 Coming back from
the refrigerator, second beer in hand, Doc paused for a
long moment in front of the television screen. Long shot
of an offshore drilling rig. Music rising on concluding
phrase. The words 'We thought you'd like to know' passing
across the screen. Too much for Doc. All of a sudden it
was all too much. He drew back his big booted right foot
and kicked the picture tube square in the eye. It
imploded-exploded with a sound like the popping of a
grandiose light bulb. A blue glare filled the kitchen and
then died in the instant of its birth; shards and flakes
of fluorescent glass slid down the walls. Doc paused to contemplate the awful thing he had done. "Thus I refute McLuhan," he muttered. |
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| Edward Abbey, The Monkey Wrench Gang (New York: Avon Books, 1976), p. 217. |
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| ´provocations: all entriesª |  submitted by Zachary Strider McGregor-Dorsey |