Consuming…
A fine Virginia merlot
The usual meds
It happened. After flinging one liners at the Web for months, one finally stuck!
Hymie O’Phil and other
naysayers take note:
I made the cut in the Letterman Late Show Top Ten Contest!
I dreamed the improbable dream. Who would have thought this comically-challenged kid from Northwestern Frigia could beat
the long odds—“Thousands enter, few survive.” It’s with humble gratitude I accept this honor. Yeah baby. Bouyahh. That’s what
I’m talkin’ about!
All it took was some mild blasphemy directed at Pope Benedict the XVI. Eternal Damnation: a small price to pay
for a LATE SHOW mouse pad.
I now find myself hastily editing the
bitter, defeatist text I’ve used to describe this sad chapter in my life. Now, in bright red type, the
winning gem gleams like a beacon to horny sailors everywhere.
OK, so it’s not that great—maybe somewhere in the middle of the pack of JW banalities. But it won! Nah nah nah!
I join the ranks of eighth graders from Chicago suburbs, desperate housewives, 40-somethings re-living the Letterman
heydays when David’s shtick was new, subversive, and interesting—those glory days when I could stay up past 9 PM.
I’ll probably take some time off to consider my options. Should I let David, Matt Groening, and Jon Stewart know so they
can start bidding for my services? Should I continue submitting entries toward my ultimate goal of becoming the Lance Armstrong
of The Letterman Top Ten List Contest? Smart money’s on retirement.
Kids, follow your dreams.
David, Matt, or Jon, [gestures thumb and pinky to side of head] call me.
