Catching up with
Stephen Colbert was
nice and all but the offer
to catch Rosemary’s Baby
at the drive-in (Curfew
SinemaXXX, they call it
as of late) was an offer I
couldn’t refuse. You
didn’t hear it from me,
though, Stephen, sir,
but I’d have been such
a horror as a comedian.
Yet in a trad shriek-fest
I coulda been a contender.
Or at least a frontal lobotomy.
Yeah, I’m definitely mixed
up because, man, when you
lose your laugh you lose
your footing. Either way,
late bloomers, which I’d
have been if anything at all,
don’t get served the roast
beast these days; that goes
rare to the kiddos, served
with some fava beans, but
there isn’t any chianti and
there aren’t any roses.
Anyway, apologies, apologies,
am I ever whining tonight.
And it isn’t just whimsy,
either, Doc, I mean, I
think I broke my back.
Or at least slipped a
disc. That’s when
you said ‘I’ll have
what she’s having,’—
what a jerk, I think,
(cuz I’m such a wild
and crazy guy). Still,
I’m a pushover, I tell
ya. When you ask
how it slipped
I said sliding in
to the Batmobile
all deep-throaty.
Heh, was I wearin’
my daisy dukes you
might, like a fish called
Wanda, wonder (I
wish), to which I might’ve
to wit been inclined (I
always whined, but
Kevin clined) to
retort all hurt-like
that if you really
want to know
what people are
wearing, all you
had to do is look
at them. But I’m
too nice, and Kev,
he’s always had
me at hello, so
I just glanced over,
winked, and said,
“Thanks for the
memories.”
To which he
chuckled and said,
“Well, nobody’s perfect.”
