::: viddy well, little brother. viddy well.
"We were raised on television to believe that we'd all be millionares, movie gods, rock stars, but we WON’T."
[Tyler Durden, in Fight Club. David Fincher. 1999]
The night was still young.
Tired of being sick, Badu went upstairs to watch TV. He snapped the remote control, and watched Bride of Frankenstein. Great classic, but hmm.. “Do you think what I’m thinking, Bud?” I nodded. Yup, better skip that.
Snap.
A rerun of Mr. B., about gangsters in Mali.
Snap.
A talkshow about drugs and staying alive. Well, keep talking, dude!
Snap.
An absurd sitcom about a beautiful biologist teaching her duck to read the Nonno magazine. Fashion, not function.
Snap.
Raging Bull, but a boring part. You're not Roger Ebert.
Snap.
A quiz show promising that if you can answer a certain kind of questions, your future as a rich man (and womanizer) is assured. Haha.
Snap.
An advertisement, a bad bad one. The overrated copywriter. Sucks.
Snap.
A grinning fool with a wig, showing us an always bad ending. A writer’s block? Could be.
Snap. Snap. Snap.
Now the TV is off.
Well, that’s the problem with Timbuktu life. You have the best TV Grundig makes, with the remote fahkkin control. But there’s nothing to watch. N-O-T-H-I-N-G.
: Blogwalking would be great. Yeah.
