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New for 2005 but looks like it was made in 1998!!! Help the probably retarded longwinded nameless eunuch delude itself to think it succeeds in trying to be amusing. Over 20 megs of junk no one wants to see! Featuring a much loathed page about the FIRST EVER IBM PC GAME WITH MULTI-SCROLLING LEVELS! Four different types of ads and font/background clashes you will not BELIEVE! Self-loathing req'd. |
A wholly needless, I expect, link to the main page.
We've already established that he's a nerd, so he probably likes knowing every random plot point and climactic moment out of context without suspense in advance. That's his problem. I suppose it's also his problem that he's rude enough to keep right on watching it when an ethnically, economically and handi-capably diverse cast enter the elevation machine. However, the other people seem rather interested, and actually position themselves to get a better view of it.
Despite the fact that the screen is a square, meaning that about %50 of the picture is cropped off. Despite the fact that the screen is really little in addition to that. Despite the fact that it's a preview and not the film itself, showing every random plot point and climactic moment out of context without suspense. Despite the fact that it's only plausible that Black Man #1 and Guy With Alms Cup are in position to see it at all. But the worst part, the real flying fish, the utmost Frito Bandito badge, is that when the nerd tries to leave, the other passengers won't let him.
Not just an isolated twit or loser, but all of them, as a group. Oh no! We must know how the trailer ends! As if there could possibly be much time left on it It might show the end of the actual movie and then when we pay to see it anyway as we had planned in advance we can keep saying "Oh, watch this!"
The fact is the preview either spoils important things or looks like a generic trashy action film, and even then it still might, if it also spoils the, in this movie thankfully rare, but still present, extremely cornish jokes.
Reprehensible life imitates what reprehensible life might argue counts as art: Here is someone in a theatre showing the Bat-Man film, playing with some portable light up object, which, for the purposes of my spite, is the exact same thing featured in the advertisement hated above (and hopefully elsewhere). I didn't bother to get a better picture of this or any of the other people in there who also brought them because, you know, I came to watch the frogjammed movie and not my portable light-up object (I guess I'm just a weirdo). Although the case might have been different if I could have watched the Bat-Man preview on it!
How is it that motor vehicles, which regulate their own heat, play terrible music, and light cigarettes, moving by their own power, at twenty miles-per-hour, can only be heard when they drive past my house and then just slightly, yet a single lawn-mower, which only cuts grass, needs to be pushed, and moves at a fraction of the speed, makes a two kilometer radius (random guess by a metric system-ignorant) sound like an airport? Speaking of that, where are all these frightful flying machines coming from? I only made the airport analogy because I don't live near one, and yet Man's Iron Birds are continually floating low enough above Fort Neldo that I can hear them, usually when I'm attempting to hear something else. Make them stop, 'ey?
There was an advertisement from a while back that ran, went away, came back, and went away again, seemingly without any complaints from viewers. It was so wrong that my mind took this long to prepare for retalliation against. If you needed both hands to cover your eyes because you were having your ears extended at the time and so could not look away, then it would have sounded like this.
Cat party! What? The human home owners have returned sooner than expected? Everyone owwoot! They'll never know what happened because why? Because thanks to Tidybowlcat brand excrement sand! Apparently, despite the images of mischief shown, all the cats were really doing was crowding around loading off into a box.
Or maybe they were climbing on the curtains, vomiting on the carpet, knocking over the garbage cans and taking too long in the shower, but the people who own the house are too much in awe to notice those things, from the quantity of cat refuse in the one litterbox equal to nine times the total mass of the two cats they keep with them. I know with just one cat, if the box gets used five times without being replaced, then the cat stops bothering to bury the deeds altogether. Unless those felises domesticus were emptying and refilling the box themselves, I doubt the legitimacy of any other explanation.
A thing which cannot be explained:
Why does one of the cats have to be named "Max?" Pet creatures, and occasionally idiot children as well, on television have that name a lot. Why not Maxwell? Why not Maximillian? Why not Friedrulpus?
This reminds me: Because of a new nuisance cat brought into my hovel at some point, again the myth of the pro-cat faction thinking they'll bother cleaning a litter's-box for an extended period of time presented itself, so of course just such a box was purchased as well. Along with the box was arrived the Van Ness Trackless Litter Mat, which seems to be placed beneath the box in a half-hearted effort to class it up. On the packaging, because with just the picture alone it looks like a silly, useless thing, "Litter Mat" translated to French as "Tapis de liti�re," to Spanish as "Estera para Litera," and to German as "Schmutzabstreifer." My question: Why is German the only language with ONE WORD FOR THIS?! WHAT'S GOING ON OVER THERE?!
(What's going on over there is likely that the language has different rules for the grouping of words to describe a single object than English does, but I didn't know that then. And I only presume it now.)
I "finally" saw a record of the final encounter of the yeopardy tournament which I had missed previously. Alas, it proved to be another unfortunate example of the rich getting richer and the slightly less rich becoming more rich by a smaller amount.
I'm so glad summer's almost here!
Wow, three whole months of the exact same unfunny clips from the new fall season shows which won't last half as long! Since the Late Night program that watches me --while I make those obscene scrawlings which are accessable below the woefully (yet deservedly) unloved guestbook link-- has a different programming schedule, it will have new shows through much of that period, so I won't miss a single advertisement! I can't wait...!
Neeng!
You know what else are great, and already here? Mosquitas. They never fail. I was thinking the other day that I needed a way to get rid of some of this excess blood without potentially helping a sick or injured person. All insects are wonderful. I've crushed enough that now I can pretend my restroom was carved from a giant chocolate chip cookie. It's fun to pretend.
And I mustn't forget heat. Isn't it so wonderful that, in the absense of my not being able to do as I wish due to allegedly educational obligations, sloth-inducing heat wafts in to make me not able to do as I wish for seemingly no reason! Ahhh, heat. Heat? Heat, uhhh...
Nierp gwark kiyerg gwop murp milg lorg erk waln lij derb mipe lewx quisp glark glerk glirk glork glurk and sometimes glyrk fwup tice fice mice rice garg gag lag larg largo four tiurk ork varm merwin lop lope dope grope grape noff nerf or nothin' nurf nirf narf narf barrrrg ehhh ears.
You are in the hot seat!™ You thought you were pretty smart after correctly deducing that it was an apple a day which keeps the doctor away for $500; you became downright arrogant after accurately placing Mr. Whipple as the fictional advertising spokesman for Charmin toilet paper before those horrible disgusting cartoon bears showed up, but your confidence waned a bit when you needed to poll the audience on the $2000 question to find out who the thirteenth president of the United States was. Or at least, it would have, if you had a properly functioning brain, one capable of recognizing any sort of trend unrelated to the grand consumption of media outlet mandated mind control of no lasting significance other than the riches it renders unto them who have no intention of sharing with you. That's good, because you need to focus on the next question.
To determine the dollar value of the question, obtain a figure from the Random Number Table, divide it by itself, and add 3999 to the total.
Yeah, it's always the same. It's hard enough putting one of these things together without actual alternate paths.
Merideth Vieira asks the question slowly, for she cannot know to assume you capable of reading it off the monitor in front of you, let alone whoever's watching from their homes or prison.
If you think you know the answer, turn to page 12.
Page 137
You speak:
Turn to page 1059b
Page 1059b
If you've already used "phone a friend," turn to page 12
Page 12
Page -13
As you begin to address the raccoon, massive fireballs burst forth from its ears, quickly making you dead. Why'd you pick "animal kinship?" Loser.
Ehhh, so I still hate the show. Yea, it is still aired. Just ealier in the day, and not with Regis Philbin. And neither of those alterations make it better. None of the other alterations make it better, either.
Since players don't all last the same amount of time, the program often ends before one has finished. Additionally, this creates suspense! Will Bobbity Jones of Grub County Texas win the big prize?!
However, if the next show starts with "you're up to $1000 and still have two of your lifelines," then whoever that was addressed to probably isn't going to be getting much more than that. They always use "poll the audience" (a procedure through which the audience is polled) first, because that's the only one that's even remotely effective. Since the questions increase in obscurity with higher dollar values, if you've done that before you're even halfway through, then you simply are not going to win.
Another part of the problem: Many knowing-of-stupid-stuff shows make potential contestants complete a trivia questionaire and participate in a mock show first. Even the old Millionaire? had about eleven-or-so pre-selected people per show, and then they had to compete for speed, to see who would spend the least time talking about and to their stupid kids before answering a question. On this version, random idiots are just pulled from the audience. I didn't mention that the current cycle of shows was filmed at Disney World, but it was. 'Ey, I'm sure plenty of non-idiots go to Disney World; certainly that Kremlin-looking fortress in all the ads has a dungeon for the political prisoners to be tortured in. However, if you're there for any other reason, have paid the daily $80 and DNA-sample admission price, and then you think "hey, instead of admiring the architechture or talking to robot Millard Fillmore, why don't I watch the filming of a show that's boring and uneventful enough when edited for time," then the chance is that you're a twit. To make the whole thing that much more appealing to the oxygen tapeworms looking on, Merrydeath Viennasausage takes the next contestant's name from an envelope, much like those of the award shows watched by many of the same people.
As for the reason for the filming to be taking place at the Disney World, that is because the show airs on the ABC television network, which is a wholly owned subsidiary of the Disney corporation. Also, they claim some sort of Disney "celebration," but you know what, they say that every year. It's long been my understanding, and I've mentioned it before, that no organization proclaims its own virtue more brazenly or more frequently than that of the Disney. People are supposed to think, "oh, it's a once in a lifetime extravadanza! I'd better get over there and discover the magic before its too late!" First of all, if you've thought that at all, it's already too late. Also, in actuality Disney's doing that every other year, and whatever's new is probably either of negligible value or still available afterwards. It's like when they say "Bambi is going back into the Disney vault!" I know for a fact that vault is ventilated, so the problem has been indefinitely delayed rather than solved. Remember that they used to say "This is your last chance to own Peter Pan this century!" right about the end of the last century, and two years later, what a surprise, Peter Pan emerges again, and not even as a beautiful butterfly. It's still the same stupid movie I hated sixteen years ago. Until you guarantee me that Bambi and Peter Pan are staying in that vault,
Why, of all the Jay Leno pictures, did compuserve think the one where he looks like Popeye is best representative of the story? The story, by the way, seems to be that Jay Leno is defending himself at Michael Jackson's trial. Were they having a food fight, or is that just a poorly written sentence? I wonder if spinach was on the menu. That would explain everything.
Let's pretend for a moment that your putting up a fence without saying a goddinkled thing isn't incriminating in itself and consider the following:
If you, sleeve-tied-sweater as neck adornment people, think this grants you prestige and status over me, –as I said the last time I took pictures you could probably have me unjustly arrested over– only I can see it, and I'm not impressed. Also, my house is still taller than yours. Ha ha ha. I can still throw opossums in your yard if I want to. Why don't you put up a tinted glass dome, as well, before this turns into a Chris Columbus movie.
Selected overheard conversation fragments:
"We have to finish painting the boat before it rains! I'll see you Monday night. Book club, book club!"
"I already have one. I don't need another Saturn!"
"...one of the best steaks I've ever had. It's true what they say, ya gotta spend more money."
"Whose truck is this? *Eur-r-rf*"
"I'm a big fan of the Kid Cage..."
"...landscaping..." many, many times. I don't think I've ever been in a situation for which that word is relevant once in my life, and now I've heard it, without paying attention, nine times in two hours.
I thank you people, for making it impossible for me to feel bad about being so spiteful.
I additionally thank you in advance for, like last year at this time, many long hours of unproductive murder contemplation due to visits from your two screaming babies and your one screaming former baby. Sure, I scream too, but it's because I fear I've failed life, not because you wouldn't let me watch The Little Mermaid again. I also might mention that you'll still be able to hear it despite a couple of overgrown popsicle sticks protruding from the ground.
I've shown this image before. It is not news. However, at the time when I shew it, it inherited the caption of the image I had replaced with it when I edited the previous page-of-stupid-pictures, which was, not surprisingly, the least interesting caption of the bunch: some nonsense about me not being able to tell if I drew fingers or didn't. Now it says something else, something eerily similar to what it says right here.
I await Wednesday, for after that, I never have to watch Jeopardy!, the game-show which requires contestants to phrase but not enunciate in the form of a question, again. I foolishly started watching last October with the hope that I would see Ken Jennings lose. As you may know, for many years he was host of Blues Clues and so very deserving of a painful loss. I at first admired his ability to erk millions of dollars out of the Disney corporation without starting a rival corporation that makes the exact same movies. But then he appeared in an advertisement, one which used the song We Are Family, at that, a song which has not made a single positive contribution toward humanity, and I knew he had to go. Alas, when he went, it was on a show I had missed. That should have been the end, because not the person who "beat" Jennings (note that I cannot recall her name) nor any immediate followers had any staying power, and thus any reason to give a cactus what happened to them.
Of the two challengers, Brad Rutter probably is more likely to win, since he won the last big tournament, which thankfully I didn't watch. However, in addition to [million!] dollar winnings, he won two cars, and with the dollars he bought more cars, so I can't say I wouldn't like to throw several pineapples at him.
Chinchilla
Then, one day, some new friends came down the drain
one day after Saint Jean Baptiste Day, June 25, 2005 Some Nearly all advertisements make me mad, but there are a few which offend me. Those tend to be the ones I tell you about. Some man nerd with a telephone/camera/erector set is on an elevation machine. Apparently, the ten second trip is too much for the nerd to deal with, so he starts watching the preview for the most recent Bat-Man movie on it.
...and if they are doing that, that's more a credit to the cats than the product being offered. Even the tone of the "thanks to Tidycatf" remark indicates that it was the oversized rodenty-mammals' idea all along to even get the stuff. However, that's an unusual level of self-awareness and courtesy regarding stenches created from anyone, most especially cats, so on those grounds I reject this theory.
A third possibility: the humans just got sick of coming home to the smell of grass and tuna and archaeology and decided it was more economical to buy a three-ton trough containing a beach's worth of Tidycat litter than close their windows (and turn off all the lights that seem to be on) whenever they leave.
Translating is tricky business.
Nudeln in Rahmpilzso�e
Samstag, 18. Juni 2005 
The subtitle "Fully Loaded" indicates either a desperate, misguided, arbitrarily-worded attempt by Disney executives to make appear "Hip" and "Edgy" an updated film whose aim should not be such regardless of the failure of such an attempt, or that the main plot involves a massive succession of drive-by shootings which, admittedly, makes for a much more valid update. History suggests the former, but the apparent relief effort fund-raiser paper star-shapes surrounding the poster suggests the latter. Either way, I consider it in my own best interest to never watch this movie.
Where does the star wars logo go? As it goes, it fades into the distance, which means it never stopped (and also that the lighting is perhaps not so good in space). It departed "a long time ago," and in fact is the very first thing that happened a long time ago, but we don't know exactly how long ago. Space is so vast that light from similarly distant stars takes years to reach earth. Sometimes billions of years, sometimes twenty-eight years. I'm worried that on one day soon a giant backwards Star Wars logo (including two 'S'es) is going to fall out of the sky and crush my house.
That picture about sums it up. It shouldn't bother me that Jhelom failed to win. He was not planning to share the money with me, and if he was, he still got away with over three-hundred thousand dollars.
Yoinks, even the first level losers –them being the ones from february– got five thousand just for showing up. Although in their case, as former undefeated players, some of whom were also past tournament winners, facing a very good chance of looking like absolute goons after thirteen years of no practice and probably not even watching the show beyond the tapes of themselves triumphing, it wouldn't be fair to pay them nothing for the familial prestige they once enjoyed.
After the three finalists were presented with their giant, uncashable prop-cheques, Trebek received one as well, except with nothing written on it. Oh, we laugh at this scene, but in reality, during the commercial breaks, Trebek was regrowing his mustache and participating in a far more lucrative venture not dependent upon one's ability to operate an Atari 2600 joystick:
Yes, the main character in a feature film! Also of note: As a person famous for moaning into a microphone and wearing minimal clothing rather than acting, Beyonk's part in this will be completely appropriate and non-ruinous to the movie's ability to have any lasting value, regardless of how long her remaining fame takes to get spent. This movie may even be remembered for longer than Pink Panther and Sons.
6-25-2016 I acknowledge that eleven years later Beyonk is still famous but I am not any more convinced that she is uniquely deserving of it. I am, however, more attuned to the justifcation for myself not being famous.
Le vif zephyr jubile sur les kumquats du clown gracieux
Samedi 11 Juin 2005 
Alas, 'tis true.
And hark!
No, no. Hark! Already, the sound of fuel inefficient motors fill the air as people cut and recut any plants that get in the way. No, not just grass!
Gosh, I wonder what these trees did that was so bad.
And I wonder no longer. But no, I haven't forgotten you. I know what vexes you. Still concerned with the image above this one you are, and indeed you are correct, that is, in the distance,
one of Scotty's Pottiesy's. If we would be wrong to assume the telephone number will connect callers to a Potty not seen here, then I must ask you to ignore, if you will, the horrible grammar and the incomplete statement of ownership, for they are number 1 in the number 2 business. Which, in addition to not being a tacky remark at all, is entirely a thing to be proud of.
This will do
.
Well exyooouhhoooz ME, Princess!
Sábado, 4 de Junio, 2005
Choose your own adventure
Keeping in your mind, which contains little else, that an incorrect answer will drop your total to $1000 and that choosing not to answer will leave you with just $2000, you consider your options:
To "phone a friend," turn to page 137.
To "fifty-fifty," turn to page 1059b.
If you possess the skill Animal Kinship, turn to page -13
Who's uncle Muriel?
Muriel is my uncle.
OKAY. We'll get Muriel on the line. Hi, uncle Muriel?
Hey there.
This is Meredith Vieira, from Millionaire.
Oh, boy.
Ha ha ha. Niergiklovep is going for $4000...
Uh-oh.
(You can't determine if "uh-oh" refers to "I am an idiot, why are you asking me anything," "you are an idiot for calling me, who is also an idiot" or "you are an idiot for calling anyone less than half-way through")
Muriel, what flavor are purple Skittles? A, turnip, B, grape, C, plum, or D, aluminum.
. . . . . .
Muriel?
. . . . . .
Eight seconds.
Repeat... the question.
Whatflavorarepurpleskittles? Ayturnip, beegrape-
WOCK WOCK WOCK
Oh, sorry. Do you have a guess?
OH PLEASE SOMEONE IN THE AUDIENCE THROW AN AXE AT THIS CLOD OTHERWISE I MAY NEVER HEAR THE END OF IT
I'm gonna have to try 50-50
Computer, like I'm on Star Trek or something, please randomly take away two of the wrong answers. Like I need to say anything at all to initiate that.
Oh, drat. Those were the two I was leaning towards.
I wish I was dead.
If you haven't already used "phone a friend," you're using it now, putz.
And who is Greegorp?
Why do you care?
I don't. Good day to you, Greegorp.
Is it? It's actually 3 am here, right now.
This is Meredith Vieirieria, from Millionaire. Beotch. Niergiklovep is going for $4000
I'm guessing this means I won't be leeching off enough prize money to have my surgery.
Probably not. Here's Niergiklovep.
Greegorp, what flavor are purple skittles? Is it-
They're supposed to be grape. It actually says that on the back of the packaging. I know because I was eating some Skittles just as you called.
Uhhh, are you sure?
Uhhh, yes? What else would they be?
A, turnip, or B-
Shut up! It's grape! Unless-*
WOKKA WOKKA WOKKA
(cut off due to time expiring) *unless you're referring to the skittles which come in the bag which is itself purple, in such a case as that the purple are "berry punch" flavor. It is interesting to note that in neither case does the taste resemble what it is named after. Oh, you're probably out of time, aren't you. And that means the people from the show disconnected my line. Yes, that would certainly explain the weird noise my telephone is making at this moment.
Any ideas, Niergiklovep?
Ahhh... I-i-i-i'm... still not sure. I'm gonna have to stop.
Good, good. Good for you. Would you like to take a guess anyway?
If I had to, I would have said-
IT DOESN'T MATTER BECAUSE YOU CHOSE TO STOP! GET OUT!
DEW DEW DOO...
Oh, sorry! It was grape. Ha, ha. $999,000 for me!
It's not that the questions in general have gotten harder since the Regis Philbin version, it is that the people appearing as contestants have just, in general, gotten dumber. I understand that there's a difference between intelligence and the accumulation of trivial knowledge, and further wish more people did [understand that], but these folks are mopes. They really are. That they even think they have a chance at all after, presumably, watching the show and knowing just as little, proves it.
Since the show doesn't have to end with a winner or loser, it is in ABC's financial best interest to prolong the idiotic chattering the losers so enjoy for as long as possible, so to minimize the amount of people winning $1000 every half hour. You might (but hopefully don't) recall that they used to be winning $32000 a lot, but advertising revenues are higher during primed time, so the whole thing probably evens out. The only applicable difference is that, since contestants are only getting through half as many questions, there are twice as many contestants coming through, getting identified, and going away. So I think, either show captain Merideth Viera has no soul, or she's getting whatever remains of the million dollar prize for every episode, because that's just too many new people to meet, pay attention to, and never see again, every day. After a few weeks of that, your brain runs out of room and starts deleting old people to make room for the new ones, none of whom will even matter in five minutes. At least on Jeopardy (which I promise you I no longer watch), one of the people will be a focus of two full shows, and the two that won't will remain until the end of that day's show. That is, assuming they don't have negative dollar values, for in such cases as those, Alex Trebek eats them during the third commercial break. But even that period is three times longer than aspiring millionaires count for.we'll never be safe I'm not impressed, because it's been my understanding that Bambis and Peters Pan always come out in the end.
Why doesn't Popeye eat his own brand of spinach?
I have another theory: Spinach is a plant, and cans of spinach contain green leaves (yes, that's the theory. You think you're so smart).
That's called taxation without representation, and that's not fair
Saturday, Veintiocho de Mayo, 2005 
Well well, look who's building a fence today, none other than you, the owners of the truck with the
COUNTRY
WWYZ FM
and plenty other rear window stickers important enough to obstruct your view of whatever motorists are flipping you off for having all those stickers. Sure, invite all your friends over to cut wood with your electric spinny-blade and talk about your "stockade" right beneath my window so I have to wake up and turn on my computer and write mean things about you.
The fact that you put the less-pretty side of the fence facing my yard means one of two things: 1) You're arrogant, self-righteous whorewogs, and after forty years (3/4 of each, I might add, you weren't even here) of no fence you decided your clan was being held down by the lack of human erected barriers between it and my own or 2) that is actually my fence, because I got so sick of looking at your freshly mowed grass. Good for you, you drive over from Michigan or wherever every Friday to loudly crawl your underachieving gocart over your plant carpet and leave. Nickety nackety nu nu nu!
This fortification blocks the rear adjacent house as well, but since those people are also great boat/power tool fans, I dare say they deserve it. There was actually a fence blocking them before, but I believe it was their fence. I guess it needed to come down so that it could match my new fence at the correct angle. Or maybe the owners of the house to the left of mine just like putting up new fences, even at the expense of old ones. Unlike every other idiot in this neighborhoodlum in the past few years. I'm glad I was, from several years of school attendance with mental hospital escapees, scared of people anyway, because I'm sure it would have upset me greatly if I had to start over this sort of thing, from people who are "normal" by societal standards. 
THIS FENCE, however, this baby fence has no purpose. Oh yes, let's needlessly complicate navigation by us on our own property by setting up a fake wall which can be seen over far more easily than it can be passed! I suspect its real purpose is that of contrast, to make sure there's no mistaking the hostile intents of the fence blocking my section.
"Mine."
"Nice."
I hate to spoil the bimshwel magic, but I don't write up all of these pages from nothing. With few exceptions, I just change the contents of previous pages, leaving the fonts, colors, font colors and layouts the same. The fact that there's still little enough aesthetic consistency that the only way to know I made a page is the existence of a link to here and a link to there from here probably means I'm going to die from an infected hangnail wound. Note that, regardless of how, if I die at all at the end of my life, the previous sentence will be the most accurate horoscope ever given to me.
However, back in February began The Tournament of Ultimate Champions, the two mightiest champions to encounter Kenneth in a match, in which, if he loses, it will actually mean something. Surely he will lose, since Peter Jennings has gonorrhea now or something and can no longer contribute teleprompter aided, nepotismal lead-in energy as anchor for World News Tonight. Unless that's just a cover story to permit the two to merge into some kind of Voltronic Ultra Jennings. I still don't know. Unfortunately, Jeopardy's been on television for over twenty years and apparently a lot of people have won (one out of three, I'm told) during that period, so... it's been a long tournament.
The other is Jerome Vered, who has a funny looking spectacle - mustache -Howard Dean condensed-to-nose-width creepy smile combination and additionally sways dorkily while acknowledging the panning camera during the Final Jeopardy writing music. Clearly, he deserves to win more. There may actually be monetary retribution at staple, since it's entirely possible that Brad stole Jerome's lunch money in third grade. But I doubt Jerome can beat Brad, now that Rutter has developed an immunity to Alex Trebek's perverse subliminal commands to make large wagers on Daily Doubles. Trebek loves big bets. Now that I think of it, however, geek energy (The Force) is at an all time high due to the final (we'll see how long that claim lasts) Star Wars movie being in theatres, most prominently the Arclight Theater (assumedly) near where Jeopardy is filmed. That the nerds had lined up at a different theater, some of whom refused to move when informed, indicates that Jerome had absorbed their mental capabilities far in advance (years in advance, looking at some of them). Also, even if he could not arrange the fusing, Ken Jennings has still, undoubtedly, amassed much knowledge in his two-hundred years as an elf, so you see it really is anyone's game to win.
For the record, Aunt Jemima is my sister, not my wife. Uncle Ben's actually not such a big fan of the ladies, if you know what I mean. What? Oh, you did not know. Huh? The Cream of Wheat guy and Uncle Ben are just friends! Oh, and by the way, his name is Reginald. Punk kids. And quit eating my rice. Don't even think about doing it off of my plate. They both even say "Uncle Ben's" right on them. Why do you think that means you? Are you also Uncle Ben? Well, I suppose technically that's possible, but I tell you those words refer specifically to this Uncle Ben. I only knew one other Uncle Ben, and you know what? Spider-Man had to kill him. Shut up! That is what happened! Spider-Man told me himself! Who should I believe, some dopey comic book, or the actual guy? He lives outside my remodeled houseboat inside a refrigerator box. Everyday he tells me he's Spiderman, and one day he was Bat-Man, too! That's pretty impressive, don't you think? Oh, Spider-Man's fictional? Well, so am I! And that means I can talk to Spiderman!
I didn't even think anyone liked rice, and it's better from a bowl anyway. You're just doing it to hurt me. Well stop!
Uncle Ben
