Scottish Daily Mail


- Viral · Ned Beatty

to do it. My De­liv­er­ance co-star, Ned Beatty, couldn’t be­lieve it: ‘They’re gonna see your tally-wacker? What the hell are you try­ing to prove?’

On the way to the pho­to­shoot, I bought two quart-bot­tles of vodka and fin­ished one be­fore ar­riv­ing at the stu­dio, which was freez­ing — bad for a naked man’s self-es­teem. The pho­tog­ra­pher took hun­dreds of shots of me: on a bearskin rug, with a hat in front of my tally-wacker, with my hand in front of it. (If I was try­ing to prove some­thing, why would I cover it up with my hand? I have very small hands.)

The mag­a­zine quickly sold all 1.5mil­lion copies. Sud­denly, my life was a car­ni­val. I couldn’t go any­where with­out women ask­ing me to sign copies, each one a painful re­minder of my stu­pid­ity. I got the filth­i­est let­ters I’ve ever seen, many with Po­laroids. I also re­ceived reg­u­lar ship­ments of pu­bic hair from a woman in Nova Sco­tia. (I wor­ried about her in that cold cli­mate.)

The Ro­man Catholic church con­demned me. And I got: ‘Hey! I didn’t recog­nise you with your clothes on’ 50 times a day. A cot­tage in­dus­try sprang up. I wasn’t paid for the pho­tos or mer­chan­dis­ing, but my cen­tre­fold ap­peared on panties, T-shirts, key chains, coast­ers.

The low point was when I checked into a ho­tel and found my­self im­printed on the sheets. It was a fi­asco. I’m still em­bar­rassed and I sorely re­gret do­ing it.

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