Coming to you live!

Hello everybody, I'm Pat O'Brien, and I'm coming to you live from underneath one thousand tons of steaming, twisted metaphor! We got some great stuff for you today, including the story of a high-profile politico that ends in the only manner we're comfortable with -- sexual disgrace knocking him off one of the highest perches in the land! But first, I wanna fucking go crazy with you. You are so fucking hot, and I wanna eat you, and I want you to suck my cock...

So, we continue with the story of one Eliot Spitzer, former governor of New York state, laid low by getting laid, low-down, with a high priced "call girl". We, in the biz, use the term "call girl" -- which doesn't mean a thing -- because we don't like to employ the terms "hooker" or "prostitute". That connotes something sleazy instead of sexy and aspirational. You might find a prostitute murdered in a dumpster in Paramus, but only a "call girl" can knock family man and crusading pol Eliot Spitzer down a few notches -- one for each notch on his bedpost. But, I digress, because I want to get another woman up, and hire a hooker. Let's get crazy, get some coke. I wanna fucking go crazy with you...

So, continuing our lead story, Eliot Spitzer hands in his resignation, prostrating himself in front of the body politic -- and what a body she has, eh, Nancy O'Dell? Where's Nancy? My co-host, Nancy -- where is she? I guess we'll get back to her in a moment. The little lady mixed up in the middle of this political morass is a lovely lass named Ashley Alexandra Dupre, but you would know her better as "Kristen," the $4,000 tempest in a honey-pot. In fact, we've got a fleet of airhead correspondents lying in wait outside of her apartment in Manhattan, all trying to get the first live glimpse of this woman who seduced and slew a political Goliath with nothing more than a crude sling fashioned out of her thong underwear, figuratively speaking. Also, I want you badly, I know you want me... I am so fucking into you. You have to pay attention to Betsy, but let's have fun.

We in the media love to fill our distended bellies with the delightful succor of sexual puritanism, especially when there's an obviously confused young girl at the center of this maelstrom who's stumbled into a life of prostitution because, I'm sure, things were going so well for her beforehand. I think I speak for everyone in this august business of unqualified public commentary when I say where a man sticks his head-of-state has tremendous bearing on his ability to do his day job. You are so hot, I wanna eat you! I'm going to the bathroom. Leave me a voicemail -- look at me and say "yes."

Apparently, we've moved our location to a 10,000 gallon lagoon of fecal hog waste, so I guess that's our cue to sign off today's broadcast and give you a hint as to what's coming up tomorrow -- we've got more, more, more, more, more gubernatorial hijinks on the way, including an exclusive one-on-one interview with the drug store owner who sold "Kristen" tampons in the days and weeks leading up the infamous hotel encounter, just about as close a brush with the vagina that took down the former luminary as the American people can get in a single half-hour newscast/cooking show/economic report/vacuum commercial. Now, stay tuned for "How I Met According to Jim," followed by the woman who scoops up and reads the little lottery balls. I dont know what's wrong with me... I don't do this, but I just want to make you fucking crazy... let's just fucking have sex and fun and drugs, and go crazy.