"Psst, Hey bud." "WHO ME?" "Shhh..." who

"Psst, Hey bud." "WHO ME?" "Shhh..." who me?" "Riiight. How would you like to buy an O for just a buck?" "A BUCK!" "Shh.." "a buck?" "Riiight" "SAY AREN'T YOU PAT SAJACK?" "Shhh...

"It's an honor to meet you Mr. Sajack. I love your show!" "Thanks...so what do you say?" "Wow, a vowel for a buck - that's QUITE a DEAL!" "Shh." "Wait a sec. What's the catch?"

Wheel of Ghettortune was a big hit on the BEC for its accurate depiction of opprobrious urban life. I could have a vowel for two handjobs and a line of coke, or two vowels for a

vowel in the hand is worth two in the bush. The studio lights went dim. Pat Sajak said, "Now you will refer to me as P Jak!" Vanna White turned on her mixer and turntables.

"Yes Pat, uh, I mean P-Jak". Mr Sajak smiled to hear his new moniker and got down to the sound of DJ Vanna White. Unfortunately for him

Vanna's decades of letter-turning had rendered her once immaculate scratches and beat drops but a shadow of their old potential, and Sajak was forced to launch into beatboxing the

way his grandmother had taught him. "Meemaw," Sajak used to ask, looking up at the taxidermied corpse propped up by the fireplace. "Why don't you hug me anymore?" Meemaw never

hugged nobody nomores, unfortunately for him. So, he went on his happy little way, traveling down the road, collecting old amstel beer bottle caps and hermit crab shells to make

key chains that he could sell for a few shillings on Etsy. One thing he had learned from all this was that, things could change. He could start over and forgive himself. If only

... He stared at himself in the cracked bathroom mirror. There, beyond the dark shadows, the bruises, the scraggly beard, he saw...hope. "I shall overcome!" He shouted.