Do you really want to hurt me?

I am Doug, and I am a mediachondriac.

When I wake up, I face one of the three screens in my room: the one on the ceiling, the one to the right of my bed, and the third, obviously, on my left. They are all set to the same station since it doesn't matter what is on so much as that I have some form of non-conceptual input streaming directly into my brain.

(They happen to be set on Telemundo this week. I like the fact that not being able to understand the language isn't a problem for holding off the inevitable anxiety attack that comes after a minute or two of no stimulation.)

I eat in front of the TV for breakfast like I do at every meal when I'm at home. For a change of pace I turn it to Telemundo, and put it on mute. I don't have to hear it if I can see it, and vice versa. However, after a minute I start to feel queasy. I realize that I've been paying more attention to my food than the television since I couldn't hear it. I sigh and change it to APW, the Professional Wrestling channel. All "Sports Entertainment", all the time. On the TV, John Cena is walking around a ring proclaming his greatness. I only know who John Cena is because he has been the most heavily featured "babyface" since Hulk Hogan.

Also, because like most wrestlers he occasionally speaks in the third person.

My faith healer sister tells me I'm nuts, and that I'm making it all up. I tell her she thinks ginko biloba will help her pass the state nursing board without studying (she refuses to study since nearly all the test is about treatments and procedures that go against holistic theory).

I wish I was a pro wrestler, and not a resturant consultant. I'd certainly be a lot less fat.