Please help me. Every day I am dragged screaming from my home and stuffed into a gorgeous car that costs a million dollars and I am forced to drive forever in nauseating circles while one of my loud comedian friends screams at me. It is Hell. It is a true misery to be Jerry Seinfeld. Every day I am carsick.
I do not want to be in the cars. The cars are my prison. Every moment that I am in the beautiful fancy cars is nauseous agony for me. While I lie sleeping in my bed, strong hands grab me by the head and they shove me into the driver’s seat of the most beautiful car I have ever seen and I’m not allowed to leave. I am forced to drive all over the world and I become so dizzy and carsick that I can’t help but blast the car’s horn while puke rockets out of my mouth and breaks through he windshield like a geyser eruption. This is no way for Jerry Seinfeld to live.
When I am in the cars getting carsick, the producers force me to drive all across the globe to pick up my comedian friends. My comedian friends are an ordeal. They do not understand how to be quiet. Every day I need to shuttle some chatty clown to a place I hate and listen to them talk forever. They do not stop yelling and I do not stop feeling carsick. This is what my life has become.
Yesterday Roseanne Barr and I drove in circles for nine hours in a 1954 Rolls-Royce and I got sick 19 times.
There needs to be a way for this to stop. Every day is a horrifying new movement in the symphony of nausea that is my life. Last week I vomited all over the interior of a 1979 Porsche while Jay Leno sat in the passenger seat and cried. Then Leno started vomiting right along with me. It was me and Leno puking our minds out while we drove around Los Angeles. It seemed like things couldn’t get any worse, but then while we were stopped at a traffic light, the backseat of the car opened up and in climbed my comedian friend Steve Harvey and without saying anything Steve Harvey started vomiting right along with me and Leno. The three of us filled the 1979 Porsche with vomit and then Steve Harvey opened the door and left the car as silently as he had entered it, leaving Leno and I alone in the ruined Porsche.
The car could not be salvaged and so they had to blow it up. I had to pay for it and it cost more money than a house. Since that horrible day I have only grown more carsick, which I did not think was even possible.
I have completely lost control of my horrendous carsick life. Yesterday Roseanne Barr and I drove in circles for nine hours in a 1954 Rolls-Royce and I got sick 19 times. Roseanne Barr offered to run me over in the fabulous antique car that had become my queasy prison but the producers would not let her do it. I got out of the car and tried to run into the Pacific Ocean, but my carsickness was so severe that I had to sit down on the sidewalk and I barfed into my own lap. Then they stuffed me back into the car and made me drive for 12 hours straight.
If you are reading this, please help me. I can’t believe how carsick I always am. There must be peace for Jerry Seinfeld. Please help me not be carsick. I will do anything. Just don’t make me get back into the cars with my comedian friends. My friends are so loud and I am so dizzy. Oh Christ, I am carsick even when I am asleep. Please help me.