You never know when the big-time celebs, not the minor ones or the long-ago ones, I'm talking the box office stars of today, are going to pay the SJG a nocturnal visit. I know, I know, it sounds sorta naughty. Get your head out of the gutter, you. This dreamland encounter is sadly G-rated: I'm in a shopping mall food court, standing in a crazy long line, waiting to pick a number. When it's my turn, what I get isn't a number, but a trivia question. The guy at the counter asks, "What is the name of the Simpsons' home town?" And now it feels like I'm on that Monty Python bridge and I better answer the equivalent of "What is the air-speed velocity of an unladen swallow?" or I'm plunged into oblivion. I draw a blank. I start to panic. I can't summons the answer. "Um...." A small highly-gifted child whispers the answer. "Springfield!" I say. The counter guy turns Sandwich Nazi. "You cheated." "I wouldn't call it cheating. I got an assist." "No sandwich for you." "Oh, come on, man, please." He caves, quickly. "Fine." He hands me the sandwich and I sit down at a table by myself. But I'm not alone very long. Keanu Reeves appears. "May I join you?"
He's so dreamy, so polite, I say, "Absolutely." "How's it goin'?" he asks. "Pretty well, except... oh, never mind." "Except what?" "I forgot to get a Diet Coke." "Would you like me to get you a Diet Coke?" he asks. "Oh, Keanu, you don't have to do that." "I want to." "If you insist. Lots of ice..." Keanu goes off to get my chemically-laden zero-cal soda, but before he returns, @#$% it, I wake up.
And now, Sad Keau must eat his sandwich alone, sans the SJG.
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