Mads: Father Son Bonding

Despite Dr. Phil's protests, the kid called my bluff, and agreed to change his name. I decided to call him D'Brickishaw. Undaunted, he wanted to spend the day with me, so I chartered a flight to Vegas.

At one of the strip clubs we went to, I got us an invite to a private room. D'Brickshaw told me later that I went in totally the wrong direction from where we were supposed to go, and somehow we ended up stairs somewhere. We entered a random room.

There was an old guy in a tweed suit spanking a thirtysomething guy in a school boy's outfit. The "boy" was leaning over a table, yelling at the old man to hit him harder. I looked around the room and saw a copy of Faulkner's The Unvanquished. I snatched it before we left.

"Why did you take that book?" D'Brickishaw said.

"Because I've never read it. Have you read it?"

"No."

"I've heard by some that it's up there with As I Lay Dying and Sound and the Fury. We'll see. Do you like Faulkner too?"

"I don't even know who he is."

I put my arm around him.

"My dear, D'Brickishaw, I have so much to teach you."

Why Did I Doubt Nicolas Cage?

Mads was recently asked to be on Dr. Phil because one of his kids wanted to confront him or something. It was a free trip to LA, and he asked me if I wanted to go too. Why not, right?

While he was taping the show, I decided to take a trip to Rodeo to grab some clothes. I saw Nicolas Cage exiting a store by himself, putting on his sunglasses as the sun hit him. There were a couple of paparazzi who noticed, but that was it. I ran over.

"Hey, Man," I said. "How you been?"

"Oh my God, I almost didn't recognize you. What're you doing in LA? Walk with me to my car."

"I'm here because Mads is on Dr. Phil for one of his kids."

"That Mads, what a kidder."

We reached his car, a Lamborghini that once belonged to the Shah of Iran, and there was a pause. I wanted to ask him, but I wasn't sure how to broach the subject. I could tell he was getting impatient, so I blurted it out:

"Why don't you make good movies anymore?"

"What?"

"I've been meaning to call you about this. I know it's kind of harsh to bring--"

"No, I mean why would you ask? Isn't it obvious?"

"Obvious? Why you make movies so bad that you can't even screen them for critics anymore because you know what they'll say? I don't see what's obvious about that."

"I did Leaving Las Vegas, The Rock wasn't bad either. People know I can act if I want to. The plan now is to just take the dumbest script possible for the biggest film possible and cash my 8-figure paycheck. Call it a Kinski approach, only instead of doing as many small bad roles as possible, I do a few big ones for a bigger pay off."

I dropped my head.

"I'm sorry I doubted you, old friend."

"Don't worry about it. Wanna grab a drink?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

Mads: I Was on Dr. Phil

Child number 2 is a 17-year old boy whose mom I impregnated while studying abroad (quite literally, I guess) for a year at Florida University. I didn't know I was his dad until I received a court order for a paternity test a year later in Oslo. He and his mother have been getting his cut from my vast estate ever since.

I guess the money wasn't enough, because the little bastard called Dr. Phil in an attempt to reach out to me. I figured what the hell, a free trip to LA.

I sat back stage in the green room while the kid told his sob story. I wanted to throw up. Finally they brought me on.

"You've been watching back stage. What do you want to say?"

"Um... hmm... you don't look familiar... I have to assume you didn't make the Christmas party... right?"

There was an audible gasp. Dr. Phil knew about the Christmas party from my pre-interview with his producers, and he was excited I brought it up. When I explained what it was: a way for all of my six kids and seven baby-moms to get together, there was a bigger gasp and scattered boos.

"How many of your kids do you have contact with, Mads?" Dr. Phil seemed very stoic, and it was freakin' me out. I wanted the no-nonsense, crazy-sayings, Texas justice, cut-through-the-bullshit Dr. Phil; not this one.

"I see whoever comes to the Christmas party once a year."

More gasps and head shaking.

"Tristan, is there something you'd like to say to your dad?"

"Tristan? Your mom named you Tristan?"

"You didn't know my name? I'm your son and you didn't know my name?"

"That's not important. No one should be named Tristan. With all the money I send your mother, she should have the good sense to buy a baby naming book and rename you."

"I happen to like my name--"

I stood up and unpinned my microphone.

"Listen, even though your 18th birthday is coming, you will still continue to receive money from the estate. A relationship on a personal level is out of the question until you change your name. I'm sorry."

And I walked off stage.