text: You forgot John Goodman. You don't know who the fuck John Goodman is. John-fucking-Goodman. When I say *you*, I don't mean you in the singular. I mean *you* as a society, a civilization, a goddamn species. "John Goodman? Should I know him?" Yes, you fucking should. But you don't, and that there’s the existential problem. I present *The Big Lebowski*. "The Dude abides." Jeff Bridges. Pretty good, right? Wrong. What did you think of Walter Sobchak? "Walter *who*?" That right there is what I call the point. "Hey, how come Sulley in *Monsters, Inc.* doesn't talk?" Voiced by John Goodman. Guess what? Roseanne has a husband. The Flintstones movie has a Fred Flintstone. There's a scary big-ass man in the car with Llewyn Davis, etc., etc. *Poof*. The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was... John Goodman. So here's what's going to happen: One day you'll remember John Goodman. Except it won’t be in the *Oh, right, Ankara’s the capital of Turkey*-kind of way. It’ll be *I’m fucking my wife and* **oh-my-fucking-gawd I’m fucking John Goodman**. You’ll glance in the mirror: “Morning, John Goodman.” Your dog will look up at you *and it’ll be John Goodman with fucking fur on his face*. Come on, be a mensch and toss little John Goodman a treat, perhaps a little scrap-- of your life, your identity, your very existence, you gullible mothefucker! Give John Goodman a bone, he’ll use it to rip your soul out through your throat and wear it to your son’s first communion. “You proud of me, dad?” asks John Goodman. Because when John Goodman disappears from our collective memory, it’s for one reason only: to come back with a fucking vengeance. Just wait until you’re surrounded by a room full of John Goodmans, speed dating John Goodman after John Goodman, dining on John Goodman’s braised thigh with a side of halloumi cheese made from milk freshly squeezed from John Goodman. You think you know this, right? You’ve seen *Being John Malkovich*. Wrong. You’ve only seen the version without John Goodman, the version John Goodman wanted you to see. The *wouldn’t this be funny?* version. “Would you look at that, a world full of John Malkoviches.” The version in which you can go in and out of John Malkovich. Did you laugh? Are you laughing now? Well, it ain’t gonna be fucking funny! There isn’t going to be a way out. You won’t be going in and out of John Goodman world. John Goodman will penetrate, dominate and annihilate the only world there is: This one. This reality we have right now-- John Goodman will press its fucking face against the curb and stomp on the back of its head so fucking hard you ain’t never heard thunder so loud! Big John Goodman Bang. And when He rolls the world onto its back, it’ll stare up, as John-fucking-Goodman.