The remote control was a substantial innovation in the development of the couch potato, allowing slovenly drunks and bored children to stare vacantly at the television set without the need of getting up to change the channel. (And what a television. The console looks like it weighs a few-hundred pounds.) The remote control is a remarkable device that has yet to be improved upon and to this day remains essential to all stoners, depressives and brain-dead victims of the workforce unemployment rate. My father used to refer to it as the 'plunger'--because of the physical motion of plunging ones thumb down in order to activate its features? Or perhaps because it plunged one further down into the well of oblivion that, lets face it, most TV programming has disappeared into. Shows with titles like "My Mom Is A Whore" and "Do You Poop Enough?" are now the norm--and I'm not making those up. But even back in the innocent times pictured in the above instructional video on how to use the confounding new device known as a remote control, the programming looks pretty enervating. Dig the movie that's being watched. It's apparently a musical that features endless twirling and listless dancing by a group of uncertainly rehearsed dames, shot by a cameraman who seems to have had one martini too many at lunch. Jesus.

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