I am writing you, dear reader, from a dark place. A cavernous hole. A nightmarish hellscape. I write you having just watched a tape of last night’s Guy’s Choice Awards. I woke up at 8 AM in order to do so, which means I started the day operating at a loss. And it only got worse. I fear the horrors I witnessed during the jail sentence-esque two-hour broadcast have caused me to permanently lose sentience. I now know, however, that I don’t require sentience. Because I have tits.