Sunday Roast


One thing that I have never been the focus of in the nearly 51 years of my (current) life is, believe it or not, a celebrity roast. And this, to me, is troubling.

How does one live a life as rich and varied as mine without Hollywood taking notice and putting together a list of drunken, has-been, D-list celebrities to stand up in front of an audience and say hurtful things about me? Am I destined to live another 50 years without being roasted, or 50 years after that (give or take), neglected by my peers and famous people alike?

I know what you’re thinking: this guy was probably roasted left and right in the many lives he lived before this particular one, so stop whining! The Foster Brooks of the Middle Ages in all likelihood stood up in front of crowds and made thinly-veiled references to extramarital affairs I may or may not have had back in those days.

Nice try. I conducted my own investigation by checking with a psychic, who finds no evidence whatsoever that I was ever roasted at any time in human history. She conducted more than 40 interviews with people who have gone before us to ascertain just how it was that I came to be unroasted, and whether there was any tampering with celebrities during the lead up to roasts of other people.

Her investigation is ongoing. I’m just hoping it’s all resolved before Media Day on Wednesday.

Super Bowl Monday
Conventional Wisdom


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Thursday, 28 January 2021

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