Curb 'N' Sneer, Page 119.

Sometimes television is your friend. When you're lonely, when you're sitting in a bedsit eating microwaved bachelor slop (Spice Cow-Hoof Scrapings In Tear & Onion Gravy -- For One), the box comes into its own, blocking it out, soaking up time like a sponge. But like all friends, it sometimes lets you down. Just when you need it most. Example: few things are as depressing as insomnia taking hold when you've got to be up early the next day. Each passing minute underlines your failure. Suddenly, you're the world's biggest loser. A dunderhead who can't even lie down and close his eyes properly. Panicking motionlessly in bed as time drags by, neurotically calculating how many hours of sleep you could get if only you could go under right now -- you need something crazy to distract you. Or you'll go crazy. Reading won't help: it strains your eyes and forces you to think. Perhaps a slug of T.V. is the answer. So on goes the box. And suddenly you're gazing at an ocean of shit.