Proof of End Times/ Proof that I am old and grumpy

As I become older and more crotchety, I become less and less tolerant of television programming. I can't even bear to channel surf all nine channels that come into my home, so tonight I checked the listings online to see what was available for viewing while I ate my egg noodle*/ peas/ carrots/ corn/ sea salt/ chickpeas/ cheese/ bowl. "Surely," I said to myself as I read the schedule, "what I am reading cannot be so."

I turned on the television to ABC and oh my SHITS, tvguide.com does not lie: Bingo on television. Televised fucking BINGO, which, incidentally, looked remarkably like a bizarre foreign game show, with a kooky Indian guy in a referee costume and a lot of shouting and zoomy cameras and contrived excitement, lots of bright colors and maybe some confetti. Sandwiched in between the murder show and the other murder show before the other murder show. Are you sad that you don't live in a retirement community? Or that you don't belong to the Knights of Columbus? Do not fear, ABC has dedicated an entire hour of prime time television to BINGO, right between the indistinguishable, paranoia-inducing crime shows. Just call meals on wheels, order the watery soup and yams, and you'll be all set for your Friday Night good-timin', guaranteed to be in bed by nine.

I'm going to drink beer on the back porch now.

* To the makers of No Yolks Egg Noodles: quit hiding your little promo coupons (Cinderella 9! On DVD!) wrapped in plastic deep in the bag of egg noodles. Every time I use your product, I dump the noodles into boiling water and then jump around in my kitchen trying to find something to fish the little advert packet out before the plastic melts into my noodles and I have to eat them anyway because I am freaking famished.