Beach TV

If there is one thing I like better than goats, it’s Beach TV, or infomercials, or perhaps the wax they put around cheese. I’ve recently cut the cable cord, which inadvertently led to the epiphany that I can get Beach TV on my new Roku device. Hallelujah. The glory of twenty-four hours of beach commercials has enveloped me like the folding of mix-ins at the ice cream creamery on Ocean Boulevard next to O’Malley’s Bait Shop. Every man should know how a restaurant they may or may not attend makes shrimp and grits or where to get over two hundred dollars’ worth of coupons. Sure, I may not need a ten percent discount on a bikini, but I now know where to buy Banana Republic gear, ride a banana boat, and get table side service of bananas foster from a professionally trained staff wearing tuxedos at an affordable price, casual attire accepted. That kind of information is priceless. In fact, I will soon know so much about the beach I won’t even have to go to the beach. I’ll just stay home and scoff at the blind herd baking in the sun blissfully unaware they could rent an umbrella from a lifeguard between the hours of 9:00 am and 5:00 pm for a mere fifteen dollars a day or ninety dollars a week which is like getting a full day free. Knowledge is power, and I can feel Beach TV coursing through my veins, from my recliner, not even at the beach.