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I’m supposed to be presenting a proposal for a new company logo this week, but I pushed the meeting back for this? I’m so fired. No one in the office will ever take me seriously again. I hope Karen actually reads the notes I put on the bottom of the presentation slides I sent her.
“Come on, Phil.”
God, his voice so smooth I just want to punch him in those shining teeth. How did he end hosting this show instead of reading the news or doing voiceover work? Maybe that rag-mag article headline I read about his alcohol abuse was true. I don’t like how he was looking at my wif—.
“You gotta dig deep to find that gold!”
What?—Oh, right, the flag. Just say flag. Here I am in a television studio, wearing scrubs, goggles, and a helmet, covered in foam and green slime, shoulder deep in a giant nose trying to find a gold flag to pass to my son whose “dream” it was to be on this show. I spent the last hour watching my kids struggle to answer basic trivia questions. Then they get mad at me when I don’t know who starred in Sharknado 6.
Whatever. We won all the physical challenges, and that’s where the show gets all of its entertainment value. Making perfectly respectable people do degrading things because the network is too creatively bankrupt to create original programming, but somehow it’s ALWAYS funny to watch someone’s dad get hit in the groin with an inflatable boxing glove and covered in slime. I’d better get a World’s Best Dad mug for dealing with this shi—
“Come on, Dad! Come on! You can do it!”
I have no idea what I’m doing. I’ve been making everything up as I go. The desperate look in Doug’s eyes lets me know that if we lose this challenge, I’ll end up being the bad guy, again. It’s not my fault we need money for a house and food and to be able to come on stupid TV game shows that make you—
“He got it! He got it! Give it to Doug!”
I practically dive across the stage to hand my son the green slime-encrusted gold flag.
He runs like a little weirdo, the kind that would have being on this show as his life goal. Isn’t he too old to watch this show? There is no way he doesn’t get beat up when the kids at school see this. Even I want to give him a wedgie. Hopefully they’re all too sensible or cool to watch this kiddie show.
Doug is struggling so hard. I should never have agreed to let Beth name him after her grandfather. The man died from dropping a toaster in the bathtub. It wasn’t even suicide, he just wanted to eat breakfast in the tub.
Take a deep breath. Maybe Doug will be some type of savant at this. We have plenty of time for him to climb up the baby oil covered slide to grab his flag, then hand it to his sister to find the last one in that pool of shaving cream—
“Ten! Nine! Eight!”
I’m going to be known as the worst nose picker ever.
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