duck-shaped pain

It was the usual time. People, clasping beers, sodas and remotes, had settled down to what, for many, would be the highlight of the entire day: two episodes of The Simpsons

It was a long-standing tradition, dating back two, maybe three years. Seasons change, peaches grow, people age and there would always be something decent to watch between 6 and 7 p.m.

Tonight was different, though. Shock and panic raced throughout the town as people turned on the local Fox station and saw�something else.

Something wrong. Something unfunny. Something with real live people on it.

Some game show. With flashing lights and a cheering audience and other things too panful to watch.

Shock is a funny thing, though. So is denial. So I, along with many others (I assume) sat there, mouth agape, watching the spectacle in progress. No matter how often we commanded it, the TV would simply not be more funny. Thoughts raced everywhere. Should we call the station? Stage a boycott? Go get another beer?

The screen then went blank in the middle of some pointless question. The cheering people had been stopped mid-exuberance. There was nothing there. No sound, no picture.

Then, relief.

It was the episode where Bart kills the bird, hatches the eggs by himself, and they turn out to be lizards. Sure, we didn't get to see all of it, but we appreciated it that much more for having almost lost it. Birds sang, people ate dinner, things were okay again. I don't know if there were hundreds of angry calls to the station, if it was a mistake, a wrong button pushed somewhere or what, but I'm sure the reaction was just and swift.

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