Goodness is Out, The Chin is In

Leno has once again vanquished goodness with the evil benzene gas that seeps out of his chin. In ancient times, a crack opened deep in the bottom of the Sea, and death vapors from the Abyss escaped. Those vapors bubbled up to the surface of the raging waters and entered the atmosphere like a dark ghost. It roamed from cloud to cloud looking for an opportunity to ruin the world, and, as its dreadful imagination churned, it began to take shape. Yes, the evil vapor took the form of a massive fleshy chin, and it took upon itself the name of LENO.

This chin spent centuries warping the minds of good people everywhere, conquering nations, perverting pure bloodlines with its corrupt genetic material, and driving Conans out of the Tonight Show. LENOchin with blood of gasoline and a necklace of human eyes around its neck is now foisting itself upon our generation and corrupting our time with its mutinous backstabbery and latent Tonight Show re-taking.

What can we do about this? The funniest Conan O'Brien you've ever known has just been driven out of our Tonight Show by this chin. It's like locusts devouring the wheat fields of ancient Israel. Decay, decay, Lords of Decay in the guise of Man Chins. And I say again, what can we do about this?

Repeat this mantra, dear television watchers, for I have the answer for you hidden herein: "Avoid the Chin. Avoid the Chin. He stole it from Conan. He'll do it again. So Avoid the chin. Avoid the chin. He ruined your TV. He'll do it again."

Yes, chant this to yourself every evening when the late night talk shows are coming on, and I am certain you will make the right talk show viewing decision.

Chant it, People of Earth!

Avoid the Chin.

Avoid the Chin.

He stole it from Conan.

He'll do it again.

So Avoid the chin.

Avoid the chin.

He ruined your TV.

He'll do it again.

Avoid the Chin.

Avoid the Chin.

It's swollen with Benzene.

It eats human skin!

Avoid the Chin!

--sincerely, Nuffy Sarge Noe

Nothing is Funny, A Lament for Conan O'Brien.

Here's the problem, people. Nothing is funny. In a world where Conan O'Brien can be driven out into the wheat fields like a scalded horse, and his television show can be given to a ginormous anthropomorphic chin instead, how can we find the laughter? How can we find the giggles in a world where giant shaven man-chins are our overlords and masters? We can't, that's the thing. I know you want to laugh, and you want me to prance and caper and tell silly ha-ha's, but, people, Conan was swept out to sea by a tsunami of cold hard cash, and he is drowning in his money, literally drowning. On the other hand, a grotesque skyscraper-sized chin is still there on a major American network telling Bill Clinton jokes. How can this be?

I don't even like chins. That's the thing. A chin is just a gross protuberance made of bone and gristle with little whisker specks all over it and lunch stains. I can't sit there in my black velvet recliner, churro in hand, dulce de leche dip on the table beside me, and turn on my 120 inch flat screen television and watch a massive tumor-shaped human chin standing under klieg lights telling rad 90s-era jokes. That literally makes me want to puke my dulce de leche into my own lap and die. Literally.

Yes, it's a time for literalism. Right now, Conan O'Brien is building a life raft made of his own sinew, sweat and skin in order to ride out the money waves, whilst in the dark shadows of some back room, Leno-chin is putting on its stage make-up and making kissy faces to itself in the mirror.

I might just have to turn off my TV and go back to playing my gnome mage in World of Warcraft. He is about to complete the Dead Mines. It might not be funny, but at least World of Warcraft doesn't have any Texas-sized living chins rising up from the Abyss of Decay to tell Monica Lewinsky jokes.