The eleven-dollar electronic alarm clock read "2:57 AM". The wind blew calmly through the icy concrete streets. Inside, a lone cold beer sat in the fridge with only a ketchup packet and a container of baking soda to keep it company. On the radio for the millionth time was Janis Ian's ode to teenage insecurity, "At seventeen".
It was a Saturday morning and all my dames were out earning their rent money. I was only minutes away from the end of my life... and I didn't even know it.
And I, your ingenuous, sarcastic ruffian couldn't sleep. I thought, "Maybe I'll take a sleeping pill and go back to bed. Yeah."
Instead, I turned on my vintage, American-made Zenith, fired up an American Spirit, and drank my longneck cerveza. On the tube was an old black-and-white B-picture... SQUAD CAR, from 1961. I should have known that "squad car" was English for "waste of time" -- but I was young and foolish at 3 AM. A review in the TV Guide said the words "inept", "eighth-rate" and "instantly forgettable".
But I couldn't see the writing on the wall.
The narrative -- oh, yeah, something about murder and counterfeiting -- dragged on... and... on. Lifeless, hopelessly wooden performances by a cast of professional non-actors made me scream to the heavens above, "Why! Why are you punishing me?! Ahhh!" I tried to change the channel, but the television failed to respond to my request, and I was out of triple-A batteries. With the stength of 47 men, I pulled the plug out of the socket.
But, somehow without electricity, SQUAD CAR kept playing, keeping my newfound Hell on Earth alive and well. I should have known that the director's name --Ed Leftwich -- was English for "Architect of Cinematic Misery".
But I didn't.
After seven minutes and fifty-one seconds of SQUAD CAR, I thought of a way out: I downed that bottle of sleeping pills and ended all of the misery that it caused me. As I sat there, gradually fading out, I saw the end title cards.
I screamed: "Oh my God! The movie -- the misery of SQUAD CAR -- is over!" But, I would have to live with the pain that it has caused me.
"To hell with having my stomach pumped!"
I would rather leave this world with dignity than live as a SQUAD CAR victim.
Please, ladies and gentlemen, stay away from SQUAD CAR -- or it'll run you over, like it did me.
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