Later that day...

"Aw, Marge; what an awful day I've had."

"Why, what happened, Gamie?"

"I went and got myself promoted!"

"But that's good, isn't it?"

"It would be if I knew anything about computers. Dumb, stupid things."

Marge takes her well-meaning but slightly retarded husband in her arms.

"Don't worry, I know you'll think of something."

"I hope so - because if I don't Burns said he'd have me scrubbing out the inside of the reactor core”.

The next day, in Burns' computer lab, Game Kid is having trouble fielding the technical questions thrown at him by people in white coats:

"What type of chips do you need?"

"French fries?"

"What about RAM?"

"10 slices. Honey roast."

Suddenly the double-doors of the lab are flung wide open wide to reveal a dashing-looking silhouette, which murmurs in a purring but commanding French accent: "Leave Game Kid and I alone for a moment: I wish to speak with him."

Silently the technicians file out and the room falls quiet except for the hum of its computers.

"Who are you?"

A square-jawed, slicked-back-hair-type figure strides confidently forward and pumps Game Kid's hand politely.

"My name is Pierre; I am a temp in the accounts department. I understand you've been having trouble devising a new computer safety system for the plant."

"How do you know?"

"I make it my business to know everything."

"In that case, do you know everything about computers? Because I don't!"

"Game Kid: you know about computer games don't you?"

"Well..."

"Then use that knowledge to your advantage. Use it!"

"But-"

"No more buts, my old friend. This is your time. I know you can do it. And now I must go - somewhere in this building there is a woman crying in a washroom."

He vanishes as quickly as he appeared, in a puff of odour cologne.

"Doh!"

"Remember! Use all you've leaned... use it!"

Two months later...

"Core temperature reaching critical levels. Meltdown in three minutes, Sir!"

"Do something, Game Kid. And be quick about it! Smithers: prepare my escape capsule..."

Game Kid, sweat dripping off his brow, types furiously on the keyboard as a huddle of technicians look on in horrified fascination.

"What on earth is he doing?"

"What kind of system is this, anyway?"

"Beats me."

"Doh!"

Suddenly Game Kid has a worried expression on his face.

"Errr - Mr Burns? I think we have a problem..."

"What do you mean, 'We have a problem?’ I thought you said your programme works!"

"It does, but we've just lost 5-3 on penalties."