At any rate I'd be willing to bet that Andy Dick wouldn't scamper over and lick him on the forehead.
Randy and I watched the
Comedy Central Roast of William Shatner tonight because we'd already watched everything on HBO, the Discovery Health Channel-- as unfathomable as it seems-- was a repeat, and lately we're really putting forth a concentrated effort to stay up later than... sundown.
I was personally disappointed that no one had the stones to bring up that one time
Billy killed his wife, because this was a
roast after all, right? I mean, if a ninety-year-old Betty White can call him out on shit as controversial as his
weight and his
hair, I would think a mystery shrouded valium-soaked drowning would totally be fair game. Like Kennedy and Chappaquiddick, only with more fictional outer space and less running the country. Or... the opposite of that, whichever applies.
You know who I'd like to see roasted? O.J. Simpson. It'd be about twelve minutes of sweaty, straight-backed jokes about football and rental cars, maybe someone would work up the nerve to stammer the word "glove", and then at the end everyone could race each other to the fucking parking lot.
