A Vision of the End Zones.
The Apocalypse of Jon Deer_Jon Deer-A Vision of the End Zones
(Reprised from Dear Jon Sort 239. Chapter 2 begins below with new material!)
Lo, I tell you a mystery. We shall not all sleep, for some have apnea and snore to wake the dead.
I, Jon (the Deer), was seated at my computer, having been exiled by the Webmaster for dropping my main feature, when I looked, and there before me were seven pop-ups, and seven ads within the pop-ups. Then I fell into a heart-fluttering faint, when a voice inside my head spoke to me saying, “Now the time of your writer’s block is at an end. Get up, and write these things that will become your inspiration as your Starbuck’s® overdose takes its course through a night of insomnia.” Now this is the meaning of the seven pop-ups and their ads: the ads are the voices of self-promoting hypocrites, and the pop-ups are the television networks that broadcast them.
Here, then, are the letters that the voice inside my head told me to write to the television networks.
To the American Broadcasting Company: Peter Jennings is a Canadian which makes him the most objective anchorman in America, but I still have this against you; that evil woman, Barbara Walters, giving false hope to children everywhere with speech impediments. To the one who overcomes I will give an emmy and the top of the Nielsen ratings.
To the Columbian Broadcasting System: Everybody Loves Raymond, but you cancelled Murder She Wrote before its time. Because of your faithlessness you lost the bidding war to FOX for the NFC and then pulled the rug from under NBC, so now the AFC is on CBS, which is a sin. The one who overcomes will be Touched By An Angel.
To the National Broadcasting Company: Return to your first love. Think Law and Order: The “Friends” With “Seinfeld” Division. On Sunday afternoons you could probably televise gay porno flicks and no one would notice, except God, who would be really really mad. The one who overcomes will get to make a punching bag out of the guy who decided to broadcast all of Notre Dame’s football games.
To Public Broadcasting Systems, I just want to say that I never pledged to keep your quality programming on the air, because those other networks Big Three are free. You have been showing naked people on Prime Time since long before NYPD Blue, with the justification that since they are all British actors it doesn’t count. To the one who overcomes I will bestow a collector’s DVD set of Masterpiece Theatre.
To the FOX Network: No one who is awake for 72 hours is going to give a rip anymore about whether a terrorist is going to nuke the White House with a bio weapon of mass destruction. But oh well, this is no more implausible than the objectivity of your news casts. To the one who overcomes I will give a booster tower so that the broadcasts can be carried over the mountain passes into remote rural areas.
To ESPN: You think you are rich, but you are very poor. You have allowed the Great Satan in your midst to make everything you do a plug for Monday Night Football. You watch: When the NFL expands to Orlando, then the one who is on the rooftops must not enter the house, and how sad it will be for pregnant women in those days! The one who overcomes will get the secret spy-cam of when Serena and Venus are forced to team up in Trivial Pursuit at the Williams family reunion.
To HBO: From “Real Sex,” and “Sex and the City” you have nowhere to go except triple-x pay-per-view. Your Jezebel, Sarah Jessica Parker, might even get some curious viewers despite that nose. Even so, these voyeuristic late-night distractions have been superior to the movies you throw on the screen. Does everyone need to see “City of Industry” eight times in a month? The one who overcomes will get to deliver pirated DVD's to the Los Angeles Film Critics and have VIP pass to their Awards.
When I had completed these letters, the voice inside my head told me that every Urban Legend I had ever heard was absolutely true, and those web-sites like “urbanlegend.com” that supposedly exposed the myths were themselves evil lies of the devil wanting to hide from us the Truth that is Out There.
Then I was taken up to a vast coffee plantation and sat down beside an urn. And I looked up, and a rainbow arched over the whole plantation, and in the center of the rainbow was a beanbag chair, and on the chair was the San Diego Chicken. There were twenty-four San Diego Chargers standing around the chicken: the offense, the defense, the kicker and the punter, and they took off their helmets in the presence of the chicken, and I heard them say:
“No more shall the Raiders fumble forward to victory,
whether they be Raiders from Oakland
or Raiders from Los Angeles.
Worthy is the Commissioner who was, who is, and who is to come.”
And there was silence for the duration of an official’s time-out so that FOX could sell beer and cars.