Monday, May 19, 2014


It was a dark and stormy night. I was driving home from work when I spotted a new store in the strip-mall by my house. The sign read “FREETV4ALL”.
Curious, I parked and walked into the store.
The first thing I noticed was that it was unusually warm and stuffy. A man smiled at me from behind the counter, drumming his long sharpened fingernails on the formica. The smell of brimstone was in the air.
“Tired of waiting for the non-existent Dishnet hack?” He asked me.
“It’s beginning to feel like the DirecTV fiasco all over again," I admitted. For months after the American satellite company tightened its security, hackers promised a solution that never materialized. Scores of people were bilked out of thousands of dollars by unscrupulous cyber con-men who promised a "new fix." They all took the money and ran.
He pulled an Internet-ready set-top box  from a shelf behind him.
“Whoa,” I said. “I read those things aren’t safe!”
The retailer gave me a rueful grin.
“Safe shmafe, my friend. What in this life is truly safe?”
“Well I heard you can be tracked through your IP address and…” The retailer cut me off.
“Listen, maybe you’re right. Maybe this new key sharing system isn’t for you. You can always subscribe to your local provider, which doesn’t even give you A&E in the basic package…even though you can get the channel by subscribing to analog cable.”
I shook my head in disgust, and the strange shopkeeper continued.
“Maybe you’ll even get used to not having the channels you took for granted and learn to ignore the insufferable CHANNEL NOT AVAILABLE! PLEASE CALL 1-888 PRICE-RAPE FOR ORDERING INFORMATION nag reminding you of the entertainment you lost. Miss out, hold your breath waiting for a miracle, like the other scared sheep”

The dealer had me, and he knew it. We agreed on a price and I paid him. As I walked out of the store, he said “Goodnight Badchicken! Enjoy your TV again!”
As I stepped into the cold, I paused.
How did he know my screen name?
I turned to walk back into the store and demand that he explain how he knew me, but the door had locked and the inside was pitch black. I thought I heard faint laughter from somewhere inside. Chalking it up to my imagination, I got in my car with my new purchase and drove home.

I got home in minutes and eagerly began the task of setting up my new STB. When the coaxial was tightened, the antenna settings correctly entered and the channels scanned, I turned the box on and was greeted with: ERROR 666: PLEASE CONNECT THE STB TO THE INTERNET!
Of Course, I thought.

I connected my router cable to the rear of the receiver and within moments, I was watching TV again. Feeling weak at the knees and dangerously close to orgasm, I sunk in to my lazy-boy to enjoy what would undoubtedly be a night full of sweet channel-surfing.

About ten minutes had passed when I began to hear a peculiar whup-whup-whup sound coming from my roof. I noticed that although it was night outside, my living-room window was bathed in a bright white light. I ran to the window just in time to see five men rappelling down from a black helicopter. They were clad entirely in dark clothing and ski-masks covered their faces and they were toting flashlights and what appeared to be automatic rifles. From the kitchen, I heard my wife call out “Honey, what’s going oooaaargh!!” In my confusion, I failed to notice the cylindrical object that one of the invaders tossed through the window I was peering out of. At the exact instant my front door was blown in by the shape-charge, the flash grenade detonated. I fell to my knees blind and disoriented and it felt like my whole house shook with the commotion.
“SATELLITE ENFORCEMENT TASK FORCE! EVERYONE GET THE F%CK ON THE GROUND! NOW! NOW! NOW! NOW!” I heard as I struggled to regain my bearings. I was still badly shaken, and I heard my wife being taken violently to the kitchen floor.
Fifi, my wife’s beloved toy terrier, began to yap at the intruders.
No…I thought as a short burst of machine gun fire quieted the mutt down forever.
I managed to get to my knees and was immediately kicked in the ribs by a jackbooted assailant. I crumpled on to my side, and coughed a little blood.
“Smart guy huh?” the masked man asked.
Three more of the raiders dragged my wife into the living room and threw her backwards onto my lazy-boy.
“You wanted to f*ck with Echostar family, huh smart guy? Now, we’re going to f*ck with your family!”
At that, the men hog-tied me and proceeded to force themselves repeatedly on my wife, violating her in every way imaginable and a few other ways I never thought possible. Every time I pleaded with them, one of the invaders kicked me in the groin, ribs or face.
Between sessions with my wife, the men would alternately urinate on my plants or curtains, and one actually defecated on my coffee table.

After it was over, the men ripped the STB out of my entertainment unit and smashed it repeatedly on my skull until I was rendered unconscious.
I was in a coma for three weeks, and when I awoke my rectum was swollen and tender. While I was in the dead zone, it took the nurses three days and eight enemas to get the receiver remote out.

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