We go back to the car. "Driver! Take me to Yanni's house!" We go to Yanni's house . . . I'm kickin' the keyboards to pieces . . . by the time CNN cameras catch up with me I'm jumping gleefully up and down on Kenny G's saxophone. "Never again you son of a bitch! Never again will you sell more CDs than Charlie Parker and John Coltrane combined! You fucker! You fucker! Die! Die! Feel my hatred!"

Heh. It would be a great afternoon.

Um, which reminds me, I had . . . a Kenny G experience. I had a KGE. It's a KGE experience. A few years ago, me and the the boys in the band, we were in . . . Germany. Uh, in Hamburg, for day two of a three day festival. And we'd been peeled out of our bunks and were loaded into the hotel, and were sitting there like five sticky prunes of man-sweat and butt-crust, like [zombie groan], waiting for the road manager to give us our keys. We're gonna have running water and everything for one glorious day. And we're there like [zombie groan].

And we look across the lobby and sitting on the couch opposite ours is Kenny G. There he is, Kenny G, looking out, into the streets of Hamburg like. . . . He looks like a Really Nice Guy. I bet some of you have met him, is he? Is he? A Nice Guy? I bet he's a Really Nice Guy. He looks like a Nice Guy.

So what.

I start feeling elbows digging into my ribs, and fingers in my back. "It's Kenny G! Go fuck with him! Go, Henry, go! Get him! Get him! Come on! Come on!"

And I looked up there, and he is sitting, with a man, who is taking up two thirds of the couch, the guy is so big. A security guard, who's like one of those guys who's like a refrigerator, with arms and legs. And a head. Like one of those massive men, who always have that look of anger and . . . boredom. At the same time. There's always just like. . . . [silence].

And the guy looks at us, and he sees everyone digging into my ribs, and he sees that we're all going like, "It's fuckin' Kenny G. Gonna fuckin' kill Kenny G."

And he looks at us and he just goes. . . .

And you can see the look in his eyes that . . . said so much.

"I know how you feel. . . . I feel the same damn way too. . . . But for what he pays me every day, I'm a fuckin kill you if you get up."

"Okay." And so we didn't do anything. He's lookin' . . . he goes. . . . He probably has people every single day, "Is . . . uh . . . is that . . . uh . . . Kenny G?"

"Yeah."

"Can I kill him please?"

"No."

"Shit!!! Are you sure?"

"I get off at eight. You can kill him at 8:01."