Dear Stephen Colbert,
Fun Emmy show last night, huh? NPH was fantastic and good times seemed to be the theme of the night. So, what happened? Why was our eye contact so weird? Was it because it happened in the men’s room? I was that guy in a suit that you locked onto for a second, raised an eyebrow and then scowled as you breezed past to “dry your wet hands.” Did you forget? You portrayed me! In a sketch! On the television! In 1996! Exclamation points!! Dana Carvey and Steve Carell were there and so was an unknown Selma Blair. It was the first time anyone had done that to me. You took my spoof virginity. You got your way, and now I’m nothing to you.
…or was it that looking into my eyes made you see yourself AS ME??!!! Maybe your brief stint in my flop-topped skin was too dark a pathway and murdered the only remaining tether that connected you to humanity. EITHER WAY, what I saw in that glare of yours, amidst the din of gratis-booze peeing and stormcloud of Industry desperation, was the blackness of a coal mined from a 19th century Victorian child–a minor miner, if you will–shortly before going into a phosphorous coma and having his soul painfully harvested by a thousand reapers of some sort.
Well let me tell YOU something, Mr. COLD BEAR (because THAT’S what you are, a frosty ursid), you’re not BETTER than me (except in fame, wealth, hilarity, height and social relevance)! So you can just feast on a bag of my poop chips while I hold my Tier-3-cable-host-head high and scream to the Firmament:
“YOU HAD TO PRETEND TO BE ME ONCE, STEPHEN COLBERT!”
Hope all is well,
PS – Big fan.