By: Marco Ovies, Features Editor
So there I was, scrolling through Disney+ for literally anything to watch, when I stumbled upon The Simpsons. I had never watched it before, so I thought I would give it a shot. Hell, it’s been running since 1989, so it has to be good . . . right?
I pressed play. The face of Homer Simpson, looking straight at the camera (is it a camera if it’s a cartoon?), filled my screen. He stared for a couple of seconds, long enough for me to check if I had accidentally clicked pause.
“Marco Ewald Ovies,” he said, still looking directly at the camera.
The remote fell with a clatter to the floor. God, what a terrible middle name I was given. Ewald? Thanks, Mom and Dad. Like my last name didn’t already sound like ovaries. You just wanted to guarantee I was bullied, huh?
“I am talking to you, my child,” Homer said, blinking slowly. “Judgment Day has come.”
He wasn’t looking at the camera. He was looking at me. I quickly moved to turn the TV off, but the remote wasn’t working.
“I am as old as time itself,” Homer continued, “Tempting mortals for long before you were born. I am the serpent in the Garden of Eden. I am Pandora’s box. I am the last bit of ice cream you knew was not yours because you ate your share at 2 a.m. crying while watching Monsters, Inc. after a breakup.”
“Hey! I was making a lasagna with . . . lots of onions. That’s why I was crying,” I said.
“There is no time for toxic masculinity, child. Not when death awaits you for your crimes.”
A mustard yellow hand reached out from the television and grabbed my living room table. Homer started to pull himself out of the television like that creepy demon thing with the long black hair from that movie I can’t remember the name but am too scared to watch.
Startled, I pushed the living room table back with my feet so it would slam against the TV stand. “What crimes?!” I yelled, watching the TV fall forward onto the table.
“You knowingly chose to watch a show that has hints of racism,” he said, lifting the television up and finally crawling completely out. “You know full well that Apu Nahasapeemapetilon is voiced by a white man.”
“No!” I exclaimed, scrambling up from the couch and beelining towards the door. “That can’t be why! Bo Burnham dressed up as Aladdin when he was 17; where were you when I watched his new special Inside?”
Homer grabbed my ankle as I was trying to make my escape, pulling me down to the floor.
“Well, Bo Burnham is my favourite comedian. I mean, did you see how good he looked in that sexting bit?” Homer said casually as he pulled me in closer. “You had to have seen how big his dic—”
Summoning a burst of strength, I kicked Homer in the face and he let go of my ankle. I got up quickly and turned around to take one last look at him. His dots for corneas had turned a deep red.
“You can’t just give him a pass because he’s your fave!” I shouted as I left.
It’s been three days and I’m still on the run. Every time I think I’ve gotten away, he always appears right around the corner. People always say The Simpsons is great at predicting the future, and I guess sometimes they’re right. But not for me — I’m in charge of my own destiny now.
About the author: Marco Ovies died minutes after submitting this piece by running into traffic at the sight of the yellow M&M’s mascot. He requested a GoFundMe be set up in the event of his death, but he never specified what the money would be for. So we did not do that.
