I'm sorry I've waited so long to write, as I had to give priority to Chris Tucker and the vegans. Frankly you need a level of mental care far in excess of anything I can give you in this forum, but I'm willing to try because I care.

Bill, you need help. Seriously. Let's nip this in the bud before someone dies. We're all getting a good laugh out of watching you blow your stack on the set of Inside Edition (where you honed your unique brand of hard-hitting, substantive journalism) but it's nothing we haven't already seen you do. We all get angry sometimes, but, if we may draw a few lessons from Cold War-era international relations, it's important to recognize the value of a proportionate response.

Most people take a progressive approach to fury, slowly working in increments from mild irritation to pant-shitting rage. Those intermediate steps are important. They serve a purpose. Think of it like being with a woman, Bill. You can't go from "Hi, my name is William" to hard anal in 15 seconds. Hopefully this example illustrates the necessity of the incremental approach. The steps between mild irritation and explosive wrath are like lube…lube to let your circulatory system glide through one more potential stroke.

That's the terrifying thing about these video clips, Bill – you go from slightly terse to Hiroshima in the blink of an eye. There is only one person who can do that safely; his name is Wolverine. Are you Wolverine, Bill? I didn't think so. I'm worried. If your temper is set on a hair trigger like this, you're going to get pissed off at work some day. You'll come home, find out that your maid put your golf clubs in the wrong closet, grab a rolling pin, and bury it in her skull. Where are you going to be then?

Don't be fooled by the fact that Joe Scarborough probably got away with killing the woman he was fucking on the side…even though you're a TV star, the next stop will be life in prison. While I think that's best for you – you really do need to be someplace where you can be supervised – I realize that it isn't what you want. You want to continue filling the vital role you occupy in our national discourse.

Find a hobby that allows you to hit things, Bill. Tennis. Boxing. Drums. Chopping wood. Rugby. Play some violent video games that allow you to kill things without consequence. Listen to Slayer. Leave sweaty, panting messages on your co-workers' voicemail. Buy a dog and kick it. Cut yourself. You have so many options, and all of them are better than the road on which you're currently traveling at breakneck speed. It leads somewhere bad, Bill. The final act of this play isn't going to be pleasant. If you maintain the status quo, it will be somewhere on the continuum between a crippling aneurysm and a Richard Chase-style murder. If that sounds preposterous, you should realize that most of America has very little difficulty picturing you going down in a hail of police gunfire surrounded by the half-eaten remains of your victims.