If you are reading this, you likely know me as a gorgeous, billionaire international model-slash-DJ. If not that, you know me as the 22-year-old intern-turned-Top Ten Writer from the last season of Late Show with David Letterman. More realistically, though, you do not know me at all. Rest assured that I am one of the first two things listed, but I will leave it up to you to decide which.

Today is May 20, 2016, which already you know because you are obviously reading this on the front page of the New York Times and the date is listed right at the top! More importantly, today marks one year since David Letterman signed off of Late Show. A day that changed my life in a very real way. I hate this day because I lost the best job and I haven’t been able to get a job in comedy since. But I also love this day because it was the very best day of my life.

Disclaimer: this is about me much more than it is about Dave. If you are looking to hear about Dave, read to the end of this and I will reward you with some anecdotes.

But back to me!!!!!!!

One year ago today, I nearly choked to death on an everything bagel in the writers’ room. It would not be my last attempt make the day about me. (Clearly, I am very good at that.) I had been submitting Top Ten jokes periodically after talking to Chris Belair, a writer, about my writing ambitions. With his blessing, and that of the head writer Matt Roberts, I began writing. I had submitted hundreds of jokes, totaling five jokes getting on the air. Comedy, like baseball, has very low success rate. (Hello? Sports fans? Is this keeping you interested? I am very desperate.)

That morning, I knew that my joke was being considered for Bill Murray, a situation I found so unlikely that I announced “If Bill Murray ever reads something my dumbass wrote, I’ll walk into oncoming traffic.” I am still alive because I do not keep promises. I had no inkling that Tina Fey would also be reading something of mine. For context, Tina is the most important comedic influence in my life, other than my father. I cried in high school when my friend Sam outed me for pretending 30 Rock jokes were my own.

My cue cards, hanging on my bedroom walls.

This was the best day of my life for a lot of reasons: I stole a ton of cool stuff from the show. I got to chat with my personal hero Tina Fey, and stand near Steve Martin, too afraid to remind him that we have met a few times. I ate free Magnolia Cupcakes for the entire day. I got very drunk off two glasses of free red wine (unrelated to the previous sentence, I’m sure). But mostly it was the best because I accomplished what I set out to do with my life. It was a life goal to write for late night, but specifically for Dave. And I did it. So what now?

Two weeks after I graduated college, I achieved everything I had ever hoped for myself. It is like the famous saying goes: if you work very hard and have a bit of luck, everything you’ve ever dreamed of will happen in a matter of seconds and you will spend the next year being very confused and very scared. That is from Oh, The Places You’ll Go, I believe.

It is possible, likely even, that that Top Ten List is the most important cultural contribution I make. I’m certain that it will be the only thing I write that is seen by 14 million people, unless I get to write the Super Bowl one year. It is extremely stressful to think that the best thing you’ll ever do is in your past; that the best thing you’ll ever do in your life you did when you were 22. 22 year olds are very, very dumb, which is something I can say now that I am 23!!! In the last year, I have mostly gone insane. Not insane insane, but insane enough. I have had more panic attacks than I ever thought possible. I punched an umbrella in a wine store. For a short period, I was paralyzed with fear every time I sat down to write. Could anything I ever write again be as good as Dave’s last episode? For a time, I honestly didn’t think so. But, as a friend of mine pointed out, Dave wouldn’t want me sitting around lamenting the last show. He’d want me to work hard and write weird stuff that thrills me. He’d also want me to stop talking about him like he’s dead. So that’s what I’ve got to do.

There is so much value placed on people who accomplish things young. Magazines publish entire issues on people who have accomplished things before turning 30. On this year’s Forbes 30 Under 30 List, there is an 18-year-old person named Ocean Pleasant. I’m sure she truly is an ocean of pleasant, but that sentence should be criminalized. I’d be happy to spend the rest of my life in jail for having written it. These stupid lists reinforce this idea that we have to achieve everything in our lives before we are the ancient age of 30. Your accomplishments are not more valuable if you are 20 than if you are 70.

Another disclaimer: I get no pleasure out of talking about women in comedy, but I feel like I missed an opportunity to talk about this last year, so I’m going to say it now: I am known for a joke about women in comedy. Its cue card hangs on my bedroom wall. So I will say this: if you are someone who thinks women aren’t funny or that men are inherently funnier than women, you know that you sound fucking stupid, right? If there are any women you consider friends, it is because you find their sense of humor appealing. Being funny is the number one trait people look for in a companion, so if you actually believe that women are not funny you must either know literally zero women or have a railroad stake driven through your temple (because I drove a railroad stake through your temple). I am very aware of the lack of women in Late Show’s history, but they didn’t pick these jokes because they were written by a woman. To say that is belittling and a waste of everybody’s time. Wow, I can’t believe that with this paragraph I finally brought the conversation about women in comedy to rest.

Many people have asked me “Is Dave actually funny?” That is like asking is Michael Jordan good at basketball or is Shaq a good Gold Bond spokesman. The answer is “Yes, of course. He is the best in the world. And I’m sorry about your traumatic brain injury that forces you to ask me stupid questions.” I don’t think there’s a comedian alive who hasn’t been affected by Dave. He was the champion of the underdog. Dave didn’t care about movies and celebrity. He cared about what made people interesting and real. He took chances on crazy. I was able to do what I did because I am a good, hard working writer who took a chance, and that is what Dave celebrated. All people working in comedy are underdogs. We wouldn’t be doing comedy if we had an easy time in high school. But what felt really special about this last show was that the most underdog-y of the underdogs (me, an unassuming intern) triumphed. It’s what Dave’s entire show existed to do and it did it till the very end.

There are so many things I am grateful for through this whole Late Show experience. My class of all-female interns who got harassed so aggressively online that a picture of us had to be taken down from the show’s Facebook, but still came in everyday and kicked ass. The staff that welcomed me into their weird family. The writers that let me shadow and learn from them, and then organize a hostile takeover. Chris Belair and Matt Roberts who believed in me and helped me fulfill my dreams. Bill Scheft who, if he hadn’t written about me, nobody would’ve known about these jokes. He helped me make serious leaps forward in my career. And especially, of course, Dave, who made a show that I loved so much, both as a fan and an employee, and changed my stinkin life.

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Congrats, you have gotten to the end! Because I am a woman of my word, here is your reward*:

Everyday, Dave sprinted from his office to his dressing room in the theater. Nobody really seemed to know why. On my first day, I didn’t know he did this and nearly got run over by him in the hallway. A security guard shoved me into a door, saving my job and my life.

Dave would throw a carrot to the front desk receptionist everyday (again nobody seemed to know why). One day, an intern was sitting in the seat and he whipped the intern in the head with a carrot.

Dave made up names for staffers he didn’t know. I was Linda.

On the day Michelle Obama was on the show, I had to go from the office building to the theater building, which entailed being searched by Secret Service. They asked me to turn out my pockets and the only thing in there was 5 fun size Snickers bars that I had swiped from the front desk. I told Secret Service I was saving them for later, so they made me leave the candy outside the theater. When I came back for the Snickers, Secret Service had eaten all of them. Secret Service got jokes.

Under Dave’s desk was a small studio apartment that Bill Murray lived in full-time. He is now homeless. Someone help him, please.

*One of these is not true

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Anyway, thanks so much, Dave, for inviting me to your party. Everything I do from here on out is because of you.

Love, Linda.