Hey, quick question, hot dog: how can you tell if someone doesn’t watch any television? It’s actually rather simple. For, you see, the people who don’t watch TV will surely tell you right away how they don’t watch TV.
They lay in wait, like a conceited mountain lion, waiting for a moment to pounce as soon as someone mentions anything they watched on the tube and from there it’s a downhill ambush on the, now one-sided, conversation. Incredible how suddenly a pedestrian discussion about how racist or incompetent Terry Bradshaw has become or speculation about Mindy Kaling’s reading abilities can be instantly derailed in favor of them filibustering about how “they don’t have time for that inane chatter.”
Way to steal all the fun out of the conversation, you grubby little fun thief. Hey, buddy, at least TV taught me not to interrupt until the commercial, but you come in, guns a-blazin’, on your high horse. Naturally, I’m taking the liberty of assuming you’re interrupting my conversation while you’re on the back of a drug-addicted equine.
However, non-sober stallion or not, I assumed that in the spirit of manners you wouldn’t impede my stimulating discourse about what I imagine Matt Lauer smells like on the air. It’s quite rude, to be honest; you don’t see me trying to change the subject when your going on an on about the donation you gave to the Humane Society, the charity fun run for fat-orphans with low self-esteem and Lou Gehrig’s disease you’re sponsoring, or how you insist on paying a carbon tax on everything you buy.
Lisa Frankly, I think carbon can pay its own taxes; if I’m going to help someone on their back taxes the list starts and stops with Wesley Snipes. Further, I think these fat orphans are the ones who could benefit from running—at least more than you and the other smug people who love perpetually patting themselves on the back. Do I air these grievances? Nope, you don’t see me interrupting; I just keep keeping my mouth shut and continue to fantasize about hitting you with my car.
How incredibly fascinating you are; boy, to go through life not doing something the rest of us do. Your time must be so freed up from not watching television that you’re able to find time to read all the great philosophers, travel the world, and achieve self-actualization. You don’t see the rest of us bragging about not doing things; I wasn’t vaccinated, but you don’t see me prancing around all arrogant, clamoring about how great my immune system is for keeping me polio-free all these years.
Have we become so boring that we need to talk about the things that we don’t do to make conversation? I don’t tell you about how I don’t exploit children for cheap labor. I don’t tell you about how I don’t trust Arby’s. I haven’t even broached the subject of not shooting up heroin mixed with barbecue sauce because I’ve heard terrific things about the smoky, smooth, yet flavorful and relaxed, high it provides.
My tribe of one has spoken and the verdict reads: we like television and we don’t like you. Do not try to convert me. I’ve seen the other side’s zealots and believe me when I say that I don’t like what you’re preaching. Don’t try to tell me how green the grass is on the other side—the other side does not have Maury, Restaurant: Impossible, and Too Cute.