I live out in the boonies. The only way to get TV out here is by satellite. That satellite on my roof talks to something, somebody, somewhere. It pipes stuff in and out of my house, into my sacred living space. It’s connected to my TV and I know that my TV is just a helper-monkey for the spy box.
Like other satellite suckers, I bought the “All Cosmos” package that delivers something like 831 channels. I only watch maybe 6 or 7 of them. So, that leaves well over 800 channels that are doing something, all the time. I wonder what they’re doing? Why are they there? Who is running this game?
The box that sits next to my TV is always on. When it’s not on, it complains that it MUST be turned on to do secret, hidden things. The on-screen message tells me that it wants to update stuff. I don’t believe a word of that. Nothing out in the boonies ever gets updated. That’s why it’s called the “boonies.” So, what is that thing really doing?
The satellite people won’t tell me anything. It doesn’t matter if I beg, complain, or throw a dungal-fit. They remain stoic, unmoved. That’s how spies operate, I think. Well, maybe more likes moles. I think that everyone who works for the satellite company is a mole, operating a front for their spies on all those TVs out here in the boonies.
These spies are multilingual. I see it on lots of those channels. They also play music, all kinds of music. I think there are messages hidden in the music. The moles know all about this kind of thing. They bundle all of this together, make it very pretty, but it’s still unfathomable and far too secret. The worst part of it is that the spymasters, somewhere “up there,” charge me for the privilege of spying on me. That’s just not American.
Sometimes, the spy goes to sleep. This usually happens when it’s snowing like hell. The spy sleeps, the TV groinks, and the whole apparatus sends cryptic messages my way. It wants to “re-acquire” something. What’s it trying to re-acquire? Does it want to talk to the moles? The spymasters? What did it lose in the first place? Why doesn’t it tell me in plain English?
It doesn’t want me to know, that’s why. It speaks in code, the kind of code that only spies understand. I’m out of the loop, but it’s not. That’s one of the reasons I know it’s a spy. Only spies and moles need code. The rest of us mortals settle for a more common language.
My TV has a spy guide. My shooter has a little button. When I press it, it gives me the spy guide, a tiny peek into its private world. The spy guide is long, enormously long. I can’t get through more than a few button pushes before I get tired. I think it’s hiding all the good stuff way down on the list. So, I’ve tried to start at the end, which is what spies always do. Still doesn’t work. Where’s all the good stuff? Why is it all so secret? I can’t start in the middle. After all, I’m just human.
I don’t like to sit in front of the TV when it’s off. The spy box that sits alongside the TV is always blinking at me. Sometimes, it whirrs and makes strange sounds. It’s obviously alive and doing something. What’s it doing? Who’s it talking to? I can’t turn it off or it’ll send me those weird, encoded messages. When it’s turned on, it’s watching me. I know it is. I’m really stuck.
I’ve decided there’s only one way to solve the dilemma. I’m going to become a double agent. I’ll fight fire with fire. It’s pretty easy. I just turn on my Roku and flood my TV with stuff. It drowns out the spy box since the box wants to do everything on its own. The spy is selfish and that’s its downfall. The Roku takes over, gives me just one thing at a time. No spy satellite needed. It’s simple. No bizarre encoded messages. Everything’s in English. I’m happy once again.
I can even shut down my Roku on those days I’m feeling too spied upon. I just pull the plug and pick up a book. Books don’t spy on me.