The Breakfast Table

I Feel Like Marsha Brady

Dear Merrill,

Holy Christ Almighty! Tons of tons of hate mail, my favorite form of attention. You should be goddamn proud of yourself. Right at the last minute, but at least we got to go out with a bang, not a whimper. Wow, it looks like I sure picked the wrong topic to follow up on when I went back to the Moesha ruminations in my last letter. I can think of about a million things more I’d like to say, but alas, our brief window of Breakfast Table conversations has drawn to a close. I do feel the need, however, to make one final point and say what a great time I had going back and forth with you all week. Seriously, practically everybody I know talks the way they do because they disobeyed their parents bedtime orders to stay up and watch Letterman telling your jokes, and then attempted to look cool in front of their friends by repeating these same lines, endlessly, over and over. Without you and the other Late Night writers, there would probably be no Onion today. Dude, you rock! Getting to talk to you has made me feel like Marsha in the episode where she gets to hang out with the Monkees’ Davy Jones.

I am so totally gonna brag to everybody that I know you,