After a week long laptop-related hiatus, Captain Obvious has returned for some Deal or No Deal goodness. It remains the most consistent show out there, delivering more for my entertainment hour than any other show. Howie isn’t what we in the industry call a powerhouse nor is the premise original or captivating, but there’s still something about the show that incites chuckle after chuckle as these knuckleheads are paraded in front of us to make bad and badder decisions regarding potential money.

Our celebretard this week is Brooks Leach, a fat man with a big plan to defy the man and leave with his head in his hands and no cash in his hand. He succeeds beyond his wildest, fattest dreams.
Our charming interview segment introduces us to this gem of a southern gentleman. Brooks Leach hails from Mount Vernon, Arkansas. He loudly confesses that he “loves to party and loves beer.” His impressive girth is, apparently, thanks to eating poorly and drinking a lot and not from a disciplined life of exercise. So I lose my first bet to Mrs. Obvious, this isn’t a trend. Brooks has also sworn off long term relationships, having become single recently. And before you start lining up outside this big man’s door, ladies, you should also know he owns his own company and sleeps with a Doberman. Yes, that’s right. Our fat, drunk hero is also a self-employed dogfucker who shuns commitment. I can almost hear the faint cries of the throngs of women aching to be his next trophy bitch.

And you can almost hear the gears in his thick skull equate one million dollars with one million PBRs. It’s like fucking Christmas up in the hizzey. He swaggers around like he’s drunk, rambling and firing off witless witticisms to Howie who is looking more and more uncomfortable the longer he stands next to Mt. Gonnadrinkanother. Brooks chooses case #17 as his own and we’re under way.
He unveils $25, $5, $400, $75, $300,000 and $5,000 in his first go-around, much better than I predicted. The banker, my bestest friend in the whole world comes back with a lifetime of foamy, bottled goodness for our portly putz… ROOT beer. We all lollerskate a bit and he turns it down, no doubt only because it’s root beer and not the real deal. Afterall, Superman has Kryptonite and this fat man has beer. But not root beer. No deal.

His next round is equally impressive, unveiling $750, $500, $200, $100,000 and $10,000 netting him a banker offer of $66,000 but he’d have to be as dumb as he looks to take it and he doesn’t, which starts to convince me he might know what he’d doing afterall. Little did I know he’d soon prove me wrong. He goes on to uncase $50, $50,000, $25,000 and $1 getting a tidy sum of $119,000 but with $200,000, $400,000, $500,000, $750,000 and the cool million still in play it’s just too early to pack his saddlebags and ride on out so he flips the cover over the button and NoDeals it. His sister, one of his appointed supporters reveals he still sleeps with a nightlight on. You taking notes, ladies? This one’s SINGLE.

So he keeps on trucking, knocking out $400,000, $1,000 and the penny and seeing a hefty $218,000 offer come down the pipe. This is where he fucks it up. He should realize that the game is nothing but luck and common sense. He’s danced around revealing really big numbers for the most part and that luck simply cannot hold out for anyone save a Jedi. Or the Pope. Or Darth Pope. But this ginormous unitard just can’t imagine this Old Country Buffet ever running out of potatoes or good fortune so he NoDeals and keeps the show running.

Straight into the ground. Two cases. $200,000 and the million, just like that. And just like that, the offer tanks to $152,000 but STILL this jackadope NoDeals, thinking somehow he can turn it around like some ice cream cone. There’s nothing but cool, creamy failure on the other side, tubby.
One case later he’s knocked out $750,000 leaving only $500,000, $75,000, $300, $100 and $10. The banker in his infinite wisdom and handsomeness drops the offer to $73,000 which our hard-headed and stubborn protagonist NoDeals, of course. And then, just like other terminally ill people experience a sudden upswing before the inevitable fall he uncases $75,000 to raise the offer to $85,000 and then, subsequent to rejecting that offer and uttering his most honest statement of being “a butt,” $300 to get his last, best chance offer of $147,000.

For those keeping score we had $500,000, $100 and $10 remaining. My god, man. Take the fucking money and go buy yourself a haircut and liposuction. But of course not. He NoDeals and then immediately unearths the $500,000, torpedoing any chance at real money. The banker offers him $50 to get his fat ass off the show, he NoDeals it and chooses to take what’s in his case. And what’s in his case?

Ten bucks. Just enough for nine items off McDonalds dollar menu. And you know it would be nine double cheeseburgers and no parfaits, salads or small diet cokes. He rejoices in the way only a drunk fat man can and we watch him waddle down the hallway in some sort of loser parade in which he is the grand marshal.

Farewell, Brooks Leach. You were fun to watch sweat, even more fun to watch lose and the fattest thing on TV tonight.