We can all agree that we love Ron Burgundy, yes? At least as much as one can love a catchphrase-generating fictional character whose influence on the culture has become so outsize that San Diego was forced to install “Welcome Into the Whale’s Vagina” signs at its city limits and the mere mention of “Sex Panther” triggers olfactory hallucinations of fetid jungle-cat musk accompanied by painful, nine-hour erections. We can also agree that Ron Burgundy is better than this. He is not a Dodge Durango pitchman, as hard as he tries, as committed as he is to the sale, whether stumbling through the pronunciation of “MPG” or singing the praises of its luxurious glove box. He is a newsman. Sure, an anchorman’s gotta eat, but this seems beneath him.
You can’t help but feel like you want him to ditch the suit for a second, buy a one-way bus ticket to Milwaukee, and just let it happen naturally. Like this. No horses. No glove boxes. Just magic: