"Burn People Magazine" Is That Your Final Answer?

I was shocked (shocked!) to see that John Carpenter, the man who won the mint on "Who Wants To Be A Millionaire" was on the cover of People Magazine, grinning with his family. I could be wrong about the family part, as he could have been pictured with a team of mules, but I looked at the cover for only a split second before turning away in disgust. I think I spat on the floor and made the sign of the cross. It was a bit hazy, that grin so bright and nauseous.

"That jackass is on the cover of People Magazine?" I yelled. I was at a restaurant, a family restaurant, in fact. But I knew the owner who came up to me and countered, "Can you believe that shit?"

I told him that a campaign should be struck that burns every copy of that magazine, including the one in the library of congress (prison be damned!). Carpenter ruined what should have been the moment of suspense in the 90s. His smug, egotistical, nerdlinger act turned it into a mere shrug of the shoulders, the equivalent of Suddenly Susan's "big moment" where she has sex with Judd Nelson. It was an ooze of arrogance: "Hello Dad," he said, using a lifeline, looking for the answer to that final question. "I don't really need your help..." "Of course you don't, son! You're the world's smartest man! I'm so glad you're making others feel bad about themselves"

And it's even more painful that the tax-collector, the most hated government employee, no, the most hated employee in America won the prize. Endless jokes of Regis never being audited have sprung up. "The revenge of the tax-collector and postal worker," the new novel by anonymous nerds, is being made into a made-for-TV movie.The apocalypse is near. It began when Carpenter told his father that he didn't need his help (how unAmerican is that?).

I've never met the man, I've never seen him in person or even gone into a chat room with him on AOL. But, I know him. I watched him win his million. I watched him run over his lines on Saturday Night Live, and therefore feel like I know enough to write his biography. In the style of today's modern biographys, I will insert myself as a ham sandwhich into the story of John Carpenter's life. Excerpts (entire biography, including a forward by Euclid and an afterword by Juice Newton, will be available Jan. 15th from Random House publishing):

Feb 11, 1987

John and I were studying in the library. It was a Friday, about 6 p.m. or so, and I was trying to look appetizing enough to be eaten. John, however, had other ideas, as he handcuffed himself to a chair. "I will not leave until I memorize the A through B sections of the encyclopedia," he'd bellow with a mouthful of gummi worms, much to my disappointment.

When he'd finish memorizing that section, he was unsatisfied, "No! I will not stop until I reach the D's! The D's!"

A few drunken frat boys wandered by and wanted to start some trouble. "Hey Carpenter. Thanks for taking that Philosophy test for us and for writing christmas cards to our parents. Just for doing such a great job, we want to make you do our laundry."

Then one of the frat boys took a bite out of me.

"Good sandwhich, chump." Oh, the humanity. Being eaten alive by a frat boy while John Carpenter sits handcuffed to a chair in the library. "Alrighty Carpenter, it's time for you to shave my back."

April 17, 1989

John and I were preparing for the IRS exam. If he passed, he would begin his career of revenge and humiliating other people in front of their parents and/or spouses. I, on the other hand, was just there to take the test for fun, and to try once again to get John to eat me. It didn't happen, as years of neglect and warm weather made me virtually indigestible. I cried today.

"I'm not nervous about this," John told me. "I've been ready for this my whole life. I know everything there is to know about tax laws, making people miserable during audits, and finding humor in Dilbert jokes. I should be okay, right ham sandwich?"

"Sure, whatever," I said. What did it matter? He was going to be big and famous, on the cover of People Magazine, and where would I be? A trash can, that's where. Underneath his radiator, if I'm lucky. "Just promise me, if you do pass this test, will you promise to never forget me?" I was in tears.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I've gotta run," and off he went to take a test that would change his life. Later, a dog urinated on me.

November 12, 1999

I'm in the studio audience as John is making his way towards the million. "Tombstone! The answer is Tombstone!" I shout during the only question he seems to have problems with. "Tombstone," he answers. And he's on his way. I just wish he wouldn't have hidden me under the bleachers, where a group of mice fight over the last shreds of my remains.

-Brandon Stahl