It’s no secret that I’m pretty great at keeping secrets, and one of my most closely guarded gems is this: I have trouble falling asleep at night.
Now before you stand up and cheer, or worse, jeer, let me explain. I have trouble falling asleep. Now, often times this is a curse, but sometimes it’s a “reversed curse” or blessing.
One night while up watching Conan O’Brien, I somehow managed to stay awake past the end credits of O’Brien’s show. Even more peculiar, I learned that after Conan, there is still more television. Carson Daly, formerly known for dating pre-salami-nipple ultra-lush Tara Reid, somehow got hold of one of the children of an NBC executive and threatened to sever the boy’s little toe with the jagged edge of a peach can lid if NBC did not immediately give him a TV show.
This leads me, smoothly I might add, to my point: Carson Daly is a sucky talk show host.
Don’t get it twisted: my mother didn’t raise no quitters, and she didn’t raise no fools, and she sure as French linen didn’t raise a boy who would curse the dark without lighting a candle and then swinging violently into the cold, lonely abyss, feverishly hoping to land a death-blow on all the ghosts, night midgets and various other creatures that inhabit darkened, candle-less room.
So my proposition is simple: Carson Daly will be replaced immediately by Quantum Leap’s Scott Bakula. Bakula and his sidekick Al the Observer (along with Al’s computer Ziggy) will interview an exciting new Hollywood guest each night, just like Carson Daly. But here’s the twist: it’ll turn out at the end of the season that Scott Bakula was dead.
Every week, Scott Bakula’s corpse, dressed as a boxer or prom queen or policeman or any other member of that group that sings “YMCA”, will rise to the occasion and interview celebrities with the help of Al and Ziggy.
Scott Bakula’s body is animated via a complicated system of pulleys and hinges.
Drew Barrymore: Yes! It’s fantastic! I got to ride a motorcycle and they gave me these cool leather clothes and…
Al: It’s not looking good, Sam, Ziggy says the movie was passed up by Paris Hilton.
Scott Bakula: …
Drew: What?
Al: No! Ziggy says that there’s a 92% chance that after your show, she’s going to make out with Frankie Muniz in a darkened, smoky bar! And when she sees his ghoulish face in normal light, Drew will kill herself!
Scott Bakula: (after some creaking sounds, arm flops under chin, denoting intense interest)
Drew: You know what, I think I’m going to stop going to bars, and start dressing like a Native American Chieftain, Scott Bakula, that’s how much I like the costume you’re wearing tonight.
Al: That’s it Sam! Now Ziggy’s handheld computer is saying that Drew will live a rewarding life making romantic comedies! Get ready to leap!
Scott Bakula: (death murmer, gurgling)
See, wasn’t that better than Carson Daly sheepishly looking into the camera for an hour while carefully cradling the balls of some celebrity in his mouth?
So what will it be?
Carson Daly stumbling over jokes about President Bush’s ties? Or dead Scott Bakula dressed as a hippie, nailing every single moment of silence during an interview with Simon and Garfunkel, all while solving a crime involving a hippie-led kidnapping ring?
An episode where Nazi Scott Bakula uses his Swastika armband as a tourniquet to save the life of a Jewish child after learning a valuable lesson about the moral poverty inherent to National Socialism? Or Carson Daly preening his lady-hair and staring at Tara Reid’s pepperoni-nipple?
The answer is so ass-spankingly obvious that it makes me want swing fists blindly through a darkened, smoky retirement home, raining down most heinous death-blows upon the ghosts, trollocks, night midgets and unfortunate old folks who foolishly get in the way of my peyote-powered, fever induced terror-rage-fist-fury.
So we are agreed. We need more dead Scott Bakula dressed as a mustachioed Pizza tosser interviewing Freddy Prinze Jr. about She’s All That 2: And a Bag of Chips, and less Carson Daly eating shit during a monologue about Tara Reid’s Italian-sausage-esque nipples.
So, who’s up for some light kidnapping? No? How about a meat-lover’s pizza?
I totally met Scott Bakula once at a festival in my grandma’s town called “Ojai Day.” During the course of our exchange, he too managed to mention a fear of “night midgets.” When he left, I really wanted him to say something like “Welp, gotta leap,” but instead he just walked away like a normal person. “Footprints,” I thought to myself. “Footprints.”
I can’t wait for the straight to video(DVD) release of “She’s All That 3: Night Midget”. I seriously can’t.
More like mite nidget. -M.
Excuse me -M? But that’s racial.