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Last week, while I was changing planes in Detroit, a guy with a big smile on his face comes up to me, puts out his hand, and offers this greeting: “Everyone says you’re an asshole, so I just wanted to meet you!” He turned and ran, missing my response: “Everybody is right!”

The whole state of Michigan is full of people like this. Honest and polite. Like the letter I got today, a letter similar to many I’ve received of late:

“Dear Jerk,” it read. “I hope you are satisfied with what you have done. You and that egomaniac Ralph Nader will have us all drinking arsenic in our water before we know it. Do us a favor: drop dead.”

I could write back and tell him that Ralph Nader is responsible for nothing other than inspiring over a million new voters to come to the polls, because he was the only candidate to tell the truth about what is happening to this country. The rich made out like bandits during the Democratic Years of the 1990s. Absolutely nothing has been done to alleviate the hardships faced by forty five million Americans who have no health coverage. The minimum wage remains unchanged at a slave wage of $5.15 an hour.

I could tell him that because Ralph Nader was on the ballot in the state of Washington, the majority of those 101,906 citizens who voted for Nader also voted for the Democrat for U.S. Senate. Thanks to these Nader voters, Maria Cantwell became Washington’s new senator by only 2,229 votes. If you’re going to blame Nader for taking votes from Gore in Florida, then you must also give credit to Nader for bringing thousands of new voters to the polls who made the difference for Cantwell—thus allowing the Democrats to force a 50-50 tie in the Senate. Then, once there was a tie, one senator from Vermont realized he suddenly had a lot of power—and used it to turn the Senate over to the Democrats by leaving the Republican Party. None of that could have happened without Nader.

I could remind my correspondent that the only people who cost Gore the election he rightfully won were the five justices of the Supreme Court who would not let all the votes be counted. And I could point out that Gore never would have found himself in the jam he was in had he won his own state, or won Clinton’s home state, or won, decisively, at least one of the three debates. Gore did none of that, and that’s what put him in the jam he found himself in. And to Gore’s credit, he has not blamed Ralph Nader. He blames the zipper on Clinton’s pants!

I could write back and tell my friendly correspondent all of this, but I won’t. Instead I would like to tell him (and you) a story that until now I have only told a few close friends—a story about my fourteen hours in hell, in a place called Tallahassee.

I avoid Florida. It’s so sticky and humid that you have to carry around a roll of the Quicker Picker-Upper just to stay dry. The state is full of bugs and mosquitoes. They kidnap little Cuban boys and won’t return them to their fathers. It’s like every day is hunting season for German tourists in rental cars. Then there’s Walt Disney World. And Gloria Estefan. The Kennedys running around in their freshly changed underwear in West Palm Beach. Not to mention hurricanes, Bebe Rebozo, Ted Bundy, Anita Bryant, swamps, cheap guns, and the National Enquirer. I hate Florida.

Yet something deep inside was compelling me to go down there as the November election drew near. Maybe it was just something I ate, maybe not.

I had been asked to come and speak to the student body at Florida State University. At first I had said yes, but later had to cancel due to the shooting schedule on my film.

Then Al Gore failed to win the third and final debate with George W. Bush. Now where I come from, the smart guy wins in a debate; the dumb guy loses. It really is that simple. But not this time. I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was clear that Al Gore was doing everything he could to lose the election.

I called the people back at Florida State in Tallahassee to see if I was still welcome, and they were more than happy to accommodate me. A date was