Just last week — prior to the first-ever Latfatfest: A Gay Hullabaloo of Tomfoolery — we sat about drinking Tom Collins, smoking our Camel Turkish Gold cigarettes, and discussing the merits of our atrocious tumbl-brethern.
With our jet-setting (and by consequence, independantly wealthy and historical inaccurate) D.C. office flying TWA into the Empire City for editorial meetings prior to joining the Latfatfest bash, we wanted to take some ample time to discuss several ideas amongst our staff.
One of our higher-paid consultants harked on the notion that we create an awards program for the TeeVee personifying Latfat: a “best of the worst” if you will.
We promptly dismissed the idea:
“It’s been done before!”
“We don’t have the budget to produce an awards show!”
“Sonny Bono is dead! Who would host?”
“Where could we find a rubber-hose that wide?”
“Lego stop-action technology hasn’t come far enough.”
However, if we were to bestow an award on one of you fuck-ups, well, this one baby, would get it.
Pros: What? Sorry we were just hypnotized by somebody riding a bad meme for all it’s worth.
