Forlorn For Lorne

I was in the eighth grade when I decided my goal in life would be to get on SNL. The Anal Retentive Chef and Massive Headwound Harry became sort of touchstones for me, really. Something to aspire to. There is no other show that promotes as much arguing and debate as SNL. How it is not “as good” as it was at a certain time, or how “the original cast was the best” or how “David Spade should be eaten by feral cats” (actually, doesn’t everyone agree on that one now? Hollywood Minute? Cute. Showbiz Show? 29 minutes longer than cute.)

So, over the course of junior high and high school I would curse myself for being born at the wrong time and then wonder why I couldn’t just submit a sketch packet at the age of 13 and be the most hilarious and relevant comic mind who ever measured the force of a sinker on a Newton scale. (.25N.)
sinker

But alas, I had other preoccupations like trying to impress guys who wore flannel Skidz to school and despite their pant-choices were still too cool to acknowledge me. So, sadly, I never got around to writing such brilliant sketches as The Ebonics Wheel of Fortune and The Bob Dylan and Rosie Perez Talk Show and Malcolm XYY (thanks, biology lesson in genetic abnormality! Plymouth Rock landed on US! And WE have Klinefelters Syndrome!) .

I can safely say that if I had been a 13-year-old writer for SNL the show would not be a topic of debate so much as it would have gone immediately down the shitter. So it’s probably for the best that those sketches never got written, although it did give me the idea that I should write a kitschy, irrelevant sketch show called “We Used To Be Topical” and use them there. But then what would I call my show about ointments who passed their expiration date? OH! Do you want to see my boarding pass? ‘Cause yeah, I went there.

And this, friends, (take notes!) is how to ruin everything.

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