Since no one seems to want to stick to it, I will have to devote myself. I’m referring, of course, to the resurgence of the close-up stinging epidemic on television, preferably in the middle of the 8pm. After a lull (which I will not have the arrogance to attribute to my first crusade a few months ago), it’s all started again. And let’s go for the needles stuck in the arm, from the front, from the side, three-quarters, soon, I’m sure, down and down, five times, ten times, twenty times. Do you know what hangs in our face? A film festival of the most beautiful stings, with jury prize, special prize, critics’ prize, interpretation prize for the most sadistic, the most unbearable sting to see. Plus, with the third dose and the flu shot, you think how they are having fun, all syringe obsessives, they have a golden alibi to terrorize the innocent viewers curled up on their couch. I would like to point out, for all intents and purposes, that I donated both of my arms to science for the third dose as well as for the flu shot. But that doesn’t make me a needle stick fanatic, claiming every night his dose of needles stuck deep into my skin, over and over again. Let’s say it once and for all: I don’t pay my license fee to get bitten on TV. Stop the fire!