Reporting live from the brain-death triage center at my local hospital: Keijo is over and never got around to apologizing. This was the kind of show I had to frequently pause to individually face palm each successively worse attack parody, as I feel there is a true romance in the idea of someone actually writing, someone else approving, and then someone having to read "shoryucans" in a sound booth. If I didn't know better, I might call this just a bit unrealistic, as if that were the point or something...