I’ve decided to empower myself by indulging in the worst of which man plasters across our TV screens.
By ingesting the entire entrée of modern nonsense, in a kind of Clockwork Orange-style Ludovico’s Technique, I can inure my faculties against the depredations of this lapsarian nightmare to which whatever created us abandoned us. Young people call this ‘self-care.’
The television show I’m referring to is called Couples Therapy. The premise is straight forward: a bougie New York therapist’s office is rigged with cameras. No script just reliably cosmopolitan types revealing their innermost thoughts in a bout of civilised witchcraft.
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