Daily Dabble: The Netflix Black Hole — When “Just One Episode” Eats Your Whole Life
Setting the Trap
Friday night. Couch is calling. Hoodie on. Vape pen tucked away like contraband. I tell myself the same lie I always tell: “Just one episode.” But here’s the thing — one episode is never one episode. It’s stoner math. One episode turns into three, three turns into a whole season, and next thing you know it’s sunrise and I’m crying at a cartoon penguin. Mary Jane joins me, tea in hand, and she’s already squinting like Sherlock Holmes catching me red-eyed at the crime scene. Kushie, my Brittany with the emotional intelligence of a therapist and the judgment of a parole officer, sighs and flops on the rug. She’s seen this circus before.
Suspicion in the Air
Mary Jane doesn’t need a drug test. She’s got intuition sharper than the Netflix algorithm.
Mary Jane: “Why do you look like you’re hiding state secrets?”
Me: “I’m just relaxed.”
Mary Jane: “Relaxed people don’t sweat during previews.”
Kushie: woof (translation: “Objection sustained.”)
I grip the remote like a lifeline. If I keep scrolling fast enough, maybe she’ll forget to interrogate. But no — she’s already clocked me. The Black Hole is forming.
The Scroll of Doom
Netflix lights up like Vegas. Endless thumbnails. Genres within genres. “Because You Watched” categories that feel more like “Because You Were Too High to Finish.”
Mary Jane: “Let’s pick something new.”
Me: “New? Bold move. That’s… risky.”
Ten minutes later:
- Crime doc: Too stressful. Every husband looks guilty. Including me.
- Cooking show: Too dangerous. I’ll end up trying to boil pasta at 2 a.m.
- Foreign film: Subtitles move faster than my brain. Nope.
Kushie sighs again, louder this time, like she’s filing a noise complaint.
Mary Jane: “Careful, Bud, you’re burning calories just scrolling.”
Me: “It’s cardio for my thumbs.”
The Black Hole Expands
Time doesn’t move in the Black Hole — it stretches. Netflix has mastered stoner time dilation.
Five minutes of scrolling = thirty in reality.
Thirty minutes = the edible peak.
The edible peak = all shows look terrifying.
I freeze on a random thumbnail. It’s just a guy standing in the rain, looking shocked.
Me: “Why do all the covers look like people staring into storms?”
Mary Jane: “Because that’s literally your face every time you try to act sober.”
She smirks. I fake laugh. Kushie stares into the void. The Black Hole eats another half hour.
Ball-Busting Intermission
Mary Jane can’t resist poking holes in my cover story.
Mary Jane: “So… is Netflix foggy tonight, or is that just your corneas?”
Me: “That’s… 4K streaming in smoke mode.”
Mary Jane: “Cute. Blink twice if you even know what show we’re picking.”
Me: “…There’s a guy. With hair. Chasing… motives?”
She cackles. Kushie barks once, like a courtroom gavel slamming down. Case closed: high blown, alibi shredded.
The Pop-Culture Pit Stops
We try actual content. Mistake.
- Prestige Drama: Two lawyers whisper in a parking garage. Mary Jane’s engrossed. I’m convinced it’s a metaphor for capitalism.
- Sci-Fi Epic: The robot looks suspiciously hot. Mary Jane rolls her eyes. Kushie growls at the lamp.
- Reality Bake-Off: Some poor guy cries over soggy pastry. Mary Jane gasps like it’s life-or-death. I spend 20 minutes opening a bag of chips.
- Nostalgia Reboot: We both yell “The original did it better!” even though neither of us has seen the original since high school.
The Black Hole doesn’t care. It just keeps pulling.
Kushie, the Narc
Here’s the thing: Kushie’s loyalty comes with conditions. She cuddles, sure. But she also polices the vibes. Every time Netflix asks “Are you still watching?” she stares at me like she’s reading Miranda rights. Every bark is a siren. Every sigh is a narc report. If she could talk, she’d say: “You have the right to remain bingeing. Anything you watch can and will be used against you tomorrow when Mary Jane asks why you’re so tired.”
The YouTube Detour
I pull the oldest stoner trick: “Let’s just watch clips.” Disaster. Ten minutes later we’ve gone from sitcom bloopers to a 45-minute conspiracy about how one background extra in Season 2 secretly explains late-stage capitalism.
Mary Jane: “So now you’re high and woke.”
Me: “I contain multitudes.”
We crawl back to Netflix. It has quietly uploaded six new shows while we were gone. Time dilation, again.
The Reckoning
At some point, Netflix auto-plays. I clap politely at the credits. Mary Jane turns to me with the smirk of a woman who’s just waited out a toddler’s tantrum.
Mary Jane: “So… admit it.”
Me: “Admit what?”
Mary Jane: “That you’re higher than the electric bill.”
Me: “That’s circumstantial.”
Mary Jane: “Blink twice if the Doritos ad made you cry.”
Me: (blinks four times) “…I got dust in my soul.”
Kushie tilts her head. Even the dog knows I’m guilty.
The Inevitable End
Fifteen minutes into whatever show we landed on, I’m out cold. Face down in couch cushions. Netflix keeps rolling like an accomplice. Mary Jane sips her tea, Kushie climbs onto my chest, and the Black Hole claims another victim.
Bud’s Final Puff of Wisdom 🌬️
Netflix isn’t a streaming service. It’s a labyrinth designed to expose stoners and ruin sleep schedules. It doesn’t just blow your high — it weaponizes your vibe. So here’s the lesson: never trust “just one episode.” Because when you’re a closet stoner with a suspicious wife and a narc dog, the Black Hole always wins.