Tonight is the night. Conan O'Brien, New York's prodigal son (by way of Brookline, MA) returns to Rockefeller Plaza's Radio City Music Hall to spread the COCO love to the tired comedy masses of the Big Apple. We turn to his red whipped locks as a beacon, a burning flame of affirmation that life can be funny again. Fart jokes will live on. Hemorrhoid salesmen will always get their say. Tonight, we hearken back to a simpler time. A sane moment in our lives. A place where we turned on our television sets or fired up Hulu, and he was there. Every night. Tonight, on that big, beautiful stage, we can all be friends again...and then kick the fuck out of comedy as we know it!
I'll be three. Waiting for the Self Pleasuring Panda and a host of strangely twisted concoctions based on characters he is no longer legally allowed to use. We're ready. He's ready. Let's bring the roof down.
Welcome back Conan.