Ezra Dyer: Behind The Words

In today’s episode of VH1’s Behind the Words, we chronicle the career of writer Ezra Dyer, from the early days of struggle to the height of prominence, the eventual tragic flame-out and subsequent return to an even keel. It is a story like no other.

Ezra Dyer grew up in Maine on the wrong side of the tracks. And they weren’t even train tracks. They were raccoon tracks. There was no cable TV in Jefferson, and Dyer was forced to read “books.” The other children made fun of his name, calling him Azrael—Gargamel’s cat on The Smurfs—and Lezra. He vowed that one day they would no longer taunt him. One day, he would legally change his name to Mike.

CORY DOOGAN, CLASSMATE: “Azreal was a wicked friggin losah. His parents’ truck weren’t even jacked up or nothin’... Cory Jr., you get away from that!” (Doogan throws empty can of Schlitz at a barefoot child attempting to start a rusty chainsaw in front of the family’s pop-up camper.)

Dyer was in high-school when he discovered a sure-fire way to avoid falling into an endless cycle of poverty, desperation and alcoholism: He would become a writer. (Cut to a five-minute commercial for the Swiffer.)

In college, Dyer grew disillusioned with the North American way of life and became an expatriate, living in London for an entire semester. This period obviously informs many of his later works, particularly Bloody Hell Old Chap, There’s Custard on My Trousers.

After graduation Dyer moved to Boston. The next few years proved tumultuous: First his cable company was Cablevision, then it turned into AT&T, then it became ComCast. All of them would make devastating, empty promises about upgrading to digital. Still, he persevered, constantly chasing his dream of becoming a write star. (Commercial break for the Bowflex machine.)

EZRA’S MOTHER: “Lord knows why, but I was a source of writing material in those early years. Sure, I once constructed ear splints out of tampons in an attempt to get a puppy’s ears to stand up straight, but what’s funny about a puppy running around with tampons strapped to his head?”

After writing a column for several years, Dyer moved to L.A. and became syndicated in more than 500 RMV scrolling electronic text displays. He won the Nobel Peace Prize in 2006, when a Korean translation of his column caused Kim Jong Il to laugh so hard that he renounced Communism. Dyer was easily the most famous and important nonfiction writer in human history, coming within a Tom Bergeron cancellation of appearing on the third season of I’m a Celebrity: Get Me out of Here!

BARRY CUDGEL, ACCOUNTANT: “By the time he came out with the 30-volume Encyclopedia Buttanica, in which he made fun of everything in the whole world, he was pulling down more money than I could keep track of. I don’t know what the precise number was, but suffice it to say he was making thousands of dollars every year.”

But success would have a high price. (Cut to commercial for local home furniture store where a man with a mustache touts “wicked pissah deals on these friggin’ dinette sets.”)

In 2009, Dyer’s drug habit became public when he lit himself on fire freebasing Pixy Stix in a Bellagio restroom. The media subsequently uncovered his gambling addiction, tax evasion, illegitimate children and hatred of the media. Fans who had a sense that he’d been “mailing it in” turned out to be absolutely right: His column was mailed in from Cambodia, where it was produced in one of that country’s many uncomfortably warmshops. Which are a little nicer than sweatshops, but still.

BURT EMDASH, EDITOR: “I wondered why he’d been submitting his column scrawled on defective Nike insoles. His stuff had been so good lately, though, that I didn’t bother him about it.”

After losing his job and getting beat up by Pauly Shore in a nightclub brawl, it seemed that Dyer was down and out for good. Coming up: The part where we see what he’s up to now. (Commercial that was witty and novel at its Super Bowl debut but that you’re now really sick of.)

EZRA DYER: “For a while there, things were so bad that I contemplated moving to Detroit. I owe a lot to the people who staff the Don’t Move to Detroit Hotline, I’ll tell you that. But eventually I came to terms with the fact that no matter how successful I became as a writer, I would never be as rich and famous as Anna Nicole Smith. And that’s OK.”

ANNA NICOLE SMITH-DYER: “C’mere, honey, and give mama a kiss.” ∂