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After loading up my plate for Thanksgiving seconds yesterday—a move I immediately regretted—I carried the goodies to the living room for consumption, where I was immediately assaulted by the television set which my wife had left on. Dr. Phil was on the air. I immediately began a search for the TV remote to remove myself from his sphere of influence, but by the time I found it my I.Q. had noticeably dropped several points. I could actually feel brain cells committing suicide rather than face another moment processing that garbage. Now I know how the HAL-9000 felt when Bowman began disconnecting its higher functions. "Daisy, Daisy/Give me your answer true/I'm half crazy/All for the love...of..."
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