(Clay, swigging from a can of Mountain Dew, slouches in a big leather chair in Jimmy’s living room in L.A. Jimmy is stretched out on the sofa, clearly in convalescent mode, surrounded by wilting floral arrangements, big stuffed animals, balloons, magazines, newspapers, used Kleenex, half-empty donut boxes, and dirty dishes.)
Kimmel: Hey. It was nice of you to come and see the poor invalid.
Clay: No problem, Jimmy – Ah hadta come out here fer rehearsal anyhow.
Kimmel (sarcastically): Oh, now I feel special. You wanna see my scar?
Clay (shudders): Nope. An’ Ah got here a few days sooner than Ah hadta, when Ah coulda bin home with mah dogs, who Ah think have forgotten who Ah am, Ah’ve bin gone so much. If that makes ya feel any better.
Kimmel: It does. Hey…are there any other fan sites where I should be posting my thank you message?
Clay: Ya mean, mah fan sites?
Kimmel: Hey, it looks like they’re MY fans too now. And I’m theirs. (melodramatic sigh)
Clay (sardonically): Oh, a love affayre made in heaven. Well, don’t git too cocky, or Ah might hafta blog about how disgustin’ you are. Did yore maid take the week off? Coss it smells like a dumpster in here. (sniffing) Or a funeral. Or both.
Kimmel: No, this is just since this morning. The maid’ll be back…eventually. If she hasn’t quit.
Clay (shaking his head): An’ yore always callin’ me a slob. You’d think Sarah woulda come in here an’ straightened up.
Kimmel: Clay. We’re talking about a woman who actually likes potato chip crumbs in the bed. And don’t get me started on how hard it is to clean peanut butter off my--
Clay (sticking his fingers in his ears): LA LA LA LA LA…(removes them, pointedly changes the subject) Anyhow, Ah think mah fan club site was prolly the best place…fans of all walks, an’ all that.
Kimmel: Oh. Too bad.
Clay: Why?
Kimmel: Well, I’m only two bathrobes short of covering my entire crew for Christmas, I’ve gotten addicted to these Fannie May Pixies, and the children’s hospital definitely wouldn’t mind more stuffed animals. And I was still hoping for a box of Cubans and a case of Becks. And of course, you know I can always use more of these…(he reaches over to the coffee table and displays a very large pair of bright red plaid boxer shorts, emblazoned with the legend:
Clay (cracking up): Oh, yore jest like a kid ‘bout all these presents. It’s rilly cute. An’ Ah notice you didn’t even mention mine.
Kimmel: I did too! I called up that slacker Adam Carolla on his radio show and told him about it. Some friend…as opposed to YOU, HE didn’t send me shi—anything. Didn’t you hear me say nice things about you?
Clay (deadpan): Ah'm shore it won't surprise ya ta hear this, but Ah’m not a big Adam Carolla listener, Jimmy. (pouting) Ah bet ya didn’t even look at mah gift. Jest tossed it onta the pile with all the rest.
Kimmel: Hey, I was saving the best for last. (picks up a big ceramic bedpan and looks into it) This is very nice. Did you really decorate it yourself?
Clay: Ah shore did. Ah bet yore impressed that Ah took time outta mah busy globetrottin’ schedule ta make you that piece o’…art.
Kimmel: Oh, I am. And I love it. (reluctantly) Um…Clay?
Clay: Yeah?
Kimmel: I’m sorry, but…who’s this supposed to be a picture of?
Clay (with a smirk): Well…Ah wanted ta put somethin’ in thayre that only YOU could ‘ppreciate. So Ah painted that Gawker-Stalker woman you reamed out on Larry King.
Kimmel (contemplating it): How 'bout that. (wicked smile) Well. I’ll be SURE to put this to good use.
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Clay Aiken, Jimmy Kimmel, The Climmel, Jimmy Kimmel Appendectomy, Gawker Stalker, Emily Gould, Clay and Kimmel
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