THE BIZ : He Can Laugh Now ...

“John Wayne Bobbitt,” proclaimed the Daily Variety, “is embarking on a national comedy tour. Needs great writer with stand-up experience....”

Not for me, I thought. This was no job for a writer who cared about his image. After all, I’d written for the likes of Jay Leno, Roseanne, Garry Shandling and others. I contribute regularly to The Times’ “Laugh Lines.” I have a BA in literature, for God’s sake. I did my honors thesis on “Selflessness as Fulfillment: The Character of Virtue in Malamud.”

And what about the character of virtue in Bobbitt? He was selfish in bed, partied without his wife and--I believe his ex-wife on this even though a jury acquitted him--abused her. I had nothing in common with him. OK, maybe the selfishness in bed thing, but otherwise, I’d have nothing to say to, or about, him. He disgusted me and I felt he deserved what he’d gotten.

Later that day, I happened to glance at my bank account balance. Half an hour later, I was faxing samples of my material to Bobbitt’s manager.

I got the job. Every person to whom I mentioned my Bobbitt assignment had a joke for me, including my doctor, my mailman and, I swear, my mother. I came this close to having to wash Mom’s mouth out with soap. Payback.

For the first time in my career, my assignment was to write sex jokes. In fact, Bobbitt’s manager’s letter to me actually contained the line, “Please feel free to be vulgar and on the thin lines of decency, as that is what has made this story the sensation that it is.” As I read this, I heard a faint sound. It was Bernard Malamud spinning in his grave.

I met Bobbitt in Malibu. He arrived with an entourage consisting of a brother or two, friends and a manager. He spoke in a quiet monotone; clearly not a born performer. Still, he was pleasant and offered to show me his reattached penis. I passed.

I ended up writing nearly 100 jokes, such as “I remember waking up in a pool of blood, with my penis missing, and my first thought was, ‘Y’ know, this would make a really amusing stand-up comedy routine.’ ” . . . “They told me they were going to reattach my penis using microsurgery. I was humiliated. I wanted jumbo-surgery” Good lines, maybe not great ones, but just fine for the “classy” strip joints that are hiring him.

I haven’t seen him perform, but he has been an inspiration. Perhaps this will become my specialty--getting people with links to heinous crimes to go into stand-up. I’m thinking about contacting Joey Buttafuoco, the Menendez brothers, Charles Manson and O.J. Simpson. We know Manson can sing and Simpson can act. Maybe the others have hidden talents.

I’ve also started work on a musical tribute to Jeffrey Dahmer. It’s already received quite a bit of interest from several major dinner theaters. It’s called “An Appetite for Life.”