Television Dreams

My sister, Kristen, harbors half facetious fantasies of getting her lovely, young daughter on a reality tv show and making upstaging guest appearances that would ultimately lead to her getting her own show. I would watch that. My sister is funny. (All of my sibs are funny, actually.)

I, of course, pretend not to stoop so low.

But, in reality, don't you think Jon Stewart needs me? I mean, the only chick he's got is Samantha Bee and she's totally got the sarcastic Canadian girl thing down. But he's got no redheaded, doe eyed, news siren aside from Rob Corrdry who WOULD be a redhead if it weren't for, well, you know. I could totally fit that bill.

And Stephen Colbert totally wants to smooch me. I can tell. I can tell by the way he makes himself laugh like he's Tim Conway and Harvey Korman all in one. I can tell by the way he slips me a sly giggle during 'Formidable Opponent'. But you can't have me, Stephen. I'm a married woman. We'll have to keep on pretending that we've never met and you're stalking a girl named Charlene. You and I both know that I'm the real Charlene.

Charlie Rose keeps calling to chat. Morgan Spurlock wants to send single women with baby lust to live with me for 30 Days. And they're just dying to Roast me on Comedy Central. I would love it if people knew enough about me to poke at my foibles. Dude, I'll show my foibles to anyone. All you have to do is ask. Hell, I've flashed my foibles all over town.

Guilty, I just wanted to play with my foibles. I can't stop, it just sounds so dirty and wrong! Foibles! Foibles! Foibles!

I think I'm done now.