Wallnuts After Dark: What's Wit All a The Friggin' TV Channels?
Back in the day there was only a handful a TV stations. It was Channel 2, 4, 5, 7, 9, 11 and then in the 60s the Finnochs started showin’ up on Channel 13 on the PBS. If there was a show on it was easy to find since they was only these 6 channels.
I knew Joe Franklin was on Channel 9, which was WOR, an so I never forgot to watch his show or couldn’t find it. Another thing, these channels use to be known by their letters, so Joe was on WJZ that changed to WABC an then he moved to WOR that became WWOR.
I guess them letters weren’t as confusin’ to me as all a these 3-number channels I got on my TV these days. I mean who the F@#k ever thought they’d be a channel 596? An let’s not talk about how many Clams this is costin’ me…..
When the cable first started an they gave me that box that looked like a typewriter wit all a the buttons that was connected to another box by a wire that went to the TV, I couldn’t figger out how all a them channels was fittin’ trew that little wire. I mean I could unnerstand how all the channels could get sent trew the air an into those Rabbit Ear antennas, or whatever the f@#k they was called, an into my TV. Na mean?
Then they came up with the satellite TV that never made no sense to me as they had to send the TV shows up inta space before sendin’ them back down to a dish on my roof that had a wire to the TV. Again wit the friggin’ wire! That seemed like an awful lot a trouble to go to to get Regis and Kathie Lee. Am I right when I say that?
So cable got more channels an more confusin’ an they gave me this remote control that was bigger n a black jack Knuckes Rizzo use ta use to knock out skells an that looked like it was for a friggin’ space ship, or some shit.
I liked the remote that had on, off, volume and channel. Kinda like how I like my cocktails wit two ingredients, one a which is ice.
Now we got this Fiat or Fios or whatever the f@#k it’s called and now I gotta have my phone and computer all mixed up wit the TV. It’s like havin’ your two Goomads and your wife all gettin’ together to play Canasta. Nothin’ good can come from that. A fannabala!
Plus, back in the day, we had the TV Guide that tole us what shows was on where an when. You got a whole week a TV in that magazine every week an there was stories about TV people and a real jake crossword puzzle in it, to boot.
Now we got that cable guide, or whatever the f@#k it’s called, that makes my head hurt with all a the colors an channel abbreviations an them 3-number channels that I can’t never remember. An what makes all a this worser is that there ain’t never no good shows or movies on anyways, even when I go an check out what’s goin’ on around channel 920.
At least in the old days when there weren’t nothin’ good on, I only had to check 6 channels and it wasn’t costin’ me nothin’.
Oh geez, Remote Pear!
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Remote Pear, I says.
The backward facing HamDangle™ on Remote Pear is as outstanding as DW’s stories are classic.
Brilliant!
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Nice pear. Look out for the parallel universe when you click the pic, though.
I’d like to eat whole wheat farfalle topped with sardines and clams in a cunt sauce topped with pitted black olives and shit. Son
Stooooooooooooooooned alone and drunk with the old fucking lazy dog stoned as fuck after Lenny stopped by while teaching his oldest boy how to drive and brought me along for this right of passage we were stoned as fuck and the boy is stiff at the
Lemon skunk haze Wow son
Nice remote, son.
You skipped over the “turn the knob halfway to get porn after 11pm and before 4am” cable box years – you musta been playing in a little league of their own and keeping tabs on Buttermaker…
I could operate that remote with my biggest didget…but it might get messy!
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son
Them was the good ol’ days.
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But on the other hand…I can remember seeing my first real boobs on TV, instead of just Welcome Back Kotter. It was surreal. Like seeing hygiene on a hippy.
I’d be all up in that like a dog on my cock dipped in peanut butter.
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The french channel used to have dirty movies. But I saw my first boobies in a magazine with my friend Bruce while he was flaming the bad pipe.
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The new Lemon Skunk Haze makes you think weird. Like after a Criminal Minds marathon or trying to use DarkSock blueprints
This thread is a gorgeous read. I have nothing to add, and I am adding it.
I looked a little closer. That’s not a t-shirt. That’s side-boob there, gentlemen.
organic master K from the west coast ftw any day!
Cheers, sir, for showing you grew up in the NYC area in the early ’80s…a hey-dey of non-douchery (well, as we know it today), Saturday Drive-In Theatre on WOR, etc.
BUT, and I will call you out on this one…YOU DIDN’T MENTION THE YULE LOG. Shame on you, sir. Shame on you.
I saw my first boobies whilst getting baptized (no shit).
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So I was raised as a born again Christian, or that is to say, my parents were ex-hippies that were burned by the whole hedonism of the late ’60s and fallout in the early ’70s and thusly converted, so I was by extension born again. Raised in a community non-denominational Evangelical church in rural Idaho, I learned very early of the dangers facing me if I dared puff a cigarette, taste a drop of liquor, or partook in any carnal pleasures including – but certainly not limited to – eying a woman with sinful intent and shamelessly torquing it.
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So I happily gave myself over to the lord, and agreed to have myself baptized in Jesus’ name when I was a mere 10-years-old. Never mind that part of my intent was to quit being shut out of the whole communion gig. I mean, they set kids up for getting voluntarily baptized through bribery. You sit there through service on a wood plank (pew) through hours of monotone hell and damnation talk, getting slapped on the back of the head every time you try to amuse yourself by sketching in the hymnals and changing all the lyrics to “on top of spaghetti”. But then half way through you’re tempted with a reprieve, snack time! Grape juice and little crackers. But no, you can’t have any because “you haven’t given your life over and accepted Jesus Christ as your personal Lord and Savior.” Well sign me the heck up!
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And so I confessed all my sins, said the Lord’s prayer in front of the minister, read chapter blah blah by the apostle blah-dee-fuck and gave my blah blah blah BLAH! Let’s get this baptizing shit ON.
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And so I was to be baptized at the end of Sunday service, and my whole family was to be there to witness my rebirth. The whole thing involved going into a private room behind the baptismal, changing into some white robes, and having the minister dunk you in a big bath tub while spouting some deep sounding religious shit. They insist that you strip naked before donning the baptismal robe, and for some reason a senior church member had to be in the room with you while you changed. This struck me as weird at the time, but in retrospect was particularly creepy.
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Anyway, I changed into my holy white robe and waited in the room behind the baptismal for my time. For you see, I was not the only young person being baptized that day. Just before my rebirth, a young woman in the youth group named Amber was getting baptized. She was 14 or so, and developing nicely, though previously I hadn’t cared to take notice of such things, being both prepubescent and wanting to keep good standing with Jesus and all.
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So I was led to the baptismal just as she was exiting, after being submerged in the holy waters by the minister and accepting the Lord Jesus Christ as her personal Savior….
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In that holy water.
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That cold holy water.
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Very cold…holy water.
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In her holy white robes.
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With nothing underneath.
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Sheer white…holy robes.
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In that coooooooold, cold water.
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I passed very near to her as she was exiting the pool, the thin white robes, dripping with cold holy water, clung to her young taut body. I got an eyeful of dark round areola perched on top of her small perky boobs. Flat white tummy, and a small dark triangle at the apex of her glistening thighs. She moved in slow motion, the water sheen on the sheer fabric and exposed naked legs, accentuated her goose bumps and smooth, hairless, barely-pubescent skin. Long blonde hair plastered against her head, my eyes met hers, with matted eyelashes and mouth slightly agape, gently inhaling extra air from the cold immersion under water.
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Who knows what she was thinking – probably something about how spiritual experience it was and how happy she was I was going to experience the same wonderful rebirth and salvation – but I know what I was thinking, and it was something new. Something I have never thought before, but something I have thought of many times since. Something I have gotten very, very GOOD at thinking about…in multiple scenarios, and with multiple women.
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Long story short, I was baptized with my very first legitimate boner. You know how when as a young boy you may have experienced many little hard-ons, but they’re never real. They just happen every so often while taking a bath after taking that “extra time” to soap up certain hard to reach areas. A mere curiosity more than an imperative. Basically, I barely heard a word that preacher said, other than to say “yes” when he asked me if I renounced my previous sinful life and accepted Jesus as blah blah blah. I said “yes”. But I was saying “yes” to Amber…for she was in my head, just as she was in real life but a few seconds before. But this time, asking me if I wanted her to remove her sopping wet baptismal robe in front of me.
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Yes, I do. Lord be praised, yes!
Great. Now we’re all going to Hell.
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Thanks for sharing that, Jacques. As if your links aren’t bad enough.
Where do I get a remote like that?