Free Pay Per View!

[Note: The mutual masturbation article has been postponed for further research. -ed]

Ah television. It's a lot like the internet, except if everything on the internet was a full screen Flash ad, you could only visit a handful of sites at any given time, and you were forced to watch 7 minutes of full screen commercials every 15 minutes. And just like the internet, you can purchase porn with your credit card, presuming you have PPV.

Let's all be honest here, nobody purchases Hollywood movies with PPV. It costs like 5x what I'd pay for a DVD at RedBox, and I can't even burn it to my PC to watch it later. It's bullshit. The only things we use PPV for are boxing matches and porn - both of which involve sweaty glistening bodies and some manner of beating.

Being from the internet generation, and knowing that everything in life is (or should be) free, I set about trying to obtain free porn from the mysterious blinking box in my TV stand. Various downloads from the internet promised weird key combinations on the controller that would bring up administration menus, but this was a fruitless search. Finally, I decided I needed to buy a PPV filter.

Basically, these are little devices you can buy off the internet that screw on to your coax and let you order PPV but prevent billing signals from going back to the cable company. So it's a lot like ordering a 21oz. steak at a restaurant, eating it, and then skipping out on the bill.

It sounds great in principle, except it's more like you then have to continue eating at that restaurant every day, for every meal, forever. They're going to catch on eventually. And so begins my tale of woe.

The problem with cable box filters is that your cable box has a memory. When it can't successfully bill you for the PPV show, it stores to bill you later. A nice feature, except when you're getting your PPV for free, you tend to watch a lot of porn. Like, a lot. Like, just hours of it every day until your dick is so sore you can't touch it anymore, even to go wee wee.

Anyway... most cable box filters come with instructions for clearing your cable box's memory. Mine came with a crudely drawn picture of a skull and cross bones, except instead of bones, they were dicks. (Skull and Crossboners, get it?) That was not comforting, although the fact that the guy I bought it from went by "crossboners" made for a reassuring bit of consistency.

So it was back to the internet for more gay por— I mean instructions. The only instructions I could find for my box involved frying the chips with a stun gun, waiting for a thunderstorm, and then requesting a replacement unit. I was starting to get concerned when the unthinkable happened. I heard a knock on the door. I went to answer it, and holy shit it's the cable guy. I whistled for a cab and when it came near, the license plate said fresh and it had dice in the mirror. If anything I could say that this cab was rare, but I thought, "Naw, forget it. You holmes, to Bel Aire!" I pulled up to the house about 7 or 8, and yelled to the cabbie "Yo holmes, smell ya later." I looked at my kingdom, I was finally there, to sit on my throne as the Prince of Bel Aire.

Join us next week for an exciting article on mutual masturbation!