I’m up again, staring down that bastard Dawn, and ruminating on a fantastic book I’m reading on the life and comedy of Michael O’Donoghue titled, appropriately enough, Mr. Mike.

I can only hope that anyone reading this late night drone is familiar with the work of O’Donoghue, whether it be for his tenure at The National Lampoon or his even more visible time as a writer and performer during the first 3 years of Saturday Night Live (it was O’Donoghue that wrote and co-starred in the very first SNL cold open, wherein an English instructor, played by O’Donoghue, taught his student, played by John Belushi, such helpful phrases as “I would like to feed your fingertips to the wolverines”).

O’Donoghue was an intense, troubled genius that left a sharp, incisive, and bloody mark on comedy, and the book is well worth a read.

And now, I succumb to Morn, the malevolent god of burning sunlight, who punishes those who attempt to traverse the night and greet Him without having girded themselves in the land of Nod. Fools!