Change the Netflix sound to the opening chords of Limp Bizkit's "Break Stuff"

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With the spread of the Coronavirus, people are spending more time than ever consuming streaming media. And thank goodness for our creatives for keeping us entertained.

Confined to our homes, apartments, condos, and broom closets, we gaze from our bedroom windows with despair. A world outside, vibrant and bustling with life. So familiar, yet eerily foreign. So close, yet so far. 

Discouraged by our lack of progress learning Spanish or Python or Quantum Physics, we succumb to our couches, futons, and beds in search of our only connection to other humans: Netflix.

Mindlessly we tick through each of Netflix's carefully curated Selected For You®: Tiger King, Wild Wild Country, and Ozark. Having blown through every addictive, binge-able masterpiece available, we become weirdly attracted to titles that reflect our highly digital, very surreal experiences. Altered Carbon, Black Mirror, Don't F**k With Cats...Twin Peaks.

Riddled with lazy guilt, we turn off Netflix and turn on the more productive sides of our brains. We attempt, again with little progress, "Donde está el baño?" and getting our stupid Mac to import PRAW, and...quants? ...quanta?

Increasingly frustrated, we return--yet again--to our favorite furniture. Fire up Netflix. Tick through titles. Except this time, our standards are lower. The Players Club. The Kissing Booth. Fuller House. We agonize through them all. Desperate for something, anything that isn't these four walls.

Why can't everything be as ominous as Ozark or as wild as Tiger King or as compelling as Surviving R. Kelly? WHY do we suck at Spanish? Why hasn't this virus gone away yet? WHY DID THAT GUY EAT THAT BAT.

And then it sets in. All our restless energy, pent up in our single safe space; disease and death just outside our door. It's too much, and we snap.

Rage-clean the house. Hate-fix the sink. Body-slam sourdough. Power-wash the dog. Scream until the paint flakes from the walls. We're so tired of *waves hands wildly* all this.

Exhausted from our outburst, we collapse into the embrace of our familiar friend: Netflix. We see ourselves reflected in the startup screen. Frazzled, dirty, and sweaty. We weep.

But our friend gets it.

Our compassionate friend Netflix rages with us.

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