While recently sailing a boat, playing tennis and many rounds of golf with grandkids, I injured a butt muscle. My injury has compelled me to spend many hours on my comfortable couch reading and watching hours of mindless television.
I now understand why folks like Rupert Murdoch become as rich as they are. They pump hundreds of dumb commercials into our lazy brains during every rotation of the earth. What I don’t understand is why governments allow people like Murdoch to influence public policy while becoming even richer, and therefore more powerful. But as a wise man once observed, “I really don’t understand all I know”.
But maybe, we need these intellectually challenging commercials to enlighten us and keep us on a par with the technological advances of the Chinese.
I probably need to know that, if I use a Titleist golf ball, I will able to hit it as far as Tiger Woods, John Daly or Tom Watson. Not so. I have hit every ball made by man and when I do make some sort of contact with the ball it does not soar like an eagle. The ball usually just skips along the fairway seventy or eighty yards somewhat in front of me, like a wounded bunny rabbit.
I am warned that if I don’t fly Southwest Airlines, a gigantic ball of red tape will chase me down the concourse and crush me unless alert Southwest employees roll up in their cart and save me, like old cowboys jumping on a team of runaway horses just about to pull a stage coach over a cliff. Sometimes I dream of a giant ball of red tape pursuing me.
My good friends from Viagra remind me that I can dress like a cowboy. If my super-duty pickup truck becomes stuck in a mud hole while towing a trailer full of horses, being the unshaven, macho cowboy I am, I can simply remove the horses from the trailer, hitch them to the truck and pull us free. When I arrive at my lovely old fashioned ranch house sitting by itself on the high chaparral, I grin in anticipation of how I will be rewarded by the woman of the house for being such a virile man.
Television teaches me to fear Low T. The good folks in the flat screen do have a solution for Low T. It is a potion that comes in a small bottle. They insist that if you slug down their product, you will receive no unwanted calories. Instead, you will get a jolt of energy that will make you grab the chainsaw and cut down every tree in sight. I can only imagine what I could do if I slammed down a vile of Low T. solution and a handful of Viagra pills. I become weak just thinking of the aftermath. But only you can know is it Low T?
When grandkids visit, their diet seems to be restricted to hotdogs, chicken fingers and tater tots. I have been at a loss to find a way to get some real nutrients in the little rascals, that is until I received some enlightenment from the good folks at PediaSure. They assure me, that if the grandkids drink a bottle of their gook each day, they will ingest all of the vitamins and minerals needed by an active child. But the hustlers at PediaSure don’t give me a clue as to how to get the headstrong grandkids to depart from their accustomed diet and try their magic potion.
The good man selling Flex Seal demonstrates to me that he can make an unsinkable boat out of his screen door. It is unclear why he would want to destroy a perfectly good screen door. It really does not make a very seaworthy boat. I presume he does this to convince me that his product will seal any other leaks that may occur in my house. I wonder if Flex Seal will prevent the horizontal rain of a Florida hurricane traveling 150 MPH from penetrating my abode?
My information sources on TV advise me I can become a successful, rich doctor by attending medical school at St. George’s University in the Caribbean. The only thing I learned to do in the Caribbean was to scuba dive. Is this not the same island President Ronald Reagan invaded, fearing that communism was taking hold there? If the island is full of communists, how could I become rich?
Besides, my reliable informants in the TV set tell me that I can see to my own ‘feet’ health care by simply going to the Dr. Scholl’s diagnostic station at my local pharmacy. The magic machine will prescribe the proper inserts for my shoes that will insure long term foot health. Why would I need to travel to St. George to learn this valuable information?
Some idiot dressed in a three thousand dollar business suit stands in a desert as Mercedes Benz cars zoom past him on all sides, spraying him with sand like a bull in a corrida, to tell me about Mercedes Benz C-class. This unstable person beseeches me to drive safely. The only lesson I take from this demonstration is how fast these expensive German cars can go. I guess that is all I am supposed to learn and damn the safety lecture.
I fear that I never did know my retirement number. Never mind. I suspect that nowadays all of our retirement numbers are just fantasies anyway. But I am assured by the conscientious folks at T. Rowe Price that they can tell me how invest with confidence–that is if I had anything to invest.
The Michelin Man stands on a rainy hill slinging a brand new set of tires on my little car if it goes into a skid with my family aboard. He stirs guilt in my soul by reminding me I was surely irresponsible, and risked my families life by using his competitors’ inferior tires.
Other good friends in my television box warn me that I could have a car accident if I have the dreaded “Dull Headlights”. But these inventive folks have a solution for this dangerous situation. They will sell me two tubes for the price of one of a miracle solution with the imaginative name of “Fast Bright”. They insist that their New Age polish will shine up my dull headlights and prevent catastrophe. See Fast Brite for yourself.
But if my tires fail or my dull headlights cause me to get into an accident, a little green Gecko with charming shiny eyes and a delightful British or Aussi accent will sell me insurance that will make my life right again.
By now, my days of laying on the couch have caused my back to ache. Fear not. A seventy-something gentleman has invented a contraption to cure my ills. He calls it a “Teeter Hang”. The very name causes my back to spasm. The man demonstrates his machine by strapping himself in and rotating upside down. This alone gives me vertigo. But the inventor jumps to the floor like a circus acrobat and announces, “I never felt better in my life”. I have seen one of these machines in SAM’s Club. Although I trust SAM’s to provide most of my worldly needs, I think I am going to pass on The Teeter Hang.
If I don’t have good sense enough to know whom I should trust and befriend, there is a service for my dilemma. The savvy people at Beenverified will furnish me a background check on anyone I wish to date or do business with. I can only suspect that the clever folks at Beenverified are ex-CIA agents who have access to our personal data. I think these folks are spooky, but if you require their services…Beenverified.
When a day of watching TV informs me of the many maladies I could contract and the awful side effects of medicines to cure these maladies, I slide into a maze and dark circles form around my eyes. Hydrolyze to the rescue. Yes, the makers of this magic cream assure me that I can remove the telltale dark circles with a little dab of their potion.
I think I will just turn off the TV, rub some Hydrolyze around my tired eyes and take a nap.