And, in corner, we have a soup bowl, quite empty. And in that corner, we have infinity billion dollars Sitcom Dads.
(Voice from off screen: “That’s the spirit Frank! But I think a real number might be more effective.” )
We sit here tonight, wondering which dumb dad will die first. No, we have not told them to fight. Instead, we have opened the stadium roof so that it is now raining indoors. In just a short while, the soup bowl will fill up with rain water. Harmless to an ordinary person, but deadly to a D.S.D. What’s’ more, some of these dads will almost certainly look up in the sky when it rains and thereby drown. Others will make it all the way to the end of the ring, only to drown in the soup bowl. SOme may wonder off, but that is a risk we are willing to take. Now, while we are not allowed to place any other hazards in the ring, due to this states strict Darwin laws, other methods of death will surely be found. They are just that dumb.
So, I ask the audience to bet on the result. Which stereotype will die first? Which will make it too the bowl first? Who will wonder off, only to fall intro a crocodile pit that wasn’t there a second ago?
. . .
Oh, hold on, I am getting word from the front gate. A group of Dumb Dads from other forms of media are massed at the gate, demanding to be let in. They don’t seem to understand the concept of the match, no matter how much it is explained to them, but nonetheless, the are trying to muscle their way in. This, despite the fact that the guards are all cardboard cut-outs. Radio show dads, 1970s dumb-kid’s film dumb dads, major motion picture characters, they are all here as well.