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The Idiot Box II: The Six-Million Dollar Deadbeat

Anyway, I was watching a videotape of "Raven," a semi-new-show show that Lee Majors had recently been in, I couldn't help but scream: "Is this what it's come to, Lee? Crappy action shows?"

When I was a child, Lee was my hero. He was every boy's hero -- he was The Six-Million Dollar Man. A dapper dresser, and once married to the fabulous Farrah Fawcett. How I loved Farrah. I sat in my easy chair shaking my head and screaming obscenities at the TV. It was the only rational thing I could do.

As I screamed, Lee suddenly looked at me and said: "You know kid, you're right."

And that's when he popped out of my TV and into my home. Lee sat on my couch and began sobbing.

"I remember when I was doing 'Big Valley,' I could get all the poontang I could dream of," he said. "I didn't think life could get any better until I did 'Six-Million Dollar Man.' Do you know what it's like to be a god?"


"I did, kid, and then there is nothing like it."

"Things that aren't that bad," I said. "At least, you got to do the nasty with Farrah Fawcett."

"Farrah," Lee said, and he began sobbing again.

"Well," I said, yawning. "I better hit the hay. Maybe you'd better get back in the TV, and we'll talk about this tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," Lee said.

As soon as he enters the TV, I thought, I turn everything off and put a magnet to the video tape.

"James," Lee said, "you showed a lot patience for an old coot like me. Thanks for being a friend."

Aw, I won't erase the tape, I thought. What am I, an animal? He just needed someone to talk to...

Lee said he needed a beer before he left, and I got him one. He sat in my easy chair and began sipping his brew like an old lady sipping tea.

"You go ahead and get your shut eye. After I finish my beer, I'm gone."


"James," Lee said, "you'll wake up tomorrow, and there won't even be a trace that I've been here. Hit the sack."

"Okay," I said. When I awoke the next morning, there was Lee in his underwear watching TV. Beer cans were strewn about on the floor.

"Lee," I said. "I thought you were going to leave."

"Well, Jimbo, while I was finishing my beer I decided to watch a little TV and this great movie came on and I just had to watch it."

"The movie ended a while ago, didn't it Lee?"

"Well, I took a little nap, and I guess I overslept."

"You're in your fucking underwear, Lee."

"It was stuffy, and I wanted to get comfortable. We're men here. I don't have nothing you ain't seen before, pal."

"Get your fucking clothes on and get the hell out of here. I got to go!" I said.

"Don't worry, pal, when you get back from work there won't even be a trace that I've been here."

Needless to say, when I returned home, Lee was still there.

"You won't believe what was on Oprah today - 'Gay Neo-Nazis and the Black Men who Love Them.' It was a laugh riot."

I was at wits end. It had become obvious to me that Lee had no intention of leaving my place. Days turned to weeks and weeks to months. He'd held my home hostage for over five months, and I was going crazy. He hadn't bathed once during his stay, and the place smelled like a zoo. I wanted him out of my life, even if it meant I'd have to kill him. The next day, I purchased up a lead pipe for that very purpose. When I walked into my home that evening, I walked stealthily up to my easy chair where I knew Lee would be sitting.

I lifted the pipe to send his sorry ass into oblivion and... I couldn't do it. I had to know.

"Lee," I said, "I was wondering if I could ask you a personal question..."

"Ask away, pal..."

"I was wondering, was Farrah a moaner or a screamer?"

Lee looked at me with a sly grin and said: "She was a moaner, pal. A moaner."

And that's when I beat him to death.


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