Most of you know that I have trouble falling asleep some nights. Hell, I think it's safe to say that I have trouble falling asleep most nights. So on some of these nights I ill-spend my time flipping through the channels on my TV. Oh believe you me. I'm the first one to tell you that TV rots your brain, but in a sleep deprived state, there's a hypnotic and highly suggestive aspect to TV that I have a hard time ignoring, resisting.
Past a certain point in time, it happens. Most of the channels turn into infomercials. RIght around 3:30 in the morning, it seems like. For every product imaginable, too. For crap you didn't even know existed until you watch a 30 minute spot. Apparently, some people have an irresistible compulsion to dehydrate everything they consume, starting from bananas to meat.
Now you can tell a lot about a demographic by the types of commercials one sees during a TV program. That's why you'll see commercials for beer and cars during a sporting event, household products during soap operas. This isn't so blatantly the case anymore, as neutralization of gender roles have been on the agenda for the powers that be for some time now. Example: beauty products for men. It's out there. Another example: See the connection between the term "soap" opera that a soap company sponsors and the programs generally geared towards women? (Insert something derogatory and sexist about women cooking and cleaning here)
So I started to think about the demographics of people that are awake at 2:30 in the morning by the content of some of these infomercials. Apparently, they are broke, depressed, out of shape, small, limp-dicked mutoids who are horny, undersexed, and overly concerned about the regularity of their poops. They are broke, but apparently have enough to make five easy payments of $19.95. Plus, if they call within the next five minutes, they'll either double the offer, and/or eliminate one full payment! What a deal!
Oh and they need a power juicer, for some reason. Because they decided that chewing is for losers. Premasticated food is the wave of the future. Astronauts eat it. And lastly, for some reason, they've been hoarding gold, too. Like a leprechaun, they've been sitting at the end of the rainbow on a pot eating a bag of skittles and apparently, now's the best time for them to turn their unwanted and broken jewelery into cash.
Ladies, you don't get a free pass on this either. Why bother with proper exercise and diet when you can just put on a tube sock for your torso and hide all the inches? A little point of fact: Just because you hide the fat doesn't mean it goes away. The fat does not disappear. It all has to go somewhere, you know what I mean? Usually pushing your organs out of whack like the old tyme corsets, though not as much, seeing as how they're using polymers, new fabrics and bamboo spines instead of whale bones. Oh and when your intestines get pushed aside to make room, you can eat those yogurts that keep you regular.
Then with your fake eyelashes, rubber boobs and butts, and high heels and underwires and concealers and revealers and camoflauge and smoke and mirrors and sleight of hand, you can certainly give a fella the wrong idea, you know? Imaginge opening up a box that says "Flowers" only to find a box full of caterpillars and a stick. That's what it's like.
Then a horrible realization dawns on me. I'm awake at 3:30 in the morning and watching these infomercials... Oh God!!! What does that say about me?!!
Well, let's see... I haven't hoarded any gold... Yet... Nope. I'm not a leprechaun, nor am I Mr. T (who on a quick sidenote went from selling car title loans on TV in the Chicagoland area to hocking a glorified sandwich maker or some such on a national market at 3:30 in the morning, definitely a lateral move in his acting career, I'd say. Plus, in the infomercial, he's just wewaring a plain red polo t-shirt. Where'd all the gold chains go? Oh how the once mighty B. A. Baracus have fallen!)
I don't particularly feel the need to juice everything in sight. Montel Williams (former TV talk show host) is hocking a power blender on another channel. He has MS and he's telling me that premasticated food injected directly into your belly (via his gullet) is helping him love longer, keeps him from dying. I mean, I want to live longer, but not like this, not like this...
Besides, what's wrong with the blender that I already have?
A sandwich maker? Umm... I'm kinda ashamed to admit that I already have one of those that I never use.
As to the condition and quality of my... um... man parts, I daresay that's a private matter concerning myself and my lady only. Let's just say that I haven't had the need for any help. Yet. Even if they're willing to send me two weeks' supply for free, as long as I pay shipping and handling. Their sales pitch is, "Two weeks supply for the cost of a postage stamp! If our product wasn't so incredible, could we afford to do this?" To that, I have to answer, "if your product costs a fraction of a penny to manufacture, then you're still making money just on the shipping and handling fees, so yes. You can afford to do this. Besides, it's mostly shredded Chinese newspaper anyways."
Am I depressed? I can honestly say that I was much happier before I started going down this road of thought.
I am undersexed and horny, seeing as how I'm in a long distance relationship and all, but not enough for me to call someone and listen to a pre-recorded message at six bucks a minute.
It's a frightening realization, for me anyways, to think that there are people out there who are so lonely, alienated, isolated, whatever, that they're willing to pay money just to hear someone talk. Not even to see, or to touch, just to listen to someone talk. The self-esteem/fantasy issue of wanting to be desirable is enough of a draw for some, I guess.
Well, I suppose I could stand to shed a few pounds, or at least get a little more exercise in my daily routine, but do I need to buy a miracle machine or some workout tape to get that done? I can always choose to walk a little more, bike a little more, do some more push ups and sit ups.
"Starting tomorrow", I says to myself as I turn the TV off.
NIghty night, Casters of Souls.
As always, my thanks for your visit.
-Grape-
