The real question is how do you stay funny in your 70s and 80s? And that's a real accomplishment, you know, the longevity.

You know, sometimes I worry, you know, is comedy and my type of comedy going to get stale? Is it going to be so offensive that it becomes uninteresting or so niche that I don't have an audience anymore? But it keeps getting bigger and bigger and bigger, where roasting now is a movement. These roasts are on in India, in Mexico.

As soon as you start analyzing comedy is when the world starts to fall apart, and we're second guessing it. And we are way too sensitive.

My parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles were all funny, and I felt that energy, that delivery, that timing, that sarcasm. All that stuff seeped into my brain.

Comedy comes from pain, and no one knows that better than this woman Roseanne Barr—who was molested as a child. Uch. That poor molester. Roseanne never got over it. She felt violated. She had trust issues. She never got the candy he promised her.

My parents passed away when I was a teenager, so I had to learn different survival techniques, I think, in comedy. You know, using comedy as a pressure release, as a release valve in life really kept my sanity.

In Boston where community policing is so important, they don't necessarily have to like each other, but they know each other. The cops in Boston make it their business to get out of their vehicles, to engage the public, to walk around the neighborhoods. They live in the community that they police. And I think these things help.