Death of a Snake Oil Salesman

Stephen Colbert cleans out his desk at CBS

You know what's not funny? Losing $40 million because you've got your finger on a pet rock instead of the pulse of America. You know what's hilarious? Losing $40 million because you're an unfunny, four-eyed dweeb who genuinely believes he's God's gift to late-night television.

This isn't 'The Emperor's New Clothes'; it's a new act: the court jester who thinks he's wearing a tux. You are fully clothed, but it's not the wardrobe you imagine. You're suffering from the same delusion as the drunkest person at the bar—your beer goggles are working… on you. You think you're funny. Not only do you think you're funny, you believe you're prescient and insightful. But you're none of those things. You surround yourself with sycophants who tell you that you're a beacon of wisdom, even though you expected Kamala to win in 2024 and your cultural prominence is no more notable than a toddler screaming non-stop on a trans-pacific flight.

And now, you're fired. I'd say don't let the door hit you on the ass, but I'd love to watch it happen. I'd say good riddance, but I already know what you'll do: You'll write a book no one will read, a half-baked tome destined for the bargain bin within days. You'll start a speaking tour you'll have to cancel because no one will buy tickets. You'll launch a podcast no one will listen to, a different medium with the same tired format, trite “jokes”, and the same gallery of washed-up has-beens and forgettable never-weres.

You don't tell jokes—you are a joke, and the punchline? Your ego is so massive you can't tell the difference. It's a fitting end to your late-night career, a legacy of red ink and a mutual admiration society of equally unfunny peers piggybacking on your demise for their own narcissistic gain.

Bon voyage, you no-talent mudslinging hack. Fallon and Kimmel are next.