I thought of this a while ago from a quote by La Rochefoucault: 'He is wise who is nettled by nothing.' Don't recall yet if I shared it before.
May 7: Now I recall sharing this under a different title in the past. Please erase all outside posts that show too many similarities with my posts and enforce my copyright protection.
Host: Take off your thinking caps, everyone, it's time to Nettle the Wise Man! (Cheers.) Today our distinguished target will be none other than the immortal Aristotle! (Seated at a table, the philosopher smiles and waves in response to enthusiastic cheers.) And here to challenge his famous temperance is Buck Buckowski, a door-to-door cable installer from Kiev, Saskatchewan. (Cheers.) Competing against two others, he will attempt to bring the most physiological stress to bear upon Aristotle over a carefully timed interval. Today's champion will take home a grand prize of twenty-five thousand dollars! (Cheers.) Of course, contestants must submit their strategies to our staff in advance so that we may adequately supply them for their goal. Are you ready, sir?
Buckowski: I think so.
Host: All right, then, let the pest begin! Wheel in the fridge! (A fridge is wheeled onstage, while several empty pitchers and glasses are set on Aristotle's table.)
Aristotle: What's all this for?
Buckowski: (Opening fridge door) I'm going to pour a glass of milk.
Aristotle: I see. (The contestant takes out a half full pitcher of milk and an unopened carton and puts them in front of Aristotle. He then starts to open the carton.) Aren't you going to empty the pitcher before you break open a new carton?
Buckowski: (Struggling) No, I like my milk fresh.
Aristotle: I think you've got it from the wrong side.
Buckowski: (Crudely ripping the top off) It doesn't matter. (He picks up the pitcher.) Do you want any?
Aristotle: No, thank you.
Buckowski: Suit yourself. (He fills one glass after another.)
Aristotle: Why do you need more than one glass for yourself?
Buckowski: I'm using them to empty the pitcher, so I can refill it with fresher milk from the carton.
Aristotle: (Observing) Why didn't you just fill your glass from the carton?
Buckowski: Because I only drink it straight from the box. (Emptying carton into pitcher.) Oh, look. Now I need to open another one.
Aristotle: (Distressed) No, please don't!
Buckowski: I'm afraid I must.
Aristotle: No! (A bell sounds.)
Host: I'm sorry, Mr Buckowski, time's up. However, we've measured Aristotle's vital signs to calculate a most impressive score! (Cheers.) We'll see if our next contestant can even further unravel the stoic posture of this resilient scholar right after this.
COMMERCIAL
Host: Welcome back to Nettle the Wise Man, where Aristotle, after fortifying himself with precisely half a flute of a delicious vintage, assures us that he has made a full recovery and is ready for another challenger. (Cheers. Aristotle puts his hands together and pumps them over his head.) This time he will face Barney Franklin, a transient from Vancouver, Quebec. (Cheers.) Very well, let the pest begin! Mr Franklin, you may proceed.
Franklin: Thank you. (A bookshelf is carried in, along with several construction tools. He takes a hammer and starts driving nails into Aristotle's tabletop.)
Aristotle: (Catching him between nails) What in gods' names are you doing?
Franklin: Making a bookshelf.
Aristotle: Out of my table?
Franklin: No, I'm just using that to practice my hammering. Excuse me. (He returns to his loud task.)
Aristotle: Now, look here! Stop that at once! (He stops.) You can't just turn a person's desk into a construction zone.
Franklin: I'm in a hurry.
Aristotle: You don't need a bookshelf, my friend, you need a book. There's a shelf right there.
Franklin: Where?
Aristotle: (Pointing) Right there!
Franklin: That? That's only a blueprint.
Aristotle: I'm afraid you're mistaken. A blueprint, as I understand the word, is a two-dimensional abstraction of an unrealized object.
Franklin: So?
Aristotle: This is clearly a three-dimensional object. It is not an abstraction, but a fully formed work of carpentry. It is, I assure you, the bookshelf you require.
Franklin: You're not looking at it the right way.
Aristotle: Oh? And what way is that?
Franklin: Like this. (He picks up a sledgehammer and flattens the bookshelf with it, causing Aristotle to gasp and clutch his chest. The bell sounds.)
Host: Time's up and not a moment too soon for our depleted philosopher! (Cheers. Paramedics attend to Aristotle.) Has he had all the nettling he can take? We'll find out after this. (Cheers.)
COMMERCIAL
Host: Having been treated with oxygen, our esteemed guest, Aristotle, has once again been restored to his normal, well balanced self. Now we will see if his delicate logic can sustain one last pest. Patricia Prim is a missionary who thinks she has what it takes to bring this wise man to his knees! (Cheers.) Miss Prim, you have leave to peeve!
Prim: Splendid. (A tub full of water is wheeled in, and a framed door is affixed beside the curious philosopher. Shortly thereafter, three knocks are heard.)
Aristotle: Just a moment. (He rises and finds Prim behind the door.) Yes?
Prim: Have you accepted Jesus Christ as your personal saviour?
Aristotle: Why, no, I don't believe that I have.
Prim: Then you must, at once.
Aristotle: Why?
Prim: (Stepping forcefully inside) To save you from hell.
Aristotle: What's that?
Prim: The ghastly underworld where the souls of the wicked are eternally punished.
Aristotle: You mean, Hades? Isn't that where everyone goes?
Prim: No! You will be saved if you're baptized in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit!
Aristotle: I'm sorry, I don't follow you at all. Are you Zoroastrian?
Prim: (Bumping him backward, toward the tub) Your sins must be cleansed.
Aristotle: (Yielding to her aggression) I can't argue with that. Shall we start with a nice sound hypothesis?
Prim: You must be cleansed with water.
Aristotle: Surely there's no need to be insulting! Besides, I think I only have milk. Now, if you're quite through, I really should get on...
Prim: You have water.
Aristotle: (Colliding with the tub) What, this? This isn't mine. I don't know who put it there.
Prim: Repent! (With a fierce expression, she seizes his long hair and plunges his head into the tub, firmly suppressing him as he bucks against her reflexively. After a moment, she pulls his head up to let him catch his breath. Still holding him by the hair, she screeches in his ear:) REPENT!
Aristotle: (Hyperventilating) Help! (She shoves his head down for more when the bell sounds and she is forced to release him. Aristotle drops to the floor unconscious.)
Host: And it looks like Miss Prim is our champion! Her score is off the scale! (Wild cheers.) We'll revive Aristotle. Don't worry, he's still alive. Besides, he had nowhere to go but a better place.
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