Return to Sender: Does Stephen Colbert Have a Rabbit Hutch?

It's just that, well, you were in town for almost a week. You're too big a celebrity to just sneak into town unnoticed, so it's not like you could've snuck into Philadelphia without our knowing. Of course we were going to find out. And you didn't write. You didn't call. Do you think you're too good for us now? We remember four years ago when you were a lowly correspondent on The Daily Show and Penn's Mask and Wig Club had you as their special guest for their Annual Comedy Festival. You weren't too proud for the little guys then. What happened to you? Got your own show and forgot the rest of us?

Not just forgot, but decided to evade. A few weeks ago, one of your researchers emailed us to see what was going on in Philly during your visit. We came up with dozens of great suggestions. And then, nothing. He even stopped writing. So we did what any self-respecting stalker would do: we found his phone number (his bad for putting it at the bottom of his email!) and we called him.

At first, he seemed rather surprised to hear from us. And then he told us that you'd be spending your entire time in Philadelphia in the writers' room, helping to write topical scripts on the fly. Obviously a lie. Trying to put us off the scent, were you? To remind you once again: we aren't Fatal Attraction-style stalkers. Your wife won't have to shoot us in your bathroom after you try to drown us. We're more like... well, we can't think of a movie with kinder, gentler stalkers, but if we could, that'd definitely be us. (Actually, there is one, but we're not looking to do that to you, either.) So you really didn't have to worry about us showing up while you were on location. At worst, we would have handed you a cheesesteak—from anywhere but Geno's—and then asked you to pose for a picture with us.

Instead, we have to live vicariously through a reader whose name we're keeping anonymous for the sake of his job security. He writes:

Colbert showed up at the Penn-adjacent White Dog Cafe on Saturday night, sporting his traditional blue blazer and red tie ensemble. Just leaving rehearsal? Maybe he rolls like that all the time? He had booked a table for a party of four but canceled at the last minute, opting to have his food boxed and waiting when he showed up. Writing schedule too grueling? Public eye too taxing? Who knows. Dude (or dude's entourage) favors predictable bar food apparently. He got two salads and a salmon entree off the dinner menu, along with a couple burgers and fries and a quesadilla from the grill. The restaurant was suffering from an influx of Spring Fling besotted Penn students, and Mr. Colbert seemed gracious enough with the red-faced pink-shorts-and-polo attired undergrad who accosted him at the host stand as he picked up his order. He glad-handed for a moment with the host (he said his wife used to work at the restaurant back in the day), paid the bartender, signed an autograph or two and slipped back into the night. And I suspect back to the hotel around the block.

This reader went on to say that, while he didn't get a picture of you, he did keep the receipt from your order. (That's it on the right.) Other than that, you were so good at evading both Phillyist's staff and its readers that the only other submission we got for our Stalking Stephen contest was the photo at the top of this post from reader Lauren. But because it was shot during your taping, where she knew you'd be, it doesn't even count as stalking, does it?

We are heartbroken, Stephen. We really are. But there's a way you could make it up to us: mention us on your show, Stephen. Give us the Colbert Bump. And we'll stop calling you in the middle of the night and hanging up when your wife answers.

Do we have a deal?