In this week’s episode, we explore what pushes someone to steal, and how it feels to be the one robbed.

Part 1: With a potential cancer diagnosis looming and his health insurance about to vanish, David Crabb finds an envelope stuffed with $100 bills.

David is a writer, performer & member of The Groundlings Theater in LA. He is the creator of the solo show BAD KID (New York Times Critics’ Pick) and writer of the memoir BAD KID (Harper Perennial). His acting credits include STICK with Owen Wilson and HBOMax’s THE SEX LIVES OF COLLEGE GIRLS. David has performed solo works in LA, Australia, Scotland, Texas & NYC. His storytelling has been featured on NPR, Buzzfeed & The Moth.

Part 2: When Zakiya Whatley bonds with another student in grad school, it feels like the start of a lifelong friendship – but turns out there's more to her new friend than she expected.

Zakiya Whatley is a scientist, storyteller, and strategist who uses audio, video, and live events to spark connection and make complex ideas resonate. She co-hosts the Webby-nominated podcast Dope Labs, where science meets pop culture. She leads Upstream Solutions, a communications studio that helps researchers, institutions, and mission-driven brands bring their stories to life and trains others to do the same. Whether she’s on stage sharing her own experiences or guiding others to shape theirs, Zakiya believes storytelling is a powerful force for healing, clarity, and change. Read more of her story here.

EPISODE TRANSCRIPT

PART 1

A few years ago, about 10 years ago, I was a caterer at a wedding in a refurbished Brooklyn warehouse. You'd know the place. It was a long shift. I was really exhausted. There were a bunch of girls and gays dancing, screaming, "I will survive." So loud and out of tune that I knew if they did it for a minute longer, I would not.

I was trying to enjoy the night because the cool thing about it was I was getting to do the night with my fiancé, Jack. We didn't really do catering, but our friend started a catering company and she was like, "Would you all help me?" So it was fun to be with your loved one who you were going to marry in three months, even exhausted and angry at people that wouldn't tip and didn't know how to sing.

But it was still a real challenge for me because I felt like garbage. My back was all out of skew. I was having dizzy spells and I needed to use the bathroom for what would be like the 15th or 20th time that day because of what I call my dark passenger. I was in a full Crohn's flare up.

I had been diagnosed with Crohn's disease a few years earlier. It's an autoimmune disease of the guts. I always like to say as a comedian, it's a fun one to have because it involves poop, ha‑ha‑ha. It's fun. Like, if it was a ride at the carnival, it would just be like a glittering carousel of toilets exploding with confetti.

And it means a lot of things. It means that you have a hyperactive bowel. You are pooping nonstop. It probably means you're anemic. It probably means that you're having a lot of other health disorders with your joints and your energy levels. There were many times. At that time, actually, I was down to about 118 pounds. I weigh about 152 now, thank you. If I saw someone who I hadn't seen in a long time, I had these kind of Kate Moss/Johnny Depp‑cheekbones. People would see me and they're like, "You look great.”

David Crabb shares his story at LAist in Los Angeles, CA in December 2023. Photo by Nicole Unique for LAist.

I'd be like, "Thank you. I'm dying."

And I felt like garbage. More than one time in New York, I fell into a pile of garbage, just because I was walking down the street and had a dizzy spell.

I would wake up some mornings and I had a lot of spinal problems. That was like a fun, extra take‑home gift with my autoimmune disease. It would affect my left sacrum, so sometimes when I wake up, you know in middle school, if you ever went to see the nurse, there was that horrible drawing of the scoliosis kid that was like askew. That was what I would look like.

And when it was really bad, I would have to lean against the wall of our railroad apartment in Greenpoint to get to the kitchen. It was a terrible way to be made worse by the fact that, as a working artist, I often had large phases of my life where I had no health insurance. And if you've ever been really sick and not had health insurance, you become a crazy person. You scroll WebMD. You're looking up weird symptoms. You're hearing from your friends’ friends’ friends’ cousin who is a medical student in Boston calling you to talk to you about what might be the problem.

There was a whole phase where I was just getting Crohn's medicine from a Canadian pharmacy. It was a huge trend at the time. And they would just send me a white unmarked box with red unmarked pills and I'd take them. Who knows? Deuces Wild. Let's see if this is it.

One time, I got in a chat forum about at‑home fecal transplants. You heard me right, kids. Whole chat boards about how you could actually do fecal transplants, which actually is a medically honored thing. There's some testimony that it works. But these were people just, “How can I do it at home? We have a child. Can I use her poo?” I mean, mania.

And I remember there was a night when I was on that board and I thought, “Oh, my God, I am broke and sick and I cannot do this.”

Now, to be fair, at this time, this night, catering this event, I had about three more weeks of health insurance through Actors’ Equity, which was basically a health insurance through a union for stage actors. I had acted enough for that year to have health insurance and it was going to end in two or three weeks, so I was on like a medical room Springer. I had been going on so many exams and tests and, like, put a camera in me. I was doing it all.

About a few days before that, I had actually had a colonoscopy. When I woke up really dreary, the doctor is there, and they're always there when you wake up from something to give you important information. Like, let me wait. I'm literally high.

But the doctor basically was like, “Hey, we found something. It's really concerning. I don't want to scare you but we need to send it away for a test and it's going to be a little while.” Now, he didn't say the “C” word, but all the subtitles were the “C” word.

And cancer is something that when you have an autoimmune disease, and especially when you take drugs to suppress your immune system, you can develop all kinds of cancers. I was so scared, so scared that I didn't tell my fiancé, Jack, who I loved and was honest with about everything, because he had been there through everything, all the weird diets, making me the weird food, seeing me weep, feel my way to the kitchen. I tried a carnivore diet for a week and he just agreed to make me bacon, pork, eggs and beef. Like, what was going on? I read it online. It must work.

I just couldn't tell him, so I kept it to myself.

So I'm there that night and I'm super stressed. I finally get to use the bathroom which, when you have Crohn's disease, is kind of like you literally speak in tongues and hold snakes. It's like, “homa-shama-lama.” It was like, “Oh, I did it. It's okay.”

I exited the bathroom in a cold sweat in my little cater apron, just like, “I got to go back to work, and they're still singing songs.” And I looked in this pile of trash across the hallway underneath the stairwell. It looks almost like a place where a janitor had just been sweeping garbage. No one comes down here. Just leave it.

And I saw something brilliant and blue, kind of glistening from this pile of trash. I leaned over it and I realized it was the corner of a $100 bill. You remember when the new hundreds had just come out and they had like confetti and glitter, and there was like a see‑through panel and you could tell who was an alien if you looked through it? It was like a hologram. It was a gorgeous, high‑fashion $100 bill. I knew what it was.

And, without even thinking, I realized it was in like a bank envelope and it was on a tiny clipboard with a bunch of other papers and I just grabbed it. I shoved it in my apron.

That night, I finished the shift and me and Jack walked home. We got home and I said, “Babe, I think I have hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of dollars in my apron."

He's like, "Come on now."

I was like, "All right, let's see."

I opened it and I proceeded to count out $1,800 in $100 bills, clean, crisp, beautiful, in a bank envelope. We realized that some of the receipts attached to this clipboard were from three or four different businesses, like florists, catering things.

Jack was like, "Well, you got to call, right, and find out whose money this is."

I was like, "Yeah. I can. I will."

And I looked at all the money. It was so beautiful, so new. It felt almost like life had given me a tip. Like, “We're sorry, David, but you might fall off of health insurance soon and have cancer, so here's almost two grand, hmm?”

Over the next few days, I thought about it, and I asked a lot of people, "What should I do?" I would ask some people who I thought would say, “Oh, you need to give it back.” They'd be like, “David, this money is yours. This is an angel. That you've had a hard year. You weigh nothing. Look at you. Keep it. Just don't do any of that at‑home fecal transplant stuff. Keep the money.”

And then other people wouldn't say that. I remember I asked my one friend, who I was sure was going to be like, “Oh, David, you got to keep it. I know what we can do with it, right?” And she said, “Well, giving it back is the right thing to do.”

And I said, “Really? I thought you would keep it."

And she's like, "Hell, yeah, I'd keep it. I'm just telling you what the right thing to do is."

A few days after that, I had to go in on my Rumspringa for this MRI that the doctor who had seen the shadow wanted me to go in for. I went in. It wasn't my first time at the rodeo. I popped my Xanax so I didn't have a fit in the tube. And when I came out, I walked into the room where there's always the friendly people in scrubs.

There's the person manning the computer who's seen your insides. I was just like, “Everything look good in there?”

She just took this weird deep breath and said, “Your doctor will call you.”

I got on the train and I was just like, “What is already more broken about my already broken body? What else can there be?”

Then when I got home, just almost like in a fever, I just counted out the $1,800. I looked at it and I was like, “What does $1,800 do for a person with no health insurance in America with a cancer diagnosis? Nothing.” And I just felt this fit of almost like the money was a curse. I can't have this.

I pulled the first receipt off the clipboard and I called. It was this place the Gallery of Flowers in Manhattan. And this guy answered. He said, “Hello.” He had this light, like South American accent. I couldn't identify it, but he said, “Hello, Gallery of Flowers. This is Omar.”

I said, "Hi. Did you lose money recently?” I just wanted to get it out there.

He paused and he said, "Well, yes. A few weeks ago, I lost $1,800 in cash while doing a flower delivery."

Cut to the next day. I am traveling through Manhattan and I have the money in my pocket and I feel like it's burning a hole. Like, I feel the money. It's like I can't tell if the money is telling me, "Keep me, keep me. You deserve me.” Or is the money being like, “You need to get rid of me or you'll have cancer.” One or the other. Like, I can't figure it out.

I get to the Gallery of Flowers and I want the Gallery of Flowers to be like the BevMo of flowers, like a huge business run by a brutal millionaire who doesn't need the money, but it's not. It is like a hole in the wall, a tiny little florist.

I walk in and it's almost like there's literally four times as many flowers as should be in this room. It is like a jungle. And the flowers are crazy. Some of them are dipped in red and gold paint, some of the tulips have like gold leaf applied to them. It is crazy.

I moved through these two vases that form a kind of bridge. I need to move these giant lilies out of the way. I look and I say, “Omar?”

And there's this man behind the counter. He's probably in his mid‑to‑late fifties. He looks at me and he puts his hands on his chest and he says, “David,” and I say yes. He extends his arms, he says, “You are my angel."

And what I want to say is, "No, I'm kind of almost a thief.”

I go to him and I hand him the money and I say, "I found it. I should have called you sooner. I'm going through all this stuff.”

And he's like, "No, no, no. Don't worry. I knew I would get this back."

And I said, "You knew you would get this back?"

And he said, "Yes. My problem is I believe in God too much."

Which I'm like, "Weird problem, but okay.” I guess I kind of…

We're talking there for a minute and, at a certain point, he tries to give me $300. I'm like, “No, I don't want it. No, I don't want it. No, I don't want it.” We do this back and forth. I'm like, “Please, please. Really, really. I'm just glad that I could give it back to you.”

And he's like, “Look, losing this money would not have been the worst thing that has happened to me.”

And I'm standing there just sweating, dizzy, all of like I weigh like a wet towel. I'm so sick of life and tired. I'm like, “Yeah, worse things could happen to you? Like what?”

Then he tells me. He tells me that he lived with his partner in an apartment in Manhattan for over 30 years and that he had a Green Card and became a citizen. And that his partner died about six weeks earlier. Because his dead partner’s family never accepted him or the relationship, he had no claim that they were stealing his home and that he was losing his home of over 35 years. And then he had three cats that they loved, but he could only keep one of them because of where he was living now.

And I said, "Where are you living now?"

He opened a little door behind the counter and he gestured to this tiny, windowless room where I saw these two little feline eyes glowing up at me from an air mattress.

I said, "I'm so sorry."

He looked at me and he said, "Worse things have happened."

I immediately just like, “Please. I'm so sorry.” I started apologizing, which makes him want to give me more money again. I'm like, “No. I don't want your money. I don’t.”

And he's like, “Please, please.”

Finally, I say, “Look, how about this? I won’t take money but you can do flowers for me. I have an event coming up.”

He's like, “What’s going to happen?”

I say, “I'm marrying my partner.”

And he's like, “Oh, how long have you been together?"

I say, "10 years."

And he was like, "Oh, 10 years." And he looked at me and he just patted my shoulder and he says, "Oh, you have so much time."

I'm trying not to cry at this point because he's in the worst place than me. And very sweetly, he's like, "I want to show you my art." He takes me to this wall that is like around the corner of another tropical jungle‑like sculpture. It is this wall that looks like it is red and green and gold paint and gold leaf. There's like rubies attached to it. There's like pictures and decoupage. It's like a weird gay Telemundo graffiti thing. There's literally like 20 different images of a Frida Kahlo‑like decoupage in it.

He's showing me this wall and he's talking about his art, and he picks up this little chest. It's like a little tiny trunk and it's gold. He opens it and, inside, it's just full of costume jewelry and rhinestones and loose pearls. It looks like the bottom of a drag queen's purse. It's just like, wow.

I'm looking at it and it's velvet lined, and I'm like, “Oh, my God, Omar, that is so beautiful.”

And as I'm looking at it, I realized that, across the top of it, there's this one piece of barbed wire. It's got one prong on it and that there's red paint on the tip of the barb.

And I say, "Oh, someone got hurt."

He looks at me and he puts his arm on my shoulder and he says, "Well, sometimes you get hurt trying to get to the good stuff of life down there."

And I burst into tears. It's like Alan Ball is scripting my life. Like this is the saddest Six Feet Under episode that was never released.

I'm crying and he's like, "It is okay, my friend."

I'm like, "No, it's not! Look at your own life!" I'm so upset and he's comforting me.

I leave that day and I say, "I'm going to be in touch. You're going to do flowers for the wedding."

He's like, "I want to. Please. And bring Jack to meet me."

I go home and I get home to Jack, and I am just so upset. I say, "I returned the money and this guy, he needs the money more than me. We're so lucky."

And as I'm going through all of this, my husband, my soon‑to‑be husband, was like, "Well, what do you need?"

I was like— and he knows what I need. When I am stressed or traumatized or upset, I need to watch a super violent horror movie. It's my thing. So, we put on The Purge, which if you don't know about it, it's a movie where one night a year in a hypothetical America, murder is legal. So, if you're rich, you better lock your doors because people in weird Target masks are going to come and murder you and take your stuff.

We started the movie and we're watching it. As we're watching it, I noticed that my phone, and thanks AT&T, I didn't hear my phone ringing. It's my doctor. I stand up from the couch and I check the message.

The doctor says, “Hey, David, it's your doctor. I just want to tell you, everything came back fine.” He says, “There's nothing.” And I always remember this. He said, “There's nothing remarkable about your test.” And I always think, what a fabulous way to tell someone they're not going to die, right? You're just irremarkable. You're boring. Enjoy life.

I start crying and I turn to Jack. And he's like, "What's going on?"

I say, "I don't have cancer."

And he's like, "Did you think you did?"

And I'm like, "Yes.”

Then I go into the whole thing and what I've been holding inside. He's just holding me on the couch and he hugs me so tight. And as he's hugging me, I look at the TV and this guy in this weird devil angel mask is just he has this millionairess by the hair and he's just pounding her face into a glass table over and over again. I'm crying and I'm holding my husband and I'm thinking, "God, life is so beautiful. I'm so happy I get to live it.”

A few days later, Jack and I go to the Gallery of Flowers. When we go in, Omar is there and he has three wine glasses and a bottle of wine. He welcomes us and he sits us down. I'm looking around and I realize, as he's talking, because he's saying like, “Something happened. I've been spending time upstate with my friend. She has a house. I might live there. She has fields of tulips all around her house.” And I just imagine Omar walking in actual living flowers, which is kind of a beautiful thing to imagine.

I feel like I'm hearing someone tell me that it's going to be okay for them. And as he's doing that and asking us about ourselves, I look around the shop at all these flowers. I realize that all these flowers that he's dipped in enamel and paint and glitter and rhinestones, I realized if you look really closely, you can tell that kind of underneath all that, y'all, they're dead. Half these flowers, they're gone for this world.

I point that out and he's like, “Well, yes. It's cold. It's the end of the season. That's what I do for them.”

I'm like, what a weird, beautiful way to send off these things. Just dress them up like RuPaul and say bye.

I'm sitting with Jack at the table and Omar is talking about going upstate and the shop and what he's going to do. My eyes wander to the wall where he showed me all of that art. And I realize that in the center of it, I never noticed for all the fake pearls and Frida Kahlo, but there's just this black‑and‑white photo of these two men. They're sitting side by side and they're probably in their early 20s. I look really closely and I realize that one of them is Omar. Then I realize the other one is probably his husband who's gone.

As I look at it, Jack just grabs my hand under the table, and I remember what Omar told me, that we have so much time. So much time.

Thank you.

PART 2

Fallon and I met maybe in 2008 or 2009. We were kind of like, anybody been invited to a party and they say like, "Oh, just bring a friend." We were like two people invited by two different people, but none of that mattered because we clicked instantly. We bonded over kind of a blind ambition and Southern charm. We were both Southern girls. That meant we were doing a lot of studying and hosting, like formal dinner parties on shoestring graduate student stipends.

I was in grad school, getting my PhD in genetics and genomics, and she was in med school getting an MD. If you've done either one of those things, then you know we had like a friendship forged in fire. I would say we celebrated everything, ups and downs, milestones passed and some failed. We still said we’d take it all in stride. We'll still celebrate.

Now, I think one of the important things to understand is we never really let life keep us apart. We would talk every day for a while, but then sometimes we would go months without talking and that was okay. We didn't give each other a hard time. It's like no pressure kind of friendship.

Zakiya Whatley shares her story at MIT Museum in Boston, MA in April 2025. Photo by Kate Flock.

When Fallon graduated, and I have to say my friend Fallon is an overachiever, so she got an MD and an MBA and still managed to finish before I did my PhD. So, I'm deep in writing my final chapters for my dissertation and she's jet‑setting coast‑to‑coast, and sometimes internationally as a consultant for McKinsey.

She would call me and say, "Hey, let's get drinks,” “Let's go to brunch,” “Let's do this." And I was like, "Girl, I'm still in school. I don't have any money for that." But we would figure out how to make it work. Over the years, that continued to be the case.

I went on to academia and then I pivoted into entrepreneurship, and she did the same. It was like we were both entrepreneurs but we still had like a science‑based game. I was running a digital media studio and it was focused on healthcare and medical communications and she was putting that MBA to use as a healthcare consultant.

Now, it was interesting because it felt like grad school all over again. We were commiserating but this time not about exams and experiments, this time about invoices that were supposed to be net 30, meaning you pay me 30 days after you get the invoice. I was really trying to do the math and we were both trying to figure out why it seemed like net 60 and net 90 for when we were getting paid.

We kind of worked on everything together. We were sharing tips, tricks, email templates, AI prompts, you name it. Everything that kind of like was scrappy and creative and fun, everything to kind of figure out how we were going to make this work.

Now, we also shared a virtual assistant. I would say about three months in, she quit on both of us. We eventually got to a point where we were kind of figuring things out. I feel like I'm sharing this practical side of my friendship. I want you to understand that when I talk about how I'm friends with Fallon, I'm like that's really only 40% of it. My friend is borderline magical, fantastical.

I'll give you an example. I talked about the practical side of our friendship. I had this huge moment, a huge work opportunity. I had to go to France. I had to give all these presentations, and I've mentioned that I'm a Southern girl, so my bonjour was not very convincing. I was so worried that I was going to mess it up.

I texted her and I said, "Oh, my gosh, I have this huge thing coming up.” She speaks French. And I was like, “I don't know how I'm going to pull it off.” And she gave me all the bestie energy. Like, “You're going to be so great. You're going to do such a good job. I know you got it. You go, girl.” You know, what you expect your friends to say.

But then she took it a step further. She was like, “You know, actually, the week before, I'll be in Paris, so I'm just going to extend my trip and I'm going to be there to help you out. And so when you need some translations or you need somebody to touch up your makeup so you can just stay in the zone, I'll be there.” And she showed up.

Now, some people say, “Oh, that's because y'all are best friends.” It wasn't just for me. One of her other friends in grad school broke her foot. And if you've ever had to walk on crutches a long way, you know that is not fun. She lived in a walkup. That's lots of steps. Campus was awful for getting around. And Fallon said, “Don't worry about it, okay? I'm moving you into my living room and you'll be able to get to campus, no worries. No problem.”

There's no way I would take on an unpaid roommate in that kind of situation, but that's just the kind of friendship it was.

Now, it's 2022, 2023, we are getting the hang of things. Business is booming for both of us. I have a huge project right in front of me and I'm like, “I can't believe things are working out like this. It doesn't usually go this well.”

So, we're both doing well. We're both really excited. And maybe around fall 2022, I'm jet setting. And if anybody here has ever changed an email address, physical address, or phone number, you know how easy it is to get locked out of your accounts. That happens to Fallon. Finally, I get to be the friend that swoops in and saves the day while she's stranded overseas with a Bank of America card that she cannot use.

I save the day. She's grateful when she gets back stateside, she starts settling up.

Fall 2023, I am packing my bags to go to Wyoming to track beavers. Now, I know that doesn't sound reasonable for what I told you I do, but this was for wildlife filmmaking. I was very, very excited.

I call Fallon to be like, "Girl, what do I take for this?"

She doesn't answer, but that's okay. That's how things go.

I'm having a blast in Wyoming. I'm learning how to detect bear scat. I'm a little bit scared. I'm learning how to figure out if they're violent or territorial beavers in the area and I'm also learning how to make beautiful cinematic shots, like how to really set it up.

I realized I'm having a good time out here. Now, fear is good for you. It really activates something for you, so I stay a little bit longer. And I realized Fallon hadn't called me back.

Now, remember, we kind of are really lax about our communication so it wasn't a big deal. But I had been listening to a lot of True Crime podcasts and I did not want to be the friend who dropped the ball when something was afoot. If there was something happening, I didn't want it to be later like, “Well, Zakiya knew something was wrong, but she never reached out to anyone.”

So, I called Fallon's mom and I said, "Hey, I just want to make sure everything's okay. Have you heard from Fallon? What's going on?"

And she was like, "Oh, Zakiya, you worry too much. You and Fallon both, you work too much. When will you be married? And I'll tell her to give you a call.”

I was like, “Okay. Perfect.”

The weeks go on and we move into the spring. I'm like, “Now, something must be up because, normally, when we're both busy, it's okay. But I called you and you didn't call me back.”

Life goes on. You get busy, you get caught up in things. And one night I get a phone call from a friend from grad school. She hits me with the same line that anybody who knows Fallon asked me. “What's going on with Fallon? Have you heard from her?"

And I said, "Oh, let me tell you about all the fun we have been having." So I told her about all the things we had been doing and I said, "But the past couple of months, I haven't really heard from her."

And she says, "Well, I haven't heard from her either."

She goes on, and as she continues to talk, she tells me about some other people we know from grad school, from B school, people who had worked with Fallon, people who were actively working for Fallon that hadn't heard from her and it kind of clicks for me.

I'm like, Fallon is not missing. Fallon is running.

She tells me about a mutual friend that we have. Now, Fallon had been the godmother of her child and Fallon called her in a pinch which, if you're an entrepreneur, pinches happen. We support each other.

And she said, "Okay, I'm going to let you use my credit card so you can cover your hotel stay." She was rewarded by multiple unauthorized charges on her card by Fallon. When she reached out to her, she couldn't find her. She wouldn't respond to any messages. She basically ghosted her.

Another friend, the one who broke her foot that she moved into her home, she had worked for her for months when business was booming. And Fallon told her, "Hey, my client hasn't paid. It's going on." She was giving her excuse after excuse until, finally, never heard anything from her again.

This was blowing my mind because while she was robbing our friend of wages, we were gallivanting in Paris. And when she was skimming our other friend's credit card, I was visiting her at the hotel bar that she was using to pay for this. It was like, how could this be?

Then I said, “Girl, you better check your P's and Q's.”

I had helped Fallon out and she had started paying me back, but she never really finished. So when I went back to look, I said, “Okay.” She used an authorized card on my account because she had been working with me, so it was available for work expenses. And I said, “If you have an emergency, that's okay too.” But then I said, "Oh, Amex, let me check the transactions."

There were Broadway tickets, designer purchases, flights for her family to go different places. I was like, “Who is this?” It felt like a punch in the gut. And not only a punch in the gut, but really a shock to my brain because I was like, “How could I be friends with somebody for 15 years who was betraying me in this way?” Can I trust my brain to really tell me anything after this? Had I always been a mark? Was anything real friendship? Was coming to Paris part of the long game of the con?

I never will know the answer to these things. Even as I talk about it now, I feel so much anger and betrayal. It's not about the money. It's about the trust.

And I think, while I don't have the answers to those questions, one thing that I do know is this type of deception happens from the people you trust the most, the people you're closest to. People like that benefit from you feeling ashamed and not talking about what happened. So, in an effort to reclaim a little bit of dignity for myself and for Fallon's other friends, I'm done being quiet about it.