“Can I not be part of this?”
You look very handsome in that tuxedo. I can tell you put a lot of thought into choosing the old-school shawl collar.
“Okay, I’ll do it.”
Great. Read the teleprompter.
“Why am I floating in vomit-colored space?”
You have the absolutely perfect amount of shirt cuff showing.
“Thank you for noticing! Me and my shirt guy spent weeks tryingHEY, STOP THAT!”
“I know what you’re doing.”
Just read the copy.
“Fine. Enthusiasts, we here at TotD look forward to many more seasons of such fan favorites as “Bobby doesn’t know people’s names” and “Conversations with animals” and “Putting off reviews of several books people have so kindly sent,” but quality like that doesn’t come cheap. Okay, it’s cheap as hell, but not free. And more cheap as in “high heels with Jordache jeans and Marlboro red cigarettes” rather than simply inexpensive, so–”
“What the fuck am I reading?”
My beautiful, beautiful words. Keep going or I’ll have Taylor Swift call you some more.
“Okay! Okay! Uhh, buh buh buh, okay there we go…so please go to the Donate Button and give TotD all your money.”
“Blunt ending, huh?”
We call that a direct appeal. Keep going.
“Fine. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome my co-host Mike Tyson. What?”
“Greetingth and thalutationth, Joth Meyerth. I love the way you tholo.”
“Ith Taylor Thwift theeing anyone? Or thtill thingle?”