Dearest Jimmy Fallon, I need to ask you to stop being so endearing. It makes it hard for me to go through life knowing that most men I meet are no where near as likable as you. I cringe to think of how some guys I’ve dated would handle this NBC situation (read: Conan/Jay rawwwr), even in front of the nation on TV. It would involve getting wasted, starting smear campaigns (uh, even literally), and generally being cocky as hell. But you. You are being a class act. Caught in the middle, some would expect you to “go on vacation” for a while like Heidi Pratt when she gets all of that ridiculous plastic surgery (and WTF Heidi, you went from pretty to pretty demented). But you stay. And you talk. And you charm the pants off everyone. I swear to God, I’m not wearing pants (these are leggings).
So Jimmy, you may not understand why I have to say this – but damn you, damn you to the fiery pits of hell for being so great. Bastard.
P.S. I now forgive you for that awful movie you made with Drew Barrymore about baseball. But I’m still not forgiving you for the one you made about a taxi with Queen Latifah.
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