When I was a teenager, I used to lay awake nights dreaming of beating the snot out of Urkel. I once taped a box of Urkel-Os to one of those inflatable punchbag clowns and practiced a bunch of crazy-ass kung fu moves on it, but all that got me was a deflated punchbag clown and a mess of Urkel-Os strewn about my family’s rumpus room. In retrospect, I’m not sure why I hated Urkel so much. Perhaps it was a deep-seated jealousy borne of the fomentation of his awkwardness into a ridiculous celebrity when I couldn’t even manage my own adolescent discomfiture. Or perhaps it was because he truly sucked electric eggs.