Oh, my dear frisky little pony, how I love our evenings together. Tonight was perfect. After a somewhat surreal day, I turned to you. You gave your all and scored big time.
Monologue: You got Galaga! I’m so jealous. You have no idea how much I love that game. It was the only game I played back in the day. Later, when I was tending bar in a little neighborhood pub in a Denver suburb (yeah, I’ve been around, what of it?), after the bar closed, I’d sit, have a drink with my coworkers and one or two favored customers. We’d gather around our beloved “vintage” Galaga machine. I got so good, I could hit a cool mil on my first ship. And that was without resorting to any of the cheats. Give me an afternoon and I’ll have you beating the pants off your friend. If you’re into that sort of thing, that is. Seriously, I could turn you into a major Galaga competitor.
It’s a shame that anyone would dare to give you a bad time about your new essential dining room accessory. It’s not a sign of a midlife crisis or Juveniling. No, it’s a sign that you know what’s fun! While it may be a bit addicting, it’s relatively harmless — up until the carpal tunnel sets in. No Galagosis for you. That’s why you need balance. Or a girlfriend. A girlfriend who would bogart that machine. Not that I have anyone in mind or anything. (Don’t mind me. I’ll just be here in the corner, whistling, and digging my toe in the dirt.)
While we’re on the subject of your monologue, may I offer some advice? You told the world that you had been squirreling away your nuts. That might be something you want to keep to yourself. PETA doesn’t like that sort of animal interaction. And, you really need to be careful with that Chuck E. Cheese place. There’s no need to have a tantrum. If you need to borrow a kid to go there, I have one I could loan you. It’s a package deal, though. Where he goes, I go. But this would be a good thing. I know the magic words to keep him from singing your theme song repeatedly.
Confession time. My son has begun to take on a Scottish accent. He watches (some of) your monologues online. And I have to play your theme over and over and over again. I’m rather happy about this development, strange as it may seem. You see, when he was your son’s age, he wanted to be the Crocodile Hunter. He had the accent down pat. Given the choice, I’d rather he figuratively die onstage, midjoke, than literally die in the jaws of some reptilian giant. Call me “Mommy”, I worry. Hmm, would you consider calling me “Mommy”? Listen, I don’t care if you can still get into your graduation wig or not. I just want to see what’s under the robe. Too far, Joan. Too far.
You always do this to me. I get so wrapped up in YOU that I forget that other people (like your lawyer) have access to these letters. Time to get back to the show.
Prior to your first celebrity guest, you brought out Heidi Flanders, a “flight attendant” boycotting Flightplan. I don’t know who the actress was in that bit, but she was good. “I’m just this mindless high altitude sex kitten,” she said. This wasn’t the first movie she’s boycotted. No, she’s boycotted Little Man Tate, Nell, Panic Room, Contact…I guess I must be against Jodie Foster, too. I boycotted Nell and Sommersby. “T’ee an me an t’ee an me”…”who is this man sitting in my kitchen?” Yeah, right. Like I’m going to sit through dialogue like that. Sommersby was so bad that IMDB doesn’t even have memorable quotes from the damn thing.
First guest: The Fonz, Henry Winkler. Woo woo! Henry’s currently starring in Out of Practice. Monday night, 9:30, CBS. Yes, dear. We got it. His co-star is a Czechoslovakian Border Collie. And, Stockard Channing. I’ve seen the show. I’ll keep watching; I’m willing to give it a chance.
Winkler, “If you needed to be a doctor, if you wanted to be a doctor, I’d go to you. I’d be your very first patient.”
You: “Are you mad? Why?”
Winkler: “Don’t…Didn’t you get the sense that you just trust this man?”
You: “I can name at least five women, right now, that could put an end to any kind of rumor that you could trust me.”
Craiggles, we do get the sense that you are trustworthy. Forget what anyone else says. You project, nay, inspire confidence.
But let’s get back to Henry Winkler’s Labradoodle. Or not.
The Fonz rocks! I don’t care what he says about anything else. He could read this, tell me I suck (or am seriously disturbed), and I’d be nodding in agreement. The fact that he likes you as much as I do makes him okay in my (as-of-yet-unpublished) book.
It’s all about rats’ asses and the like. I just don’t care what anyone else thinks. I am smitten and that’s that.
Next guest: Aron Ralston. I don’t normally cry when your show is on, Craigsy, but Ralston’s simply amazing. His tale is powerful; full of peril, courage, and honest-to-goodness grit. The imagery of the raven, the exchange of life, all of it was compelling and touching. For those who don’t remember, Aron Ralston is the young man who was trapped in a canyon while out on a hike. His arm was stuck in a crevice for 5 days before he decided that he needed to cut it off if he were to survive.
As one Amazon reviewer said of Aron’s ordeal: “the force of life can beat unbelievable odds against the force of death.”
If anyone missed this episode, they missed so much. “There are more things in Heaven and Earth” ~ Shakespeare via Ferguson the Eloquent. Absolutely.
Musical guest Julie Gribble sang “Little Bit Lonely“, a beautiful song that was perfectly in tune with tonight’s show. Clear, potent lyrics combined with a captivating melody.
This was a fitting end to an interesting day. Thank you, Craig, for always hitting the right note.
Your cheeky wee monkey and naughty little minx,
To catch The Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson, tune in at 12:30pm on CBS, Monday through Friday. It’ll be the best hour of your entire day.
Note about the author: Joan Hunt has credited Craig with her near-miraculous almost-recovery from back surgery. Her fascination and adoration of Craig Ferguson is little more than silly fantasy, with a dash of lust, the likes of which are common amongst single 39 year-old women. She lives many miles safely south of Los Angeles and CBS Studios. Her goal in life appears to be having any one of her many emails to Ferguson read on-air by him. Mostly, she just wants to hear him say her name. Dinner would be nice, too. She’s willing to forego dinner and a career in nursing for a day of Galaga in Craig’s dining room. If formal attire is required, that’s doable, too.Powered by Sidelines