The New God Box
We have a new God Box.
Well, *N* has a new God Box. But its in my living room so its mine too.
I have to tell you that I was a little concerned about the arrival of the new God Box. My own versions were small, small enough to not even be mistaken for a George Burns type of God Box. But this one, THIS ONE, shall not be mistaken. It is a true God Box, in every way, shape, and form. The way, shape, and form being a sizable 51" shape. 51 bloody inches. Mine could fit into it at least 12 times.
So on Sunday, with immense trepidation, I opened the door for the delivery people. They brought it in, told me that I had to keep the box the size of two refrigerators for 30 days, and that I couldn't turn it on for at least 2 hours. It was cold, and apparently, the God Box would crack if the heat hit it too soon. I appreciated this delay. For me, it was like a stay of execution. I would still be in charge on my brains for another 2 hours. N did not appreciate this delay. He felt unbearable anticipation as it sat in the living room, staring at us, keeping its godly secrets deep inside.
Finally, the two hours were up. We plugged in the DVD player, and plugged everything into the wall, and after only about 6 tweaks, the God Box came to life. It was big. It was wide. And it was a little buzzy and showed us nothing but Sex and the City. It was then that I realized, this was my kinda God. There was no need to be scared. One should embrace the God Box. Or at least my God Box because in it's beautifully wide screen, it tells me that the Sex and the City girls are fatter than I thought. And ironically, when the God Box is silent, and the emptiness fills the screen. It reflects me. Thinner. Yup, THINNER. So, when all is evened out, the new God Box tells me that I'm just about the same size as Sarah Jessica Parker.
Now if I can just get it to tell everyone.
Well, *N* has a new God Box. But its in my living room so its mine too.
I have to tell you that I was a little concerned about the arrival of the new God Box. My own versions were small, small enough to not even be mistaken for a George Burns type of God Box. But this one, THIS ONE, shall not be mistaken. It is a true God Box, in every way, shape, and form. The way, shape, and form being a sizable 51" shape. 51 bloody inches. Mine could fit into it at least 12 times.
So on Sunday, with immense trepidation, I opened the door for the delivery people. They brought it in, told me that I had to keep the box the size of two refrigerators for 30 days, and that I couldn't turn it on for at least 2 hours. It was cold, and apparently, the God Box would crack if the heat hit it too soon. I appreciated this delay. For me, it was like a stay of execution. I would still be in charge on my brains for another 2 hours. N did not appreciate this delay. He felt unbearable anticipation as it sat in the living room, staring at us, keeping its godly secrets deep inside.
Finally, the two hours were up. We plugged in the DVD player, and plugged everything into the wall, and after only about 6 tweaks, the God Box came to life. It was big. It was wide. And it was a little buzzy and showed us nothing but Sex and the City. It was then that I realized, this was my kinda God. There was no need to be scared. One should embrace the God Box. Or at least my God Box because in it's beautifully wide screen, it tells me that the Sex and the City girls are fatter than I thought. And ironically, when the God Box is silent, and the emptiness fills the screen. It reflects me. Thinner. Yup, THINNER. So, when all is evened out, the new God Box tells me that I'm just about the same size as Sarah Jessica Parker.
Now if I can just get it to tell everyone.
Copyright 2005-2006 by Spells With...All rights reserved
Speak to me, 5 already did
5 Comments:
Ummmm, party at V's house! (the people with the biggest, nicest God Box are automatics for the parties i.e. Superbowl, Sox Playoffs) and also various DVD series marathons (like SATC as you've mentioned here). You guys did know that goin' in, right?
I'll bring the chips and my white trash dip.
Yup. We'll see you there. Turn left at the mariachi band.
N doesn't seem to realize about the Superbowl. He's a soccer guy and though he'll watch the superbowl for me, he doesn't really enjoy it. So sad, too bad.
Count me in!
child please, you watch the superbowl for the good commercials (isnt that why it's on in the 1st place?? oh... no? there's a on game, too? huh.)
Oh no. Not me. I'm in for the football. Commercials are for peeing.
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