It never fails. It absolutely never fails. Every Monday night is another episode of “Studio 70 on the Sunset Strip,” and every Monday night I leave the living room spouting off in British silly accents: “Mighty fine television that was, folks. Mighty fine television.” But for this show, I’m unabashedly (fake) British.

It’s like crack. It really is like crack, I say.

Not that I, you know, know… what crack is like. Or anything. No.

And no, I do not have a crush on Harriet Hayes. I absolutely do not have a crush on Harriet Hayes. Except yes, I might have a crush on Harriet Hayes. A small one. Very small.

*Cricket*

Okay, Applause now.