Pushing my buttons

The Drudester has been shopping at White Trash World.
OK, the actual name of the shop is 'The Pound Shop', and it proudly advertises that everything in it costs a pound.
The Drudester came back with a remote control which cost him eight pounds.
Clearly everything in the shop costs a pound - to make. Everything in the shop in total I believe.

"It's a TV, DVD, Video and Satellite remote all in one!" he exclaimed excitedly to me. Which explains why the bloody thing is so big. It has 73 supersize buttons, each the size of my head.

You can imagine my delight at being the proud owner of a remote control the size of a football field. It is so big it couldn't fit in the car and we had to have it delivered to our house by truck. The 2 burly drivers bravely carried the thing into our house, struggling under the impossible load. After the one who fainted from exhaustion came around, and one who got a hernia stopped screaming, they sped off in cloud of dust I believe in the direction of the nearest Accident and Emergency.

It was only by turning the remote on its side and shunting and shoving that they had manage to fit it through the lounge room door. It now covers the entire carpet space on the floor. When you want to change channel, you have to stand on the couch cowering against the wall behind the mountainous remote and launch an assault on the east face. (I now understand why it is called a remote - because you are so far away from the bloody buttons!) You must rock-climb up the side of it, making sure you don't tear the fabric of the couch with your ramekins as you push off, and on arriving on the savannah-esque summit, select a button and jump up and down on it, taking care not to bump your head on the ceiling.

Nevertheless, I must confess that I have found it a very useful thing to have.
Not because it is more convenient because it is not. Before I had to use three remote controls, now I have to use four.
And not because it is multifunctional because it's not. After a brief examination I smugly pointed out to the Drudester that the thing does not even have a button for stop. Or eject. He said noone ever uses those buttons anyway ...
And not because it has made more enjoyable one of my favourite games ("hide the remote from the Drudester and watch him tear out his hair in frustration while I feign innocence") because it has decidedly decreased my pleasure in that sport.

No, its use became apparent over the 3 days I watched the Drudester trying to program it to synch with our el cheapo supermarket DVD and hand-me-down older brother's video player.

Cheap shitty gimick remote control - eight pounds.
Hours of fun laughing at the Drudester's frustration - Priceless.