“In my day, we didn’t have all this fancy satellite TV and DVR. We had regular television. A box on the floor. It had knobs that you turned to change the channels. There were about four channels and we liked them.
Those four channels broadcast for about eight hours a day. We didn’t cry like little babies when the test pattern came on. We went to bed and we liked it. We didn’t have these silly little remote controls either. We got up off our duffs and turned the knob with our hands. We turned the knob until our fingers bled. We didn’t care.
And we had a thing called a TV guide that came with the Sunday paper. It listed the shows on the four channels on our TV, which was a box on the floor that had knobs. We thumbed through the TV guide with our bleeding fingers until they were covered in papercuts and bled even more. We didn’t complain.
Now there is all this hocus pocus of cable and satellite and a mandatory switchover to digital television. I’ll give you digits, you con artists.
Hundreds of thousands of channels of junk.
And what happened to the TV guide, huh?
I’ll tell you what: The newspaper dropped it a few years ago, those cheapskates.
Then they decided it took up too much space in the daily paper to run any listings. I suppose they needed more room for their precious advertising.
And those crooks over at the local cable company dropped its scrolling TV listings. It’s a conspiracy!
Where in the ding dang dong is a guy supposed to go to find out what’s on the boob tube? Huh?
Don’t tell me I’m supposed to go out and get some fancy computer and surf the Web. I’m living on a fixed income.
I’ve just given up on the whole flim-flam operation.
I figure, if all those big shots out there don’t want me to know what’s on all their fancy channels about cookin’ and wallpaperin’ and back hair waxin’, then I ain’t gonna care one lick.
I’m just going to wrap my bleeding fingers in yesterday’s newspaper and go to bed. Harumph!”