Why Do They Bother?

It's a nice room, though I'll be here too short a time to make the most of it. King-sized bed, fireplace, and a kitchenette. The back patio opens upon the Deschutes river. (The small high-country slow moving Deschutes River. Not the wild E-ticket part of the river, made famous in Current Events)

The deposition is scheduled for tomorrow. After which, I'll be heading back over the mountain.

For now, though, I can blog from bed, warm from the fire, wallowing in my own cigar stink.

This is only noteworthy for one reason. See, the room comes with a realtively-nice flat panel TV, and a wide array of cable options, including many many Showtime chanels. And, at midnight on a Monday, that can only mean one thing: Low-grade softcore porn.

Oh, but good god, why? WHY? Why must they insist on a story?? Really, it is meant to serve only one purpose. Just give me five minutes of dirty moving pictures, and let me get to sleep.

But no. They must try to tell a pointless story, and poorly at that. Perhaps it is the only way to lure already-desperate D-list actors to appear in these horrible things, degrading themselves for a few dollars and a few minutes of precious Hollywood screen time before they are chewed up and spit out by the vicious industry.

OK, so, looking at it that way makes it kinda dirty, which is hot, I guess.

Anyway, the writing, acting, plastic surgery, and story are so bad, that I'd rather sit here writing this little ditty than watch the large-juggied trollops trounce about on screen.

That's it, I give up. I'm going to sleep.