Are you fucking retarded, lady? Because if so, I’ll give you a pass. But anything short of Downs would officially make you the worst Plinko player in the history of "The Price Is Right"! And this show has been on since World War One. Bob Barker started it in 1917 as a patriotic service to keep war brides distracted from the bloodshed raging on the Western Front. TPIR has been rolling ever since.

And in all of that time, never has there been a Plinko contestant who has rivaled you in sheer impotence and stupidity.

Just look at yourself. You have one Plinko chip. One goddamned chip to play with. And that’s the free disk that Mr. Barker, in his unfailingly magnanimous nature, saw fit to GIVE you, despite the fact that you guessed NONE of the prices correctly on any of the four common, everyday grocery items that were presented before you.

Speaking of which, I have a question for you, dumb whore; a nagging little query that I couldn’t help but reflect upon throughout your truly atrocious Plinko performance thus far: Have you ever actually entered a grocery store in your entire life? And are you familiar with the commerce system that has long been established here in the United States, in which goods are exchanged for monetary compensation? If so, are you aware that the amount of money exchanged for said items- the “price” if you will- remains fairly consistent throughout the country at any given time?

I am forced to assume that you are not. What other reason could there possibly be for you to guess that a twenty-two ounce bottle of Selsun Blue Shampoo would cost $11.99 rather than $5.99?

Have you never purchased a bottle of shampoo? Do you go through life with unclean hair? Or do you make your own shampoo at home with spices and herbs from your garden? What other possible excuse could you have for thinking that a bottle of fucking Selsun Blue Shampoo costs twelve fucking dollars!?


And are you honestly going to tell me that you are of the belief that you can get a box of Quaker Oats Instant Oatmeal for $1.99 rather than $3.99? It was a variety pack of four different flavors, bitch! Eight individual pouches! What kind of fucking dream world are you living in where you can get a quality oatmeal product like that for two bucks? Because I want to start fucking shopping there!

So now there you stand, atop the historic Plinko board, looking over the precipice of morning game show destiny, clinging to your one, sad, unearned Plinko chip. And you’re debating where to drop it. Right now you have it poised directly above the $10,000 spot, as if the fucking thing is going to drop straight down.

Now even if you have never seen this game before, surely you must have at least a loose grasp of general physics and the concept of gravity. Do you not think it might hit a couple of those spokes on the way down? Don’t you think that might disrupt the trajectory of the chip a bit, you cretin?


As if I didn’t have a hard enough time watching the “Cliff Hanger” game today. That stupid Marine couldn’t price his way out of a paper bag. And it was with great pleasure that I watched the yodeling mountain climber plummet off the cliff, robbing “Private Retard” of that handsome home entertainment package that included a Lazy Boy Recliner, a Panasonic Plasma Screen TV and a Jolly Time Old Fashioned Popcorn Machine, “Jolly Time, Something Good Is Popping Up.”

And now I’m subjected to this wretched Plinko display. And do you know what the worst part is? Regardless of your miserable showing, you still get to spin the Prize Wheel. Simply because you won your way on stage by bidding one dollar on that ProForm Treadmill. And you only bid that because the audience screamed it at you incessantly. You probably didn’t even know what you were saying. You were just repeating a sound you heard like some witless Mynah bird.

And because the Prize Wheel involves no skill or intelligence whatsoever, you might even end up in the Showcase Showdown. Of course, that’s assuming that you can grasp that you are supposed to spin the wheel, and you don’t try to eat it or bang your head on it: two scenarios that I consider alarmingly possible. Rod Roddy would roll over in his rhinestone-encrusted casket.

It would almost be worth it to see you get to the Showdown though. The result could be highly entertaining. Seeing as how you were baffled when forced to decide whether a box of Crispix Cereal was $4.99 or $8.99, it would be sadistically fun to watch your mind reel as you tried to tally the cumulative worth of a set of golf clubs, a trip to Portugal and a dune buggy. You’d probably get really confused and end up bidding “Hot Dog”, or something equally inane and amusing.

So you’ve finally decided to drop your lone Plinko Chip, at Bob Barker’s kind but firm insistence. You watch painfully as it ricochets around briefly and then lands in the “Zero Dollar” slot.

Bob feigns compassion, but we all know he was rooting against you too. The morons that he has endured during his impressive tenor on this show must eventually wear on his patience. I’m sure he would agree with me when I implore you to do society as a whole a service by ensuring that you never reproduce. Have yourself spayed or neutered.

Every other Monday until the release of the book, we will post an all-new sketch based on one of our favorite essays from "Look At My Striped Shirt!". Be sure to check back.

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