Hey buddy! Hellooooo, I'm right here underneath the couch! Yes, the same exact couch that you are currently sitting on pondering my whereabouts. It's me, your T.V. remote, and I demand that you find me. I don't like it down here, it's dark and scary. It kind of reminds me of the cave Bear Grylls was in on the "Man vs. Wild" episode we recently watched. That episode was really something else; I still don't understand why he decided to drink his own urine even though he had access to a freshwater stream. I'm beginning to think that he secretly likes the taste of his own urine. But who am I to judge? I've grown quite fond of "Mountain Dew."

Are you serious right now? I can't believe you are still sitting in the same spot you were ten minutes ago, YOUR REMOTE IS MISSING for crying out loud. I understand that it is a very comfortable couch but you'd have a lot more luck finding me if you were to actually get up and look around the room. And please don't humor me by looking under the same pillow multiple times because FOR THE LOVE OF GOD if I wasn't under there the first, second, third, fourth, or fifth time what makes you think I would be there the sixth time?

Please hurry, it's very dusty under this old couch, if I remain down here for much longer my dustiness will rival only that of the paperback version of the Jaleel White autobiography your Aunt Susan gave to you for your birthday.

Speaking of birthdays, do you remember when we watched "The Office" episode "Michael's Birthday" for the first time? You were just minding your own business while following your tradition of eating breakfast cereal during American adaptations of British comedies and then Dwight Schrute goes and says something so funny that you spilt milk all over the couch. That must have been one funny line because in all the years we have spent together I have never seen you laugh so hard, not even at "America's Funniest Home Videos" during the Bob Saget era! But anyway, right after you spill the milk your Mom comes walking in and was like "No more eating breakfast cereal on the couch!" but then right after she left you poured yourself another bowl. I remember thinking to myself, "Wow, this kid is some kind of rebel—a real badass!" You're like a younger version of Bret Michaels but without the metal band or peculiar attraction to women that even Flavor Flav wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole.

Please tell me you did not just manually turn on the television. That has and always will be my job, good look trying to replace something like me. What's that you say? You're satisfied with just watching ESPN all day? Let me tell you something, the incredible plays and hilarious quips from the anchors are entertaining the first, second, and even third time you see them, but eventually your eyes will grow weary and you will be crawling back to me…you always do.

I can hear you shifting around up there on the couch; I can tell you are getting bored. Why don't you just give up the charade and find me? I mean really, I'm under the couch. What type of moron doesn't bother to check under the couch for the remote? YOU—that's who!

Okay, I don't really mean it—you're not a moron but I seriously might just blow my freaking batteries out if you don't find me soon.