Darrell Hammond — the seemingly mild-mannered Saturday Night Live impressionist — says in his autobiography, God, If You're Not Up There, I'm F*cked, that he had to down whole bottles of cognac backstage to "[calm] my nerves and [quiet] the disturbing images that sprang into my head." When that failed to work, he would cut himself. Some of the gashes were huge.
In 1998, during a particularly rough personal episode, he was brought from the NBC infirmary to a hospital in a straitjacket, and failed to recognize his wife. By 2002, he was doing "obscene" (an industry standard term) amounts of cocaine. And in 2009, after one stint in rehab, he "had the brilliant idea I should try crack," and hung out in a Harlem crack house.
Hey, whatever doesn't kill you, makes being wheeled out of cold-storage three times a month to become a human effigy of Donald Trump and Dick Cheney a little more tolerable, I always say. [nypost.com, Photo via Getty]