To keep things scientistcally ignant, I prefer to mix my margaritas on the veranda in my finest flip flops while watching NASCAR on my third-string tee vee that I keep next to my Budweiser tool chest. That way I won’t miss a moment of the four-hour race when I go from my living room to my porch. The TV on the porch shouldn’t be confused with the ones I have in the bedroom, kitchen, dining room, den, bathroom, and garage. The one on the porch is much smaller than the others, even the one in the bathroom. Watching NASCAR on a 72-inch screen is the only way I can pinch a loaf anymore.
Although my bathroom habits are about as compelling to talk about as Egyptian economics, I feel like an enormous portion of the population has the same problem. I’ve been watching too much TV again, which has left me with the impression that no one owns a car, but everyone wants to buy a pickup truck, and there isn’t a male human being on the planet who is capable of maintaining a stiffie without choking down enough pills to start a nursing home pharmacy.
Then again, that’s just my take on it, and I’ve been notoriously unperceptive about these things. I tend to drift in and out of watching TV, only glimpsing a few precious minutes every year or so, which should immediately void my opinion. This is also why I shouldn’t be let out unattended, because I’ll start yelling at cars, postal workers, and anyone else insane enough to go outside.