Behind Curtain #1 is an overeager werewolf with a potato peeler. Behind Curtain #2 is a greasy lever that, when pulled with the appropriate degree of attitude and finesse, will bring the Japanese economy to its knees. Behind Curtain #3 is a large Tupperware container containing two VIP passes to a hypothetical Daft Punk concert and 77 jealous scorpions.
Your hand is on the wheel, but your mind is scraping the bottom of the Everglades. The nondescript studio audience is becoming increasingly peppered with wagging alligator tongues. Your fake Scandinavian relatives were supposed to be here to cheer you on… where are they? Probably getting arrested at IHOP again. Typical.
Game Show Host Garry gently prods you on the shoulder with his skinny microphone as if to say, “Spin that wheel before I spin your wheel.” You turn to look upon him, his press-on hair, spray-on smile, blue lips. His demeanor implies that he wants you to go home with fabulou$ ca$h & prize$, but his eyes clearly betray the reality that he’s been mentally hate-fucking you for the past twenty minutes while Pat Sajak watches.
Shriveled remnants of that awful theme song are wrapping their tails around your hippocampus.
The Wheel of Despair / A lake of hot wax / A cheerleader’s leg / Ping-pong heart attacks
“Spin the fuckin’ wheel already,” hisses the shovel-faced model leaning on the glittered scoreboard. You’re not sure if her antlers are real or a hallucination, but now’s probably not the best time to ask. Oh! Over there, by the emergency exit! It’s Pseudo Uncle Svënk! At least someone showed up to offer support. Using your free arm, you wave. Using your free mouth, you smile. Your false uncle’s jaw falls off. Typical.
A few gentle proddings and a nearly fatal kidney laceration later, your attention returns to the wheel at hand. “Let’s get this boat on the road,” you scream to yourself, “For Toby (?)”
The big wheel spins, at last! The audience moans in collective ecstasy as a torrent of clicks and misperceived numbers rushes overhead, soaking the first eighty rows with Fibonacci’s urine. 100,,, 2000… 50… PAIN… 10000… 50…
Game Show Host Garry scratches his wrinkled proboscis
Contestant #2 is named Cecil, Contestant #1 is named… Cecil…
The wheel abruptly stops on a red diamond, and the audience responds as any audience would. Game Show Host Garry slithers up to the diamond and, after a melodramatic pause, yanks it off the wheel to reveal:
Game Show Host Garry spreads his wings. “Paaaack your bags!” he shrieks. “You’ve just won an all-expenses-paid trip to Lansing, Michigan! You’ll spend an entire weekend locked in a warehouse with Saved by the Bell‘s very own Dustin Diamond, snorting incomprehensible amounts of Ritalin and listening to Radiohead! You’ll beg for God’s mercy but He won’t hear you, because you’re in Michigan!
Verbalizes understanding: Y
Translator needed: N
-Insert peripheral line-
Tell them to stop. TELL THEM TO STOP!
Heart rate: 160 beats/min
Pain level (0-10):
FUCK KICK IT DO SOMETHING COME ON
Garry needs a sample. Give Garry a sample.
O2 sat (%): 88
Skin turgor: Loose
Don’t fight it. You know, you two used to be so close. You sat together in church. You breakdanced to Verdi together. You got drunk and yelled insults at the Aurora Borealis together. You were, as they say on The Food Network, “tight.” What happened? Come on, take a deep breath. Relax. There you go. Now, why don’t you give the wheel one more spin. Go on, it’s okay. We’ll just pretend the first one didn’t happen.
Ha! Ha! Just fuckin’ with ya. Be at the airport in one hour or we’ll murder your family.