From an abandoned condominium somewhere.

West of Malibu, California, this is obscure season four in American tragedy.

I am your host, your friend, your ear lover, and literary mansplainer in chief, Michael Ian Black, supine, as always, on a bed in this abandoned condominium.

It's not really abandoned.

It's my friend, my friend Carrie, one of my dearest, oldest

friends, she essentially inherited a condominium from her mother. And this condominium basically

sits empty and idle. And then when people come to Los Angeles to see Carrie, it serves as a

guest house. So I am in Los Angeles for a few days. I'll tell you why. And I asked Carrie if I could

stay in the abandoned haunted condominium. And so that's where I am. Supine on the bed, an empty bag of

Stacey's organic, naked pita chips at my side. And here's why I'm in Los Angeles, a number of

reasons. First of all, my other good friends, who I've known equally as long as Carrie, David and Ken,

have written a movie.

They're making it.

They asked me to be in it.

So I'm just doing a day on the movie.

I was, you know, flattered to be asked.

Although, as I said, to Ken at lunch today and to Joe, who's in it and our friend Matherer who's in him, I said it took

me until I was about 50, as an actor, I'm saying, as an actor, took me until I'm about 50, 51 years

old to realize I'm not very good at acting. Now that's, that's a startling revelation for an

actor to make. I made it a couple of years ago, and it has been

weighing on me ever since. But now I sort of feel like I have this freedom, this freedom

to not worry about being a good actor. And it's a delight, absolute delight, where I'm just

...