I believe I'm growing skeptical of cynicism. - Chuck Lorre

Once again, thanks for video-taping "Dharma & Greg," and freeze-framing on my vanity card. The following are a few more of my beliefs: I believe that El Niño is an international conspiracy perpetrated by evil roofing contractors. I believe it's high time The Beatles came clean on that whole "Paul is dead" thing. I believe that anyone who can read and speak clearly can be a network news anchorperson -- but not necessarily a weatherman. I believe that if I rid myself of insatiable cravings, lusts, paranoia, deep-seated anger and ill-will towards others, I'll be a much better person. I believe that TV is the cause of all the violence and immorality in our society -- ha! just kidding. I believe there's no business like show business, although if you're over-paid for feeding a big, scary monster, then that might be sort of like it. That's all for now, gotta go make a TV show. Once again, thanks for watching and keep checking for more of my beliefs real soon!

You're a douche, you're a douche, you're a big, fizzy douche. You broke that poor girl's heart. You're a douche, you're a douche, you're a big, fizzy douche. You should've told the truth right from the start. But my intentions were good. I was no slave to my wood. I wanted her to love me for me. He does have lots of riches, which attracts a lot of bitches. Thank you, Alan, but you'll never be on "Glee." Aw, crap. If I may throw in my two cents, your love was based on a pretense. Your relationship with mother is to blame. You didn't suckle on her boobies, you self-medicate with doobies, which explains why you used a made-up name. Cue da refrain. You're a douche, you're a douche, you're a big, fizzy douche. Everything you said was a lie. You're a douche, you're a douche, you're a big, fizzy douche. But you're still a really, really handsome guy. Thank you. Then what am I to do? So I don't always live with you. Wow, that hurts my feelings, but since I live there beneath your ceilings, I'll bite the pillow like the prison bitches do. Oooh! If she gives me one more chance, we can have a real romance. If she doesn't, we can party in my pants. 'Scuse me, no disrespect, but I have to interject, what makes you think you can steal the show? 'Cause I'm gay! Oh, you're so clearly from L.A. Yeah, I'm gay. And he will always be that way. I'm gay. Or as his Jersey friends would say: A-yo, badda bing, he's a big ol' 'mo. 'Scuse me, but we seem to be digressing, and I find it to be quite distressing. Can we sing about the problem that's at hand? Can Kate get over Sam and love who I am? You confuse me for someone who gives a damn. So bottom line, you're a douche, you're a douche, you're a big, fizzy douche. And I'll die sad and alone. You're a douche, you're a douche, you're a big, fizzy douche. (Ring!) Hold it, everybody, that's my phone. Hello? Kate? You're a douche. (Click!) Douche, douche, douche, douche, douche-y, douche, douche, douche. Douche, douche, douche, douche, douche-y, douche, douche, oooh, you're a douche... you're a dou- You couldn't say it meaner. I'm a big vagina cleaner. Didn't do what I oughta. I'm vinegar and water. On this we all agree. Oh yes, we all agree. Oh good, you finally see, to shining sea. Gimme a D-O-U-C-H-E, douche! Gimme a D-O-U-C-H-E, douche! Gimme a D-O-U-C-H-E, douche! Drum roll... You're a douche, you're a douche, just a big, fizzy douche. And that's all I'll ever be. You're a douche, you're a douche, you're a big, fizzy douche. And that's all you'll ever be. Douche!

Back in the days of network television, a vanity card in the end credits was a means by which writer-producers could express their creative dominion over the just-viewed show. It was dubbed a vanity card because vanity was all it had going for it. The actual producer of the show was the company that financed the show - that took the financial risk. The hierarchy was simple, the writer-producer couldn't fire the company, but the company could fire the writer-producer. I can vouch for this because I've been fired. A couple of times. But here we are now in the world of streaming television. On the plus side, a world where end credits are barely viewed by anyone. The viewer is actually encouraged to skip over them and quickly re-engage with another episode, or a different show or movie. Which brings me back to vanity cards. Why on Earth am I writing vanity cards for Bookie? My friends and family won't bother to read them. They might not even be able to find them. One might say, "If a vanity card is written on Max, and no one reads it, was it amusing?" Fuck if I know.