Game Show

“Oh my gosh! Did I win? Did I win?”

“YES! You win, Mrs. Filchmore! You win! Tell her what she’s won, Johnny!”

Mrs. Filchmore, you’ve won some fabulous prizes!

HOUSE-CROWAVE! It’s a brand new microwave, the size of a house. Lure people you don’t like inside, slip out the back door, and turn it on! The cruel demise of your enemies will keep you laughing for ours. Watch their anguished dance of pain! The whole brutal murder is being captured on webcams, which stream the live footage to the entire world. Listen to your dying enemies claw at the windows with bloody, sizzling fingers! Giggle as their faces melt away! You’ll never stop having fun with HOUSE-CROWAVE, the house-sized microwave of amusing doom.

By HOT-N-CLOT! They’re the sick little company that brought you CABIN-CROWAVE, CAR-CROWAVE, and CRIB-CROWAVE.

Remember: if you’re burning alive inside something, you’re probably inside a HOT-N-CLOT product!


You’ve also won I CAN’T BELIEVE I JUST STABBED MYSELF IN THE EYE WITH A PENCIL! It’s the amazing, challenging, and life-altering board game that’s sweeping the nation. Move your piece around the board, but don’t land on the red square! Because if you do, the patented glasses release a spring mechanism that plunges a pencil directly into your eye.

Yes, it’s I CAN’T BELIEVE I JUST STABBED MYSELF IN THE EYE WITH A PENCIL! Enjoy it the first two times you play, because after that, you’re blind and there’s no point in playing.

Tired of being ugly, Mrs. Filchmore? That’s okay, because you’ve won 37,000 Armenian Drams worth of plastic surgery! Yes, plastic surgery from an authentic, unlicensed, mentally ill, Armenian plastic surgeon!

Djivan Nesrob is a talented amateur in the world of plastic surgery. Self-taught, working mostly on animals and small children, Djivan knows a thing or two about a scalpel. Or at least he can tell the handle from the pointy bit. Why, he’s world renowned for certain Soviet era war crimes we are not permitted to discuss!

Inexplicably, you’ll meet Djivan in the basement of a slum in Detroit, where he will hack away at your ugly features, and replace them with the smooth, featureless skin of a blank canvas. Won’t your friends and family be surprised when you show them the new you! Careful not to touch those surgical staples, Mrs. Filchmore! They’ll be keeping your face held together. One false move and your whole head will unravel like a discount turban.

But that’s not all! Mrs. Filchmore, the prizes just keep on coming!

What home would be completed without… a 37 volume encyclopedia on the history of genital warts!

One of God’s most misunderstood and underappreciated creatures. Yes, the genital wart -- or condylomata acuminate if you’re a snooty professor, HPV if you love acronyms, or just plain UGLY if you’re human. Take a deeper look at the unpleasant, sexually transmitted little fellow that has caused many a man and woman some discomfort in the bathing suit area. Seen in the proper historical context, these little raspberries of love are quite beautiful – and fun!

Gather the kids around the fireplace on a cold winter’s night, pick a volume at random, and cajole the whole family with anatomical photographs detailing the surgeries that can be used to remove a genital wart. Scalpel? Laser? Freezing? All the surgeries are there for you to discover! Pore over lists of historical cures, such as red hot pokers, cactus needles, cow’s tongue, and more!

And last but not least, Mrs. Filchmore, you’ve won… the sweet, satisfying embrace of death.

Car accidents, disease, acts of violence – there are plenty of terrible ways to die. Not for you, Mrs. Filchmore! No, sir! You’ll be whisked away to a luxury hospital where trained medical technicians will painlessly put you under using the latest technology. Why take chances? Why suffer through a death that’s a terrifying, painful surprise? Know when you’ll die and how you’ll die.

Death, where is thy sting? In your case, two weeks from Tuesday at a clinic in Switzerland.

Those are your prizes, Mrs. Filchmore. Our hearty congratulations!

“Thanks, Johnny… And now for round two, where… Why, hey, Mrs. Filchmore, are you crying? Don’t cry. You won. You’re the winner. All those wonderful prizes. Aren’t you happy? You should be happy, Mrs. Filchmore, you ungrateful bitch.”

“It’s just… my blind, ugly father died of anal warts after being hit on the head with a microwave.”

“Oh dear, Mrs. Filchmore. Me oh my. That is quite a strange coincidence. Golly.”

End.