Writingbolt's Creation

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Beware the Game Show Network. It is full of fools.

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Hi. I’m one member of a friend threesome. We have been good friends for numerous years. We have traveled the world and have many favorites we share. You would think our life is bliss. [You might also suspect we are sleeping together…like one brainy threesome with no standard other than similar levels of intelligence.] But, we cannot resist being part of a game show that is sure to make us look stupid. Even if we fail to win anything, we go home just as perfect as we were before we arrived on TV. Enjoy watching us waste your time and remember how perfect our life is while your life is not.

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Listen. I, too, am part of a trio of friends who has to give ourselves a witty group name before competing against another team in one of the many, many trivia game shows that, if watched together, will likely drive your already mashed potato brain completely mad. We each have a lame story to justify our life’s purpose and intelligence. The least attractive of my group stands at the far end, with her back turned to the cameras, ensuring she will get the least TV exposure.

Anyone at home could tell this was done on purpose. But, we just went along with it because we all wanted to prove we were smart. Everyone watching game shows wants to prove they are just as smart. You sit at home, seeing what people are doing to win prize money, and you say, “I can do that!” Right?

We play a game similar to Password, trying to get our teammates to guess words given to us on a screen. We are failing miserably, but the youthful host is determined to make us feel good about ourselves. The show ends somewhat abruptly, and we go home feeling dumber and physically exhausted, which seem strange for a show that’s supposed to be a verbal and mental challenge.

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I buckle under pressure, too; which is why it seems stupid for me to be part of a game show that intentionally seeks to peg someone as stupid by giving them very little time to solve wacky puzzles on a touch screen. Many of the puzzles are actually rather witty, themselves. So, it’s not all bad being a genuine fool. I think the audience, at home, gets something out of watching.

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I hosted said game show with visual puzzles that make you think outside the box to avoid me calling you stupid. I exposed my relationship status many times and often flirted with the female guests, even the lesbian ones. Obviously, that did not change my relationship status, because I came back, day after day, with the same story.

I am not a fool because I call myself a FOL. See? I took out one letter to change the spelling of the word. That takes intelligence…I think. Stop staring at my unusually large hands and odd outfit combinations.

[Actually, I think the host was/is rather amusing. And, most of the puzzles are amusing and/or decent tests of observation…not all of the tests, though. So, ‘no offense intended. But, you do place yourself among many other fools. And, damn, those two lesbians were very attractive.]

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I was on a trivia game show that put three supposedly average people up against three “celebrities,” noted for their televised prowess on other trivia-related game shows. I helped viewers at home sit through an hour of failure laced with little supposed factoids supplied by the know-it-alls. In the final round, when it was just me versus the “expert” with the highest individual score from their group, I missed more than one question and didn’t go home with much.

Later, at home, I watched some other episodes and noticed a pattern. I think the “experts” knew which of them was going to be in the final round and answered accordingly. And, in the final round, I think the final know-it-all also intentionally answered in a way that gave me minimal hope of surviving until the final question, when they politely kicked me out the exit door.

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I strongly disagree with the above testimony. I was on the same trivia game show and not only defeated the three experts but came back two more times and achieved the same feat to become one of the experts. Earning the right to appear on other trivia-related game shows, I now can speak freely about whatever someone else fails to know as true and annoy countless TV viewers with my big brain and not-so-big mouth. I enjoy dry cereal made of dictionaries and the New York Times. I literally eat books and newspapers. But, I can’t seem to make as much money as the other brainiacs who seem to always be on TV. I guess emulating or trying to compete with someone already deemed famously smart isn’t very smart.

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I was on a similar trivia game show, with one expert at the top of some flashy mountain just to boost his ego. I was among three people who were all convinced we were very smart by people we know. I guess I let my support system influence me too much; I turned out to be a big dummy, utterly squashed by the big mouth in charge. The lovely hostess tried to make light of the situation but failed. I know now not to be so trusting of others’ opinions about myself, which will probably erode my self-esteem as I get older and dumber.

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I am the (gorgeous) host of the forementioned trivia game show…well, actually, I hosted a few, and they featured some of the same know-it-alls. On one of my shows, which went on to appear on another channel and feature a variety of experts at the top of the mountain, put on rotation, I was forced to repeatedly address the know-it-all by his nickname. [I don’t host that other version.] I said his nickname so many times; I think my powerful jaws became stuck in perpetual motion. I go home, many nights, just repeating that name to no one. Sometimes, it just pops up in conversation.

It’s a beastly bad habit. I know. But, hey, I’m keeping busier and looking better than I probably did on that old joke about being a lifeguard. And, I didn’t have to radically change my appearance to put that behind me, like some Aquaman I know.

When I’m not bowing down to a British giant, I like to deliver questions to contestants at such an alarming rate, I fear, one day, my head will just fly off into the studio audience anyone rarely sees…because there are not many big winners on the shows I host. It’s a good thing I like to eat and never gain a pound.

[And, I don’t mind that last bit, either. That is one dreamy game-show hostess.]

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Hey. I was on a dating game show that didn’t last long, probably because it smelled too much like the host’s other famous show, which ran too long for the sleazy crap it was, as did its cheap spin-off. As a contestant, I was required to describe three faults or quirks I have, in a few words, and put each answer in a silly piece of silvery luggage.

The lone woman, who had to pick one of us three guys for a date, not a commitment, just a date (planned by the makers of the show), did not like at least one of my “secrets.” Like many other people in my shoes, I told her I would burn my past and change my ways for her. [You might say it was a bold-faced lie to get the girl.] She seemed remotely pleased by that offer. [I’ll take that as a maybe.]

Unfortunately, my choice of words was more scandalous than accurate. I went home looking and feeling worse than when I arrived. Now, I’m marked for life as the loser I was on TV (thanks to reruns used as filler on a faulty broadcast TV system).

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Yo. I was on that same dating show, but I was the star who had to put one answer in a single red piece of luggage. I had less chance of being rejected than the other three players in the room. I had a choice of three fine women. Being a rather superficial, immature (though mature in physique, which I pumped and sprayed at the gym) and selfish guy, I quickly eliminated the one gal who was the most nerdy because she freaked me out. Some other artsy loser can pick her up outside the studio; I’m sure. So, that left me with a nutcase and a hooker. I chose the hooker. But, when she saw my “big secret,” she rejected me. I think she misunderstood what I said. ‘Live and learn I guess.

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Hi. I was a woman on that same dating show and in the previous speaker’s position, with the choice of three possible dates. I quickly rejected the one guy who still valued his mother and lived with his parents, because that’s the standard with this gig. I mean, who accepts an adult man who lives with his parents?

This left me with a scrawny nerd in debt and a hunk who barely fit in a suit. I couldn’t pick the nerd because that would just give other nerds false hope of landing someone as hot as me. And, I cannot process being with someone who houses a huge toy collection, even if it includes sex toys.

I chose the hunk, who, thankfully, did not mind me being a stripper, though I did not use that particular word to describe myself. We went on the show’s pre-packaged date and had lousy sex before looking for other cheap and lousy game shows to expose ourselves and build a crappy TV resume. If you see me, again, anywhere, I’ve surely had my brain removed and am now just a cyborg.

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I also was a gorgeous woman who had to pick one of three guys on that same quasi-dating game show. However, I ultimately picked the most ethnic, immature and dorky of the guys, who had to accept that I was both a lawyer and a stripper, exclusively for some wealthy guys linked to the game show, itself, which I could not admit on TV (even though the host giving me a peck on the cheek might have given a clue). I gave false hope to other fools like my date to boost the show’s audience and round up other fools.

The date was just a formality to make the show appear like a success. I ditched the dork with a clause in my contract and never saw him, again. Actually, we did cross paths, but a restraining order set him straight…or gay. I can’t remember, anymore. I handle a lot of men. Ha.

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Hey, folks. I was the host of that dating show, when Match.com was still hip and televised. It wasn’t just a dating show; it also advertised a talent-seeking agency for which any of the contestants could apply to do something other than humiliate themselves in a strangely limited social environment. [So, it’s possible some if not all contestants were staged and grouped for a preset result.]

I am a very witty guy with dentures, who can make countless jokes about himself and speak rather intelligently when pressed. But, instead of hosting something that puts my assets to good use, I am pegged as a “shock jock,” bent to getting scandalous noises out of the audience.

Unlike the other fools who appear on shows like mine, I had plenty of time to entertain viewers. Unfortunately, the nature of the shows I host eventually lose their charm almost as fast as viewers lose brain cells. But, when one show bombs, another is sure to rise from its ashes. So, don’t worry about me. I’ll keep cracking wise until my head falls to the floor.

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Hey, America (and whoever else may be reading this remote blog). I hosted a game show that was supposed to be hip, trendy and modern…because it involved something I know we all love to use…EMOJIS! Yes, and it required contestants to see things in emoji codes which few if any people actually could do, because the selection of emojis and time on the clock were rather limited. Try playing Charades with only fifteen possible hand gestures. How DO you get someone to guess “Raiders of the Lost Ark” by using a hand, a box, a pirate and a puzzled face? I have no idea. But, I’m glad I was making money while the contestants went home with corporate swag and subscriptions to things no one needs.

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I was a contestant on the forementioned emoji-laden game show. I was at a mall (in some part of Southern California) when I saw someone offering applications. A friend of mine, who likes to text with me, thought we would be good contestants, and, buckling under a fair amount of peer pressure, I agreed. I thought a show about texting was far easier than one that required you to use knowledge I failed to grasp in school; and I don’t read much, anyway.

On the show, I got nothing right and ultimately decided to never use emojis in my daily life; nor will I ever likely play a similar game, like Charades. When that emoji movie came out, I freaked and cut off all of my hair. If anyone tries to use emojis with me, I will probably break my own phone in a fit of uncontrollable rage. I shouldn’t even use the damn word…emoji! Ugh!

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It’s been over twenty years since I hosted my game show, with a very sexy blonde assistant who had a strange name and little to say…because I swallowed up eighty percent of the air time with my non-stop rambling. Together, with a third person whose job was to put contestant pairs to sleep by whispering random factoids, we tested the physical and mental limits of red-eyed fools and offered little reward to compensate for the madness and therapy that would likely follow. The show was a play on what many students go through to pass the big tests they take in school.

So, you see; I’m no fool, even if my hairdo looked dated…like really far out, if you dig what I’m saying. I made money for my effort and didn’t lose any sleep. I just ran a sweat shop that bent others like slaves for my own amusement. I also had one of the most attractive assistants who just wasn’t getting enough better roles, anywhere. Those are the perks of being in charge of my destiny and not the pawn.

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I was part of a reboot for newly married couples, hosted by some woman who I did not recognize because I don’t watch many movies or TV shows and don’t listen to music made before 2001. My new husband and I had a not-so-crazy story to tell about how we met, which gave viewers the impression we were close. But, as it turned out, we knew very little about each other and were terrible at reading minds. Instead, we just answered like the other couples, which didn’t do us any favors. Many of the questions were innuendoes, which I did not understand. [Why is this show so lewd?] I didn’t know there would be a kiss camera, either. In the end, we went home with a certificate for the loser-steak-of-the-month club and plenty to discuss in couple’s therapy. I’d say the experience was a waste of time, but, of course, my soon-to-be ex-husband disagrees.

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I was also on that game show for newly married couples, and my lovely wife and I actually won! We were VERY in tune with each other and matched on nearly every question. We took the big prize trip to Antigua and met several other game-show winners. It seems Antigua is the pit where seventy-five percent of game show winners go to die like lemmings. I thought it was supposed to be a tropical paradise. There were so many people trying to sell me something. I came home covered in business cards and coupons I’ll likely never use.