Let's Have a Roast

Or not.

I was watching a roast on Comedy Central last night and I was struck by the fact it was the second such one that I've seen that was overwhelmingly not funny.

Apparently my brain took this as a sign to suddenly get creative after its long creative hiatus.

So now I present to you, me* at a roast.

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(Applause)

Thank you, everyone. And good evening. Or at least I still have hope. The night is young.

I want to tell you what an honor it is to be asked to X's roast. To be honest, I was quite stunned to be invited. I don't like roasts anymore. There's never enough carrots and potatoes.

Somewhere along the way, roasts have gone horrible awry. Instead of a joyous celebration of a friend's accomplishments, roasts now give me that uncomfortable feeling, like I've walked into someone else's gynecological exam.

While X is a funny human being, X has horrible taste in friends. Myself excluded.
My illustrious colleagues that have come before me, your accomplishments in the field are well documented. Some more in the police blotter than others. Imagine my joy at the comments about A's weight, B's not-so-handsome face, and C's illegal activities. There is nothing quite like a night like this to make you want to go home and kill yourself.

So in contrast, I shall not disparage those here tonight. But the ones who lamely skipped out ... I guess will never know. Unless they check YouTube.

To all of you who share this stage with me, do not fret if you feel that cold sweat of fear. You should be afraid. I've outed you all to your mothers. They are all awaiting you backstage with bars of soap. And not one of them wants to be kissed by that mouth.

Thank you, and good night.