothing is farther from the truth. Rock says he never wore that ensemble again. He's also more prone to lose himself in his Walkman than cut up after a show. Where many performers are superenergized and looking for trouble, Rock is easygoing and happy to watch a film on the tour bus with his players--Ali LeRoi, Lance Crouther and his wife, Robin Montague, and Wanda Sykes, all writer-performers on the Chris Rock Show. He may be the boss, but he acts like one of the gang.

''After a show at Princeton University, we traveled to the Trump Marina hotel and casino in Atlantic City. At two A.M. the troupe convened for breakfast in the coffee shop. Rock led a freewheeling dialogue that covered favorite music from the Seventies and Eighties, favorite comedians, sports, the neighborhood, relationships. Later, in the casino, Rock wanted to cut loose and gamble a bit, but then a phalanx of low-rollers approached for autographs. Said one obviously single woman, 'You're gorgeous. I want to marry you someday.' Smiling, then sighing. Rock begged off and said, 'My life has changed. I used to blend in around white people.

''We were scheduled to begin our first session after lunch in his hotel room, but at the last minute Rock decided that we should go to the local mall for CDs and a radio, and do the interview as we shopped. We'd made mall runs together before, but this time there were no pals along--and no bodyguard. We entered on the upper level and hadn't been inside 30 seconds when we heard the first of what would become an afternoon full of variations on, 'Yo. It's Chris Rock. Is that Chris Rock? Hey man, how you doing?' and autograph requests. Rock motioned toward the tape recorder and politely declined--unless there were children involved--and just told me to keep walking and talking.''

Playboy: Everyone's staring.

Rock: Keep walking. I'm from Brooklyn. If you come from a bad neighborhood you learn to notice everything around you. What I notice is there's no one in here who can whip my ass. Besides, I got you with me.

Playboy: And you feel safe? All right, let's start with the accolades. Vanity Fair: ''Funniest, smartest comic working today.'' New York Post: ''Utterly fearless.'' The Washington Post: ''His show is unfailingly funny.'' Lorne Michaels: ''Chris is the shock of ideas.'' For a guy who only a few years ago called himself washed up, how much do you like what you hear?

Rock: [Laughs] What do you want me to say? It's great. I'm glad they feel that way. They're all good sources and none of them had to say nice things about me before, including Lorne. I'm just glad I could do something they like.

Playboy: How has all the attention changed you?

Rock: I feel like Travolta in Phenomenon, when he got zapped by the light. Nothing's going wrong. Yet. I still live in the same house--I just haven't been there much because I'm extremely busy. But when I go around my old neighborhood and see my old friends, the differences between me and them still seem minuscule. I had a good dad and another guy didn't; I didn't get high and another guy did. That's scary. I sometimes feel like I'm one bad break from being back there and never making it out in the first place.

Playboy: What do you miss most about your old life?

Rock: Being able to take a walk by myself. Now if I'm alone everyone assumes I want company. Being famous is like having big tits. People always stare. In some ways that's good, because a girl with big tits can go anywhere and people always want to do whatever they can for her.

Playboy: Sure. In hopes of getting laid.

Rock: With me I guess it's the hope of getting money or hanging out--and then getting laid. My friends are always trying to drag me somewhere so they can get laid. Tell anyone you're my manager and watch what happens. [Laughs] I guess I've got some huge tits right now. But that's OK. I deal with all of it because they're my fans. It's like each one bought a thread on this coat I'm wearing. They bought the tips of my shoelaces. They helped pay for everything I've got. So the handshakes, the hugs, they're good. People are just trying to connect. It could be much worse.

Playboy: As in no one's paying attention?

Rock: No. As in they could be burning my football jersey and smashing my Heisman trophy.

Playboy: How much does it bother you that O.J. is still able to go to the mall?

Rock: I'm not happy about it. I'm not rejoicing. Yeah, we know he did it, but he's one guy I don't think is going to kill again.

Playboy: When does celebrity get most weird for you?

Rock: When I get to hear about which star someone in my family wants to fuck. When people want to know my mood before they speak to me. I used to see this around Eddie Murphy and Lorne Michaels. ''How's he feeling? What's his mood?'' It's hysterical. When I say something offhand and it comes back to me. If I'm mildly interested in something, my whispers are heard miles away. The next thing I know, someone is in my office wanting to make a deal. The other day I said, ''You know, The PJs was funny last night.'' Two days later my manager gets a call: ''They, hear you like The PJs. They want you to be a voice on the show.'' For all I know I was overheard in an elevator. When people give me stuff I don't need. I get free food when there are homeless folks who can't get any. I get sneakers. I don't need sneakers; I can buy sneakers. It's all about big tits. And it's ironic that the guy who no one listened to, everybody listens to now. The guy everyone used to beat up, a lot of people are scared of now. The guy who couldn't get laid, everybody wants to fuck now.

Playboy: That sounds like a positive development.

Rock: I just wanted the opportunity to make people laugh in as many different forms as I could: books, albums, my TV show, as a producer, in the movies and, first and foremost, as a stand-up comic. All I wanted was options. And now I have them, because all being rich and famous really means is that you've got more options.

Playboy: Didn't you once say that fame was bullshit?

Rock: Here's what I meant: People say, ''I want to be rich and famous like you.'' No, they just want to be rich. Believe me. Fame is only cool if you want to meet somebody.

Playboy: And you have. We read about you in the gossip columns, at one big event or another, like Puffy Combs' birthday bash.

Rock: I knew Puffy ten years ago. I was a little sluggo-ing comedian and he used to drive some guy's car. I've known a lot of these people forever. Look at Lauryn Hill. To most people she just got famous. I did a gig with her and the Fugees seven years ago at some little college. I played Super Nintendo with Will Smith ten years ago, in Philadelphia at his crib, when I was in town doing a gig at the Funny Bone for $800. Talented people tend to hang out together. They know who's got the stuff. If you respect someone's work it's worth a dinner or two. Plus, when you're all in the same business there's the safety factor. We don't need shit from each other. We're not put in the position to turn people down; that happens too many times when you hang out with people who don't do what you do. Does that make sense without making me sound like a snob?

Playboy: Is that something you and your friends discuss?

Rock: Who asked for what is one of the biggest topics of conversation. Everybody tries to top each other: ''So-and-so wants me to help him buy a Ferrari.'' ''So-and-so asked me for 50 large.'' ''My uncle is trying to buy a fleet of school buses.'' Everybody's got some crazy tale. The best I ever heard was when a friend of mine, who will remain nameless, went on a date with a girl and had sex with her, and before she even left she asked him to help her buy a house.

Playboy: Did he?

Rock: No. But I told him, ''Your time together must have been really bad for her to say 'You owe me now!'''

Playboy: Will these observations ever end up as comic material?

Rock: No. When I'm onstage I make $300 a week--though maybe I should give myself a raise to $500 for the millennium. No one wants to hear about my money. Nobody wants to hear about me hanging out with whoever's famous. Nobody wants to know about what a hassle it is sometimes to sign autographs. The fans just want me to be one of the guys. Be down. People want to hang out with their favorite comedian. They want to feel like he's the missing guy in their crew. ''Fuck, I wish Chris was hanging.'' ''Wouldn't it be great if Sandler was here tonight?'' They want to feel comfortable with that guy. In their shoes, I did too.

Playboy: How badly do you want Adam Sandler's kind of success?

Rock: His success is nice. We both have the same philosophy: Work work work, work work, work work work work. Album movie, movie, album movie, album. Get it out there. He's also one of the funniest guys. As big as he is, he's still underrated. He's a great stand-up comedian. Sandler's like Steven Wright with a dick--not that Steven Wright doesn't have one. I mean Sandler has an observational quality like Steven Wright, but his one-liners tend to be raunchier than Wright's.

Playboy: And your approach to comedy is sort of like a fighter's.

Rock: The crowd gives me a four-minute cushion: ''Hey, he's famous. We saw him last month and he made us laugh.'' I try to hit them. Immediately. I don't try to fluff it that much, because a man's behavior is dictated by his physicality. I'm like a lightweight fighter, so I tell more jokes than a big guy. I've got to throw a lot of jokes. If Malcolm X were as small as Martin Luther King, he'd have believed in nonviolence, too. If Martin Luther King were as big as Malcolm X he'd have been talking about ''let me whup some ass.'' It's no coincidence that the little guy was nonviolent and the big guy was violent.

Playboy: Why did you choose to become a comedian?

Rock: It's the only good deed I can do. I've never been talented at anything else, like sports or school. The only other thing that sparked my interest as a kid was being a civil rights attorney, or a reverend--that is, if I could find a religion that didn't dog people out and wasn't on some level racist, sexist and homophobic. Yeah, I'd probably preach the gospel.

Playboy: But your act is already more than jokes. As Lorne Michaels said, You're the shock of ideas.

Rock: I'm just a comedian, man. Just a comedian. The media think I'm out there with an agenda. No. That's Jesse's job. That's Sharpton's job. Everybody's looking for the leader. Everybody's looking for the next guy, and they always try to pin it on entertainers and athletes. But I'm not a candidate, and I'm not a messenger.

Playboy: So you say and no doubt mean, yet your fans take your observations to heart. And the critics see all sorts of wisdom in your observations.

Rock: People also listen to Urkel. Oprah says what I say, in her own way. A million rappers: Ice Cube. Chuck D. Public Enemy. NWA. And they did it years ago. I just happen to be the quotemeister right now--people are repeating things I've said, in other contexts. I just talk about what interests me. That's the most important thing: Can I interest myself? I don't want to be bored up there, because you'll be bored if I'm bored. And I don't want to sound like other comedians. I don't want to have the airplane hunk about seat backs and tray tables.

Playboy: So what's the gospel according to Chris Rock?

Rock: [Pauses] If anything, I'm not a hater. I'm probably the only black comic who isn't homophobic, who doesn't have a big fag hunk in his act.

Playboy: How do you feel about white people?

Rock: I look at the individual. I probably could hate white people as a group, because when I went to school white kids would get together and beat the shit out of me. I'm still a little scared when I see whites in a group, but I've learned that all groups are stupid. What I hate is anyone who knows better yet chooses to be racist. On the other hand, if you don't know any black people and all you get is what you see in the news, I almost don't blame you for being a racist. But if you know a cool brother down the block, if you know me and you're still a racist, then you're a fucking idiot.

Playboy: But you're not afraid to make fun of blacks or whites.

Rock: [Long pause, shakes his head] I hate that hunk of mine, sometimes.

Playboy: The ''I love black people but I hate niggas'' routine?

Rock: Yeah, I'm so tired of that shit. Sometimes that's all people write about me, like I'm a one-joke comic or Ritchie Valens, only known for La Bamba. They ignore everything else I've said and focus on that one thing.

Playboy: It's certainly received the most attention.

Rock: But if I didn't have the relationship stuff in my act, I wouldn't sell as many seats. No way in the world I'm playing these big houses just off so-called political shit. The relationship stuff sells the tickets, along with the stuff about insurance and doctors and malls. I talk about things that the average man cares about, stuff I care about. I've got insurance. I'm paying my mother's insurance bills. I'm thinking about the hypocrisy of the whole thing. Even when I was a kid, when I had my first car, it was like, Let me get this straight: The worse the neighborhood you live in, the more insurance you have to pay? Women in the inner city have to pay more for diapers and milk because they have to get them at the minimart because no grocery will build there? How fucking ignorant is that injustice?

Playboy: True, but why does that make the ''I hate niggas'' material any less important?

Rock: [Sighs] It's just that I hate white reporters talking to me about it without ever having watched Bring the Pain. They always ask, ''How does a black audience deal with that stuff you're saying?'' Take a look at the show! Were there any white people there that night? Not many. Were people laughing? Yes. What's the fucking question again? I'm in the middle of Maryland. Not even D.C., but the middle of the ghetto, in a theater that we spent money on to make look better--and it's full of black people. I purposely went into the hood to do it. But some writers act as if I did Bring the Pain in front of a joint session of Congress. I think what they're really saying is, ''I like it, but how could black people possibly like it, since you're making fun of them?'' Well, it looked to me like they were laughing. Whatever you see black people laughing at, that's what's funny to black people. It's like me going up to Garth Brooks after he plays the Grand Ole Opry and saying, ''How do country people deal with your act?'' Huh?

Playboy: How are black audiences different from white audiences?

Rock: For one thing, the black audience goes everywhere first. They dictate everything from music to comedy to fashion; they point to where the white audience is going to go. Who's going to be the hottest comedian in the year 2001? I don't know--but he's working in front of a bunch of brothers right now. Who'll be the hottest rapper? I don't know, but young black kids know right now. Black people are about the future. White people are all about the past and how to return to the fucking glory they had. Black makes everything cool. What are the Spice Girls without the black girl? Just three white bitches who can barely sing. What's the Rat Pack without Sammy Davis? A bunch of fucking alcoholics. My core audience is probably black, but I don't think white people want to see me water down my thing. The white people who are into me aren't afraid. They want me to be me.

Playboy: Perhaps the question you don't like stems from white journalists having to be so cautious. They can't get away with saying nigger. They'd be crucified. So they don't understand when black people laugh at someone who does.

Rock: White people can't go around saying nigger. That's-a rule. Black people can; it's like calling your kid an idiot. Only you can call your kid that. Someone else calls your kid an idiot, there's a fight. You know, I said some ill shit in that special. I did jokes about porn and killing the president and hitting women. I had a guy beating a woman, and her complaining about it on Oprah. But no one mentioned that to me. Here's why: Race is big. It's the last frontier.

Playboy: Who takes the truth about themselves better, blacks or whites?

Rock: Probably blacks. We're used to being criticized and we deal with it easier. We're always expecting the hit.

Playboy: How concerned are you about media backlash? You're on top now, but that also makes you a target.

Rock: I don't worry about the mainstream media. They don't have much to do with making black artists succeed. There's no successful black artist without 90 percent of the black vote. Any black artist with longevity, black people already love, and he'd be successful--though maybe not stupendously--without the crossover, If white people had never gotten Richard Pryor he'd still have a big house and money. Bernie Mac, Jamie Foxx, Frankie Beverly, they all live really well. Steve Harvey lives really, really well.

Playboy: Would black recognition be enough for you?

Rock: Yeah.

Playboy: So why the desire to cross over?

Rock: Financial reasons. Black artists don't want white people to like them. That's real Uncle Tom. It's the money. Everybody wants to make the most dough they can because we're in an industry where you can be over at any moment. The idea is to cross over to white dollars, not to white people.

Playboy: What's the best career advice you ever got?

Rock: Before I taped Bring the Pain I bumped into Andrew Dice Clay. Anybody who knows Dice knows he can't help but give you advice every time he sees you--good or bad. But when you really think about it, who knows more about doing an HBO special than Dice? Who's gotten more out of being on HBO than Dice? Who filled up Madison fucking Square Garden? He said, ''Watch Rocky and you'll remember why you got started. Everything will come back to you.'' They say I'm big, but I can't ignore a guy who filled the Garden. And he was right. I watched Rocky and it all came into focus. It's the best inspirational movie in the world. All schoolkids should be forced to watch Rocky. The lesson is try your best, no matter what, and you'll feel good at the end. Be better than your best. That's my career philosophy. Buster Douglas was a bum. But one bum. But one night he fought Tyson better than his best, and he won.

Playboy: Do you have any advice for Tyson?

Rock: Watch Rocky [laughs]. Stop drinking. Mike is insecure. The last time I bumped into Mike was at some show at Roseland. We ended up going to Jersey to a party. It was two or three in the morning, and we were both sitting there trying to figure out if we could have gotten our wives if we weren't rich. This big motherfucker and this little guy, both from Brooklyn, connected on the same thing. We couldn't figure it out. Neither one of us was confident enough. Both of us were like, ''Nah, nobody likes us for us.'' It says nothing bad about our wives and everything about us.

Playboy: You recently went to Richard Pryor's birthday party. What's he like these days?

Rock: It's really sad. He can't talk. Richard fucking Pryor, the greatest orator, the greatest comedian of all time, and he can't talk. What the fuck is that? It's like Fred Astaire being paralyzed.

Playboy: What made Pryor great?

Rock: He was honest.

Playboy: The same has been said of you. According to HBO president of programming Chris Albrecht, you can ''get away with being honest in a way few people can.''

Rock: I don't get away with anything. I just do it. It has to be instinctual. The minute that I start to analyze my act, I'm dead.

Playboy: Come on. Maybe you want to play it down, but you must think this stuff through.

Rock: Sometimes when I come off the stage I feel like the Incredible Hulk, when he turns back into David Banner. Did I kill anybody? Did I hurt anybody? I feel like that a lot, especially when it's a good night. I get in a weird zone because my act gets my complete attention. In sex, my mind can drift, but onstage it's do or die. When I walk into a comedy club I want motherfuckers to be scared I'm going on. ''Oh shit. I don't want to follow him.'' I don't want the he's-famous-let's-cut-him-some-slack funny. When Rodney Dangerfield walks into the Improv, they know he's getting ready to bring the noise. It's like, get the fuck back! This guy is 70-something and he's going to blow everybody off the stage. That's what I want.

Playboy: How do you feel about once having been called the new Eddie Murphy?

Rock: Every hot black guy is the new Eddie Murphy. But I think I've established myself as my own guy. The first time I heard it I felt a bit of pressure; more than, say, Damon Wayans or Sinbad did, because folklore has it I was discovered by Eddie Murphy. People were looking for that from me.

Playboy: Is the folklore bullshit?

Rock: The average person thinks I was driving a bus and Eddie said, ''Hey, this guy is funny.'' I had been in the comedy business for a few years. Eddie said I was funny on camera and in print--which is a bigger thing than any manager or agent could do--and he got me on this show called The Uptown Comedy Express, an HBO special he developed and produced. When the funniest guy in the world says you're funny, well, you----

Playboy: Feel like, Holy shit, what do I do?

Rock: I just did what I was doing and people said, ''He's funny, but he's no Eddie Murphy.''

Playboy: But only a few years earlier you were 18 and standing in line at Radio City on your night off from a job at Red Lobster, waiting to get a ticket to Murphy's show, when you suddenly split to do open-microphone night at Catch a Rising Star. Murphy was and is your hero, yet you blew off the show. What possessed you?

Rock: Something called to me. Every comedian will tell you the same thing. There's no big revelation. It seemed like a better option than waiting in line.

Playboy: Was it your first time onstage?

Rock: Yeah. There was a guy on my block who co-managed R&B singer Freddie Jackson. He represented show business to me. I also knew Saturday Night Live was looking for people. So I told him, out of the blue, ''Get me on Saturday Night Live.'' Obviously, I was an idiot at that point, thinking you could just get on Saturday Night Live. The guy said, ''You have to go to the Comic Strip, you have to audition. You need to go to the clubs.'' I guess it put a little germ in my head--so one night I did it. Or maybe it was because I was at the end of a long-assed line and probably wasn't going to get in to see Eddie anyway.

Playboy: How big a career jump was getting on Saturday Night Live?

Rock: Huge. To this day, the biggest. It was the last break that actually changed my life. When I got on Saturday Night Live I moved from a studio apartment into a huge duplex, I bought a car, I helped my mother get a house. Nothing like that has happened to me since. Even today the quality of my life is pretty much the same. When I used to get $50 or $300 a gig, every gig would change my life. It meant I was going to eat differently. I might buy sneakers so I'd have a new wardrobe. Today the only changes are more artistic options, and a lot of white people speak to me.

Playboy: What went wrong at Saturday Night Live?

Rock: Lorne hired me because I was funny and because In Living Color had just come on. I don't think it was coincidence. The first year I was alone, which was perfect. If you're black you might as well be the only black person there. You're competing enough as it is to get a little screen time. Then it was me, Tim Meadows and Ellen Cleghorne. We all wanted to star in our own pieces, but we weren't all going to get on each show--even if all our stuff was great. The show is no different than society. But I'll never dog Saturday Night Live, because it's the best thing that's ever happened to me. Another problem is that I followed Eddie Murphy. Whatever I did was compared with him, and that's unfair. I had tough shoes to fill. I had the Larry Holmes gig.

Playboy: What's your relationship with Eddie like these days?

Rock: We're cool. I always looked at Eddie like my older cool cousin, the one, when you're a kid, that you can't wait to see because he's got the tapes and cool clothes. He's getting laid and he's got stories. I'm never going to be Eddie's equal, and friends have to be equals to be friends. But that said, we're better friends than we were before.

Playboy: Didn't you also party a lot during your three years on Saturday Night Live, sometimes to distraction?

Rock: We all partied. I also got a big-ass apartment, a convertible Vette. What's cornier than a red Vette driving through Brooklyn? How obnoxious is that? I was ridiculous. Lorne Michaels told me, and he was right: ''Everybody loses their first money. No matter who you are, you're going to lose your first money.'' That first hunk I got, though it couldn't set me up for life, could have helped. But I lost it. I spent it on shit I couldn't afford: a car, not paying taxes. My whole life was just trying to fuck girls I had no business fucking--and I succeeded on several occasions [laughs]. Ah, those were the days.

Playboy: Sounds like you miss them.

Rock: I miss the innocence. Otherwise I was tired, I looked like shit. In pictures of me back then I look like I was on the pipe.

Playboy: You were hot, left Saturday Night Live, made a couple movies and then you were gone. You couldn't even get an agent. What happened? How did you work your way back?

Rock: After Saturday Night Live, I co-wrote, produced and starred in CB4. Probably made $18 million. We did it with Brian Grazer and Ron Howard's company, Imagine. Ron Howard was in the movie, but he cut himself out. He saw how shitty the movie was and said, ''Hey, I can't be in this.'' In his scene he says, ''When I first heard the song Sweat of My Balls. . . .'' Ron Howard saying ''sweat of my balls'' is pretty funny. Cut to three years later and I get a call to do Sgt. Bilko with Steve Martin. I thought, great, but it was essentially an extra part. Two lines. I felt like shit, but you've got to do what you've got to do. A lot of guys wouldn't go to the audition. I do what I've got to do. The worst gig in show business is better than the best job out of it. I would have been the stand-in for the extra if I had to. And if I didn't take that extra part I wouldn't be where I am right now. That same year I did a guest shot on Fresh Prince of Bel Air. It was a horrible episode. I had to be Will Smith's ugly date, so I was in drag. Barely funny. I had to do it, though. From Saturday Night Live to New Jack City to CB4 to being dressed up like an ugly bitch for Will Smith.

Playboy: Did you have to kiss him?

Rock: No, but I'm glad they offered me the part. I needed it at the time. And guess what? People on the street were going, ''Hey, I saw you on Fresh Prince,'' ''Hey, I saw you in Sgt. Bilko.'' It kind of kept me alive. It's not shoveling shit, but I definitely went backward to get forward. I did Sgt. Bilko because it was Grazer, Steve Martin, Dan Aykroyd, Phil Hartman. I got to be around all those guys, even if it was only for two days. There was some value in doing it. Association brings assimilation, as my mother says.

Playboy: How often do you get back to the old neighborhood?

Rock: I still talk to people there. But one of the last times I went around I almost got carjacked. This guy was following me; I ran a light and he ran the light. When you grow up in Bed-Stuy you have an extra sense for trouble. The next thing I know, I'm on a high-speed chase with three cars behind me. I was probably going about 60 or 70 miles an hour through the streets of Brooklyn, running lights.

Playboy: What would have happened if they'd caught you?

Rock: They would have taken me to my crib, made me open up, taken everything, duct taped me and maybe killed me. They wanted my shit. And kidnapping's big. This is what's going on now. The only guys my age with dough who aren't entertainers sell drugs. Drug dealers keep their money in their house. I don't keep money in mine, but these young guys probably think I have a million dollars under my bed.

Playboy: Sounds like you can't really go home again.

Rock: I'm not going back there like ''look at me.'' I like to sit on the stoop and talk. Usually it's OK. When I first get there it's an immediate, ''Chris is here!'' But that always happened no matter what job I had. As far as my neighborhood is concerned, I made it ten years ago when I was in the movie I'm Gonna Git You Sucka. Do you know how far that is from Bed-Stuy and hanging out watching my friends sell lactose as coke? Or making crack: cocaine, lactose, vitamin B-12, a little baking soda. The common Friday night thing was to get with a bunch of friends at six o'clock. But then people started getting high and no one would go anywhere. It would start with the first beer, to the first joint, to the first snort, to freebasing. Every fucking Friday. I never got or get high, thank God.

Playboy: Did that self-destructive experience make it any easier for you to understand Chris Farley's death?

Rock: No. I took it really hard. He was a great friend. A good, jolly--I know that's a fat word--guy to be around. He needed hugs but he was quick to give them, too. When I was off the show, with no career, he and Sandler were the only guys who'd call to see how I was doing. Farley was way funnier than we've ever seen him be. He was more like W.C. Fields than the character he usually played. He had a ''get away from me kid, you bother me'' funny mean streak, but then he'd give the kid a big hug. But in movies he always played this fat guy who didn't know any better, who straightened up at the last minute.

The last time I saw him I pretty much had to get rid of him. I was in Chicago, on tour, and Chris came to see me. He was so fucked up. He was screaming. He wanted more booze. We had made plans, but I had to say, ''You know what? I'm going to bed.'' It was only midnight. Right then he kind of straightened out for a minute: ''Come on, Rocker. Come see my apartment. Come on, Rocker.'' I couldn't, and that's the last time I saw him. He died a month after that.

I miss Farley a lot. Phil Hartman, too. It made for a really shitty year, losing both of them. The worst thing that they did was try to make other people happy offstage. They went out of their way for other people for the sake of their own happiness, and it killed both of them.

Playboy: What was your relationship with Hartman like?

Rock: Phil was a mentor. He was the most prepared guy at Saturday Night Live. He could also show you about the good life. Sometimes he'd call me into his office and say, ''Hey, look at this picture of my new boat.'' ''Hey, here's the house I'm buying. You work hard, you can get this, too.'' But Phil had a weird marriage. He was always going through some shit with it, and I never liked to spend time with them as a couple. Every now and then he'd talk about it. I remember him saying, ''OK. If I lose half my shit I'll have to be on the show another three years.'' In part because of what happened, I'm really into my own happiness and my own comfort now in a way I wasn't before. I'm probably a rougher person to be around than before they died. I would never rock the boat. I'd go along with the program even if I was miserable. The old me would take shit for a while and then explode. After Farley and Hartman died, and died not happy, the idea of toeing the company line made me think, Fuck this. I'm more assertive now. I've found the courage to say no. They say life is short. No, it's not. Life is long. Life is excruciatingly long if you make bad decisions and do things you don't want to do.

Playboy: Let's talk about what you want to do--and what you have done for three seasons: The Chris Rock Show. Why did you want to try talk on cable, particularly when you could have had your own sitcom?

Rock: I had nothing else happening at the time. I was bubbling under, doing Politically Incorrect, doing Li'l Penny. I had done Big Ass Jokes, which won the Cable Ace award. I was on a little upswing. It was HBO's idea. It was like, whoa, get my own show? This is great. We made the deal before Bring the Pain, and the success of the special just made things go quicker.

Playboy: You're a TV interviewer now. Who's your role model?

Rock: Bob Costas. Best in the world. I saw Bob Costas interview Little Richard once. At the time Little Richard was a fucking joke to me. Just a clown. When Costas got through with him, I was Little Richard's biggest fan. I saw Bob do that with a lot of people. He had all the best questions.

Playboy: What have you learned?

Rock: I look at an interview like I look at a woman I'm trying to get with. You have to avoid the obvious, especially if you're not a good-looking guy. I'm not, so it's all going to be verbal. If she's tall, don't mention it. If her name is Eve, don't say a joke with Adam in it. The second rule is to never ask a question if you know the answer. If somebody's got a hit movie, ''Boy, your movie's really big. How does it feel?'' What are they going to say? They're going to say it feels great. Why ask that? Rule three is you can get away with a lot if you say ''with all due respect.''

Playboy: When you interviewed Magic Johnson why did you concentrate on his HIV? What wasn't obvious about that?

Rock: Who has asked Magic Johnson, ''How has it affected your business?'' I even gave Magic one of those hard-to-ask questions: ''Do women still hit on you?'' His ego wants to say yes, but he has to say no. He kind of went in the middle of it: ''Women like successful men.'' That's what you're looking for. He was great. He was the best guy I've probably had on this year. [Smiles] You know, I think he's got a new strain of AIDS, the kind that makes you gain weight and make money.

Playboy: Why wasn't he any good when he did the interviewing?

Rock: Magic Johnson is supposed to suck at being a talk show host just like I'm supposed to suck at being point guard for the Los Angeles Lakers. It's no dis to him. He gave it a good shot.

Playboy: Will former D.C. mayor Marion Barry ever come on your show--especially after you made fun of him in Bring the Pain?

Rock: I bumped into Marion Barry. He shook my hand. He said I shouldn't do the jokes. And as I looked in his eyes I realized, if he wasn't the mayor or a public figure, he'd beat the shit out of me. He's not the mayor right now. If I bumped into Marion Barry again he'd probably kick my fucking ass. No doubt in my mind. If nobody was around, Marion Barry would beat the shit out of me.

Playboy: So that's why you have a bodyguard.

Rock: Yes. Just for Marion Barry [laughs].

Playboy: What's your take on the tragedy at Columbine High in Colorado?

Rock: It's a big gun problem. And you know, one kid was on Prozac, but the toxicology report found no Prozac in him. I don't want to sound insensitive, but what ever happened to just being crazy? Everyone's looking for reasons, but no one's mentioned that maybe those guys were just fucking nuts. When I was a kid, those kids would have been put on a yellow bus and sent to a little classroom away from everybody, and nobody would have been shot. When I went to school, there were probably a couple kids who didn't belong, but no one got shot.

Playboy: Maybe it's just frustrated middle-class white kids with access to guns who don't know how else to deal with not being popular.

Rock: Right. Black people can't go, ''I'm going to buy machine guns.'' They'd never leave the store. The cops would be called immediately. You can't buy any bomb-making stuff either if you're black. You can't even say ''bomb'' if you're black. As soon as you say ''bo'' you're arrested. B-o. You don't even get to the m. It's true! There are no black serial killers, right? You know why that is? Because a brother does one murder and they get him. It's like we're fucking suspects for everything. The white man gets the benefit of the doubt. I'm sure there are black people who would love to be serial killers, but they've never been given the chance. It's really sad. The law comes down on us too fucking hard.

Playboy: Can the media and the Internet and Goth music be blamed for what happened?

Rock: Blame the media? What was Hitler listening to? How come no one ever questions what Hitler was listening to? What movie did Hitler see that fucking set him off? He was just a crazy, evil guy. This whole ''listened to'' thing is bullshit to me. If you're dumb enough to kill somebody because you listen to Marilyn Manson, then we ought to get you early. We ought to eliminate you right away. What's Milosevic listening to? He's killing everybody, and I'm sure he's not listening to Marilyn Manson. What were they listening to during feudalism? The only people happy about those kids being shot are JonBenet's parents. They're like, ''Hey, boy, now they're going to leave us alone.'' [Pauses] That's a joke.

Playboy: Let's move on. Your movie career is in high gear. Besides the stuff we've seen you in, what are you being offered?

Rock: Mostly con men. A numbers runner in Beverly Hills. Or I steal cars in Beverly Hills. That's the big thing: a fish out of water. You know what? I've got money and I'm famous and when I'm in Beverly Hills I am a fucking fish out of water. I walk into Barneys and I can afford whatever I want, but I'm still a freak. Jerry Seinfeld walking through Bensonhurst is a fish out of water. You don't need to be a fucking drug kingpin to be a fish out of water. Eddie called me a couple months ago and said, ''I see what you're doing, the supporting actor thing here and there. Don't do that no more. You have to star in your next movie. Now's the time. Strike while the iron is hot. Don't fucking blow this.''

Playboy: Did you take his advice?

Rock: Yes. I can't just wait around to be cast. The really successful guys are the ones who develop their own shit. So I co-wrote a script with my guys, and Paramount greenlighted it and we're going to start shooting in January.

Playboy: What's it about?

Rock: It's a remake of Heaven Can Wait or Here Comes Mr. Jordan. It's called There Goes Mr. Rock [smites]. No, it's called I Was Made to Love Her.

Playboy: You're in Kevin Smith's newest film, Dogma, as Rufus, the 13th apostle. The movie's subject matter--a critique of Catholicism--has caused a fair amount of controversy. Is that what attracted you to the project?

Rock: Kevin's other movies, Clerks and Chasing Amy, just spoke to me.

Playboy: What was it like working with Smith?

Rock: Kevin holds the most intense rehearsals. When you get to the set, your lines and blocking have to be second nature. You're prepared. You're in shape. It takes hours--morning until night. I wanted to do it, especially since I'm not an actor like the other people in the movie: Matt Damon and Ben Affleck, Linda Fiorentino, Alan Rickman, Salma Hayek. I need the extra work and it was like free acting school. It's definitely the best work I've done. It broke me out of all my moves.

Playboy: How did that compare to your Lethal Weapon experience?

Rock: On the beginning I was really scared because it was the fourth one, like Alien 4 and Batman 4. Part of what convinced me is that the script turned out good. Also, Joel Silver admitted to me that number three wasn't all that great. I figured, OK, if you're going in with that attitude, four is going to be OK.

Playboy: How much did you have to bulk up?

Rock: I just had to fight my ass off and get my lines up. I don't mean that in a bad way, but I was pretty much an extra. Lethal Weapon was a weird movie. I'd been filming for a month, or at least I'd been on the set for a month, and I hadn't done anything. Then, one day, the whole cast did The Rosie O'Donnell Show, and I did well. I killed 'em. But I'm a comedian. I'm supposed to do better than Danny Glover and Mel Gibson on a comedy show. When Joel Silver and Dick Donner saw it they said, ''We've got to get him in the movie more!'' It's like I'd inadvertently auditioned for a movie I was already in. From then on it was like, ''Hey, we've got this scene for you.'' ''Hey, what about this scene?''

Playboy: In Nurse Betty you work with Morgan Freeman. Do older black men want to mentor you?

Rock: Morgan's more of a mentor than Danny. I guess I look for it. I ask questions. Maybe I'll linger longer than I should. My dad's dead and I love guys my dad's age: ''Tell me something I don't know, please.'' Any black guy in his 50s or 60s, I'm like, ''Please talk to me. Pleeease.'' Danny is kind of eccentric; also smart and well educated. He knows African history, is very politically active. He told me about his college days, about the Panthers. It's a perspective I'm just not going to get from a white guy. In Nurse Betty Morgan Freeman has to kiss someone. Turns out it's the first time he has had to kiss a woman on-screen--and he's 60-whatever years old! That's got to be hard. Morgan is one of our best actors and, due to petty racism, no one's ever paired him with a woman, ever. Morgan fucking Freeman. You know how many ugly white guys get women in movies? When he told me I couldn't believe it.

Playboy: Which of his movies is your favorite?

Rock: Believe it or not, the most significant Morgan moment for me, and this sounds crazy, is Deep Impact. He plays the president of the United States, he's a black guy, and no one said shit. His color is never mentioned in the movie or in reviews. He is such a commanding presence that it's obvious he's the president. I don't think there's another black actor who could play the president without it being a big deal.

Playboy: According to you we already have a black president: Bill Clinton.

Rock: Yes, but I said it two years before all this impeachment bullshit, because of how much he was persecuted. I hate hearing people saying it now.

Playboy: Why?

Rock: Because after the Monica Lewinsky thing it was used to make it sound like this: Since Clinton--our black president--has low morals, so do my people. That's not what I meant. In an interview with The New York Times, the reporter asked me about Clinton and really tried hard to get me to say that. ''Why do blacks support Clinton?'' ''We feel persecuted,'' I said. ''We feel overwatched.'' He wanted me to say, ''Because we all cheat'' or whatever.

Playboy: Most blacks supported Clinton.

Rock: Blacks supported Clinton because Clinton supported blacks. It's that simple. Clinton appointed black people without making a fucking big deal out of it. He just did it. Any time the Republicans want to show off they say, ''Hey, we've got J.C. Watts here! We've got a black guy.'' They have to point it out, which is racist in itself. Let's just be people. Clinton hires black people and doesn't say shit. If one fucks up, he'll hire another one. He'll hire the best person for the job, whatever their skin color.

Playboy: Do you think Clinton committed perjury?

Rock: Clinton was on trial for lying about something that wasn't even a crime. There was no crime committed before he had to answer the questions. That's what they tried to take him down for. That's ridiculous. Perjury because he didn't want to say he fooled around? Do you get an extra sentence if you tell the judge, ''I wasn't speeding''? That's some shit they made up for John Gotti and Al Capone. Clinton is not Al Capone.

Playboy: You mentioned Oklahoma Representative J.C. Watts. Do the words black Republican bother you?

Rock: Not theoretically. It just confuses me that they want to hang out with guys who clearly don't like black people. Don't they realize that white Republicans are just letting them hang out so nobody can say they don't have any black guys around? It's a bold move on his part. It's nothing special to be a black Democrat, so that's one way to make a splash.

Playboy: How did he do on your show?

Rock: Even though he played to an uptown crowd that was probably 99.9 percent Democrat, he had the fucking audience. And he worked it. He explained his position in a coherent way that people could understand. I got some jabs in, but he had the audience--until he fucked up because he didn't know who George Clinton is [laughs]. I asked, ''What do you do when George Clinton comes to town?'' He said, ''Who's George Clinton?'' and the air went out of the studio.

Playboy: How much does it bother you when you don't have the crowd?

Rock: I've got the crowd. It's my show. It doesn't matter. That's why a lot of talk show guys fuck up. They think they have to get every joke. I figure if they like the guest, they like me. If everybody's funny, I'm funny. Do you want to be Magic Johnson and pass the ball and get everyone involved or do you want to be someone who scores 80 points a game but doesn't win shit? When Michael Jordan started passing the ball he started winning. Johnny Carson is the greatest assist man in the history of the game. The biggest mistake guys make is thinking they have to be the only funny one on their show. When I had on Darryl Hughley, he killed. He was so funny. That meant I looked great.

Playboy: Speaking of assists, why did you decide to fund the Howard University

Rock: We need new black writers. It's the only way for us to get decent TV shows and movies. We can't sit around waiting for white guys to write good black shit. I'm reading submissions now. Then I'm going to assemble and edit the first issue.

Playboy: Do you like any of the stuff that you've seen?

Rock: Most of it's OK-to-bad, but that's how it is with all art. I figure if the writer is 18 and I get hold of him now and work on the bad habits, he might be a real writer in a year or two.

Playboy: You're far more sophisticated than these kids. Can you let them be who they are?

Rock: Yeah. I know they're kids. I'm not looking for stuff for my show. This is a college comedy paper. That's right: I grade papers. I'm Professor Rock.

Playboy: What is the worst job you had as a kid?

Rock: [Laughs] I used to clean up dog shit. No one walks their dogs in the freezing New York winter; they just let them shit in the backyard. When the spring thaw came there were a bunch of people on the block with shit all over, and I was the shit boy. The phone would ring: ''Hey, can you come over and clean up my backyard?'' They wouldn't say ''clean up the shit,'' but I knew what time it was.

Playboy: How old were you?

Rock: Probably 12, 13. I took any job I could get. I liked having my own job. That's why sometimes it's weird to hear, ''You're rich, you have all this now.'' I've always had more money than my friends because I've always worked.

Playboy: How do you explain the early work ethic?

Rock: My dad worked all the time, so I figured I should. It wasn't even the money. If you're a little boy, you want to be a man. And to me, a man worked. I shoveled snow when it was cold and shit when it thawed. And you know what? It wasn't fun, but if I had to shovel shit again I wouldn't waste a day. Back then I never said, ''How dare this happen to me!'' I was a kid; I was supposed to be shoveling shit.

Playboy: Do you own a dog today?

Rock: My wife got one about a year ago. But I'm not cleaning shit no more.

Playboy: How about having kids?

Rock: I'm not ready.

Playboy: Does the pressure your dad faced--and died of--to support a family scare you?

Rock: I can afford a kid, but I don't want another job right now, let's put it that way. On the other hand, I'd be a real good dad, and I'd probably stop doing comedy on some level and become the guy doing it all for his kids. I used to look at my dad and think, What does he really want to do? Does he really want to come home all tired? He was beat. Beat the fuck down. We'd be out there playing stickball or whatever and he'd try to throw the ball at you. He'd throw it twice and his arm would fall off. He had to go in the house and rest. He was just tired a lot. I don't want to be that fucking tired.

Playboy: Aren't you anyway?

Rock: Not like him. I'm sure my father wanted a family to take care of and to get the love you can only get from a family. But, at the same time, he worked every fucking day. I haven't really done anything for all this shit I have. My dad worked. He supported people. He had kids. The kids wanted to go to school, the kids wanted bikes. The wife wanted something else. I work, but I'm not under the stress my dad was under. All my stress is based on worrying how I'll be perceived if I do bad work. It's not the same. I'll still eat. I really miss my dad. His death changed me, made me go into a shell I'm still not out of. Made me take more risks because it could be over in a second. It makes me sad that he didn't live to see what I've done. He would've eaten it up. We'd be going to the fights; we'd have season tickets to the Mets. My dad would be at the Dodgers' spring training right now in Vero Beach. If he were still around, I would have made it all happen.

Playboy: How much does your mom enjoy your success?

Rock: She's having a ball. She has a house in South Carolina, runs a day care center. She never shies away from doing stuff. I have to tell her not to: ''What do you mean you're doing Ricki Lake?'' [Pauses] My whole family is doing fine. They're all working. Brian works on the show; he's a production assistant and he's worked his way up. I'm not one who likes to pay people to do nothing, to just hang out with me. My brother Andre just bought a truck to haul garbage from New York to Pennsylvania. He has the steadiest gig as far as I'm concerned. I have the shakiest job in the family. But I can still appreciate what's happened to me and to my comfort level. The difference between me and my wife is that she complains about the maid and I can't believe I have a maid. I'm dumbfounded. I like that I can buy two slices of pizza. I've never been hungry in my whole life, but if you want more, you should be able to get more.

Playboy: On the subject of getting some, we've noticed on your show that you seem to have a fondness for Latin women. Would you care to explain?

Rock: Gorgeous women. Look at them. Have you ever been to the Puerto Rican Day parade? It's the most beautiful thing in the world. They are beautiful people. I love my people but, boy----

Playboy: Latina for you is exotic?

Rock: It's exotic. American jails are filled with men over drug offenses and shit. Latin jails are filled up with men going crazy over their women. They are passionate about their women. If you fuck with them they'll lose their mind and kill you. Why? Their women have the best pussy in the world. Puerto Rican girls, man. Gorgeous. In bed it's ''Mommy,'' ''Poppy.'' What's better than some woman calling you Poppy?

Playboy: And you would know from experience?

Rock: I've been called Poppy a couple times, but long, long ago.

Playboy: What do you love physically about black women?

Rock: Probably the black ass. I hate women who hide the big ass. Don't hide the big ass. It's for all of us. Share this gift. Share your big ass with all of us. We don't have to touch it or anything, but don't hide the big ass. Let us see it. Let us worship it. Let us pay it compliments. Let us tip our hats to the big ass. Love the big ass. And I'm not alone. Brothers love ass. There was an episode of Real Sex on HBO. They went from a black strip club to a white strip club. It was so funny. The white strip club was all about tits. The black strip club, ass. It was all about ass.

Playboy: When you look in the mirror now, what do you see?

Rock: A skinny guy who needs to get his teeth fixed. I could also use an extra 15 pounds.

Playboy: Let's wrap this up. Bill Cosby blazed the trail for Richard Pryor, who opened it up for Eddie Murphy, who set the stage for you. Will the success you've had make it tougher or easier for the next guy?

Rock: I hope it will be easier, but maybe tougher artistically, like Richard Pryor made it tough. He did stuff 20 years ago that no one has matched, partly because he's brilliant and partly because he got to do it first.

Playboy: What, did you do first?

Rock: I can't say without sounding like an idiot. [Pauses] I talked about race in a different way; I'll go that far.

Playboy: Are you worried about the next new guy?

Rock: I never look at anything as a competition. Someone else's success never comes out of my paycheck. I don't need my friends to fail for me to succeed. To me it's just, ''Let's do good work.'' The function of the comedian is to get as many laughs as he can by doing whatever works for him. Everybody wants to buy his mother a house. Whatever you do to get that house is the right thing. We all do our own things, from Dice to Eddie Murphy putting on a leather suit. One of the happiest times in my life was when I was eight years old and my friends and I had cool bikes--and they were all the same bikes. I was happy because everyone was equal.

I'm just a comedian, man. The media think I'm out there with an agenda. No. That's Jesse's job. That's Sharpton's job.