T.V., or not T.V., that is the question;
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The rays and pixles of outrageous programs,
Or to take arms against a sea of channels
And by clicking end them. To live- to read,
No more; and by a life to say we end the
headache and the thousand digitized shocks
That brain is heir to: 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To live, to read,
To read, perchance to think--ay, there's the rub:
For in that book of life what thoughts may come,
When we have shuffled off this creative coil,
Must give us pause--(For a commercial break)--
There's the respect
That makes calamity of so long cable,
For who would bear the kitch and twits of prime time,
The networks' wrong, the stuntman's contumely,
The pangs of disprized plays, L.A. Law's delay,
The insolence of Emmy's, and the spurns
That patient merit of thine critics takes,
When they themselves watch this bullshit all day ?
Who would video bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after libraries,
The undiscovered building, from whose shelves
No bookworm returns, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear that media we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conglomerates make couch potatoes of us all,
And thus the native hue of curiousity
Is sicklied o'er with the pale broadcast of news,
And Enterprises of this generation and the next,
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of fiction. Soft you now,
Fair princess Leia! Nymph, in thy orisons
May the Force be with you !