The first time I meet Bill Maher I want to punch him. It's the summer 2003 and I'm at a party sitting on a gargantuan leather bed beside a producer, a director, the wife of a rock star and a couple of models who don't look a day over 15.

We're all agreeing that we've become deluged by information; that there's no way to prioritize the volume of media that's overwhelming us, no one to trust and no place to turn. "Except Bill Maher," says the producer. "Three hundred million people in this country and Bill Maher's the only one left who makes any damn sense at all." The models agree with the producer. "The last sane sumbitch on television," says the director. ''The de facto political conscience of a nation," I agree with the director. The wife of the rock star glances over at the bar and says, "Speak of the devil." The devil him self has arrived at the patry. He's standing across the room, wearing a white shirt, open at the collar, and his customary pinstriped suit. In his left hand he holds a flute of champagne. The wife of the rock star shouts out his name and the comedian starts to walk over. Maher's a mildly purposeful walker. Whether he's crossing a bar or a basketball court, he walks with a slight forward tilt and a laconic swing to the arms, as if he were going someplace, though what time he gets there seems less important.

Introductions are made. I shake his hand and thank him for being the only person left on television who makes any sense. I then ask what 1think is a friendly question: "Who is your pick to win the California gubernatorial recall election?” Maher gives me a long look before answering, "People overestimate my interest in politics."

Farewell, Dear Odie

The second time I meet Bill Maher, which is in September of last year, I wanted to hug him. This time we meet in a pet cemetery and he's dressed casually: track slacks, gym socks, sneakers and a black T-shirt advertising the services of legendary San Francisco tattoo artist Ed Hardy. His grey hair is swept back, his forehead is ample, his eyes are bright and clear. He looks not unlike a man who has awoken from along nap and jumped out of bed ready to greet the world anew. This might actually be the case because the cemetery-not much more then a patch of bare dirt and one headstone-is located about 50 feet from the back door of Maher's home in Beverly Hills, California.

Maher had not set out to show me this grave site. Instead, he’d greeted me in his kitchen and offered to give me a fast tour of his property and was actually leading me toward his trampoline - where he bounces 50 times daily, because it’s good of the lymph nodes - but the pet cemetery gets in the way. Maher’s dog Odie recently passed, so the comedian did what he felt was proper: He buried his pet himself, at night, in a torrential rainstorm.

“Digging graves is not nearly as easy as they make it seem of TV,” he observes. “It took four hours.” Then he goes quiet and looks at the grave for a while and then back at me. “I sobbed the whole way through, and afterward, on and off, for a long time.”

Warm bodies, Hitler’s dog and Barbara Bush

The twin desire to either punch of hug Bill Maher is a common reaction. His critics have stretched the bounds of reality with their protestations. Spencer Bachus, the Republican representative from Alabama ,called him treasonous - still a capital crime in this country - for saying the following about the Army’s abysmal recruitment numbers: “More people joined the Michael Jackson fan club. We’ve done picked all the low-lying Lynndie England fruit, and now we need warm bodies.” Bachus wanted Maher off the air. But 1.8 million viewers disagreed.

Yet even those who disagree, even those folks who desperately want him to stay on the air, have trouble with some of Maher's opinions. Not even something as seemingly innocuous as his passion for animals is without sharp edges. He has been quoted as saying, "To those people who say, 'My father is alive because of animal experimentation,' I say, 'Yeah, well, good for you. This dog died so your father can live.' Sorry, but I am not behind that kind of trade-off."

In fact, back inside the house, the most visible spot in the comedian's office is not dominated by any of his various television trophies-which are actually tucked away on a small table, almost out of sight--but by his two awards from the animal rights organization PETA. Maher has also donated his winnings on Celebrity Jeopardy to their contentious cause, appeared in their print advertisements and public service announcements and written the forward to PETA President Ingrid Newkirk's book You Can Save the Animals. Ingrid Newkirk has been quoted as saying, "A rat is a pig is a dog is a boy. We're all mammals." It's an association which has brought Maher plenty of grief - none of which he seems to mind. "I always say people would rather be nice than right. I like to be nice too, but come on. People frequently ask me what is my definition of politically incorrect. My answer is always the same: the elevation of sensitivity over truth. People would rather be nice than be right, rather be sensitive than be true. Well, being nice and sensitive are important, but they're not more important than being right, they're not more important than the truth."

It's an attitude not without consequences. The most famous of those consequences resulted from what is now referred to around the Real Time with Bill Maher set as "The Tragic Events of September 17." It was on that date, six days after the twin towers had crumbled, while the New York air was still thick with smoke and the whole country was having trouble breathing, when Maher asserted while taping an episode of his wildly successful Politically Incorrect that it took more courage to fly an airplane into a building than it took to lob bombs at a country from 2,000 miles away. Never mind that the show had accrued 18 Emmy nominations during its five years on Comedy Central and over four years on ABC. Never mind that during its time on ABC, the show did what no other had in 15 years: It dented Letterman and Leno's ratings. FedEx and Sears pulled their sponsorship; ABC pulled the show.

So one might expect this man to be a little gun shy when it comes to saying such things on his new program, HBO's Real Time with Bill Maher", but not too long ago, toward the end of the September 23, 2005 episode, right-leaning iconoclast and Vanity Fair scribe Christopher Hitchens defended George W. Bush with the old standard, "but his wife loves him." Maher, who has gone on record as calling Bush "the worst president ever," does not put much stock in the "his wife loves him" defense. He snapped back a moment later with, "Oh, come on. That's like saying, 'Well, Hitler's dog loved him.'"

The retort was too much for Hitchens. Perhaps fueled by one too many in the green room, a redfaced Hitchens gave the comic a this-time-you-have- finally-cossed-the-line look and said, "I think tomorrow you might be sorry you said that." But when tomorrow came, and the conservative press had a field day with the comment, Maher was not sorry. Nor is he sorry a week later, as we sit in deck chairs on one of his many porches, drinking coffee, talking about the exchange.

"Of all the things that I've said, and all the times people have tried to get rid of me, if Chris thought this was the thing that's going do it, he's really barking up the wrong tree," he says.

When I ask him if he regrets saying any of the things that land him in hot water he shakes his head. "Do I regret saying the things that get me into trouble--that the terrorists are not cowards? Obviously not. That statement was true when I said hand it's still true today. What happened to me was much more of a comment about the state of mental paralysis America was in during September of 2001 than it was that I somehow went off the deep end."

Considering everything that's happened, when I ask him if he ever tries to curb his anger on air, he says, "Look., I can get angry. but anger isn't a bad thing. This country needs more anger, this country is not angry enough. We are not overrun with anger; we are overrun with complacency and conformity. My audience is what I care about; they appreciate me for what I do that isn't likeable. I don't care about the mainstream; those people are never going to be my fans. People throw the term "likeable" around like it's an objective state of mind. What my fans like is someone who is honestly angry about the things that should make us angry."

Maher takes a sip of coffee and thinks for a moment.

"Everything I've said that ruffled feathers was also true. I once called Barbara Bush a bitch---and I think we lost the Houston affiliate because of it-but I have to say, after her comment about Hurricane Katrina, once again, you know, it’s not like I was wrong.”

Barbara Bush's comment, for those who missed it, was made while she was visiting the refugee shelter in the Houston Astrodome. She surveyed the scene and told an NPR reporter, "What I'm hearing, which is sort of scary, is they all want to stay in Texas. Everyone is so overwhelmed by the hospitality. And so many of the people in the arena here, you know, were so underprivileged anyway, so this is working out very well for them." Maher puts down the mug and starts to laugh. "Like Hitler's dog was going to be the thing. Come on, you don't know who you're talking to, pop."

Trampolines, Batting Practice and Beer-Soaked Carpets

The man we are talking about now owns a chunk of some of the most expensive land in this country. But he did not start small. He started with his oversized home and soon expanded, buying up the property next door which once held two homes, a recreation center and belonged to Tom Green and Drew Barrymore. This lasted until Barrymore burned down the main house in a cooking accident and sold off the charred remains to Ben Affleck. The actor never got around to rebuilding the main house, living instead in one of two smaller guest houses, a rustic affair - excluding its good-sized screening room-that would look fine on a hilltop in the Ozarks. Eventually Affleck decided to move as well, thus giving Maher the chance to purchase the plot and begin building his castle.

Maher's plot now spans 2.5 acres and comes complete with a beautifull Koi pond and a couple of swimming pools. He's restored the recreation center, adding an assortment of couches and chairs, a long bar and a pool table, but has decided to keep the old, beer-stained carpet. "I throw a lot of parties," he says with a shrug, "I just couldn't imagine a time when this carpet wouldn't be beer-stained."

Along similar lines, the only modification Maher has made to Affleck's old quarters is to install a long table on the front porch that functions as a makeshift DJ booth during these same parties. Just behind the booth is a window and on the other side of that window a long couch. As we walk past, Maher points out the couch. "Been more than a couple of those mornings that I've woken up and found an absolute stranger sleeping there."

The two modifications Affleck made to the property are found beyond the rustic house. He installed both a batting cage and basketball court and every day, as part of Maher's daily workout after he goes for a run and bounces on the trampoline-the comic takes swings in the cage and shots on the court. During the tour, I get a chance to bounce on the trampoline and manage a couple of haphazard front flips. Maher himself cannot do front flips and when I offer to teach him he weighs the odds. "The upside is I flip. The downside is I land on my neck, am paralyzed for life and end up in a wheelchair having to do Christopher Reeve's act."

Real Time producer and head writer Billy Martin has worked with Maher for over a decade. When I ask what surprises him most about his boss he responds, "He's not a sourpuss. I mean, before I met him, I didn't know what to expect. He seems so serious, but he's not that way at all. He's extremely generous with his laughter. He loves a good joke. He loves to laugh. He doesn't take it as a challenge. He doesn't try to one up you-and that's not something you can say about a lot of comics."

I get my first sense of this after we leave the trampoline and fire up the batting machine. While I give it my all, Maher stands outside the cage and cheers me on. He pretends not to notice when I whiff and gives me his best play-by-play when I connect: "That's a low grounder down the left field line; that's a pop fly to center, might have enough to clear; that's a solid double right between the gap."

When we move over to the basketball court, Maher spends five minutes draining jump shots while I spend the same amount of time missing the rim. It's a dismal showing on my part, but again the comic pretends not to notice. He keeps pretending right up until the moment I fling an air ball into the grass and ask him if he wants to play HORSE. He doesn’t answer for a moment, just stpes back, drains a three-pointer, gives me another long look and says, “HORSE - that’s a kid’s game.”

Drugs and Women

It doesn't take long to realize the reason that so many people react so strongly to Bill Maher is because--come hell or high water - the man is consistently, blisteringly, honest. He's honest about the fact that he makes a living talking politics with the best and the brightest and might not be so interested in doing so with an absolute stranger sitting on a bed. He's as honest about his hatred for George W. Bush as he is about his fondness for strippers. He'll talk candidly about the drugs he's done in the past and about the drugs he does in the present. "You know the whole thing about marijuana leading to other drugs? Well, I say thank god some thing does."

When he touches on what should be touchy subjects-say his previous travails with women he's similarly unflinching. "Been sued and beaten up," he explains, elaborating on the latter by recounting a time back in 1986 when his girlfriend threw a pool ball at his head. "It was one of those Frank Sinatra / Ava Gardner relationships. Can't live with them, can't live without them. Duck and fuck, I call it."

Maher's equally open about his taste in music. He is an adult heterosexual male who waxes poetic about the new Barry Gibb and Barbra Streisand record. He loves Streisand, loves the Bee Gees. To show his love for the Bee Gees, the comedic conscience of America jumps up in the middle of our interview and assumes John Travolta's famed Saturday Night Fever position, turning his body into the broken lightning bolts hands extended, fingers pointing, face mugging--just one white suit short of a musical.

Perhaps the most intriguing thing he says to me comes toward the end of our time together. He once told a reporter that he thought the point of life was to "become more selfless." The comment struck me as so outside Maher's normal line of thinking that I'm curious to know if he was joking.

"I think that comment was sort of an encapsulation," he explains. "We had been talking about religion and I was asked what I believed in if I wasn't religious. First of all, I don't believe in fairy tales. I don't believe in stories about men in the sky. That stuff's just sub-mental. I think the main answer is we just don't know. Nobody fucking knows. But I just get a general sense that life should be a journey towards selflessness. I hope that as I get older I can renounce the bonds that tie me to this world. Materialism, selfishness, ego - all those things."

He stands up from his chair on the back porch and surveys his compound. "This house brings me a great deal of pleasure. But if I live to be 90, I hope it doesn't. I hope I would be just as happy living in a little sandbox. I hope I've progressed into a spiritual life that I don't have now."

Hug him, punch him, cancel his TV show, accuse him of treason, whatever - it doesn't seem to matter. He's Bill Maher: Duck and fuck, baby. Duck and fuck.