Thursday, October 21, 2004

My threshold for convenience ran much lower, gentle reader, before the Internet began. The way I remember it, a man used to go to Blockbuster and marvel at the ease of video rentals. Who would’ve thought that instead of going to the movie theatre or purchasing a VHS tape, you could mosey down to a store–a real store, one with windows–and stare slackjawed at hundreds of titles with an intent to lease? What were people going to cook up next, bracelets that would snap onto your wrists and, in some rare cases, accidentally slit them?

Sometime around the turn of the millennium NetFlix stepped on the stage, and since then we’ve witnessed the rise of powerful competitors. All these merchants have but a single purpose in mind: to make our lives easier. No longer must we contend with quaint activities such as walking or driving to fetch our entertainment. We need only wait for these curious shiny discs to travel hundreds of miles into our mailbox and, after they do their cinematic duty, go on their merry way.

Although I don’t subscribe to NetFlix, I have felt my convenience threshold rise significantly. I know I’m not alone when I say that having DVD’s shipped to your house isn’t enough. For one thing, the trip to your mailbox harbors all sorts of shocking dangers. It’s also tiring. You’ve got those crazy kids who love smashing mailboxes with their aluminum bats, and heaven forbid you ever stand between them and their prey. Let’s not forget about the stray dogs and cats who insist on pissing all over your new sandals, or those stray psychos who enjoy pissing on stray dogs and cats before eating them and your new sandals.

That’s why I propose we start a business, you and I, and address these fears. The solution is pretty simple, as it turns out. We just need to “hire” a bunch of people, preferably of the indentured servant variety, and have them bring your DVD’s into your abode. Heck, while they’re at it, why don’t they just put the DVD’s into your DVD player for you? I don’t know about you, but I’ve always been afraid of snagging a sleeve or a limb in one of those contraptions. The little tray opens and closes really, really quickly. This is utterly terrifying.

You may think the service ends here, in which case I’d scold you for being wrong. By paying a nominal fee, you’d upgrade your membership to platinum status, instantly forcing your servant to burp you, wipe your ass, and put you to bed.

The concept’s there, so all we need now is a name. How does DVBitch sound to you? Good? Good. We’d have to market it in such a way where audiences would know that, contrary to the roots of the word, “bitch” includes both men and women. Wouldn’t want to discriminate in our hiring practices, would we? That would be unfair.