Jemaine Clement: Please, Please Don’t Quit “Flight Of The Conchords”
We heard that you’re not sure you want to do another season of “Flight of the Conchords” because it’s too much work. We totally sympathize but must beg you, please oh pleeease, don’t stop! If we’re forced to go without you and Bret’s sugar lumps, your hilariously witty lyrics, your awesome dance moves and your gorgeous sideburns, we will (probably) give up on TV altogether. Seriously, I’m going through the five stages of grief over this. Denial: There’s no way you can leave us like this—you’re just causing a ruckus so we’ll pay attention. I mean, remember when you got nominated for an Emmy? There’s no way you can just give up two seasons in. That’s not even long enough for half of America to realize you exist. Where are you going to plug all that pent-up talent? You need “Flight of the Conchords” as much as we do. Anger: Sure, “Eagle vs. Shark” was a great movie, but “Gentlemen Broncos” is not going to cut it. You’re playing you only better—do you know what an opportunity that is? You must be an idiot to quit such a perfect venture. You’re all, “We’ve got to write the series, but we’ve also got to write the songs, and just dividing your time into those two writing tasks is really tricky.” You know what we have to say to that? Wah! Get over it! Hire some interns, already! Bargaining: Did we not buy enough paraphernalia? We’ll get your I Told You I Was Freaky CD right now, OK? What, you hate America? We’ll change and make it more New Zealand-esque, just don’t leave us. We’ll write a song for you. It will be called “Jemaine, You’ve Got It Going On,” and it’ll go something like this, but with more naked ladies.
Depression: What do you mean by this: “It very likely might not [return for a third season], It could come back in a shorter season or like a special.”? Do you think we’re going to watch a frickin’ special? OK, we’ll totally watch the special. But it’ll feel like sex with an ex-boyfriend—the familiarity is nice but it’s ultimately unsatisfying. What are we supposed to do without you? Locking ourselves in our room and crying sounds like the only option. Acceptance: Fat chance.