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DC: You must have been very persuasive.
MR: All I said was, "Imagine Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous without the money, the fame or Robin Leach."
DC: That was it? A one-sentence pitch?
MR: No, but it started a good conversation, and by the time it was over, we all agreed that people are sick of celebrity worship, and tired of reality shows that have no reality in them. The network was ready to try something different.
DC: Tell me about the artificial-cow-inseminating minister.
MR: To be clear, neither the cow nor the minister were artificial.
DC: I understand. Just tell me the story.
MR: Well, Dirty Jobs grew out of a segment I used to do on a show called Evening Magazine that aired once upon a time in San Francisco. The segment was called "Somebody's Gotta Do It," and it was basically a short version of Dirty Jobs. One of the first people I profiled was a minister who moonlighted as a cow inseminator. I spent the day with him on a dairy farm, and assisted him in all areas of animal husbandry. It was an epic afternoon of blood, poo, laughter, learning, long plastic gloves, redemption, and several quarts of bull semen. At the time, I thought the presence of a minister would somehow legitimize the proceedings. In hindsight, it just made it weirder.
DC: You think! How did people react?
MR: The segment awakened a large part of my narcoleptic audience, and their response was a healthy mix of outrage and delight. Mainly delight. It aired at 7 p.m. though, which apparently is some sort of "dinner hour."
DC: Oops. What happened next?
MR: Unfortunately, my boss was one of the people watching during dinner, and the sight of my arm in a cow's vulva reportedly ruined his casserole. Whatever. He killed the segment, and I sent the tape to a producer I know named Craig Piligian, and he got it to Discovery, which ultimately sold the series.
DC: So you got the last laugh?
MR: Do I look like I'm laughing?
DC: Well, you're smiling.
MR: Look closer. It's a grimace.
