(A big thanks to Fountaindawg for the fabulous photoshop!)
(Kimmel at desk, just back from a commercial break. The band finishes with a flourish. Applause.)
Kimmel: Welcome back, everybody. Our first guest is no stranger to this show…and we thought, in keeping with our Mardi Gras theme this week -- and because it’s still sweeps -- we’d invite him back because it’s always a party when he’s here, right, Claymates? (Audience cheers vigorously) And Clay Nation, Clay Dawgs, Lecherous Broads and whoever else? (Audience cheers even louder. Slyly) And you thought I didn’t read my mail. Anyway, I can’t think of anybody I’d rather have here on Fat Tuesday than my buddy, multi-platinum recording artist, and pilferer of stuff from my office, CLAAAAY AIKEN!
(Cheers and applause from audience…which quickly fade as they are mingled with gasps as Clay appears from behind the curtain, wearing an enormous – and convincing – fat suit. He looks like a double-wide deep freezer. Somberly, he waddles over to a shocked Jimmy’s desk, carrying a shopping bag in his bloated hand, which he hoists onto the chair next to him. Out of breath, he unbuttons his jacket and slowly and laboriously sinks into the guest chair. This takes a while. The audience remains standing and staring, whispering among themselves.)
Clay (glaring at them pudgily): What.
Kimmel: Hey…uh…Clay…good to see you. Um…what happened?
Clay: Whaddya mean?
Kimmel: Clay, you were just here last week. I can’t believe—
(Clay reaches into the shopping bag and pulls out a big bottle of antacids. He flips open the cap, upends the bottle and pours them into his mouth, chewing loudly.)
Kimmel: Hey, weren’t those on my desk?
Clay (around a mouthful): Yeah. Here, you kin have some, too. (He slams the half-empty bottle down in front of Kimmel)
Kimmel: All right, I give up. What’s going on?
Clay (trying to stifle a belch): Hey, the Globe is claimin’—(he fails; the audience groans)—‘scuse me, y’all—that Ah’m a pill-poppin’ fat guy. An’ ya know the tabloids NEVER lie. So Ah jest thought Ah’d let everbody see the REAL me.
Kimmel: I see. You must’ve worked pretty hard to get this fat since last week.
Clay: Yep, it was a challenge, though Tyra’s mac ‘n’ cheese shore helped, Ah must say! But accordin’ to the rags, Ah’m rilly depressed, too, an’ ya kin see what THAT does to a person. (to audience) Ah’m shore y’all kin relate, cain’tcha? (He reaches with some difficulty into the bag again, and brings forth a big greasy turkey drumstick.) Don’t mind me – keep talkin.’ Ah gotta keep up mah strength. (He gnaws on it, ala Henry the Eighth. Audience groans)
Kimmel (to audience): Okay, I don’t know about you, but I’m getting queasy.
Clay: So…Ah guess that means ya don’t want any PIE, huh? (shrugs cheerfully) Too bad – more fer me! (He tosses the drumstick into the bag, and brings forth a lemon meringue pie. He dips his finger into it, and sucks the filling noisily off. Kimmel stands suddenly, his hand to his mouth)
Kimmel: Okay, now…Clay, stop that! This is not like you!
Clay: How d’ya know? Ah mean, Ah’m purdy upfront ‘bout who I am, an’ Ah’ve said so. A LOT. But does anybody listen? Heck no! They’d rather believe the most ridiculous stuff, even when it’s impossible. Why, Ah betcha tomorrow this’ll be all over the dang ennertainment shows, an’ they’ll be sayin,’ “See thayre – we toldja he was rilly FAT!”
Kimmel: Yeah…I think I see what you mean. Tell you what – why don’t we take a break, and maybe when we come back, things’ll be back to normal. ‘Cause this is creeping me out. Whaddya say? (Relieved, the audience cheers and applauds)
Clay (shrugs): Well, if you think it’ll help, Jimmy. Hey – you wanna Mountain Dew? (The band energetically strikes up a tune, and Kimmel leans over urgently)
Kimmel (sotto voce to Clay): Hey -- who said you could borrow my Halloween costume?
Clay (grinning, taking a big swig of Mountain Dew): Well, YOU weren’t usin’ it…