“Bob, a number of Real Housewives have told me that they’d like to marry you for your money.”
“Smart ladies.”
“So you’d consider it?”
“I already got a wife, Natasha Monster. And, you know: she’s not a pill-popping, social media-addicted lunatic.”
“Okay, so that’s a no. What do you think of the Kardashians?”
“Really held the Ottoman Empire together.”
“Khloe tells me that she can only climax if a ’73 Here Comes Sunshine is playing.”
“Not the first time I’ve heard that.”
“I love your pants.”
“Alan, they were sold to me as a lengthy short.”
“How about we take a call?”
“Sure. Do you want me to wait in the other room?”
“It’s not a private call, Bob. We’re on TV.”
“Oh, that’s what the cameras are for. I thought we were in Josh’s hotel room. He’s got the place wired for surveill–”
“Why don’t we take that call, Andy?”
“Good idea, Josh.”
“Oh, not you, too.”
“Hello, caller?”
“Hello? Is John there?”
“I recognize that voice! Is this international superstar Katy Perry?”
“Yes! I recognize your voice! It’s an honor to talk to Scatman Crothers.”
“No, Katy. It’s Andy Cohen. I just have a cold.”
“Oh.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m being held hostage by a giant robot in Japan.”
“Katy, it’s John. Can I call you back?”
“John! Why aren’t you answering your phone?”
“Because I’m on TV, sweetie.”
“Cable.”
“Close enough.”
“John, the actual ninjas killed all the Scottish ninjas and took me to Japan and then the giant robots killed the actual ninjas and threw them in the ocean. One of them washed up in Rio, John.”
“We really shouldn’t combine storylines like this.”
“John!”
“Okay, fine. Katybird–”
“Don’t call me that.”
“–we got one song and two Jimi Hendrix stories to get through, and then we’re back on the bus and heading your way. Now please let’s not talk about this on television any more.”
“Cable.”
“Still.”
…
“Bob?”
“Yeah, Dandy?”
“What exactly is happening?”
“Huh. Good question. Are you familiar with the concept of semi-fictionality?”
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