Late Night TV has always fascinated me in all the wrong ways. Why on God's green Earth would you want to know ANYTHING about your favorite celebrity that might instantly vanquish your suspension of disbelief? Example: I once had a mad crush on Alyssa Milano -- ONCE. That is, until she appeared on Leno one night and pleaded (half seriously, I think) if any man out there wanted to be her boyfriend.... this outburst coming subsequent to a discussion about being accidentally locked out on her Paris balcony, nude. Truth be told, I wouldn't mind one bit to see Milano stranded au natural on some airy ledge, but one has to ponder the mental stability of a super hot, super rich, incredibly famous person who not only enjoys flashing her lady parts in a major metropolitan area, but would seemingly accept any male life form capable of sex as a boyfriend. I haven't been capable of viewing her in the same light since. Whenever she appears on my television screen, I hear the terrible screaming of the Milano: "Does anybody wanna be my boyfriend?!"
Now, through the magic of Facebook, late night has taken this destructive power one step further-- finding the absolute WORST screen caps of guests and tossing them upon their Facebook pages sans any suspicion that these pics, apparently un-vetted by anyone with half a brain, just might be slightly compromising (see above).
And, see below...
Please explain to me how, under any circumstance, would a team of well-paid individuals post a pic of Olivia Wilde looking like a defender of the righteous, pointing her finger with verve, HOLDING CHEAT NOTES??! (speaking of "notes" -- please note, the dialogue bubble was added later). Look, I don't have a problem with an incredibly sexy actress as an activist..... just don't show her holding a script while explaining to the unknowledged how children are starving in Africa. It almost appears Ms. Wilde is pointing to one of Leno' cameras and exclaiming "Like, thaht cahmerah is, like, a super close up so it cahn't see the notes, like right?"
And some wonder why I hit the sack at 11 every night.
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