I could smell him before I saw him.
The scent of Old Spice mingled with topnotes of freshly baked challah wafted through the room, lifted and propelled by the heat of the stage lights and the burning in my loins.
My eyes flicked up and across the room, towards his desk, but I was momentarily blinded by the celestial glow. I waited anxiously for my eyes to adjust.
After what seemed like the length of a congressional filibuster, I could finally make out his unassuming silhouette as he made his way to the desk and paused before he took his seat. The light shone brightly around him, so brightly that anyone could have mistaken him for an angel descended from an Old Testament heaven.
And then the lights dimmed and I could see like I had never seen before.
As he paused, ever so genteelly, buttocks hovering over the black leather chair, he looked up and our eyes met. Our gazes locked. In that moment, time seemed to stop.
In an instant I was sucked into Jon Stewart’s steely blue pools of truth like an SUV sucks up expensive gasoline that keeps us dependent on overseas oil reserves. Just like America’s gas-guzzlers, I was hooked.
Slowly, savoring the moment, I took him in:
His black suit was crisp and clean like Bo Obama after a bath.
His tie was striped and regal like Paul Ryan’s silk pajamas.
His salt and pepper hair looked more tasty than my morning omelet.
Suddenly I realized I was very hungry…for some sexy, red-hot fake news.
I barely noticed as the familiar music started blaring overhead. This is the Daily Show with Jon Stewart, the familiar announcer said while Jon was hastily scribbling a love note to me on his blue note papers on the desk in front of him. Maybe he wants to hook up after the show? I thought to myself, with a rush of excitement, Or better yet, maybe he wants my opinion about this war on women’s rights?
I sat with rapt attention as Jon launched into a story about one of the most arousing psychological concepts since Freud’s levels of sexual development: cognitive dissonance.
“It’s when you hold two contradictory ideas in your mind at the same time,” Jon explained as a disco ball was slowly lowered from the rafters,
“For most people, these two opposing ideas end up fighting like two rats in a bag.”
A spotlight lit up the disco ball and specks of light began to dance across Jon’s face and torso.
“But for some,” Kenny G began to play softly in the background as Jon looked down at his desk, “those two opposing ideas end up making sweet love to each other. Here’s an example:”
-and all of a sudden, his eyes were piercing directly through mine, intense and unwavering-
“It’s like when a fake news anchor doesn’t think he’ll ever find true, egalitarian love free of rigid gender roles, but then finds that he has strong feelings for a real woman.”
I shook my head in disbelief as I broke out in a sweat. Did he really just say that…to me? I listened in again.
“-when Republicans want Osama Bin Laden dead, but don’t think Obama can do anything right.”
Yeah right, LP. Like this smokin’ hot one-percenter would ever notice little tree-hugging, feminist me.
“So how you gonna get those rats to stop fightin’…and staaart fuckin’?” Jon winked as the lights and my consciousness faded to black for a commercial break.
When I came to, my Jon-Jon was just starting to introduce the final interview segment of the show.
“Our guest tonight is the extensively talented, amazingly hilarious, and fabulously beautiful young woman, Lyssapants, who is best known for being a kickass therapist and a world-renowned blogger. I am told that in her free time, she also saves baby ducks and human children from ending up on Rush Limbaugh’s dinner table.”
I don’t know how I got to the stage; I’d believe you if you told me I was carried there on a cloud.
“Lyssapants is here to promote this book she wrote on feminist theory and how it relates to the hyper-polarization of the American political party system. It’s called, Dinosaurs Eat Man…Women Inherit The Earth. Now Lyssa, what really struck me about this piece was-”
As I watched him speak, I got lost in those eyes, in those refreshing pools of truthy sex appeal. I saw how wonderful the future could be – Fox News was actually fair and balanced, politicians actually answered the questions that were asked of them, and everyone spoke either like a Jewish grandma or an Italian New Yorker.
Jon’s voice broke through my layers of fantasy just as I was imagining what it would be like to get my cheeks pinched and offered more brisket by my future in-laws.
“-and before our time is up, I have a special surprise for you, LP.”
My breath caught in my throat. What could it be? Obama winning Ohio? A nonviolent resolution to the Iranian nuclear crisis? A vat of hot fudge in which to dip each and every one of Jon’s fingers and then lick them clean? I was trembling with anticipation.
Once more, the disco ball lowered and the sound of Kenny G’s sex-o-phone filled the studio.
“Come on out, Mr. Colbert!”
I turned around to find Stephen walking towards me, wearing nothing but his glasses, an American flag, and a patriotic smile.
Stephen said to me in his deep, gravitas-filled voice, “I’ll tell you what. Let’s make a Lyssapants sandwich…only, lose the pants.”
“That’s right,” Jon whispered into my left ear, “And just like Obamacare, I’ll take you with all of your preexisting conditions.”
After that, everything went hazy, like Mitt Romney’s five point plan.
In the midst of the ecstasy, I remember thinking Ooh, when you talk about this being the home of The Best Fucking News Team Ever, you ain’t falsely advertising.
Stephen and Jon, you can ask me to stay an extra 5 minutes anytime. And, ooh baby, let’s put it up on the web for the whole world to see.
And there it was, my moment of Zen.