[ WP ] `` You dare ask me to teach you the spells forbidden by man and god alike ? '' `` Yep ! '' `` Sweet lets get started , Jeopardy is on in an hour ''

We sat ourselves too close to the screen of the television, on the cold carpeted floor that probably needed to be vacuumed. We let the bulky screen illuminate our faces with a bright blue light that drowns out the rest of the world. There's not much to eat at his place, so he brings out a big bowl of cereal for us to share. It's Cocoa puffs. He knows me well. 
 
 Jeopardy is on soon. I know, that really lame show where nerds make exorbitant amounts of money by knowing some crap about 17th century France. It's his favorite, out of all of them. I ask him why. `` There's no amount of bullshit you can pull on Jeopardy,'' he says. `` You either know your shit, or you're in the negatives like the rest of us. There's no pulling a Michael Larson on this game.'' 
 
 I ask him what `` pulling a Michael Larson'' means. He responds with an explanation about the game mechanics of *Press Your Luck*. He's cute when he goes on tangents. 
 
 Halfway through his report about something about squares 4 and 8, I slip behind him, my legs lining up against his. He's wearing a thin T-shirt, barely hiding an equally thin man underneath. I comment that he needs to eat more. He passes it off. 
 
 I lean my head against his shoulder. `` Tell me your secrets,'' I whisper. 
 
 `` About what?'' He muses, slurping the leftover chocolate milk by tilting the bowl upwards. I thread my hands along his spine. That seems to soften him up. 
 
 `` You're so... smart. And not at all dumb. You go on and on about things that I have no clue about. You could be on Jeopardy.'' 
 
 `` Naw, I do n't know anything about anything,'' He says, leaning backward into me. His weight against mine is the greatest feeling imaginable. `` I've missed the last three questions.'' 
 
 `` And you've gotten the rest correct. Why are you. What are you doing *here*? You're in a dumpy apartment, you've hardly eaten for the past two days, you're with --'' 
 
 `` With?'' I have a good feeling he knows what I'm thinking. 
 
 `` With someone as lousy as me.'' 
 
 `` Well, I'm smart as shit, sure. But I'm not very wise.'' 
 
 `` I do n't understand.'' And I do n't. 
 
 He goes on another tirade. This time, the difference between intelligence and wisdom. How it was intelligence that got him into college, but terrible wisdom that made him drop out. How it was n't a wise choice to pass up buying a couch for his living room. How it definitely was n't wise to skip last meal. Sure, he has all of the information to make a good insight, but he does n't. 
 
 `` You know why?'' He asks. `` It's more fun this way. It's more entertaining to be with you, on this cruddy carpet, burning my eyes out on a screen, than to be one of those stiffs on Jeopardy. Tell me, when's the last time any of them have eaten cereal on a carpet?'' 
 
 `` Hm. Probably 6 months.'' 
 
 `` I'd guess 7.'' 
 
 He turns his head, and kisses me on the cheek.
