The old men sitting in their easy chairs, dozing in and out of sleep, in their living rooms, in front of their television sets.
On the TV screen is a gloriously-colored travelogue featuring a couple of busty buxoms, dressed in their Most appropriately modest outdoor costumes, astride their bicycles, in the middle of some living postcard, talking mundane and uninteresting conversation in broken foreign brogues between themselves, endlessly gesturing, pointing, smiling and grimacing at their picturesque surroundings.
It is a television production that seems to have no beginning, no middle and no end, makes no sense at all, is nothing but a moving postcard with narration, a total waste of time, something the TV station constantly begs money from viewers for their support, humdrum, mundane, boring to the point of tears, and yet the two old men, barely aware of their own surroundings, languish in the glow of this cinematographic monstrosity, stirring occasionally to go to the bathroom as old men are wont to do, or to the kitchen for another piece of lemon pie.
Lord, hear our prayer: “Hasten the day when such sublime mind-numbing as this is no longer allowed on the TV screens of the world. It surely hastens the onset of dementia in the unwary!”