Writing for Saturday Night Live is probably a very difficult job, and not just because people are constantly, tirelessly debating the precise moment that your show started to suck. Besides the endless refrain of "This show used to be sooo much funnier" ringing in your ears, and the dull ache on the back of your neck that comes from being under the cold, reptilian gaze of Lorne Michaels, SNL writers probably also have to endure mountains of idiotic sketch suggestions from countless celebrity guest hosts who think that their ideas would be, like, totally hilarious.
Case in point, this opening monologue idea from recent SNL host Ashton Kutcher as outlined in Details Magazine. The natural reaction to such a suggestion would be a full-body dry heave, possibly followed by rolling uncontrollable shudders. Imagine the fortitude it would take to suppress your natural physical revulsion to Ashton Kutcher's riffing, absorb the shock of his terrible spitballs, and just calmly smile and nod.
"I'm doing SNL," Kutcher said to [Cameron Diaz], sounding hyper. "You have to come out."
"Totally, that could be great," said Diaz, who looked a little too tan, kind of orange in the office's white light.
"During the monologue, like, you could come on, where you're thinking you're hosting and I think I'm hosting," Kutcher said.
"Oh my god. That could be so funny."
Kutcher kept going. "Like, 'Hi, I'm Cameron Diaz.' And then I'm like, 'Cameron, what are you doing?'"
"I'm hosting Saturday Night Live," she said, picking up the riff. "What are you doing?"
"I'm hosting SNL."
"I'm hosting SNL."
Diaz threw her arms around Kutcher. "Oh my god, totally–we have to do it." They kissed each other on the cheek.
"Oh my God, totally—we have to do it," is like a crappy Hollywood idea baptism—they're probably the last words uttered before so many awful, thoughtless, funny-to-only-two-orange-tanned-people riffs are made real. I'm sure that the scene above is almost exactly how What Happens In Vegas happened. Kutcher and Diaz really shouldn't be allowed access to their own tongues, for fear of verbalization of whatever happens to be bouncing around in their cavernous heads.