It's the late show's hot show with Stephen Colberg.

You know, folks, I spend most of my time right over there pouring over the day's biggest

store is collecting the finest most topical news, cap skins and painstakingly washing

them in calcium hydroxide solution, then soaking them in lime for days to remove all narrative

impurities and create a pale vellum that I later placed on my scriptarium in a monastery

on the cliffs of Dover.

There, using a pen cut from the wing feather of a swan of the river Avon, I designed

Coptic and Syriac illustrations adorned with whimsical Celtic spirals and used Germanic

Zumorphic designs to create the margin alias surrounding the pages of elegant half-unzule

insular script that tell the holiest of stories, which I then bind with golden thread under

protective case of carved oak to create for you.

The glorious late Anglo-Saxon period illuminated manuscript that is my monologue, but sometimes,

folks, sometimes...

They keep them up.

They know.

But sometimes, folks, I come to you under a ramp in the middle of a demolition derby hot

wire that trucka-saurus and lead the police on a chase before crashing into a swamp gathering

just as what I assume as a priest says, you may kiss the bride or rip a leach off my

ass and use it to hastily, due to the sketch of the scene in my own blood and old Dave

and Buster's receipt, then stagger toward the happy couple, clutching the nightmare stalker's

wedding album of news that is my segment.

It is a boat that knows no harbor, but always sails strong.

...