George Meyer has led me into the mountains of northern Los Angeles. We’re here because he’s heard stories about an abandoned missile silo, though he has only a vague notion of where it might be. We take Mulholland Drive until it dead-ends, then follow a dirt road on foot. Hours later, we’re hopelessly lost.

George Meyer is a television writer, probably the best television writer of his generation. He is to The Simpsons what Doug Kenney was to The National Lampoon, or Michael O’Donoghue was to Saturday Night Live. He didn’t create it, but he’s largely responsible for its greatness. He’s written for the show since the beginning, and he’s still considered its Grand Pooh-Bah, the silent architect behind TV’s most unexpected satire.

Given his reputation, I had imagined Meyer as a giant. But he’s thin and lanky, with a voice so soft you expect his words to evaporate into wisps of smoke. He smiles mostly when recalling his favorite Simpsons jokes, though he never takes credit for writing them. He also enjoys stale Botan Rice Candy, and he’s more than happy to share.

We eventually stumble across the silo. There aren’t any actual missiles, but it’s still a frightening discovery. Meyer is delighted by a sign affixed to the silo’s door, with a single quote by Nikita Khrushchev: “We will bury you.” He wonders aloud about its purpose. Was it meant to motivate the silo’s long-departed personnel? Maybe scare them? It’s unclear.

Meyer takes us farther up the mountain, long past any trace of human activity. We spot some coyotes in the distance, eyeing us hungrily. A bloody mauling seems inevitable. But Meyer just waves at them, like they might be old friends.

Does it mean anything when a satirist laughs at his almost certain demise? Probably not.

—Eric Spitznagel

“I LOVE THE IDEA THAT A HOBO WOULD BE ‘ALL BUSINESS.’”

THE BELIEVER: I should warn you right up front that I’m one of those obsessive Simpsons fans.

GEORGE MEYER: [Nervously] OK…

BLVR: It’s not something that I’m particularly proud of. I’m the kind of guy who’ll waste entire evenings dissecting obscure characters like Mr. Teeny, the chain-smoking monkey.

GM: That’ll bring the ladies a-runnin.’

BLVR: And I’m one of the sane ones. Have you heard about the Ned Flanders cult in southern England?

GM: Oh, lord! Are you serious?

BLVR: Well, maybe “cult” is too strong a word. They’re devoutly religious and they get a fetishistic thrill from dressing like Ned. Does it disturb you that fans take this stuff so seriously?

GM: I find it intoxicating. I like that people are patterning their lives after...