Commodore Bob and I are playing a game…

We are playing the “would you rather” game. Would you rather be Tom Woolfe or Hunter S. Thompson? Would you rather have all your fingernails ripped off or all your toenails? Cross the perimeter of Australia with no provisions, or pull a dagger quickly from your buttocks? Having your dick caught in a rattrap, or getting your leg caught in a beartrap? Would you rather be James Garner from Maverick or James Garner from Rockford? Who would win in a fight between Ricardo Montalbaum and George Hamilton? Who would win in a fight between Kojak and Columbo? Who would win a race between the car from Dirty Harry and the car from Bullit? Who would you rather be, J.R. Ewing or Bobby Ewing? Young Marlon Brando or Old? Julis Caesar or Napoleon? East of Eden James Dean or Rebel Without a Cause James Dean? Die like Jack Nicholson in the Shining, or die like Jack Nicholson in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest? Kublai Kahn or Ramses II? If you were a Sith, would you rather be defeated by Mace Windu or Yoda? Would you rather win or lose a really good argument with Henry Kissinger? Which is better, checkers or chess? Which would you rather be stabbed to death with, checkers or chess pieces. You’re out of toilet paper; do you use the pages of National Geographic or Saturday Evening Post? Would you rather be eaten by zombie Andrew Lloyd Weber or zombie Quentin Tarantino? Would you rather toil in obscurity for the better of mankind, or have hollow fame handed to you on a silver platter? What was the best fight in the Rocky movies? Who was a better Riddler, Jim Carrey or Frank Gorshin? Would you rather be a man about to lose his baby because his girlfriend wanted an abortion and you had no say in it, or the woman who had to make that decision? Would you rather live out the last two months’ of John F. Kennedy’s life, or live the entire life of a cat? Would you rather be a guy who lives under an opera house with no nose or ears, who pines for a woman he can never have, or be a heart and brain inside a four-armed robotic escape artist. Would you rather have done special effects for Raiders of the Lost Ark or Lost Crusade? Which do you choose; coke or pepsi, Long Island or Jersey, New York Times or London Telegraph, John Grisham or Dean Koontz, James Joyce or William Faulkner, Bram Stoker or Mary Shelley, Green Acres or the Beverly Hillbillies?

Would you rather be eaten by space aliens or your close friends and family?

If you were any Beatles song, which would you be? Rob said the Fool on the Hill, and I said a Day in the Life, because I love to turn you on.

Would you rather get away from your plane full of convicts (where you were one of them) and win a bunch of money in Vegas, or get away from the police with a briefcase full of diamonds? Would you rather be gunned down in Mexico in front of your surrogate brother, or fed into a wood-chipper by your former partner?

These are stupid questions, but they make better fodder than any internet quizzila you’re bound to take, and certainly better than the tripe that Barbara Walters’ serves up.

Benjamin Disraeli: “You don’t even know who I am, do you?”

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