From room 643 at the Horseshoe in Las Vegas.

This is obscure season four in American tragedy.

I'm your host, your friend, your ear lover, and

literary mansplainer in chief, Michael Ian Black, concluding a whirlwind, three and a half,

oh, maybe four, I guess three and a half, day, Vegas Junkett, I came out here to play some cards

with a poker buddy of mine named Michael,

whom I met, who I met, or whom I met, considering that I am a professional writer. And

wordsmith of the highest order, I've never been able to distinguish between who and whom.

It seems to me, whom is a, it's like your, what's that, it's like your gallbladder.

You know, it's just a relic from another time.

You don't need it.

Maybe you do need your gallbladder.

I don't know.

I know people get their gallbladders out all the time and it doesn't seem to have any ill effect on them.

I suspect we could do the same thing with the word whom.

There's just no need for it. Just call Dr. Grammer, have him get in there, or her, or her.

With his or her scalpel and remove the word whom from the dictionary.

I think we'd all be better off. Anywho, very profitable poker playing junket. As I leave today,

I think I am up anywhere between $50 and $100, which will pay for probably the cab

back to the airport. From here, I go to San Francisco, where I will be hosting an event this

evening in celebration of my old friend Elizabeth Banks,

the actress and director and producer. Then I'm going to be doing some stuff with David

...