So, the other day I’m sitting there, minding my own business, looking for something to watch on Netflix when I stumbled across a list of recommended movies and TV shows that were “popular with members like me.” Intrigued, I found myself scrolling through the suggestions to see what Netflix thought it had learned about me based on my past viewings. I laughed at the thought of there actually being other members like me. Who are these people that I’ve been grouped in with? Do these people have a fish bowl that they gently move to the coffee table so that the fish can watch movies, too? More importantly, do they have a humor blog that gets tens of readers from all across the world? I wondered.
I wasn’t exactly offended when the first recommendation was “Charmed.” I didn’t even let it bother me when I saw that the second and third recommendations were “Lipstick Jungle” and “Cashmere Mafia.” I excused the recommendation for “Hot in Cleveland” because everyone loves Betty White. However, when I saw that the next recommendation for members like me was “Say Yes to the Dress,” that’s when I began to feel insulted. I mean, what was Netflix trying to imply? Do I really look like the type of guy that would say yes to a polka dot wedding dress with puffy embroidered sleeves? Of course not.
I guess I can’t exactly blame Netflix for this. It is possible that I’m partially responsible because I watched one too many episodes of “Desperate Housewives” or “Drop Dead Diva.” Maybe I should have thrown in a few sports programs or psychological thrillers for good measure. I mean, I wouldn’t have to actually watch the whole show. All I’d really have to do is start the episode, or maybe just rate a few of them before my recommendations would hit puberty and become more masculine. That was the goal.
I must admit that I’ve learned a lot due to my experiment with some of the more manly Netflix shows. Did you know that there is this totally new sport where two men get into a ring and they punch each other until one gets knocked unconscious? They call it boxing. Legend has it that some manager invented it as a way to keep his staff motivated and to boost productivity by legally issuing a right hook when an employee got out of line. That makes sense. I certainly can’t wait to have a staff of my own one day. I’ve always said that a black eye gives you character. It would be an awesome lesson for me to demonstrate on my staff.
If you’re not into boxing, you can watch a show called the “Deadliest Catch,” which I haven’t really gotten into just yet, but I think it gives out cautionary tales about deadly sexual transmitted diseases that can get caught in your lobster traps. In any case, after allegedly watching a few more manly shows, I’m proud to announce that, in addition to the recommendation of “My Little Pony,” the list for members like me also includes “Prison Break” and “Law and Order: Special Victims Unit.” Although I have no plans to watch either, I’m ecstatic just to see them there. My father would be so proud.
While we’re on the subject of being offended, I have a few small teeny weeny confessions to make. After a four or five month hiatus from Kohl’s, I recently made an appearance to celebrate some new developments in my life. Of course, because I’d given myself the OK to shop, I didn’t find as much stuff as I thought I would. However, I did find enough items to need to show the cashier my ID so that I could use my well-worn Kohl’s MVP card. As she punched in my information, she said, “You look like a William.” Everything faded to black.
I don’t know if you know this or not, but I’ve had many sit downs with Barack and the members of Congress in effort to ban the use of “William” as it relates to me. I’ve never been a fan of the name for myself. Though it’s my first name, my parents don’t even call me that. By the way, if YOUR name is William, I think it’s absolutely lovely—thanks for reading. Anyway, apparently this cashier hadn’t gotten the executive memo. Luckily for her, I fought the urge to reach out and deliver a few quick jabs to her left chin like I’d seen some of the toddlers do on one of the boxing shows. Instead, I groaned and asked to speak to her manager to report the incident. She should be happy that my power to have people beheaded was revoked by the queen the last time I requested someone be taught a lesson because they’d given me cold fries.
Lastly, I have one more slight confession to make before I bring this entry to a close. Now, before I share this one, I need you to promise that you won’t judge me or report me to the feds. I mean, what I have to share isn’t something that Netflix members like me should probably say out loud or post on their blogs. It’s the sort of thing that should be written down on paper that self destructs after it is read by a recipient who is crouching down behind a dumpster in a dark alley after midnight. That noted, are you ducking behind your couch? Cover your children’s ears. I’m trusting you. Ok, here we go.
I like a few Justin Bieber songs. There, I admitted it.
Ok, I know some of you are ashamed of me. However, I know many of you are giving me “Jersey Shore” fist pumps because you were just waiting for someone else to admit it first. Granted, I know that I’m too old for this, and I’m probably way outside of his target fan base, but the other day his TV special came on and I heard one or two seconds too many of his music before I could find the remote to change the channel. Due to the power of pop music, the rest is history. Now, I don’t think that I’ll ever get his face tattooed on my left bicep or anything, and I probably won’t be seated in the front row of any of his concerts. However, I may accidentally listen to a few of his songs while safely hidden within the confines of my closet where it’s safe for Netflix members like me and all the dresses that they’ve said yes to.
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