The Man Who Was Must-See Thursday
By Mark J. Hansen
(Kyle swaggers across the stage. A cigarette is behind his ear.)
Kyle: Secrets. My business is secrets. My business used to be accounts receivable. No more, chum. (Removes cigarette.) Hey, mister, got a light? Wait. Don’t tell me. My business is secrets. (Throws away cigarette.) Suburban espionage! Yes, you heard me right. It’s the latest craze, Chevy, and if you’re not in on it, you’re out of it. Got me? It all began on a Thursday at 8 PM, 7 central. I had finished a hearty meal of steak with a side of more steak, and as is my wont, I sat my ass onto el coucherino in el living roomerino and flipped the television to the on position. This particular evening was a crucial one, my little Corollas, as I was about to discover where Rachel’s true affections lie… with Ross- or with Joey. I’d laid a sawbuck on Le Blanc as a sure thing in the office pool, and was confident in my… confidence. Schwimmer was all washed up. But, much to my dismay, so was I as my t to the v ignored the old remote control. I tried the on switch once more. Still, she wouldn’t take. Not even if I got down on all 4 by 4s. I rose from the wall to wall carpet and faced facts. The cable was outer than my pregnant wife’s navel. But who could be responsible for such a devious scheme? Nissan, baby, it’s all a big secret. And lucky for you, I can’t keep a secret. As I left the split-level ranch style I heard my wife ask me one question, "Where are you going and will you take the trash on your way out?" All right, so that’s two questions. At least I’m not a counter spy! Anyhow, I ignored both of them and plunged forward into the lawn… and destiny. Forgot I planted that.
What I discovered was a conspiracy just on the other side of the fence. The grass wasn’t greener, but the reception was. My next door neighbor, some guy named Ingbad or Boris or, or Jake or something, he was foreign, that’s for certain. The soft blue light of his TV set intermingled with his un-American skin, making it virtually impossible for me to decipher his race. Ingenious! I was up a creek without an SUV, until I spotted it. The cable had been cut. So that would explain the blank expression on my TV screen. But why, why would he, a harmless neighbor, of no determinable origin, sabotage my night of televisual watchery? Suddenly I put 2 and 2 together faster than a Texas Instrument. Living alone, jobless, spiteful of Americans, these were all assumptions but let’s assume they’re not. He was single-handedly attempting the fall of water cooler discussion from without and within and with… stuff. I had to stop this…. Ooh, that slippery son of a something or other even eluded the reliable racial slur! I was stymied. What to do? Then the idea struck me harder than an F-150. Fight fire with fire, and water with water, and sabotage with sabotage. And just like that, his cable was cut. Another victory for the American way, and for good measure I set fire to his car. That’ll teach him to keep me from winning my office pool.
"The Man Who Was Must-See Thursday" debuted April 12, 2002, performed by James Horak.
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