Switch Off
Tiny bits of tar and grit shoot towards the screen as the thick rubber of the front-wheel of a superbike whizzes past the tiny lense at 200 kilometres an hour. The stacked, safety tyres grow larger as a corner is approaching – fast. The rider leans and the asphalt comes closer to the little, on-board mounted camera. A tidy racing line is achieved and the corner is navigated well.
Fuck’s sake, I think. What’s the point of watching this shit if they don’t bloody crash? It does puzzle the hell out of me how they stick those little cameras on the bikes and make them stay on at such immense speeds, but even so, you change the channel.
Some dykey-looking, bearded bloke with a sharp-angled haircut and a fairly well kept beard is interviewing some criminal with his face blurred out about how he is a product of his corrupt society and the atrocities it is responsible for. I watch for a good few
seconds before the recent journalism graduate asks the man if he regretted any of his crimes and the guy just sips on his cigar and coughs in affirmation.
The next channel is showing a handful of Bob Marley’s children playing a concert in Africa interspersed with clips of Bob lyricising the importance of smoking dope in one’s life and his children trying their best to sound like him, both on stage and behind an interviewer’s microphone. They barely pull it off, and even though I dig Bob and what he stood for, I still flick the channel again.
Yes, Donald Trump actually did win the election. Believe it. Now, get the fuck over it. We’re yet to see what will happen, so let’s just wait and see. Stop whingeing!
Click…
I grab my seventh slice of pizza. I’m absolutely full, but the pizza is there, so I may as well have another slice.
Boring English drama about a little country town where not much happens apart from the local doctor or priest or [insert patriarchal vocation here] getting into some less than interesting adventures involving the local spinster, stray dog, drunk, haunted house or all of the above.
Click!
Jeez. That slice went quickly. Only three bites. Might have to grab another.
Sex scene. How fortuitous. It’s not every channel-change you jump balls deep right into a passionate love scene. How lucky I am tonight!
It turns me on enough to forget about the half eaten slice I’ve just laid back down onto the lid of the empty pizza box sitting next to the now almost empty pizza box. The camera angles delicately avoid showing any dick or vag, but they do show nipples – both his and hers. They kiss each other so hard it’s almost as if they’re trying to fuse their lips together so they never have to stop kissing each other. He chucks her dainty frame onto the kitchen bench and pulls her hair. I like that shit. What I don’t like is the fact that they keep
pausing for a few lines of witty banter. What’s with the copulation conversation? I’ve never had sex like this in my life. I mean, I haven’t realty had a whole heap of sex, to be honest, but when I do it’s all about action. I don’t dig on the dialogue while doing the dirty, not at all. I like to keep my mouth shut. Well, unless I’m screaming with pleasure or… I don’t really have to say it, do I?
Thoughts of my sexual incompetence and inexperience snap me back to reality – my filthy, dark living room. I could’ve gotten off to that scene if I’d put my mind to it. My nipples had gotten a bit hard but I was still as dry as a dog biscuit downstairs.
Fuck it. Click.
The rest of that half-eaten slice makes its way towards my mouth-hole, but as I begin to chew on the cooling bread, hardening cheese and god-knows what else I ordered I notice myself peering back at me from the TV screen. What the flamin’ fajita?
Click.
Click!
Click – click – click, clicketty, clicklicklick!
The channel remained the same. It was me, sitting there eating pizza. Did I have a webcam on or something? I start looking for the direction of the camera, but whenever I look directly into the lense the angle changes and I am filmed from somewhere different. Ok, well, fuck, I think. This is surely a prank. I have to very careful what I do now, because this shit
could definitely end up all over the internet. I realise how glad I am to not have just flicked the bean. That thought brings me a small amount of relief, yet I am still as confused as a Mormon inside the Berghain. Who would have set up this elaborate bullshit? None of my friends are tech-savvy enough to pull it off. Nor would any of them give enough of a shit what I do at home by myself because it’s basically what I would be doing if I was hanging out with them – apart from caressing my flaps and pissing into an empty beer can so I don’t have to leave the couch.
Paranoia flooded into my mind. My eyelids withdraw up into my forehead and my head began to twitch from side to side as I searched the room for any hidden cameras. On the TV all I could see was myself, pizza slice still in hand as my worried face continually found the camera moments before the shot would change to my side or behind looking increasingly disturbed, upset and manic. Breathe, Jen. Just fucking breathe!
Did someone put magic mushies on that pizza? Am I dreaming? Am I actually insane? Those thoughts rushed through my head, increasing in gravity and depravity. The thought of insanity terrified me. A dream would be the normal, albeit boring outcome. And if it was shrooms, well, I think I could happily deal with that.
I tried to calm myself. I sat back down on the couch and finished the slice, watching myself consume it. I started to feel like I actually was tripping balls, but the idea that I’d actually lost my mind was the only option that I was really entertaining. I sat and watched myself slowly swallow and digest more pizza for about ten minutes. Eventually I couldn’t get up and leave the couch. I was frozen in fear. My sanctuary of lethargy and laziness had now become my tomb of deranged mania.
2ND DECEMBER 2016