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Conan O'Brien on The Cracked Blog

Conan, I Will Totally Scab For You. Just Say The Word.

Friday, January 4th, 2008

Considering the fact that Conan O’Brien wrote some of The Simpsons‘ funniest episodes (see exhibit A, Marge vs. the Monorail), I tuned to NBC on Thursday night assuming he would weather the writer’s strike without much problem.

I realized I was horrifically mistaken right about the second time he spun his wedding ring on his desk, an activity that took about three minutes at a stretch, and which he told the audience at the top of the show “he did when he was bored in rehearsals.”

Now THAT is an entertainer: “Oh this? This that I’m doing right now? This is what I do when there’s nothing interesting going on. This right here. We’ll be back after these messages.”

On the one hand, he played it classy by manning up and discussing the strike, supporting the writers, and admitting (way too frequently) that he was “just killing time.” On the other hand, who the hell wants to watch Conan O’Brien underperform an hour every night? I mean besides his wife.

In a lot of ways it reminded me of watching my grandfather try and entertain young children. There was the weird fascination with his beard (slow panning shots of which replaced most of the monologue), the manic clown-like dancing, and of course the glazed look of desperation whenever it dawned on him that he still had ten minutes to go before Saget came on. At that point, he would invariably say something hilarious like “this water is good,” “this is really good water,” or “you can’t get good water like this.”

He also showed a short video touring his office, revealing once and for all that he’s exactly as you imagine him to be: he plays electric guitar, talks into an old rotary phone, and performs puppet shows with an action figure of himself. In short, he’s your college roommate trying (unsuccessfully) to impress a girl into sleeping with him.

So thank you, Conan, for proving your dedication to the writers with a graphic depiction of why they are so very necessary. Here’s to your unsettling beard and funnier days.


Besides blogging for CRACKED, Michael also makes hilarious videos as writer and co-founder of Those Aren’t Muskets!

Where’s Conan? And Other Failed Children’s Books

Wednesday, November 14th, 2007

Conan O’Brien is six foot four, weighs roughly the same as a Cornish game hen (uncooked), Has hair the shape of a baguette and, as he has mentioned occasionally on his show:

Is extremely pale.

Stalking him is a little like trying to find Osama Bin Laden: It sounds really easy, and yet no one seems to be doing it. TILL NOW.

Yes, for over a year a priest has been stalking Conan O’Brien. I’m assuming it took this long to arrest him because police could not be dissuaded from the idea that this was a merely a filler bit on O’Brien’s program before he threw it to commercials. Preperation H Raymond; The Raccoon With a Jetpack; The Stalking Priest. You’ve got to admit, it’s not that easy to identify the odd one out.

The guy sent O’Brien a series of increasingly threatening letters (a la Eminem’s “Stan,” but without any follow-through) and was finally arrested by NBC security after trying to attend tapings of the show. Apparently Roman Catholics love the masturbating bear. It reminds me of when the Pope called that day of mourning after Andy Richter left.

In his letters, Father Ajemian says he’s been stalking Conan since they went to Harvard together 25 years ago. What foresight! The guy I stalked in College is a mechanic now. Booooring!

Ajemian calls himself Conan’s “most dangerous fan” and makes vague, movie-related threats about shooting and/or kidnapping him. Watch it padre. I’m a Conan fan, and I’ve killed a man with his own hair. Can you say the same?

Apparently, Father Ajemian has also stalked John McEnroe and Faye Dunaway, and during an interview about his legal trouble vis a vis O’Brien, stated “I’d like to meet Paul Simon.” Rule number one Ajemian: FOCUS.

If you want to be taken seriously in the stalking world, pick an object of affection and stick wit it. You’ve already got the practice; after all, being a priest is basically just stalking God. Translate those skills to O’Brien, and try to keep from being distracted anytime an aging rocker releases a new album or a fading pro athlete makes a comeback. You might just make it yet.

Or, you know, get put in an insane asylum.