Chapter 2: Film Noir Guy finds himself jumped by the Streaming Service Gang.
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| Netflix Photo by David Balev on Unsplash, Noir Photo by Craig Whitehead on Unsplash |
It was another night of watching the fights. Tonight was the heavyweight championship. Bourbon vs My Liver. I had money on the bourbon, but somehow that aging poison filter kept hanging on. The night was still young, though. In fact, the sun won’t set for another seven hours.
While I was waiting for a knockout punch, I decided to find something for my eyes to do. I picked up a remote control that looked like the Space Shuttle engineers had been watching too much Star Trek.
All I wanted was to turn on the television, but either the bourbon was landing harder than I thought, or some egghead at Toshiba decided to hide that particular function in a spread of buttons that looks more like an industrial can of Chiclets from the Hindenburg.
Fortune favors a fool. The TV came on, but I wasn’t greeted by a show. I wasn’t even greeted by a commercial. I was greeted by a wall of boxes that conned me into paying individual rates for each so they could all yell sales pitches at me.
Alright. Let’s see what these goons have to offer.
Film Noir Guy chooses the best streaming service:
It was the usual suspects.
These mooks were no different than you’d find in the petty thief mug book. Netflix was first in the line up and tried to intimidate me with a big WHOOMP! Then he focused his beady eyes on me as if to say that it had some bad news.
Something I loved got the ax, and it was no accident. His oily words said he was sorry, but I could tell Netflix took a sick kind of enjoyment telling me that if I wanted to watch a Marvel Cinematic Universe movie, I’d have to move to Romania.
This chucklehead never heard of NordVPN, apparently. So I introduced him to my brass knuckle, hit him in the down arrow, and left him wheezing on the sidewalk. I’ll watch Captain Marvel wherever I please, even if I hate it.
Hulu popped up next. I dropped him with a quick jab to the ol’ right tab button, and saved myself from that horror. No way was I going to waste time on that creep. He nearly got me when Steve Martin set up shop there, but I realized pretty quickly that the well runs dry fast after that.
In the corner of my mind’s eye I saw something flit across my attention span. That lumbering ox Amazon PRIME was acting shady. He usually gave me good info, but was pretty ham fisted in the delivery.
I always get the impression he’s two seconds from shaking me down. Yeah, he delivered Jack Ryan to me, and the Lord of the Rings looked promising. But somehow every time I leave PRIME, my wallet was lighter and I never knew where the cash went.
Disney Plus came in next, and she knocked me off my feet.
Or maybe that was the bourbon again.
She was breathtaking. Of all the TVs in all the world, she had to walk into mine. Wooing me with promises of Star Wars and Mandalorians, but then she slipped me a Mickey and the Book of Boba Fett before stiffing me with the bill without so much as a goodnight kiss.
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| This dame’ll steal your heart and your credit card info. Noir woman Photo by Monica Silva on Unsplash |
I looked past this row of con artists and scoundrels and could see even more stacking up behind them. Paramount Plus, CBS Plus, Apple TV. There’s even a friggen’ Peacock. A real rogue’s gallery of unsavories all wanting to numb my brain. I’ll have Jimmy Numbers, my accountant, compare costs of these against a nice Jimkin Bearhugger whiskey aged for several minutes. Regardless, all of this comes at the expense of my brain and bank account. Maybe the liver too.
They’ll have to wait until after the fights.
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