"Bucholz," Jack said. "We've got an assignment for you." "I'm not here," I said, immediately regretting it. Who else would have said that? "Who else would have said that?" Jack asked. I sighed and popped up one of the ceiling tiles, looking down on the smug turbo-genius in the office below. "How did you know I was up here, you smug turbo-genius?" I asked, carefully adjusting my weight on the frame of the suspended ceiling. "Well, there's an extension cable going up there," he said, pointing at the extension cable doing that. "And odors coming down here." "Good eye. And good nose I guess. Well Inspector, now that you've solved the mystery of the lazy columnist, what do you want with me?" "We've been talking, and we've decided that Cracked, as a stalwart member of the old-media, should probably weigh in on this Kim Kardashian thing. Our readers, whom we presume to be helpless naifs incapable of forming their own opinions, desperately need to know what we think about this." "Do we think about this?" "No. That's kind of the problem. We need you to research what a Kim Kardashian actually is, make a thought about it, and then write that thought down." "Is this because you hate me?" "It is because we hate you, yes." I chewed on my thumbnail, considering that. "This could take awhile, Jack. I'll be up here for a few days at least." "That's perfectly fine with me. Preferable even." "And I'm going to need supplies. And a hose, and a funnel, and the other end of the hose placed in a bucket beside Brockway's desk." "You'll have all those things." _____________________ So after getting my supplies and befouling Brockway's workstation, I set to work. The first problem was that I knew next to nothing about this Kim Kardashian, because she only shows up on those magazines and websites and television shows which make my eyes poop.

I had to do the image research for this column looking at the reflection of the screen in a mirrored shield.