325 - June 10, 2007


It is June 10, 2007, and you are reclining in your reclining chair which you have set to the mode that reclines rather than the one that sits, or maybe you have the role of the chair and the role of your ass mixed up.

Anyway, you recline in the sitter watching television. Tony Soprano sits at a table in the diner and a bell rings as the door to the restaurant opens. Knowing the culmination of years of dedication to this wonderful television series is about to come, your fingernails dig into the arms of your reclining sitting machine. Will Tony be murdered, or will he make it out of this one?

The screen goes black.

From your throat erupts the wail of the much-feared but seldom spoken-of Italian Banshee. Your television has broken at the worst possible moment. You jump from your folding one-person couch and scramble to the television to identify the problem before the denouement of your favorite series plays out. You reach around the rear of the television, thinking maybe that stupid fucking cat your wife insisted on “rescuing” has again unplugged the set, but you find the AC cable and the coax intact.

You return to the front of the screen to find the credits rolling.

“NO!” you scream. “NO NO NO NO NO!”

This cannot be. You’re unable to mentally separate the actual time invested in watching the series, which is actually less than four days, from the period of time over which the episodes were released and thus falsely believe you’ve invested literally years of your life into this show. This angers you. You feel betrayed by your television but man, that shit is expensive.

The blame shifts to the accordion stool from which you leapt just moments ago.

YOU!” you scream at the mini-Craftmatic® adjustable bed in front of you. “This is all YOUR fault!”

In a steady, burning rage that will last until the next morning at work when Carl tells you he though the decision to end on an ambiguous black screen was bold and subtle, and a sudden burst of strength never to be seen again you lift the wobbly butt-holder from its perch on your carpet and throw it out the window.

You sit on the floor, hoping it will never betray you like your La-Z-Boy. It will be difficult to throw it out the window.