The television is blaring, turned up so loud I can barely understand it. The words jumble together, mixing themselves in a random array of senseless noise. “Touchdown!- Who lives in a pineapple under the sea?- Can we fix it? Yes we- Tonight, live on—” I walk through the house. Each room lights up in different colors, a glow cast from the television. Quazi-zombies sit on the couch, open mouthed, watching these shows in a little talking box in front of them. They let life pass them by in favor of watching someone else’s. And for what? Why are we so fixated on the television? A little talking box that should be too small to contain someone’s life. A little talking box that we faithfully praise like a god. Catchy tunes. Comedy. Horror. Drama. Reality. These themes consume our existence until they are all we think about. Have you ever wished your life was a TV show? Well, it is. This is the story of our lives—not living them.