thank you, stephen colbert

you've not been abandoned, sweet, dear readers. i've been, well, lazy.  sadly, even the sum total, the soul-bending tonnage, the back-breaking pressure suffered because of the lack of timely decent toothsomes posts here at elle est belle la seine la seine elle est belle -- even my intimate knowledge of this misery fails to motivate me to assemble a few words and ripped off graphics, energized by some barely relevant youtube music video, all tied up with smarmy lyrics, usually italicized and printed in some artsy fashion, fartsy on the side.

yeah, well, sorry about that!

so it came, the day that had to come. december 18, 2014, the day that, much like every day in its wake, had to come.

the final colbert report.aired last night.  i enjoyed a colbert report marathon yesterday as yesterday's background noise, that daily diversion necessary during the cistercian abbey's annual motocross rally. abbot truffatore and his monastic cohorts rev, rev, rev their holy motors as they tour the pagan highlands, holding impromptu horrifying guitar masses at the least provocation.  just kidding.  the christmas cycle is the toughest cycle for those in the religious life:  the food so much richer, the wine of bodacious body, the lectionary over-the-top, heavy with isaiah, every donation and red-ribboned act of altruism hogtied to a whimsical, overdone prayer request -- hence the rev, rev, rev of mechanical power, of intimate engines wafting o'er the orchard walls and up the roiling morass of marlinspike hall's western lawns (our moat overflows).

and stephen just up and dances away, leaving us bereft.

to which i respond with the minimum: my favorite highlight from yesterday's colbert overdose, that being the one where "Robert Pinsky moderates the Meta-Free-Phor-All between Stephen and Sean Penn."

because this tightly constructed piece would not cohere if i went off on robert pinsky, and the day i watched my cheating-ass boyfriend peel away from our shared wood-fired make-up pizza and waddle away from our outdoor table under the fresh blowing sky o'er berkeley to join the other ducklings trailing pinsky, who shook his musical booty in tight jeans and talked with his hands in physical words as he lead the quackers around the obstacle course of outside restaurant seating. ["...the worst / Are full of passionate intensity."]

you people need to focus!

thank you, stephen colbert, thank you, nation.
and yes, i think bush's bloody underwear will be a relevant metaphor-for for generations, maybe for humankind's forever -- so, thank you, sean penn.

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