The most epic Simpsons giveaway, though, came in the '90s, when you could win a life-size replica of the family's house -- presumably for those die-hard fans who wanted to live out a deranged fantasy in which they've murdered the Simpsons and moved into their vacant home.

20th Television

The Catch:

Well, for starters, the architect admitted that the house, situated in Henderson, Nevada, was only "90 percent normal," with concrete and plywood floors.

So, yeah, they accidentally reenacted this episode.

Also, although the interior of the house had been decked out in a loving re-creation of the titular family's home -- including the iconic couch, a fridge stuffed with Duff beer, the eerie feeling that you're being watched by millions of unseen people, etc. -- all of that attention to detail had to go, because "furnishings do not convey." After all, what Simpsons fan would want to keep Simpsons stuff in their Simpsons house?

via cubebreaker.com

Not only would the distinctive interior be stripped barren, but winners were "contractually required to paint over the cartoon-like colors on the exterior of the house" to appease the local homeowners' association. It's a little like winning the Batcave and then finding out it's in the process of being turned into a Starbucks.

Scott Jones/Wiki Commons

Not surprisingly, the winner decided to take the $75,000 alternate prize rather than uproot her life and move to Nevada to occupy a beige shell of a real house.

The Catch:

In the commercial, in between shots of the Batmobile speeding around and looking wicked, the guy who plays the annoying reporter in the movie casually mentions, in a jokey tone, that the car has no goddamn engine. As the winner soon found out, that was true. It's not so much a Batmobile as it is a BatSitsThereAndDoesFuckAll.

MTV

According to the winner, the brakes and steering wheel worked, but everything that would actually make the car run had been gutted. Hoping to put the prop to some use, the winner intended to display the car at some local festivals, but was forced to sign a contract stating he wouldn't exhibit the car for money. At one point he lent it to a museum, where someone who may or may not have been working for the Penguin stole the shift lever.

It turns out that the Batmobile was basically like some kind of cursed monkey's paw that turned everything it touched to shit. Since the Batmobile was basically a stylishly designed, oversized paperweight, the contest winner used the prize money to purchase a motorcycle -- which he wrecked within a few years. Also, the car was taxable, which led to an audit from the IRS, the League of Assassins of government agencies.

Eventually, he had to sell the Batmobile for "not a lot of money" because he couldn't afford the $10,000 insurance premium. Yeah, there's a reason only a millionaire could be Batman.

The Catch:

Since Hollywood is a vacuum of sadness and disappointment, the fact that you won a role in a movie doesn't mean it's going to happen. For instance, Sony auctioned off a part in Sam Raimi's Spider-Man 4 -- but since the third one was a slap in the face to every comic book fan who didn't want emo dance-offs in a Spider-Man movie, the series was canceled and replaced with a reboot that surely will never sink that low.

eBay

Similarly, in the '90s, Nintendo Power magazine held a contest to appear in the next Jim Carrey masterpiece: The Mask 2. In hindsight, Nintendo Power may have jumped the Zapper Light Gun in offering a role for a movie that wasn't 100 percent locked down. While everyone waited to see if Carrey even wanted to put on all that fucking makeup again, the kid who won the contest was sent some video games and a crew jacket for The Mask 2 -- which at that moment was seemingly composed entirely of a title and some crew jackets.

Nintendo

Since the movie never happened (or, more accurately, slowly devolved into a Jamie Kennedy vehicle), the winner was eventually given 5 grand and a public apology in lieu of his prize, aka the same things that should be given to everyone who watched Son Of The Mask.

One movie that sure as hell happened: Masters Of The Universe, which successfully gave away a part to an 8-year-old boy.

MOTU Movie

But who did they cast this adorable bright-eyed young lad as? Fucking "Pigboy." Yeah, good luck bragging to your friends about how you're in the new He-Man movie (that looks nothing like a He-Man movie) when your big role is as Skeletor's pig-faced slave. His family seemed pretty proud, though.

MOTU Movie

Winning a pig-faced role also meant that the poor kid had to have extensive prosthetics applied. And since this movie was made by the cheap-asses at Cannon Films, who probably bought their face-glue out of the back of a tinted van, his skin felt like it was "on fire for days" afterward. His role was also cut down to the point that he missed his own cameo at the premiere party Mattel threw for him. We're sure the experience was still worth probably being called "Pigboy" all the way to college, though.

In 1984, the then-music channel teamed with John "Sometimes Cougar" Mellencamp to give away a sweet "Party House" in Bloomington, Indiana, Mellencamp's hometown (which, if that local government has any sense, will someday be renamed "Cougartown"). Winners got an actual house, the "first rock and roll estate," according to the commercial, which featured Mellencamp himself at his absolute '80s-est.

MTV

The house was painted pink to tie-in with Mellencamp's song "Pink Houses," and would be officially christened at a raging party in which Mellencamp himself would perform. Sleeves optional.

The Catch:

Well, for starters, the house was less of a house and more of a "shack," probably more ideal for penning an anti-government manifesto than staging a kick-ass party. Also, looking to spend as little as possible on this Party Shack, MTV bought the property for just 20 grand -- a good deal, except for the fact that it was next to one of the country's worst toxic waste dumps.

Lakeland Ledger

Mellencamp found out about MTV's cost-cutting and understandably lost his shit (probably because he didn't want to think that the pink houses of his song were steeped in toxic waste). He insisted MTV find another house to paint pink, hopefully one with no glaringly obvious environmental hazards. Even after all of that effort, the contest winner still decided to sell the house one day after the televised shindig, presumably disappointed that he didn't develop the mutant powers he'd been expecting.

According to the contest, winners would receive tickets to the event, flights, and accommodations at a four-star hotel. Of course, we all probably should have suspected that Red Bull was up to no good, considering that at a previous Grand Prix their CEO showed up flanked by armed stormtroopers.

Gizmag

The Catch:

Red Bull provided the hotel and flight, but they never specified which country each would be in. The two lucky "VIPs" were flown into Germany (which you might recognize as "not Belgium," despite Germany's best efforts), then had to make their own travel arrangements to the promised four-star hotel ... which was in the fucking Netherlands. Oh, and despite requesting twin beds, the contest winner was forced to share a bed with his brother -- forced incestuous bedding likely being what cost them that extra star.

Since, like Germany, the Netherlands is distinctly not in Belgium, the winner was once again forced to hastily make their own travel plans (presumably while also being annoyed by, but ultimately befriending, John Candy) to get to the damn Grand Prix.

Daily Mail

If all that wasn't enough of a shit sandwich of a vacation, the scheduling of the return flight meant that they had to drag their luggage to the event and leave before the race was over. The whole contest was such a clusterfuck, the winner filed a complaint with the U.K.'s Advertising Standards Authority -- who upheld most of the complaints, but stopped short of pointing out that the trip was about as fun as ingesting a Red Bull.

The Catch:

First off, all contest winnings are considered taxable income, so winning the crazy expensive space ticket could really screw over your taxes. While some contests to send people to the cosmos have compensated for that, one poor guy won a contest with Space Adventures that didn't cover that cost. Since he didn't have the $25,000 in tax money lying (soon to be floating) around, he was forced to give up his seat -- literally, his childhood dream.

After the story hit the press, a rival company looking to get into the space tourism biz offered to cover the cost ... if the contest winner would work for them, reporting back on his trip. It's kind of the galactic equivalent of washing dishes to pay for a restaurant bill.

Another man won a free trip with Virgin Galactic ... in 2005; a search for his name and "Virgin" tells us that he's still waiting for his cosmic cherry to be popped. This is no surprise, since Virgin doesn't even have a working spacecraft right now (their first one blew up during a test flight in 2014, and they're building another one). When, exactly, these contest winners will actually get to claim their prize is thousands of feet up in the air, unless the companies start getting creative and come up with "alternative" methods.

Ed Andrieski/AP

J.M. McNab co-hosts the pop culture nostalgia podcast Rewatchability, which can also be found on iTunes. Follow him on Twitter @Rewatchability.

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