They flashed shy smiles at each question posed. When you sell your soul to Satan, does he take away your rosy cheeks? So pale and self-contained, they slinked off camera. In the next shot, a backdrop like blood, flashing lights, and they had come alive. From where had they hatched, so deliciously out of place?
It was something like all-music hour on Comedy Central last night. After the weird TDS musical interlude, The Colbert Report apparently felt the need to continue the theme. After Colbert claimed bragging rights for breaking the news that Noah Drake is returning to General Hospital, he complained that he couldn't get Jesse's Girl out of his head. He asks his PA to fill in the lyrics he can't remember, which follow I wish that I had Jesse's girl. The PA claims he's never heard the song before. At this point, I'm thinking I should either sign up for an AARP card, or this joke is falling tremendously flat. Colbert dismisses the PA, claiming that someone in the audience can cite the lyrics. Next thing you know, Rick Springfield emerges from the audience with an acoustic guitar, in order to croon Why can't I find a woman like that? I am telling you, at this point, I started to wonder if I had accidentally imbibed something hallucinogenic after dinner.
Of course, as a result of this, and a little too much, erm, well, overzealous enthusiasm about a stupid television show (albeit, with very impressive eye candy), I have gone from the mean reds on Wednesday to the blues on a Friday. Which doesn't really fit, given that it stopped raining today after a week of grayness and showers. Count on me to be forever incongruous.
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