The Day of Reckoning drew ever closer.
With the help of the jittery and elusive Anarchist, my
common-law wife Christy and I were getting closer to toppling
Rupert Murdoch and his Inner Circle of TV executives.
The Anarchist promised his Secret Weapon, and he delivered,
pulling out three impeccable white and blue blazers.
“What are these things, man?” I asked.
“Valet digs.”
Cruising up Sunset Boulevard in the Anarchist’s car, he
told us his plan.
“We’re dealing with the richest, most powerful
people on earth.”
“How are these jackets going to help us out?”
Christy asked.
“It’s a common fact that these people are unable to
do one simple thing,” the Anarchist said.
“Of course!” Christy said. “They don’t
know how to park a car!”
By the time we passed the West Hollywood Pink Dot, traffic was
at a standstill. A cop came up to the side of the Anarchist’s
El Camino.
“Road’s closed,” he said.
“But we’ve got to get to work,” the Anarchist
said. “We’re valets!”
The cop nodded his head, said he would see what he could do.
Meanwhile, the Anarchist filled us in on his latest conspiracy
theory.
“Television is the greatest form of will-breaking
brainwashing in the history of the universe. Just look at Lifetime
and Oxygen. They promise women they’ll be supporting their
cause if they subscribe, but they break their wills with Massengil
and Summer’s Eve commercials.”
“I’m not convinced,” I said. “What about
men?”
“TNN is changing its format. It will now be known as Spike
and will show men-only programming.”
“TNN?” Christy asked. “The Nashville Network?
Home to my favorite reruns of “˜The Dukes of Hazzard,’
“˜Dallas’ and “˜Hee-Haw?'”
“Two years ago it became The National Network,” the
Anarchist said. “Now all they show is “˜Star Trek: The
Next Generation’ reruns and World Wrestling Entertainment
programming.”
“So the shift was subtle,” I replied. “Or, as
subtle as television can be. Where does that fiend Murdoch fit
in?”
“He’s in there somewhere,” the Anarchist
replied. “I can feel it. The channel will render men
everywhere helpless. Imagine feeding your TV old copies of Maxim
and Stuff. Except now the bikini models will actually
jiggle.”
“This makes the lesbian kiss on ABC daytime TV look like
child’s play,” Christy said.
“Not only that,” I said, “But the complete
lack of actual content will turn our brains into
porridge!”
Christy shot me a look.
“That is, err, if, I were to actually watch it, heh heh, I
reckon.”
Then the cop returned.
“Take this alley here. You’ll get to work in no
time,” he said.
We thanked him and backed up.
“God bless you guys,” we heard him say. “You
valets are the real American heroes.”