I Will No Longer Sleep With Tina Fey If She Asks Me To
Friday, March 21st, 2008
I will no longer sleep with Tina Fey if she asks me to.
That’s right. I mean, the New York Times will probably be running my official “I Will No Longer Sleep With Tina Fey If She Asks Me To” announcement sometime next week, but I wanted you, the Cracked Readers, to hear it first, and to hear it from me. Now, I know what you’re all thinking. You’re thinking:
Your thoughts:“Horseshit, O’Brien. Of course you will. You appreciate her smart, quirky, self-deprecating sense of humor and you can’t deny that her skin looks incredibly soft. Also, you’ve always had a thing for powerful women, particularly ones that rock sexy librarian glasses, and no one rocks them quite as hard as Tina.”
That all might be true-
Your thoughts: “It is true, God Dammit.”
Okay, alright, take it easy. You’re right. I’ll admit, at one point in my life, I most certainly would have graciously accepted Tina Fey’s generous boning invitation. There was a time, not too long ago, when all I thought about was receiving Tina Fey’s Please-Come-Over-And-Bone-Me-Silly text message late at night. “Sure thing,” I’d cooly reply. “I’ll be there soon,” I’d add, also cooly. Then I’d drive over in my 97 Nissan Sentra and I’d pop in my homemade, totally romantic Now That’s What I Call Boning Mixed CD, (it’s basically a Barry White album plus one track of me grunting while lifting weights). The rest, as they say, would be history. Ass history.
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