Regis Philbin Forgetting Names, In 28 Handsome Volumes

We’re going to preface this by saying that we here at Defamer don’t just respect our elders, we downright adulate them. (That is, unless they’re in the car ahead of us, counting pennies at the Vons 15-items-or-less lane, or generally engaging us in a conversation that involves several extinct movie stars and cookie brands that we’ve never heard of.) The last thing we’d want is for you to think we were taking some sort of perverse pleasure in witnessing whatever it is Cloris Leachman’s body was doing on Dancing with the Stars last night.

In a similar vein, we’re not providing the above Regis Philbin brainfartstravaganza to mock the lightly addled broadcast legend. God only knows how many bits of showbiz ephemera he’s amassed over the years, and are currently floating through his cortex like fabulous amoeba; the very act of reaching up and grabbing the right one at the right moment seems almost a fool’s task. We’ll tell you one name, however, that Reeg will never blank on: that of his schoolgirlish mancrush object, John Hamm.

With a side of eggs, if you please. Are we right, Reeg?

Special thanks to intern Matthew Rebula for doing such a nice job in putting this together.

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