I feel like I’ve been dumped. I’ve been stepped on, pissed on, the whole nine yards. We all feel like this, everyone who stayed home on a Saturday night over the last seven years. It’s sad–the great Will Ferrell, gone; leaving Tracy Morgan behind.
Why did you leave Saturday Night Live? You were carrying that show for the last three seasons. Your Celebrity Jeopardy sketch was pure genius and even that cheerleader thing had decent moments. Your George W. impression made his presidency bearable–no easy task with "Infinite Justice" in full swing.
That’s seven years of love, laughter and shared memories. Call me psycho, but that should count for something.
Look at what you left behind. Jimmy and Tina will do well with Weekend Update; gay Hitler will see to that. But what then? Mango? Horatio Sanz? Poor Darrell Hammond can’t do political sketches on his own. What happens when there’s a weak host? What happens if Jeter comes back? The show will spiral down the Ferrell-less toilet, costing all your friends their jobs and their dignity.
You said you didn’t want to be the old guy hanging around the high school parking lot. What happens if the old guy is the only one teaching the punks about sex, drugs and rock’n’roll? They need the old guy. He knows the system and he’s willing to share.
Don’t leave Will, I really don’t want you to. There’s so much that hasn’t been said, and one or two movies a year just isn’t enough time. Your strengths lay in improvisation, changing lines on the fly and saving a horrible sketch with a raised eyebrow or a muted smile. Saturday Night Live is your home and it’s where you’re at your best. You know it too.
It just won’t be the same without you. I’ll always compare and measure others using you as the ultimate standard. I’ll miss you, but I’m bitter.
We could have worked it out.