One Saturday afternoon, Homer Simpson was sitting listlessly on the red couch in the Simpsons' living room. For the first time in many years, he was bored on a Saturday. Lard Lad donuts was closed for several weeks due to a cockroach infestation, Moe was on vacation (thus Moe's was closed) and Lenny and Carl were at lunch. On their first date. A few days before, Carl had admitted to Lenny he was attracted to him, and Lenny had confessed that he was attracted to Carl!

"Stupid we're-suddenly-gay Lenny and Carl," Homer muttered. "Having fun without me."

Eventually Homer turned on the TV and flipped mindlessly through the channels. There was nothing on TV, either. Saturday afternoon was just a conglomeration of reruns and advertising shows. Homer threw the remote control at the TV just as Marge wandered into the living room.

"What's wrong, Homey?" she asked. "Why are you taking your anger out on the television? Again."

"Lenny and Carl are on a date," Homer complained, "and Moe's is closed, and I can't get any real donuts. Why did the Lard Lad close because of a few cockroaches? My Saturday is ruined!"

"Err…I believe the health inspector found the cockroaches all over—in cupboards, drawers, bags of flour…" Marge's voice trailed off.

"I'm bored!" Homer complained.

"Well, duh!" Marge grumbled, and suggested, "You could do some work around the house. I'd really like that hole in the kitchen wall fixed. I keep shooing snakes out of the house."

"No," Homer mumbled. "I'll do the work tomorrow," he promised—with a sincerity that was unusual for him. "Work will only make the day more boring."

"Why don't you play Tetris on the computer? I ran across it while helping Lisa research games made by Atari. She's writing a paper about advances in electronic games."

"I'm not much when it comes to education," Homer suddenly interjected, "but isn't that kind of useless, writing about video games? What does it teach the children? Oh, won't someboy please think of the children!"

Marge laughed. "It's really no different from writing about a bunch of dead philosophers who lived a long time ago, or how the Murdoch scandal affects California."

Homer sighed. "I guess I'll try that Tetris you're talking about."

After much effort, Homer finally learned the basics of Tetris. And he was soon sitting stiffly upright and pressing the arrow keys as if his life depended on it. Even when Marge started preparing dinner, he was still at the game, turning T-blocks, straight blocks, L-blocks as fast as he could. He wasn't very precise, but he moved fast. He stared at the monitor screen without blinking, period.

More than once, as Marge prepared double-fried chicken, cheese-drenched potatoes, and a salad covered with cheese dressing, she heard Homer all the way from the living room.

"Stupid blocks! Damn you! Why won't you fit! Change shapes, dammit! Arrg! I almost had a Tetris! DAMN YOU BLOCKS! DAMN YOU ALL TO HELL!"

Marge rolled her eyes and stuck the potatoes into the oven to bake. Twenty minutes later, she brought out the crackling, hot chicken and the steaming potatoes.

"Kids! Homer!" she called, "get it while it's dangerously hot!"

Bart rushed into the kitchen. Lisa followed more slowly, and looked confusedly around at the dinner that was laid out.

"Didn't you get my tofu burgers, Mom?"

"Oh, Lisa, I forgot."

"Oh, so now I have to open the box, put it in the microwave for two minutes, and take it out all by myself? What kind of service is that?" Lisa teased her mom. Marge laughed and then folded her hands in prayer.

"All right, kids, Homer, let's pray!" Marge declared.

"Uh, Dad's not here," Bart informed his mother and oldest sister.

"That's unusual," Marge said in confusion.

"GAME OVER? THE HELL IT ISN'T! LISTEN TO ME, YOU FRIGGING COMPUTER! I'M GOING TO WIN AND—YEAH, GIVE ME A LOW SCORE! SEE IF I CARE!"

"I think Dad's still playing Tetris," Lisa said bluntly.

Marge sighed. "Lis, it's your turn to tear him away from the latest thing he's obsessed with."

Lisa strode into the living room and stopped by the computer. Homer was staring straight at the screen and playing Tetris; the only part of him that moved was his right hand. The arrow keys clicked frantically as Homer frantically turned the pieces to fit. He did not notice Lisa at the desk.

"Try again my ass! You fu-,"

Lisa coughed, and Homer jumped as he turned around.

"It's dinner, Dad! You guys are having extremely overfried chicken and potatoes soaked in cheese!"

"Can't stop, must start another game. Must get to Level Five," Homer replied in a robotic voice.

"Uh, Dad, if you look at the screen any longer, you might have vision problems."

Homer laughed. "Aren't you being a little dramatic, talking basketball?"

Lisa sighed. "Well, dinner's in the dining room." Before she even reached the entrance to the dining room, Homer had started another game.

"I'll fit you! I'll fit you good, square block!"

"Well?" Marge inquired, as Lisa sat down and took a large bite of her tofu burger.

"I tried," Lisa said. "He looks kinda doped up—on Tetris."

Marge gave her characteristic grumble. "Well, he has to stop sometime! He'll be asleep by nine o'clock. He hasn't missed bedtime for ten months—even when those escaped criminals tried to rob us."

But nine o'clock passed…ten o'clock…eleven o'clock…

At one a.m., Marge woke up to get a glass of water. To her amazement and shock, Homer was not in bed!

But then…

"WHOO HOOO! I'm at Level Five at last! I'm number one! I'm number one!"

Marge rolled her eyes and went downstairs; Bart and Lisa came into the hallway, blinking sleepily in the hallway lights.

"What's going on?" Lisa asked idly.

"Let's go downstairs and find out!" Bart exclaimed. "To the first floor!"

Brother and sister raced downstairs, just as Homer started yelling again.

"What happened? It's not saving my points! It's going really slow! Marge, kids! Call the police."

"Now, Homey," Marge said calmly and firmly, "I'm sure it'll save your points…"

"Press this key, Dad!" Bart exclaimed.

"No!" Lisa said. "That will-," But it was too late.

Homer began to sob. "It shut down the computer! Now my score is lost! Whhhy? This is the worst trauma ever!"

"There, there, Homey," Marge said slowly, "There will always be another game."

"No, there won't!" Homer shouted. "It betrayed me! The whole computer betrayed me because it shut down when I pressed the Shut Down button! I'll smash it to Hell!"

Homer grabbed the chair and prepared to smash the computer and the monitor. It took Marge, Bart and Lisa to pull him down to the floor, where Homer finally sat down and continued to sob. The other three looked at each other uneasily, but finally Homer stood up, sniffling, and took a deep breath.

"I guess my attempts at playing electronic games is over. Asteroids, Pac-Man, they all crushed me."

"Let's all go back to bed. I'm surprised Maggie didn't wake…wait, where is Maggie? She wasn't in her high chair at dinner tonight, but I didn't notice! Oh, I'm an awful mother!"

"Er…it's partly my fault, Marge. I was supposed to be watching her, but she was distracting me from Tetris. I left her in the closet in our room with the cat and the dog. They were distracting, too."

"Oh, my Lord!" Marge gasped. "My poor traumatized baby!"

She raced upstairs, ran into their room, and flung open the closet door.

Maggie was sound asleep, curled up with the cat and dog.

Everything always comes out right in the end…until the next crazy Simpson adventure.