So many of them pull in the standard broadcast channels. Day by day they take in the popular mass culture fed to their salivating mouths by the smooth skinned hands of self-annointed elites, much as a dignified Dionysus might hand down a results-driven smorgasborg to the chattel below.

They are worse off than the few who must diligently readjust their sets so as to receive even the faintest blur of a picture. For they are largely left unto their own devices and are not groomed for service.

Me? I do not lead a life filled with desultory constructs such as they do. I look past the Ism-ists promulgating their ist-isms. I have cable, affording me a wider selection and opening unorthodox models of fulfillment.

I have left behind those standard broadcast channels and sauntered throughout my cable box. Already, I have sifted through the riff-raff and programmed the best I can find into my selection of pre-set buttons. Automatically, it becomes convenient to stay tuned to only that which will enrich me.

Yet there are times when I dream of more. She visits me in dark moments, turns out all the lights, and makes me wonder...

Where can I find her, she who can teach me to access the premium channels?