To Aaron Sorkin, on the occasion of your abandoning:

How could you leave "The West Wing"? How could you hurt me so? Where will I ever again find TV dialog that crackles with the sizzle of a trillion onomatopoeic verbs whirling into infinity? On "Third Watch"? I don't think so. How will I ever again be able to reconcile the ironic with the patriotic? You know I get misty at Old Glory's unfurling in the opening sequence of your soon-to-be-erstwhile show. You know how my eprit d'corps goes through the fucking roof when those French horns kick in. You know that when the hour is up, I return to the dark harbor of my Neal Pollack, Get Your War On, and collection of Homies, don't you? Do you understand how special that makes you, you fucking cokehead!? Oh, oh. Sorry. I didn't mean that. I apologize. See how angry I am?