John and Steven alleviate the nightmares Keith has implanted while angrily reciting the day’s news. I didn’t watch Keith last night because the local news is already too devastating (babies over bridges and homicidal teens) to know just what exactly Bush did today. I’ll catch up later tonight, and then I’ll come down from the anxiety with irrelevance.
The WGA strike has been devastating; before the writers stood up for themselves (FYI: I’m totally behind them, gooo writers!) I had set a schedule for myself at night revolving around a talking dead girl and Nate Fisher The Lawyer. This is monumental as I spent almost an entire academic year devoted to reality television in the interest of college journalism. I was once bereft without Stewart and Colbert but today I feel empty and used from their comedic tactics.
And here’s why: Colbert was engaged in a playful feud with late-night host Conan O’Brien. Colbert was promised that if #$%uckabee won the primaries he could serve as Vice President. Colbert believes he “made #$%uckabee,” while ‘O Brien claims that because Chuck Norris with his Walker Texas Ranger pull, thus making Colbert, so Stewart steps in and says no, He made O’Brien, and finally O’Brien says that’s it, we’re going to fight. Fisticuffs! This brings me much joy. So much joy that I stay awake to watch Late Night with Conan because the fisticuffs don’t come out on Comedy Central.
And then I realize I’ve been betraying The Good Word of Winifred because this is all over #$%uckabee! #$%uckabee interrupts the fight claming—wait, is there anything in your mouth right now? Juice? Animal cracker dust? Pasta maybe? Swallow.—that this great nation made him. Hold on while I find a barf bucket. Feeling nauseated I turn off the television and go to sleep, hoping the world will spin a little slower.
I was already feeling bad about my accidental betrayal, until I realized that today is Super Tuesday (
My head is so heavy, the pain so excruciating, that I need both hands to hold it up. Typing this, you may imagine, a grievous task. I’m in a sea of sadness. I am bereft. I am drowning in waves of doomful regret.
COMING SOON: It’s Fat Tuesday, Let the Sinning Begin!; Ash Wednesday; Reasons Why Ina Garten Reminds Me of My Aunt or Reasons Why Even Biscuit Calls Ina Garten “Aunt Ina.”