Ok, because I apparently have tons of time on my hands, despite the paper-tsunami that's going to hit any minute, I was reading this post which led me to this post about how much this girl hates this DeBeers ad. Not so much how she hates the ad, but how she hates the woman in the ad. Not so much the woman the actress, but the woman portrayed by the actress in the ad. Who is not a real woman.
It got me thinking about how I hate people who aren't real all the time. I hate loads of fictional people. I hate Phoebe from Friends, and the yellow Care Bear, and that girl from the Lava Life commercials, and Fergie from the Black Eyed Peas. But the fictional character I hate the most?
It's Player 3.
See, Robyn and I played a lot of computer-Jeopardy when we were in college, but because we're a little bit of what you call dumb, we played together. As one person. Named Steku.
This is Steku the first time he ever won. About three months after we started playing. And we played two or three games a day. Like I said: a little bit of what you call dumb.
Please note, there was never any Jeopardy played without Grape Man (side of computer) and Steve Yzerman (bobblehead, bottom right). Ahh, bobbleheads. You think you're gonna get bored with them, but you never do. Bobbley bobbley bobbley.
Ah yes, Steku. But that was the Old Jeopardy. Old Jeopardy had such characters as Mike and Sue (Steku was always Old Man In Sweater), and Rob and Jenny, who were always making eyes at each other. I always kind of suspected they had something going on, but that her parents didn't approve. Because he was from New York.
That, incidentally, was the highest score we ever achieved on Old Jeopardy.
But then came my birthday, and Robyn got me New Jeopardy - Jeopardy 2003. The 'new' Jeopardy no old men in sweaters or clandestine couples, only the question-box-screen with the players' names and scores on the bottoms. We were sad to lose our happy characters, with all their made-up back stories and crazy ways, but we soon discovered that our new opponents had distinct personalities as well.
Player 2, see, he's kind of dumb as well. I think he's won once or twice, and I'm sure we were stunned when it happened. Probably we applauded. He seems like a nice enough guy, and when he gives his answer, his voice rises at the end, as though it really is a question. Like he's not quite sure of himself. I'm Ron Burgandy? His only irritating trait is how he'll say 'Crossword clues 'M'...for a grand,' and the way he forces out 'for a grand' makes it sound like a phrase he's just learned from his teenage nephew and is trying out on national television.
Player 3, on the other hand, is a bitch. No one can say 'What is the repeal of the Corn Law in 1846' with more insufferating smugness. No one can squeeze condescension into the phrase 'for 800, Alex' quite like she can, as though $800 were piddling change, and she could take it or leave it. No one, but NO ONE, should get ALL of the 'Presidents: Where Are They Buried.' And sometimes, when I know the answer, she beats me to the buzz-in.
No one beats me to the buzz-in.
So Steku takes on Players 2 and 3, and usually he kicks their asses because of his superior knowledge of ants. And tents in the Bible. And salami. And the way he'll guess the final Jeopardy question based solely on the category, because when it's Famous Women, the answer is always Helen Keller. And when he beats Player 3...man. It's better than chocolate. Or...I guess...sex, because he's a dude. But the handful of times when Player 3's beaten him - well, those were dark days, my friend.
But we never let it go out on a loss, and we always come back with a surprising wealth of knowledge about bats (little known fact: while Robyn and I both think that monkeys are awesome, and that we would know a lot about monkeys, the hard truth is that we, in fact, know very little about monkeys. Jeopardy has taught us a valuable lesson) and then we follow up our surprising wealth of knowledge with a flawless guess in Final Jeopardy, and then we do a dance on Player 3's favorite sweater. With our muddy boots.