Television. That medium by which the general population is entertained, occupied and kept safely out of the way. It shocks us, awes us, and, above all, (mis)informed.

I stare at the glass screen, my hand clutched to the remote tightly. So tightly, in fact, that the volume turns up on its own accord, blasting out at somewhere around fifty decibels, more than loud enough to wake up anything within a one mile radius and most definitely enough to wake up anyone in the house... that is, if there were anyone else here. I can't stand it anymore, and with one deft click, the volume is suddenly gone, along with the pretty little pictures that just moments ago moved across the screen like real, live people. Of course, they are real people, somewhere out there in New York City or wherever, filming the news program.

Such a stupid news program.

Another click and the metal cube is back on. Several subsequent clicks and the volume is back down to a manageable level. They're still there, all the stupid little people, blabbering about their stupid little nuclear weapons. Of course, they're not so little when you consider that one is enough to send the world into complete anarchy. At which point those who are dead are the lucky ones.

Are they really so stupid? Do they realize that we have enough weapons to destroy the world a hundred times over? Why the heck do we need to blow up the world a hundred times? Why would we even want to blow up the world even once?

I glare again at the unfeeling bastards on the television screen.

Why do we still want to blow up the world innumerous times? There's somebody else who wants to accomplish the task for us. Does nobody know what kind of sacrifice one of their own is making to save the very planet that they are ready to blow to Hell?

Even as I think that over, I realize that, no, of course they don't know. It's not public information. But at least they should have enough common sense to know that more is in not, even the slightest, most minute way, better. In this case.

The couch's arm squishes under my assault, as I repeatedly cream it. I have very good reason to be mad. The couch's best friend didn't give himself up to save a species that doesn't even care. Couches aren't building weapons against their own planet instead of against the enemy. Why, I wonder, do couches have more common sense than the beings that made them?

Yuugi didn't give up his own life to save couches from an extremely potent alien species...

And even if he did, at least couches would value that gift. They wouldn't continue building weapons of mass destruction to destroy their own planet a hundred times, rendering his sacrifice completely useless.

Stupid aliens. Stupid humans. Stupid life. Stupid everything. Except the couches. They're smart. Smarter than the humans, at any rate. Which isn't saying much.