Conan O'Brien and I were interviewing people in my parent's kitchen. Mostly I sat there and made occasional snide comments, but I liked to think of myself as more than just a sidekick.
Besides, Conan was totally enamored of me and gazed at me from across the table. He was too distracted to be funny and the guests didn't understand. Some waif was sitting in my dad's chair, talking about her latest movie, and said they'd all had a genuine religious experience on the set, Robin Williams had turned down the lights and was telling creepy ghost stories but then something seriously weird did happen. Conan wasn't really listening and didn't read the audience reaction correctly, they were all digging this girl's story, she seemed so sincere and in awe of whatever she had seen, but Conan was suddenly jumping around and making fun of her and using my parent's intercom to boom his voice in every room, pretending to be one deity and then another.
All this time I had been polishing Conan's golden crown, part of a bit which neither of us understood why it was supposed to be funny, but it kept my hands busy. I realized it would be kind of nice if I did polish it up, jokes aside, Conan had to wear this thing, it might as well be clean and shiny.
Conan switched the intercom to "radio" and "Feet Up, Pat 'im on the Po-Po" blared out for a second before he turned it down. "Why are you smiling?" he asked me. "Because I had that song on vinyl when I was a little kid." Conan was kind of disgruntled that I'd made him feel old. We were still taping but we'd all seemed to lose interest, I wandered over to a closet. Conan yelled "Can a nigger get a little love?" and I ran over to cover him with kisses.