Fool on the Planet.

Way of the World.

Yesterday, while waiting for a showing of Conan O’Brien Can’t Stop, my best friend and I dined at an establishment called “Waffle Chix,” mainly because of its name.

They had chicken, and they had waffles. And in turn, I would have chicken, and I would have a waffle.

But while waiting for my chicken n’ waffles to arrive, while I was sitting there sipping on a cup of tea, I noticed a terribly confusing show, silently blazing on an HD television screen over my right shoulder.

As far as I could discern, it was a game…sort of…show, where a group of people were subjected to a trivia version of musical chairs; they would be asked an insanely simple, wildly inane question, and the one who was fated to answer last would inevitably be stuck with the incorrect answer. Those who answered wrong would then have something ridiculous happen to them.

Such as being shot in the chest with a fire hose while being rocketed backwards through a balsawood wall by the jerk of a harness.

Or standing in the back of a pickup truck that is rolling off a cliff, only to be pulled to safety by the helicopter that you happen to be attached to. This is a television show where people were weeping openly, worrying that they might be stuck with the wrong answer.

The sight of three people, clad in silvery jumpsuits, their backs loaded up with mock-jetpacks, crying in fear as they are asked a question about members-only jackets is a strange one indeed.

I really don’t know what to make of it.

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