Game Show Answers From The Abyss
Game shows give us a fascinating peek into the rumblings of our collective subconscious. A combination of public pressure, prizes, and nerves lets us see what truly lurks beneath the careful veneer of our public lives. The id is laid bare, and in front of God and several video cameras, we bear terrible witness. There is no buffer – these poor souls are you, and they are me.
His answer is either “Drums,” or “DHHRHHHGH.” He looks satisfied either way. Everybody laughs, but why? Are they laughing because drums are the opposite of romance? Are they laughing because a voice just came out of Steve that sounded like a bag of kitchen appliances hitting the bottom of a mine shaft? Steve is beautiful and unknowable.
“No, you took too long,” the host says like an absolute heathen after being graced with one of the most beautiful soliloquies ever uttered. You don’t hear her mouth-sounds so much as feel them. There is a song thrumming beneath our pulses, and it is thousands of voices, in thousands of octaves, uttering “uh” like a benediction in an alien tongue.
Steve Harvey is the hangdog everyman thrust into extraordinary circumstances, and nobody could have been prepared for this answer – nobody except for one lone clapper in the audience who waited with bated breath for her to say that people bury placenta in their backyards. A few claps join in when she yells that she’s seen it in movies. These are the ties that bind – backyard placenta and having seen things in movies.
“A girl from New Jersey.”
Picture the inside of this man’s head as he offers this answer. Beneath that football helmet of greased curls, there are small men behind computers, running and scrambling to find the answer for “What does a person from Philadelphia dunk his pretzel in?” Finally, one of the small, awful men screams “A GIRL FROM NEW JERSEY.” The other wretched Philadelphia brainmates stop what they’re doing. Slow smiles spread across their mouths. Jackpot.
[unhinged screaming muppet dance]
It doesn’t matter what the question was, or the answer, or why Drew Carey is there, or why we exist on a frozen ball of ice in the oubliette of space. What matters is this man's dance. Look at this man's dance. Look at it.
Whatever's happening here is legally binding. That's the only thing I know for sure.
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