Chapter III

Commercial Breaks Need to be Broken

Carl Punter Jr. of Waterloo, Iowa, sat down on his beige couch and let out a frustrated sigh after a long day at the rat races.  He’d been yelled at by at least four guys who had obviously forged betting slips.  Turns out, (after security was done with them) that they were friends of the owner of the rat named “Speedy Gonzales.”  Carl tried to forget the day as he flipped on the television.  He became once again frustrated when his favorite show (Starbarisk: the talking puppy with an attitude from the ‘hood) was just getting to a commercial break.  This was his cue to do what guys do best, change the channel.

“Days when I get my period are . . .” CLICK, “the longest running series on television with . . .” CLICK, “a problem when it comes to E.D. which can be solved by . . .” CLICK, “calling in the next 24 hours will get you this adorable . . .” CLICK “medication for treating the burning and chaffing of . . .” CLICK, “this limited just for TV offer includes . . .” CLICK, “shortness of breath, tightness of the chest, and horrible swelling of the . . .” CLICK, “credit card debt can get out of control if you . . .” CLICK, “come on down to DEALING DAMEIN’s . . .” CLICK, “drug emporium busted for the illegal use of . . .” CLICK, “the side-effects persist for more than four hours contact . . .” CLICK, “your congressman and tell him that you want . . .” CLICK, “to be as happy as you can be with your wife.” CLICK!  Carl turned off the TV.

Getting up from his couch, Mr. Punter’s left eye twitched as he went to the kitchen and returned a few minutes later, finding nothing in the fridge.  Taking a deep breath and regaining control, Carl took the remote and turned the television on again.  “This medication is not for everyone . . .” Letting out a, “NOOOOOOOO!  I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE!” at the top of his lungs, Carl pulled out an MP-5 and started to unload into the TV.  Once he ran out of ammo for the MP-5, he pulled out a semi-automatic shotgun and continued to take his frustration out on the television.  When he finished with the shotgun, Carl stood there, breathing heavily and smiling as he would no longer have to hear the senseless bantering of producers pushing their feminine products, male products, medications, political agendas, and useless junk.

From behind him, Mr. Punter heard the slow and rhythmic applause of a man with black goggles dressed in a white T-shirt, white shorts and a white cape.  “Very good Punter,” said the stranger.  “Now may I ask you one question?”  “Shoot,” was Carl’s reply.  “I won’t, but which way is Des Moines?”  “Just southwest of here.”  “Thanks.”  As the mysterious man sauntered away, Carl turned back to his freshly annihilated TV smoldering in his living room and thought to himself, “Plasma TVs are on sale today, aren’t they.”

Note: I wrote this after being frustrated with the amount and types of commercials on TV. Years later, I would write a satirical article on pretty much the same subject, but with political advertising added into the mix.

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