Is My Man Card Revoked For Hiring A Guy To Mount My TV?
When I moved into my new apartment last month, I bought a new TV because it was time for an upgrade. I’d been mindlessly consuming television from my 42-inch 2009 Samsung for almost a decade, like a family stuck underground in a bomb shelter waiting for the nuclear radiation to dissipate. Apparently, great progress has been made in TV technology over the last 9 years and visitors often mocked me for my ancient, thicc, black-and-white TV. So I broke out the plastic and purchased a top of the line, 55-inch, 4K ready Sony. This puppy is SLEEK. You could play ping pong or step on a brick of blow on this thing. I often stand in front of it while it’s off to admire my reflection. My favorite thing is that it’s a smart TV so you can go to the web browser and watch porn on a TELEVISION. The nipples and dicks are massive! It’s annoying to have to type in “Jenaveve Jolie 8th Street Latinas Solid Rock Cock Pop” with that tiny remote, jumping across the keyboard. God forbid I mistype a letter and have to delete it when I’m all boned up trying to pound off. But once that scene gets going, it’s like going to a porn movie theater–a business that pretty much died thanks to AIDs.
I’m sure all of this is old news to many of you. But it was quite a sensation for me when I entered the new generation of TV viewing. As such, I thought it only appropriate that I set my new baby up real nice. My friend told me about a guy he’d hired who not only mounts your TV, but who also hides the wires by running them through the wall. I hate wires. Given the option, I’ll always go wireless–internet, head phones, bras… the only thing wires are good for is strangling someone quietly on a train.
I found my own guy on Craigslist who advertised the wire-burying service. After a couple texts, he seemed like a straight-shooter, so I sent him my address. He showed up yesterday and pulled out all sorts of tools, including some sort of laser-sonogram device that found a hollow spot in my wall. He did his work while I rowed a furious 5K on my erg in 18:50, a new personal record. When I went back up to check on him, drenched in sweat, chest heaving and legs quivering, shoulders full of blood, proud of myself… I saw that the space between the TV and my cable box was smoother than Frankie’s vagina after his monthly wax. His work was so aesthetically pleasing that I offered him a glass of water as I went to replenish my electrolytes. He said “sure, I’ll take a glass of filtered water.”
Now, I know most people consider me to be a privileged bitch, born with a silver spoon in my ass and forever coddled by a safety net of mom and dad’s rigging. But filtered water? No, my good TV-mounting prince, it is a luxury I dream not of. I’m a tap guy because it makes my body stronger. The phosphates and chloride and chemical runoff one finds in unfiltered tap water are, without a doubt, the potion that has helped me maintain a 37-inch vertical through the years. The lead in my glass puts the lead in my pencil, so to speak. I told him I could not satisfy his bourgeois tastes and that I was sorry for living like the rats. He shrugged, packed his tools, and left a pile of drilled wall dust all over my rug because fuck me, right? Thanks for taking your boots off, you Home Depot dropout.
Anyway. I tweeted the story and was immediately met with the disapproval of bunch of Alaskan king crabbers, lumberjacks, blacksmiths, and fullbacks. Dudes who wear Carhartt pants because they’re made with the only fabric thick enough to staunch the bleeding from their forklift injuries. Guys who cum one sperm per load because their swimmers are the size of trout. Men who paint the interior of their home black and have bullet holes in their fridge, which causes a lot of the food to spoil but is worth it because it terrifies the guests. The question is, are they right? Is it the mark of a man that mount his own TV, just as he mounts his wife/girlfriend/small livestock after a few too many?
Let me know. I’ll be watching softcore porn on my new TV.