Too Much Infomercial

“Buy your Prong-Wrong Banana Re-Benders now, because supplies are limited! That’s right, we did NOT create an infinite number of them! They do not compose all matter in the universe. They are neither the Alpha nor the Omega, nor are they end-state Von Neumann machines. You are not currently composed of our molded reprocessed-plastic Musa manipulators. An unlimited supply of any item would soon pass the Chandrasekhar limit, collapsing into a black hole from which nothing could escape, rendering us unable to pass these incredible saving on to you!”

“You can buy this Instructional Drum Kit For Cats right NOW! Well, not ‘now’, as I filmed this days ago in an unheated warehouse unit, and right this second am staring blankly at an unpainted wall behind the dead-eyed camerawoman. I prefer the wall. It didn’t have dreams. I don’t see their corpses when I meet her eyes, and I don’t have to wonder if those eyes are mirroring her soul or mine. I don’t replay my one and only Hollywood audition in my mind, night after night, tearing my face into ever more desperate rictuses of emotion which I tell myself would have gotten the part but which only ever end in sobbing. That’s what’s happening ‘now’ while you watch this at two AM. If it’s earlier than that I’m drunk.”

“This product is not available in stores, because it’s clearly the inner lining from a series of cheap deep-fryers recalled because they were fat-filled incendiary time bombs, labeled with a pirated copy of Illustrator, and resold as VitaHat, The Polycarbon Protection From Skull Vitamin Loss. If you think you need one of these, buy a proper helmet.”

“But wait, there’s more! So much more! So many countless things you could be doing, oh god, sunshine and puppies and people who smile when they’re happy and not when they’re told to, god, run, please, get up, get out, don’t wait to turn the TV off, leave it as a warning to those who follow, RUN!” >Hits co-host with the Revolve-o-matic Tie Uncoiling Unit, $49.99+delivery, screams, sprints off-screen. Sound of sprinting down concrete floor fade into distance, loud sigh from off-camera, “Okay, cut, call the next one.”<

 

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