I pride myself on knowing a lot of random things with no practical application. I don't know about how to start a business, but I can make really cool arts and crafts projects with Airheads, marshmallows and toothpicks. I would be utterly useless in a zombie apocalypse, but perhaps we'd pass the time with my encyclopedic knowledge of the Harry Potter series and remember the good times before we feared for our lives.

Since birth, my brain has been separated like a pie chart into a bunch of subjects that my teacher told me wouldn't benefit me in any capacity. Well, on a family trip to Orlando when I was eight, I proved them wrong by unleashing my wide breadth of knowledge on my favorite subject: cartoons.

That's right. When I was a little kid, I was on a Nickelodeon game show. At the dawn of this century, which sounds cooler than saying about fifteen years ago, I would come home after-school and watch kids answer questions on televised Nickelodeon game shows. They would stand out in the Florida sun in bright shirts with crowds of families cheering them on in green bleachers. Once they won, a bucket would swing open above them and douse them with Nickelodeon's crowning achievement: a few gallons of disgusting, green slime.

When I watched at home, I would regard these children like the fabled figures of an ancient legend. No different than Superman or Batman, they lived a life of excitement and adventure that fed itself like a pixie stick of sugar into my imagination. Little did I know, I would get the chance to join them.

I was on a vacation with my father in Orlando. He had stepped away for a few minutes in order to buy us tickets to some sort of game show. We stood in Nickelodeon Studios, an area in Universal that is now abandoned like a time capsule. Back in the day, there was a massive, robotic geyser in the center of the arena that spouted bursts of green slime. There were vendors selling merchandise and cardboard cutouts surrounded by Rugrats characters to stick your head in. I remember not feeling excited, but rather enthralled like some kind of alien creature that had stepped onto another planet. These metaphors alone should signify that I was a pretty freaking weird kid.

After a few minutes, my father returned with tickets to some sort of game show. This was fortunate, for perhaps leaving me alone for so long in a place like this would lead to me drowning in slime or being abducted by Rosie O'Donnell.

We joined a long queue that stretched off into one of the studio's buildings. We came to a blue walkway that led into a room with four bleachers facing a stage in the center. I was ushered away from my parents like the donkey boys in Pinocchio and placed in a set of bleachers with all the children. Looking back, it was strange to watch a bunch of energetic Nickelodeon hosts tearing parents away from their children. I sat awkwardly between a bunch of other confused youngsters as our parents flashed their cameras at us. That was when this hip, young guy with long hair came out with a microphone and rallied the crowd.

The next few minutes were a blur as he amped up the room's energy and took the kids through all of these short activities. I remember being asked to pass a ball around as quickly as possible on the bleachers before the kids on the other side did. As their luck would have it though, I was a particularly nasty piece of work and was struck with an idea. If I held onto the ball and purposely list for my team, perhaps this would draw attention to me enough for the host to call me on stage. True, I'd be selling out my team, but wouldn't it be worth it?

This showed potential that I would grow into some sort of master manipulator, but I'm actually just writing articles for Odyssey. Go figure.

When I got the ball, I didn't pass it over. I just sat there and squeezed it. My teammates turned to me in a mix of confusion and frustration. One girl even cried, befuddled by my betrayal in this happy world of American escapism. If it was a game of Survivor, I surely would have been kicked off the island, but this was Nickelodeon and serious business. With a calm grin on my face, I held onto the ball as the host stared at me with his microphone.

"Why did you do that?" he asked, chuckling.

"I don't know," I said simply.

The adults in the audience laughed as if I was an innocent little gnome, but I knew better. This was all a calculated effort on my part to get on stage on a Nickelodeon game show. When it came to my dreams, it was like I had boarded the Titanic and there was no way I wasn't getting to a life boat. I had put on the disguise of an adorable tot on Kids Say The Darndest Things as the host scratched his head and said, "Well, why don't you come down and answer some questions?"

I parted ways through the peasant children and marched on stage. I was given a teammate and two other kids to compete against. I sized my slaughter up the same way that Bobby Fischer must have looked at his opponents when he played chess.

For years, this had been a vivid daydream that had finally somehow seeped into reality. I had transformed from a kind second- grader into a stone cold Nickelodeon trivia-killer. Smiling at us, the host began to ask a series of questions. An apt comparison might as well have been a ninja dodging blows from an assassin.

"Who is Tommy's best friend on Rugrats--"

"Chuckie!" I screamed, before he even finished.

"What is the monkey's name on the Wild Thornberries--"

"Darwin!" I screamed. There were ten questions and I answered every single one correctly. The other kids stared awestruck as if they'd just been born and pushed out onto an unforgiving planet. The parents stared uncomfortably and looked at my Dad who was obviously embarrassed as hell.

The host smiled at me uncertainly, unsure of how to react in a situation like this. After a while, he said, "Can I ask your name?"

"Devon," I said simply.

"Well, Devon, you clearly have a lot of time on your hands."

"I know," I said simply, handing the microphone back to him. "If I didn't, I wouldn't have won."

I rest my case.