ON THE SCENE

In which we use the word "bonk" more often than most publications do in an entire year. It's about a game show, of course. Oversize mallets were the game-show accoutrement of choice when Bonk, "the only game that implements self-inflicted, blunt-force trauma," began its limited run at the Rampart Casino's Addison's Lounge Sunday evening. (Creators hope it gets picked up by a TV network.)

About 90 casino patrons took advantage of free tickets to watch as three contestants, each fitted with yellow hardhats wired to yellow gumball lights, rang in to answer trivia questions by bonking themselves on the head. Two points were awarded for each correct answer, one deducted for every incorrect answer, and the first person to 10 points advanced. The premise was outlandish, the stage patter of host and creator Kerry Pollock was filled with enough innuendo to make The Match Game cast blush, and the trivia questions were downright sadistic.

Pollock: "Other than the cat, what is Grandma most likely to take out at night?"

Buddy: "The trash!"

Pollock: "Incorrect. The answer is her teeth. Her teeth."

Or:

Pollock: "And when you loose your teeth, who leaves money under the pillow?"

Buddy: "The tooth fairy!"

Pollock: "No, Buddy, it's your parents. Jeez."

Not surprisingly, Buddy was eliminated early on, even after correctly responding to this one: "If you have no points and your name is Buddy, bonk in and say, ‘Buddy!'" As a parting gift, he was given a light switch by Pollock's lovely assistant, Lulu, who was outfitted as a go-go dancer. "It features two convenient positions," announcer Chris raved. "Don't even try to thank us."

The Back-Bonk Round came next, in which contestants could bonk opponents, forcing them to answer questions. For example, in a "Name That Tune" segment, contestant Michael was back-bonked into wrongly guessing "Three Little Mice" instead of "Blind"; he received a jar of onion salt as a parting gift (other also-rans took home a moist towelette, yam glaze and the number 9, for use "whether your address is 9 or 99 ... not to be used as a 6").

Game 1 winner Michelle received a shot at the Bonus Bonk Challenge, in which she stood inside a shiny silver hula-hoop and successfully named 10 casinos in 30 seconds. Her prize: a 26-piece tool set.

Two similar games followed, with three contestants taking on such head-scratchers as "Name the last person you physically struck," "Use your body to spell out the initials of a Christian organization known for its health facilities" and "Why did the mermaid wear seashells?" (Because B-shells were too small and D-shells were too big.)

The three winners from each game then took on the Final Bonk Bash. Second-game winner Paul, who had earlier successfully recited the Big Mac slogan ("Two all-beef patties ..."), became the ultimate victor by knowing that Tonto was the Lone Ranger's sidekick. As he stood in the hula-hoop winner's circle, clasping his prizes—Rampart jacket, cap and buffet passes—and turning in place so the half-disco-ball headpiece bestowed upon him could better catch the light, he illustrated what so many game shows lack: a bit of good, clean fun.

Nerdcore Hip-Hop Show, Beauty Bar, January 9. Picture a dark, kinda dank bar on seedy-but-trying East Fremont. But instead of the suspected cast of dubious characters, there's a cadre of semi-hip women (apparently some girls still dye their hair cherry red) and pseudo-hip dudes with time-warped, Woodstock-meets-the-street fashion sense. Blaring from the sound system aren't the adrenal, crunk-tastic tunes currently dominating hip-hop, but bass lines spliced with guitar riffs, transporting you back when rap-rock (oy vey, Limp Bizkit) ruled the airwaves. The lyrics coming from the performers—DJ MC and MC DJ—aren't about the nookie, but about ... deoxyribonucleic acid and ribonucleic acid? Welcome to nerdcore hip-hop. Sans bling and Fred Durst scowls, these two black-suit-clad Emerson College grads rap about science the way 50 Cent raps about guns: "Science is a candle in the dark, yeah, science is a candle in the dark." Sorry XXL magazine, this is hip-hop on a higher level. "It's a little weird doing hip-hop," says MC DJ, (real name, Rob LaMorgese, 31; his partner in rhyme is Russell Lichter, also 31). "It's a house we didn't build, so we don't want to come in and shit all on the carpet." Rocker-turned rapper Mike Becker (ne MCeeP; he's a 27-year-old local information-tech worker) says hip-hop has been an acquired taste. Not so, being a nerd: "I've been one all my life."