by Patrick Howell O'Neill
Dear television, a friend from whom I’ve grown apart,
I’m bombarded by light even when my TV is on mute and my eyes are closed. I can’t sleep well because I spend my days either staring at a brilliant light bulb at midnight or at a television screen where all the characters are only there to scare me. I envy people who are afraid of the dark instead, dear television, even though that’s obviously your doing as well.
I really don’t care for your apocalyptic bullshit, dear television, thank you very much. This apocalypse-porn fetish with Jesus and Islam and Jews and UFO’s and 2012 has got to be the saddest little masquerade for ratings since Seinfeld went off the air. Yes, yes, we’re all vain and think that we are going to personally witness the most significant event in the universe since Seinfeld came on the air and so I guess we deserve to get played for fools for your profit, but man is it depressing. You're the one spouting bullshit so that people will look at you, tele, be careful not to look in the mirror. If you don’t watch out, I’m going to throw you out of a window.
I didn’t mean that, dear television.
Dear television, you gave me the impression that alcohol was an integral ingredient for happiness. Now, I can’t get it up because I drink too much. My pockets are empty, so is this the moment when I ransack a pharmacy? My pride is drained and I don’t know who to rob to get it back. My love is a dead end and I told you I don’t care for your apocalypse so things are probably going to stay this way for a while.
Dear television, I won’t even bring cocaine up. Not as advertised, suffice to say.
Dear television, whenever I black out and wake up with blood on my face, there you are. Always, your speakers are blasting and you’re screaming an infomercial into m year. I can’t help but think you might be trying to assault me and take my money. Television, you’ve already taken mylove and my sex and my light. I don’t have any money, is that why I’m bleeding?
Dear television, if you’re trying to take from me, you’re wasting your time.
I’m bombarded by light even when my TV is on mute and my eyes are closed. I can’t sleep well because I spend my days either staring at a brilliant light bulb at midnight or at a television screen where all the characters are only there to scare me. I envy people who are afraid of the dark instead, dear television, even though that’s obviously your doing as well.
I really don’t care for your apocalyptic bullshit, dear television, thank you very much. This apocalypse-porn fetish with Jesus and Islam and Jews and UFO’s and 2012 has got to be the saddest little masquerade for ratings since Seinfeld went off the air. Yes, yes, we’re all vain and think that we are going to personally witness the most significant event in the universe since Seinfeld came on the air and so I guess we deserve to get played for fools for your profit, but man is it depressing. You're the one spouting bullshit so that people will look at you, tele, be careful not to look in the mirror. If you don’t watch out, I’m going to throw you out of a window.
I didn’t mean that, dear television.
Dear television, you gave me the impression that alcohol was an integral ingredient for happiness. Now, I can’t get it up because I drink too much. My pockets are empty, so is this the moment when I ransack a pharmacy? My pride is drained and I don’t know who to rob to get it back. My love is a dead end and I told you I don’t care for your apocalypse so things are probably going to stay this way for a while.
Dear television, I won’t even bring cocaine up. Not as advertised, suffice to say.
Dear television, whenever I black out and wake up with blood on my face, there you are. Always, your speakers are blasting and you’re screaming an infomercial into m year. I can’t help but think you might be trying to assault me and take my money. Television, you’ve already taken mylove and my sex and my light. I don’t have any money, is that why I’m bleeding?
Dear television, if you’re trying to take from me, you’re wasting your time.
Patrick Howell O'Neill is from Brooklyn, New York. He's a lazy drop out with a lot of unconvincing excuses. He just wrote a book.
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