Conan O’Brien ended his week of shows in NYC last night with a grand finale featuring the ginger giant with hair like a wave crashing in the sunlight officiating the wedding of his costume designer Scott Cronick and Scott’s parner David Gorshein. Some cynical hos have put a STUNT QUEEN crown on Conan’s head for doing this for ratings, but it looked genuine and sincere to me. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t as genuine as a 10 hour-long, $15 million TV wedding shittacular between a hallow fame eater with butt meat for brains and a rock creature oaf in a tux, but it still seemed genuine to me and it’s progress! Besides, Scott and David probably wanted to get married on TV, because they wanted as many eyes as possible to see their Say Yes To The Blazer ensembles. You cannot argue with this. And I’ve never noticed, but Conan is so damn tall that he makes everybody around him look like they came from the Shire.
Okay, maybe I have one problem with this shit. I am mad at Conan for letting an opportunity sashay by him. The opportunity I’m talking about is spelled R-O-J-O-C-A-L-I-E-N-T-E! The ratings scale would’ve set fight to itself just thinking about Conan, Rojo and Cynthia Nixon on the same stage together. As soon as that ginger trifecta assembled in the name of ginge gayelle love, Daylight Savings would cancel itself, winter would stay in its frozen demon hole and it would be summer for the rest of the year.
When you’re breathing hot air into your palms to rub on your freezer burnt culo lips this winter, curse Conan’s name as you do it.