With the conclusion of “American Idol” all but sure
to bring about the end of civilization, I decided drastic measures
would be necessary.
Rupert Murdoch’s nefarious Inner Circle was using all the
phone votes and text messages to hurtle an asteroid, named for
recently deceased public TV guru Mister Rogers, toward earth via
the FOX Broadcasting satellite.
“This is bad news,” said Christy, my kung-fu
common-law wife.
The Amazing Paul, a Bruin studying computer science and
engineering, and economics, concurred.
“You need to do something,” he told me.
“I know,” I replied. “But what can I do? I do
all my fighting with cheap shots and blatant slander. And if
I’m not drunk I just curl into the fetal position and hum
“˜Partridge Family’ tunes.”
“The only way you can beat the system is to destroy it
from the inside,” The Amazing Paul said, after slapping
me.
“You mean ““?” Christy pondered.
“Yes. It’s time to enter the Matrix,” he
said.
We used The Amazing Paul’s computer to hook in. From there
we’d find the FOX database and try to muck stuff up to the
point that the asteroid wouldn’t come close to its intended
target ““ New York or Los Angeles.
Once we were “inside,” things were a little
different than what we’d come to expect from the first
two-thirds of the action-packed sci-fi epic. Instead of a
near-flawless replication of the world, the Matrix was more a
graveyard of pop-culture’s yesteryear.
Christy and I were at a loss for what to do until we came across
some familiar faces: Morpheus, Trinity and Neo.
“Can you tell us where the FOX database is?” Christy
asked.
“Dude,” Neo said, “Who are you, hot
dude?”
“We can’t help you,” Trinity said.
“We’re busy shooting the sequel to the video game
prequel that came out last week to coincide with the release of our
new film.”
“And then there’s a Mountain Dew commercial after
lunch,” Morpheus said. “And then one for
Powerade.”
“And then, dude,” Neo added, “We have an
appearance on “˜The View,’ and then “˜The Other
Half.'”
It was obvious the Matrix had the three of them more than they
thought. What was once a cult sensation had become the exact thing
it initially set out to destroy: an over-homogenized copy of a copy
of a copy of a copy of a copy.
Just then Agent Smith appeared with 500 of his best friends.
“It looks as though you’ve brought some new
invaders, Mr. Anderson,” one of them said.
“Don’t look at me, invincible dude,” Neo
replied. “These dudes are totally crashing our
party.”
So Neo, Trinity and Morpheus teamed up with Agent Smith(s) to
fight us. Fortunately, Christy’s kung-fu training completely
blew the old bullet-time trick out of the water. She grabbed
Trinity by the hair and whipped her around until the goons from the
Matrix were cut to shreds.
In the meantime, I took on Morpheus and Neo. I pulled out a VHS
copy of “A Walk In The Clouds” and flung it at
Neo’s face, hitting him square between the eyes. Then I took
my advance DVD copy of “Biker Boyz” and beheaded
Morpheus with the disc.
As his head fell, I think I saw him mouth, “Sorry for that
one.”
With minutes to spare Christy and I found the FOX database. The
interior was a cacophony of “Thank you for voting for
Clay,” and “Thank you for voting for Ruben” and
“Be sure to tune in Wednesday night as an asteroid completely
obliterates your hometown!” Instantly 1,000 Ryan Seacrests
stormed in, but once we unplugged them from the cheerful banter
machine they became completely useless.
At last we found the computer that was manipulating the
asteroid. Fortunately I knew the magic words to completely shut off
the system: Your show hasn’t been picked up for next
season.
Cazart! Success!
To thank Cobb for his heroic exploits, e-mail him at
ccobb@media.ucla.edu.