By Dave Schilling

This has been weighing on my conscience for some time, so please bear with me.  This is not going to be your typical “funny ha ha” comedy bit.  No jokes about Persians or monkeys with the ability to operate firearms.  This is my life, we’re talking about here.

I have to come clean and take responsibility for the things I’ve done that have hurt the people I care about. 

I had sex with David Letterman. 

There, I said it!  I am no longer ashamed.  I have had carnal knowledge of the King of Late Night.  This is a burden I’ve carried since I was a young, 20 year old intern at The Late Show.  As you can imagine, I was a shy fellow during my days in New York City.  I didn’t have many friends.  I hadn’t quite grown into my body yet, so I looked something like this:



Basically, I was, shall we say, impressionable.  The only soul in that city of 9 million to show me any kindness was one David Letterman. 



At first it was just a casual flirtation.  He would say, “you know, we have the same first name.”  That line always got me going.  HOW WITTY!

Later, it turned into late nights, cocktails, cuddling and finally hardcore buttsex.  It was tumultuous, to say the least.  The other interns started to look at me differently.  I think the appropriate word here is “jealousy.” 

I always thought the other interns knew something.  Maybe it was the crooked stares.  Maybe it was the notes on my desk that said “Quit f*cking our boss, you weird bastard.”  I’m really not sure, but it felt like he might have had some clue as to our torrid romance.