How does Colin Quinn get work? I ask this question seriously. It keeps me up at night. I can speak better than him, and I stutter. Someone should give him a medal for being brave enough to write his own jokes, and them whack him with another medal to make him stop. What does this twitchy ball of energy do before delivering every one-liner, snort one?
If C.Q. were a magazine, it would be written in crayon, a third of the pages would be numbered, and every issue would have a 16-page photo spread of three chimpanzees and a movie monkey flinging crap at each other. Mysteriously, it would only sell four issues a month but still be published for three years.
Last night in his monologue, he complained that he has never gotten invited to host an awards show. How about instead being grateful for the existence of inertia? Colin Quinn should hire a conceptual artist to make a statue representing inertia and one-up the Muslims he makes fun in every show by kissing its ass six times a day.
Okay, my crankiness is over. Thanks for reading.
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