In the Corbindawg household, who has the clicker, and where said clicker is located, is a big deal.
Get Control of the Clicker
My friend Rigsby, the lover, is planning to get married. He asked my advice concerning a prenuptial agreement.
I happen to be an expert on such matters because I learned the hard way. I’ve had three wives, but no agreements. If my ex-wives and I formed a musical group, we’d be Po’ Boy and the Alimonyettes.
I informed Rigsby he most certainly should have a prenuptial arrangement and that he not forget one very important item.
“Make certain you get control of the clicker,” I told him.
“The clicker,” I went on. “The little remote control deal that changes the channels on the TV.”
“Why is that so important?” Rigsby asked me.
“Without the clicker,” I said, “a man is nothing. He has no power.”
“Explain,” said Rigsby.
“In every household,” I began, “somebody must be designated – even if it is necessary to use brute force – to be in control of the clicker or else there would be anarchy.
“One person might say, `I want to watch “Wheel of Fortune,” ‘ and another might say, `I want to watch a cable movie,’ and another, `I want to watch the wrestling matches.’
“So everybody would go for the clicker, and domestic violence would erupt.”
“You mean they might hurt each other?” Rigsby asked.
“There was a story in the papers last week about a family in Tumblewood, Oklahoma,” I told him.
“A man and his wife and their two children sat down to watch an evening’s television. All four wanted to see a different program, and nobody had official control of the clicker. They all dived at it at once.
“The man suffered severe scratches fromhis wife’s fingernails, and she was bit ten on the ankles by one of the children, who got poked in the eye during the melee. The other child got the clicker and ran outside as he was being chased by the rest of the family and was hit head-on by a jogger. All five were treated and released at a local hospital.”
“I never realized something like that could happen,” Rigsby said.
“It’s like this, my friend,” I continued. “Your wife wants to watch `The Newlywed Game,’ and you want to see three basketball games, a golf tournament and the last thrilling moments of a Charles Bronson movie on HBO where he blows away a small city.
“If you have the clicker, you can switch back and forth and keep up with everything you want to see. If your wife has control, you’ll have to sit there and watch while some woman tries to remember what color undershorts her husband wore on their wedding night.”
“I see your point,” said Rigsby.
It must be wonderful to have a friend like me.