The story focuses on a drunken Elk in an isolated woodland clearing drinking whiskey and watching television from his tattered armchair. The area is exposed to the elements and is encircled by dense trees and foliage. It is night and the distant rumble of an approaching storm can be heard. The sky occasionally flashes with lightning. The image on the television begins to flicker but soon fixes itself. The Elk doesn’t even flinch. The thunder rumbles and again the image flickers, still the Elk doesn’t flinch. On the third rumble the television cuts outs completely. The area is silent, the Elk still doesn’t move. He leans forward an almost unnoticeable amount. Still silence. The Elk draws in breath. He suddenly drops his whiskey bottle. His eyes tighten. He drops his roll up. The scene is still silent. With a gasp he dashes from his armchair to the television. He begins to shake the television violently, alas to no avail. He shakes the set again. The whole scene fuzzes, as if the electrical storm is somehow affecting the viewer’s reception. The Elk grabs the aerial from the top of the television set and runs into the tree line. The aerial pops out from the tree line, silhouetted against the moon. The Elk looks back to the television, which is still blank & silent. The aerial edges higher on the tree line. Still nothing. The sky rumbles. The aerial edges slightly higher. The television is unchanged. The aerial gets struck by lightning. The screen flickers and our scene changes to a shopping channel selling some banal and jejune products, potentially sponsored by Barry "Tourettes" Scott. It then retunes again to a caustically vibrant children’s television show, complete with prosaic hyped presenter and annoying puppet sidekick reading out viewers achievements and dispensing cheap plastic badges as rewards. The screen then fuzzes back to our scene in the woods, and our protagonist is laying prone on the ground, gently smoldering , clutching at the aerial still. The tree he was hanging off is now merely a burnt trunk with small twigs jutting out. He returns to the television and gingerly presses the dials, to absolutely zero effect. He puts the aerial back on top of the set and walks despondently back to his armchair. He picks up his whiskey and takes a long sad swill. He turns the whiskey upside down to discover his bottle of hope is now empty. He drops it with almost no change in facial expression. He sits meditatively for a moment. he fidgets somewhat. He roots around the side of his tattered armchair and pulls out an old World War II service revolver. The camera is now on the outside of the tree line and steadily zooming out. The gun can be heard cocking. There is a bang and the screen fizzes to static. Roll credits.
