The question on everyone’s minds at this very moment–and don’t deny it–is, “Who should replace Larry King?” Rumored candidates include Piers Morgan, Katie Couric, Ryan Seacrest, Joy Behar and Anderson Cooper.
Really, rumor-mill? You can’t think of people who aren’t already helming their own shows and whatever a Piers Morgan is? (Is it a porn star? Does it f@#k bear markets?) You can’t think of someone who has been denied the chance to embetter America via the airwaves? Someone who promises more tears than Glenn Beck hosting an onion chopping festival with special guest rapper Nut-kickah?
It’s me. Give me the show.
Well…? Fine, here’s my resume, rant-style.
The secret to Larry King’s appearance is in the suspenders: they don’t hold his pants up; they keep his leaning body from falling out of them.
What I’m saying is that Larry’s back is so crooked that it hasn’t filed an income tax in seven years, which is 142 in Wesley Snipes years. His back is so crooked that it sold the most cookies in its troop, but spent all the money on unnecessary animal research. It’s so crooked that it lost an election to Marion Barry, who ran a “Let’s Clean Up DC” campaign.
I mean, I don’t want to seem like I’m piling on here, but Larry’s shoulders regularly cheat on his neck with his belly button; that’s how crooked his back is.
Basically, I think I can hunch over a desk like I’m banging the pony hidden under it.
Larry King’s voice is that of the gods. And by gods, I mean the gods of tobacco, Cookie Monster shouting and broken glass throat lozenges. (The latter is the Norse god Damor of the Broken Glass Throat Lozenges, archrival of Ricola.)
No problem. I’ll even throw in some cracks and the occasional squeak when I laugh.
Larry King has preserved the sanctity of marriage by instituting himself nearly eight times. (One close call didn’t take past engagement.)
I’m a little behind Larry, having only been married once by age 28, but money and a nightly cable interview show are my only obstacles.
I may walk like a Larry King, and I may quack like a Larry King, but can I interview like one?
Larry King does not interview people so much as he reenacts the “interview” he played both sides in the shower that morning, his brain dubbing over anything the actual guest says with his patented crazy. His repartee has been described as a homeless man with the good manners not to speak over God. (By “has been described,” I mean that it just has been, by me.)
In that spirit, I can give you my first interview right now.
RS: Our next guest is the longest serving U.S. Senator in American history and has been dead for almost 48 hours. Please welcome Senator Robert Byrd.
RB: Thank y–
RS: [Interrupts] Senator Byrd, are you still called Senator after you’ve died?
RB: I– I, uh–
RS: For the sake of time, we’ll just say “Maybe.”
RB: Sounds g—
RS: Senator (or not), now that you’re dead, do you think you’ll ever wear your Klan robe again?
RB: Well, I haven’t been a member of the Klan for some time and…
RS: Yes or no, Possibly-Still-Senator. Klan robe or no?
RB: Well, no.
RS: Yeah, that’s what I thought. I don’t like that. You see, I like my Klansmen in robes. That way, you can spot ‘em, just like that. [Snaps fingers] But you take off that robe, ain’t nobody gonna know you was a Nazi. And that don’t sit well with me.
Anyway, you can figure where it goes from there. Let’s see that pussy Anderson Cooper carve up a redneck cadaver on live television.