The VCR was once a novel, exotic creature. Yessir, a real cultural wonder. My father once coveted a sleek Betamax at the local Sears, massaging its boxy curves, fantasizing about those squat-shelled tapes packed with film--and he was only $300 short of making his dream come true. Luckily, nothing comes between man and machine, not even his wife's better judgment, and within 48 hours we gathered as a family while my dad cursed a path through multi-wire installations and television-dial trial and error. By nightfall we were admiring a color-saturated copy of Jaws II.
Alas, time passed. We got older. Turned jaded. "What has technology done for me lately?" Beta went the way of Mondale. VHS became the dominant format, monopolizing the home entertainment market until DVD rendered it obsolete. This jittery montage serves as a tribute to those halcyon years when programming VCRs to tape your favorite shows, recording your daughter's fourth birthday for posterity, descrambling cheap Aqua Net porn, and a springloaded "Eject" function were nothing short of amazing.
Added bonus: the VCR meets its techno peer, the microwave, with predictably combustible results.
V-V-V-V-V-VCR
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