Videocassette recorder Puns

At work we have a bunch of old footage on beta tapes that we need to convert to digital storage. The only problem is that we can’t get them to playback properly. Our best player of 3 has perfect audio but the video is distorted. Already tried multiple tapes and tweaking settings. Has anyone else had this issue? Player model is Sony PVW-2800

Edit: this link turned out to be helpful.

http://www.digitalfaq.com/forum/video-restore/2607-tracking-lines-video.html

I plan on 1)trying to clean the playback heads 2) if that doesn’t work looking for a better VCR or try to hire out.

“So… you’re trying to cash in on this whole ‘analogue horror’ fad? Is that it?” the eccentrically dressed yet curmudgeonly old shopkeeper asked as he disinterestedly pawed through the jumbled collection of off-brand VHS tapes I had brought for him.

I couldn’t say that I blamed Mr. Orville Bucklesby one bit for his lack of enthusiasm. If you believed even half of the stories about him, he had fought Nazi occultists in World War II, travelled the multiverse with a supernatural circus, and regularly rubbed shoulders with the plethora of paranormal beings that allegedly haunted and visited Harrowick County. His oddity shop was stocked with a myriad of bizarre items, some of them of questionable authenticity to be sure, but all of them were more interesting than a few humble VHS cartridges.

“Analogue horror? No, it’s nothing like that, sir. I was just thinking that there might be people out there who could get better use out of these than I could, and that you would know how to get in touch with those people,” I said with a nonchalant shrug. He eyed me suspiciously as he started reading over the labels on the tapes.

“What’s with the cryptic titles then?” he asked. “This one’s called ‘And We All Fall Down’. They’re all like that. You’ve got ‘Crying Girl In The Woods’, ‘It’s Already Too Late’, ‘Why Won’t She Forgive Me?’, etcetera. This one here just says ‘Pity Us’. What’s supposed to be on these things?”

“Well, Mr, Bucklesby, I’ve been given to understand that you’re familiar with a type of device referred to as an ‘In Glorious Retrovision’. Is that correct?” I asked hesitantly. Part of me was hoping that he would say no, that he would scoff at the very question and I could go home and shove the videotapes back in the basement and forget about them.

But he didn’t. Instead, his expression changed from annoyed to serious, and he eyed the tapes with a renewed sense of cautious interest.

“You own a Retrovision then, do you son?” he asked, avoiding eye contact with me.

“No, but my uncle did,” I replied. “He tinkered around with it, and was able to hook up a VCR. Throughout the eighties and nineties, he recorded various signals he picked up on it, right up until his death. With practically his dying breath, he told me to unhook the VCR and hide it with the tape collection, and I did. Not even a day later the Retrovision was gone, but the tapes were left untouched. I don’t know who took it or how they knew about my Uncle’s death so quickly, but I can only assume

I don't want to step on anybody's toes here, but the amount of non-dad jokes here in this subreddit really annoys me. First of all, dad jokes CAN be NSFW, it clearly says so in the sub rules. Secondly, it doesn't automatically make it a dad joke if it's from a conversation between you and your child. Most importantly, the jokes that your CHILDREN tell YOU are not dad jokes. The point of a dad joke is that it's so cheesy only a dad who's trying to be funny would make such a joke. That's it. They are stupid plays on words, lame puns and so on. There has to be a clever pun or wordplay for it to be considered a dad joke.

Again, to all the fellow dads, I apologise if I'm sounding too harsh. But I just needed to get it off my chest.

Alot of great jokes get posted here! However just because you have a joke, doesn't mean it's a dad joke.

THIS IS NOT ABOUT NSFW, THIS IS ABOUT LONG JOKES, BLONDE JOKES, SEXUAL JOKES, KNOCK KNOCK JOKES, POLITICAL JOKES, ETC BEING POSTED IN A DAD JOKE SUB

Try telling these sexual jokes that get posted here, to your kid and see how your spouse likes it.. if that goes well, Try telling one of your friends kid about your sex life being like Coca cola, first it was normal, than light and now zero , and see if the parents are OK with you telling their kid the "dad joke"

I'm not even referencing the NSFW, I'm saying Dad jokes are corny, and sometimes painful, not sexual

So check out r/jokes for all types of jokes

r/unclejokes for dirty jokes

r/3amjokes for real weird and alot of OC

r/cleandadjokes If your really sick of seeing not dad jokes in r/dadjokes

Punchline !

Edit: this is not a post about NSFW , This is about jokes, knock knock jokes, blonde jokes, political jokes etc being posted in a dad joke sub

Edit 2: don't touch the thermostat

Do your worst!

They were cooked in Greece.

I'm surprised it hasn't decade.

Don't you know a good pun is its own reword?

Two muffins are in an oven, one muffin looks at the other and says "is it just me, or is it hot in here?"

Then the other muffin says "AHH, TALKING MUFFIN!!!"

For context I'm a Refuse Driver (Garbage man) & today I was on food waste. After I'd tipped I was checking the wagon for any defects when I spotted a lone pea balanced on the lifts.

I said "hey look, an escaPEA"

No one near me but it didn't half make me laugh for a good hour or so!

Edit: I can't believe how much this has blown up. Thank you everyone I've had a blast reading through the replies 😂

It really does, I swear!

And now I’m cannelloni

Because she wanted to see the task manager.

So the latest trailer has garnered quite the discussion already. I've seen people talking about how cool the ambience of it is and speculating on what Pokemon the explorer saw. However, one thing that a lot of people are glossing over here is the explorer himself, and the object he's using to record all this. We all know by now that PL:A takes place in a time period roughly equivalent to Japan's Meiji Era (around the late 19th century). Handheld video cameras wouldn't come into notable use until the back half of the 20th century, especially ones that could record color and audio and still be lightweight enough for someone to reasonably carry through a snowy mountainside. Granted, the Pokemon world is more technologically advanced than ours, even in Hisui (as evidenced by the Pokeballs), so it's possible that such technology exists, but the explorer makes mention of recording Pokemon using a "strange device," which implies that he doesn't fully know what it is. Occam's Razor seems to suggest that said device is the Arc Phone, and that's the conclusion most people have reached by now. It's an unknown object being used by someone clueless to its identity which possesses the capability of video recording far past what the time period would suggest. Now, with that established, let's take a look at what the presence of the Arc Phone here can tell us about it and the world of Hisui:

• This is confirmation of a second Arc Phone user. The Arc Phone seems to have existed in the world even before our character gets their hands on it. That begs the question: Is there only one Arc Phone, and the one in this video is eventually given to us, or are there multiple? One of the images of the Arc Phone we got from its original reveal had it simply laying on the ground with an Arceus-ring glow around it, which led many to believe that it was given to us by Arceus. Is this the same phone the explorer was using, merely passed on to us, or are there multiple of them in the same way that the Tapus can give multiple Z-Rings to different people?

• Ancillary to the first point, the explorer again does not know what it is. That would imply that it's something unnatural to this world and wholly unfamiliar to its inhabitants. I think that's always been the general perception people have had of it, but there's always been a small theory that it was, in fact, made by the people of the time period, and this seems to shoot that idea down.

And boy are my arms legs.

But that’s comparing apples to oranges

Heard they've been doing some shady business.

but then I remembered it was ground this morning.

Edit: Thank you guys for the awards, they're much nicer than the cardboard sleeve I've been using and reassures me that my jokes aren't stale

Edit 2: I have already been made aware that Men In Black 3 has told a version of this joke before. If the joke is not new to you, please enjoy any of the single origin puns in the comments

BamBOO!

They’re on standbi

A play on words.

“So… you’re trying to cash in on this whole ‘analogue horror’ fad? Is that it?” the eccentrically dressed yet curmudgeonly old shopkeeper asked as he disinterestedly pawed through the jumbled collection of off-brand VHS tapes I had brought for him.

I couldn’t say that I blamed Mr. Orville Bucklesby one bit for his lack of enthusiasm. If you believed even half of the stories about him, he had fought Nazi occultists in World War II, travelled the multiverse with a supernatural circus, and regularly rubbed shoulders with the plethora of paranormal beings that allegedly haunted and visited Harrowick County. His oddity shop was stocked with a myriad of bizarre items, some of them of questionable authenticity to be sure, but all of them were more interesting than a few humble VHS cartridges.

“Analogue horror? No, it’s nothing like that, sir. I was just thinking that there might be people out there who could get better use out of these than I could, and that you would know how to get in touch with those people,” I said with a nonchalant shrug. He eyed me suspiciously as he started reading over the labels on the tapes.

“What’s with the cryptic titles then?” he asked. “This one’s called ‘And We All Fall Down’. They’re all like that. You’ve got ‘Crying Girl In The Woods’, ‘It’s Already Too Late’, ‘Why Won’t She Forgive Me?’, etcetera. This one here just says ‘Pity Us’. What’s supposed to be on these things?”

“Well, Mr, Bucklesby, I’ve been given to understand that you’re familiar with a type of device referred to as an ‘In Glorious Retrovision’. Is that correct?” I asked hesitantly. Part of me was hoping that he would say no, that he would scoff at the very question and I could go home and shove the videotapes back in the basement and forget about them.

But he didn’t. Instead, his expression changed from annoyed to serious, and he eyed the tapes with a renewed sense of cautious interest.

“You own a Retrovision then, do you son?” he asked, avoiding eye contact with me.

“No, but my uncle did,” I replied. “He tinkered around with it, and was able to hook up a VCR. Throughout the eighties and nineties, he recorded various signals he picked up on it, right up until his death. With practically his dying breath, he told me to unhook the VCR and hide it with the tape collection, and I did. Not even a day later the Retrovision was gone, but the tapes were left untouched. I don’t know who took it or how they knew about my Uncle’s death so quickly, but I can only assume

“So… you’re trying to cash in on this whole ‘analogue horror’ fad? Is that it?” the eccentrically dressed yet curmudgeonly old shopkeeper asked as he disinterestedly pawed through the jumbled collection of off-brand VHS tapes I had brought for him.

I couldn’t say that I blamed Mr. Orville Bucklesby one bit for his lack of enthusiasm. If you believed even half of the stories about him, he had fought Nazi occultists in World War II, travelled the multiverse with a supernatural circus, and regularly rubbed shoulders with the plethora of paranormal beings that allegedly haunted and visited Harrowick County. His oddity shop was stocked with a myriad of bizarre items, some of them of questionable authenticity to be sure, but all of them were more interesting than a few humble VHS cartridges.

“Analogue horror? No, it’s nothing like that, sir. I was just thinking that there might be people out there who could get better use out of these than I could, and that you would know how to get in touch with those people,” I said with a nonchalant shrug. He eyed me suspiciously as he started reading over the labels on the tapes.

“What’s with the cryptic titles then?” he asked. “This one’s called ‘And We All Fall Down’. They’re all like that. You’ve got ‘Crying Girl In The Woods’, ‘It’s Already Too Late’, ‘Why Won’t She Forgive Me?’, etcetera. This one here just says ‘Pity Us’. What’s supposed to be on these things?”

“Well, Mr, Bucklesby, I’ve been given to understand that you’re familiar with a type of device referred to as an ‘In Glorious Retrovision’. Is that correct?” I asked hesitantly. Part of me was hoping that he would say no, that he would scoff at the very question and I could go home and shove the videotapes back in the basement and forget about them.

But he didn’t. Instead, his expression changed from annoyed to serious, and he eyed the tapes with a renewed sense of cautious interest.

“You own a Retrovision then, do you son?” he asked, avoiding eye contact with me.

“No, but my uncle did,” I replied. “He tinkered around with it, and was able to hook up a VCR. Throughout the eighties and nineties, he recorded various signals he picked up on it, right up until his death. With practically his dying breath, he told me to unhook the VCR and hide it with the tape collection, and I did. Not even a day later the Retrovision was gone, but the tapes were left untouched. I don’t know who took it or how they knew about my Uncle’s death so quickly, but I can only assume

“So… you’re trying to cash in on this whole ‘analogue horror’ fad? Is that it?” the eccentrically dressed yet curmudgeonly old shopkeeper asked as he disinterestedly pawed through the jumbled collection of off-brand VHS tapes I had brought for him.

I couldn’t say that I blamed Mr. Orville Bucklesby one bit for his lack of enthusiasm. If you believed even half of the stories about him, he had fought Nazi occultists in World War II, travelled the multiverse with a supernatural circus, and regularly rubbed shoulders with the plethora of paranormal beings that allegedly haunted and visited Harrowick County. His oddity shop was stocked with a myriad of bizarre items, some of them of questionable authenticity to be sure, but all of them were more interesting than a few humble VHS cartridges.

“Analogue horror? No, it’s nothing like that, sir. I was just thinking that there might be people out there who could get better use out of these than I could, and that you would know how to get in touch with those people,” I said with a nonchalant shrug. He eyed me suspiciously as he started reading over the labels on the tapes.

“What’s with the cryptic titles then?” he asked. “This one’s called ‘And We All Fall Down’. They’re all like that. You’ve got ‘Crying Girl In The Woods’, ‘It’s Already Too Late’, ‘Why Won’t She Forgive Me?’, etcetera. This one here just says ‘Pity Us’. What’s supposed to be on these things?”

“Well, Mr, Bucklesby, I’ve been given to understand that you’re familiar with a type of device referred to as an ‘In Glorious Retrovision’. Is that correct?” I asked hesitantly. Part of me was hoping that he would say no, that he would scoff at the very question and I could go home and shove the videotapes back in the basement and forget about them.

But he didn’t. Instead, his expression changed from annoyed to serious, and he eyed the tapes with a renewed sense of cautious interest.

“You own a Retrovision then, do you son?” he asked, avoiding eye contact with me.

“No, but my uncle did,” I replied. “He tinkered around with it, and was able to hook up a VCR. Throughout the eighties and nineties, he recorded various signals he picked up on it, right up until his death. With practically his dying breath, he told me to unhook the VCR and hide it with the tape collection, and I did. Not even a day later the Retrovision was gone, but the tapes were left untouched. I don’t know who took it or how they knew about my Uncle’s death so quickly, but I can only assume

I inherited a collection of paranormal VHS tapes from my uncle. What a pity it was that I was able to find a VCR.

“So… you’re trying to cash in on this whole ‘analogue horror’ fad? Is that it?” the eccentrically dressed yet curmudgeonly old shopkeeper asked as he disinterestedly pawed through the jumbled collection of off-brand VHS tapes I had brought for him.

I couldn’t say that I blamed Mr. Orville Bucklesby one bit for his lack of enthusiasm. If you believed even half of the stories about him, he had fought Nazi occultists in World War II, travelled the multiverse with a supernatural circus, and regularly rubbed shoulders with the plethora of paranormal beings that allegedly haunted and visited Harrowick County. His oddity shop was stocked with a myriad of bizarre items, some of them of questionable authenticity to be sure, but all of them were more interesting than a few humble VHS cartridges.

“Analogue horror? No, it’s nothing like that, sir. I was just thinking that there might be people out there who could get better use out of these than I could, and that you would know how to get in touch with those people,” I said with a nonchalant shrug. He eyed me suspiciously as he started reading over the labels on the tapes.

“What’s with the cryptic titles then?” he asked. “This one’s called ‘And We All Fall Down’. They’re all like that. You’ve got ‘Crying Girl In The Woods’, ‘It’s Already Too Late’, ‘Why Won’t She Forgive Me?’, etcetera. This one here just says ‘Pity Us’. What’s supposed to be on these things?”

“Well, Mr, Bucklesby, I’ve been given to understand that you’re familiar with a type of device referred to as an ‘In Glorious Retrovision’. Is that correct?” I asked hesitantly. Part of me was hoping that he would say no, that he would scoff at the very question and I could go home and shove the videotapes back in the basement and forget about them.

But he didn’t. Instead, his expression changed from annoyed to serious, and he eyed the tapes with a renewed sense of cautious interest.

“You own a Retrovision then, do you son?” he asked, avoiding eye contact with me.

“No, but my uncle did,” I replied. “He tinkered around with it, and was able to hook up a VCR. Throughout the eighties and nineties, he recorded various signals he picked up on it, right up until his death. With practically his dying breath, he told me to unhook the VCR and hide it with the tape collection, and I did. Not even a day later the Retrovision was gone, but

“So… you’re trying to cash in on this whole ‘analogue horror’ fad? Is that it?” the eccentrically dressed yet curmudgeonly old shopkeeper asked as he disinterestedly pawed through the jumbled collection of off-brand VHS tapes I had brought for him.

I couldn’t say that I blamed Mr. Orville Bucklesby one bit for his lack of enthusiasm. If you believed even half of the stories about him, he had fought Nazi occultists in World War II, travelled the multiverse with a supernatural circus, and regularly rubbed shoulders with the plethora of paranormal beings that allegedly haunted and visited Harrowick County. His oddity shop was stocked with a myriad of bizarre items, some of them of questionable authenticity to be sure, but all of them were more interesting than a few humble VHS cartridges.

“Analogue horror? No, it’s nothing like that, sir. I was just thinking that there might be people out there who could get better use out of these than I could, and that you would know how to get in touch with those people,” I said with a nonchalant shrug. He eyed me suspiciously as he started reading over the labels on the tapes.

“What’s with the cryptic titles then?” he asked. “This one’s called ‘And We All Fall Down’. They’re all like that. You’ve got ‘Crying Girl In The Woods’, ‘It’s Already Too Late’, ‘Why Won’t She Forgive Me?’, etcetera. This one here just says ‘Pity Us’. What’s supposed to be on these things?”

“Well, Mr, Bucklesby, I’ve been given to understand that you’re familiar with a type of device referred to as an ‘In Glorious Retrovision’. Is that correct?” I asked hesitantly. Part of me was hoping that he would say no, that he would scoff at the very question and I could go home and shove the videotapes back in the basement and forget about them.

But he didn’t. Instead, his expression changed from annoyed to serious, and he eyed the tapes with a renewed sense of cautious interest.

“You own a Retrovision then, do you son?” he asked, avoiding eye contact with me.

“No, but my uncle did,” I replied. “He tinkered around with it, and was able to hook up a VCR. Throughout the eighties and nineties, he recorded various signals he picked up on it, right up until his death. With practically his dying breath, he told me to unhook the VCR and hide it with the tape collection, and I did. Not even a day later the Retrovision was gone, but the tapes were left untouched. I don’t know who took it or how they knew about my Uncle’s death so quickly, but I can only assume

“So… you’re trying to cash in on this whole ‘analogue horror’ fad? Is that it?” the eccentrically dressed yet curmudgeonly old shopkeeper asked as he disinterestedly pawed through the jumbled collection of off-brand VHS tapes I had brought for him.

I couldn’t say that I blamed Mr. Orville Bucklesby one bit for his lack of enthusiasm. If you believed even half of the stories about him, he had fought Nazi occultists in World War II, travelled the multiverse with a supernatural circus, and regularly rubbed shoulders with the plethora of paranormal beings that allegedly haunted and visited Harrowick County. His oddity shop was stocked with a myriad of bizarre items, some of them of questionable authenticity to be sure, but all of them were more interesting than a few humble VHS cartridges.

“Analogue horror? No, it’s nothing like that, sir. I was just thinking that there might be people out there who could get better use out of these than I could, and that you would know how to get in touch with those people,” I said with a nonchalant shrug. He eyed me suspiciously as he started reading over the labels on the tapes.

“What’s with the cryptic titles then?” he asked. “This one’s called ‘And We All Fall Down’. They’re all like that. You’ve got ‘Crying Girl In The Woods’, ‘It’s Already Too Late’, ‘Why Won’t She Forgive Me?’, etcetera. This one here just says ‘Pity Us’. What’s supposed to be on these things?”

“Well, Mr, Bucklesby, I’ve been given to understand that you’re familiar with a type of device referred to as an ‘In Glorious Retrovision’. Is that correct?” I asked hesitantly. Part of me was hoping that he would say no, that he would scoff at the very question and I could go home and shove the videotapes back in the basement and forget about them.

But he didn’t. Instead, his expression changed from annoyed to serious, and he eyed the tapes with a renewed sense of cautious interest.

“You own a Retrovision then, do you son?” he asked, avoiding eye contact with me.

“No, but my uncle did,” I replied. “He tinkered around with it, and was able to hook up a VCR. Throughout the eighties and nineties, he recorded various signals he picked up on it, right up until his death. With practically his dying breath, he told me to unhook the VCR and hide it with the tape collection, and I did. Not even a day later the Retrovision was gone, but the tapes were left untouched. I don’t know who took it or how they knew about my Uncle’s death so quickly, but I can only assume

“So… you’re trying to cash in on this whole ‘analogue horror’ fad? Is that it?” the eccentrically dressed yet curmudgeonly old shopkeeper asked as he disinterestedly pawed through the jumbled collection of off-brand VHS tapes I had brought for him.

I couldn’t say that I blamed Mr. Orville Bucklesby one bit for his lack of enthusiasm. If you believed even half of the stories about him, he had fought Nazi occultists in World War II, travelled the multiverse with a supernatural circus, and regularly rubbed shoulders with the plethora of paranormal beings that allegedly haunted and visited Harrowick County. His oddity shop was stocked with a myriad of bizarre items, some of them of questionable authenticity to be sure, but all of them were more interesting than a few humble VHS cartridges.

“Analogue horror? No, it’s nothing like that, sir. I was just thinking that there might be people out there who could get better use out of these than I could, and that you would know how to get in touch with those people,” I said with a nonchalant shrug. He eyed me suspiciously as he started reading over the labels on the tapes.

“What’s with the cryptic titles then?” he asked. “This one’s called ‘And We All Fall Down’. They’re all like that. You’ve got ‘Crying Girl In The Woods’, ‘It’s Already Too Late’, ‘Why Won’t She Forgive Me?’, etcetera. This one here just says ‘Pity Us’. What’s supposed to be on these things?”

“Well, Mr, Bucklesby, I’ve been given to understand that you’re familiar with a type of device referred to as an ‘In Glorious Retrovision’. Is that correct?” I asked hesitantly. Part of me was hoping that he would say no, that he would scoff at the very question and I could go home and shove the videotapes back in the basement and forget about them.

But he didn’t. Instead, his expression changed from annoyed to serious, and he eyed the tapes with a renewed sense of cautious interest.

“You own a Retrovision then, do you son?” he asked, avoiding eye contact with me.

“No, but my uncle did,” I replied. “He tinkered around with it, and was able to hook up a VCR. Throughout the eighties and nineties, he recorded various signals he picked up on it, right up until his death. With practically his dying breath, he told me to unhook the VCR and hide it with the tape collection, and I did. Not even a day later the Retrovision was gone, but the tapes were left untouched. I don’t know who took it or how they knew about my Uncle’s death so quickly, but I can only assume

“So… you’re trying to cash in on this whole ‘analogue horror’ fad? Is that it?” the eccentrically dressed yet curmudgeonly old shopkeeper asked as he disinterestedly pawed through the jumbled collection of off-brand VHS tapes I had brought for him.

I couldn’t say that I blamed Mr. Orville Bucklesby one bit for his lack of enthusiasm. If you believed even half of the stories about him, he had fought Nazi occultists in World War II, travelled the multiverse with a supernatural circus, and regularly rubbed shoulders with the plethora of paranormal beings that allegedly haunted and visited Harrowick County. His oddity shop was stocked with a myriad of bizarre items, some of them of questionable authenticity to be sure, but all of them were more interesting than a few humble VHS cartridges.

“Analogue horror? No, it’s nothing like that, sir. I was just thinking that there might be people out there who could get better use out of these than I could, and that you would know how to get in touch with those people,” I said with a nonchalant shrug. He eyed me suspiciously as he started reading over the labels on the tapes.

“What’s with the cryptic titles then?” he asked. “This one’s called ‘And We All Fall Down’. They’re all like that. You’ve got ‘Crying Girl In The Woods’, ‘It’s Already Too Late’, ‘Why Won’t She Forgive Me?’, etcetera. This one here just says ‘Pity Us’. What’s supposed to be on these things?”

“Well, Mr, Bucklesby, I’ve been given to understand that you’re familiar with a type of device referred to as an ‘In Glorious Retrovision’. Is that correct?” I asked hesitantly. Part of me was hoping that he would say no, that he would scoff at the very question and I could go home and shove the videotapes back in the basement and forget about them.

But he didn’t. Instead, his expression changed from annoyed to serious, and he eyed the tapes with a renewed sense of cautious interest.

“You own a Retrovision then, do you son?” he asked, avoiding eye contact with me.

“No, but my uncle did,” I replied. “He tinkered around with it, and was able to hook up a VCR. Throughout the eighties and nineties, he recorded various signals he picked up on it, right up until his death. With practically his dying breath, he told me to unhook the VCR and hide it with the tape collection, and I did. Not even a day later the Retrovision was gone, but the tapes were left untouched. I don’t know who took it or how they knew about my Uncle’s death so quickly, but I can only assume

“So… you’re trying to cash in on this whole ‘analogue horror’ fad? Is that it?” the eccentrically dressed yet curmudgeonly old shopkeeper asked as he disinterestedly pawed through the jumbled collection of off-brand VHS tapes I had brought for him.

I couldn’t say that I blamed Mr. Orville Bucklesby one bit for his lack of enthusiasm. If you believed even half of the stories about him, he had fought Nazi occultists in World War II, travelled the multiverse with a supernatural circus, and regularly rubbed shoulders with the plethora of paranormal beings that allegedly haunted and visited Harrowick County. His oddity shop was stocked with a myriad of bizarre items, some of them of questionable authenticity to be sure, but all of them were more interesting than a few humble VHS cartridges.

“Analogue horror? No, it’s nothing like that, sir. I was just thinking that there might be people out there who could get better use out of these than I could, and that you would know how to get in touch with those people,” I said with a nonchalant shrug. He eyed me suspiciously as he started reading over the labels on the tapes.

“What’s with the cryptic titles then?” he asked. “This one’s called ‘And We All Fall Down’. They’re all like that. You’ve got ‘Crying Girl In The Woods’, ‘It’s Already Too Late’, ‘Why Won’t She Forgive Me?’, etcetera. This one here just says ‘Pity Us’. What’s supposed to be on these things?”

“Well, Mr, Bucklesby, I’ve been given to understand that you’re familiar with a type of device referred to as an ‘In Glorious Retrovision’. Is that correct?” I asked hesitantly. Part of me was hoping that he would say no, that he would scoff at the very question and I could go home and shove the videotapes back in the basement and forget about them.

But he didn’t. Instead, his expression changed from annoyed to serious, and he eyed the tapes with a renewed sense of cautious interest.

“You own a Retrovision then, do you son?” he asked, avoiding eye contact with me.

“No, but my uncle did,” I replied. “He tinkered around with it, and was able to hook up a VCR. Throughout the eighties and nineties, he recorded various signals he picked up on it, right up until his death. With practically his dying breath, he told me to unhook the VCR and hide it with the tape collection, and I did. Not even a day later the Retrovision was gone, but the tapes were left untouched. I don’t know who took it or how they knew about my Uncle’s death so quickly, but I can only assume

“So… you’re trying to cash in on this whole ‘analogue horror’ fad? Is that it?” the eccentrically dressed yet curmudgeonly old shopkeeper asked as he disinterestedly pawed through the jumbled collection of off-brand VHS tapes I had brought for him.

I couldn’t say that I blamed Mr. Orville Bucklesby one bit for his lack of enthusiasm. If you believed even half of the stories about him, he had fought Nazi occultists in World War II, travelled the multiverse with a supernatural circus, and regularly rubbed shoulders with the plethora of paranormal beings that allegedly haunted and visited Harrowick County. His oddity shop was stocked with a myriad of bizarre items, some of them of questionable authenticity to be sure, but all of them were more interesting than a few humble VHS cartridges.

“Analogue horror? No, it’s nothing like that, sir. I was just thinking that there might be people out there who could get better use out of these than I could, and that you would know how to get in touch with those people,” I said with a nonchalant shrug. He eyed me suspiciously as he started reading over the labels on the tapes.

“What’s with the cryptic titles then?” he asked. “This one’s called ‘And We All Fall Down’. They’re all like that. You’ve got ‘Crying Girl In The Woods’, ‘It’s Already Too Late’, ‘Why Won’t She Forgive Me?’, etcetera. This one here just says ‘Pity Us’. What’s supposed to be on these things?”

“Well, Mr, Bucklesby, I’ve been given to understand that you’re familiar with a type of device referred to as an ‘In Glorious Retrovision’. Is that correct?” I asked hesitantly. Part of me was hoping that he would say no, that he would scoff at the very question and I could go home and shove the videotapes back in the basement and forget about them.

But he didn’t. Instead, his expression changed from annoyed to serious, and he eyed the tapes with a renewed sense of cautious interest.

“You own a Retrovision then, do you son?” he asked, avoiding eye contact with me.

“No, but my uncle did,” I replied. “He tinkered around with it, and was able to hook up a VCR. Throughout the eighties and nineties, he recorded various signals he picked up on it, right up until his death. With practically his dying breath, he told me to unhook the VCR and hide it with the tape collection, and I did. Not even a day later the Retrovision was gone, but the tapes were left unto

“So… you’re trying to cash in on this whole ‘analogue horror’ fad? Is that it?” the eccentrically dressed yet curmudgeonly old shopkeeper asked as he disinterestedly pawed through the jumbled collection of off-brand VHS tapes I had brought for him.

I couldn’t say that I blamed Mr. Orville Bucklesby one bit for his lack of enthusiasm. If you believed even half of the stories about him, he had fought Nazi occultists in World War II, travelled the multiverse with a supernatural circus, and regularly rubbed shoulders with the plethora of paranormal beings that allegedly haunted and visited Harrowick County. His oddity shop was stocked with a myriad of bizarre items, some of them of questionable authenticity to be sure, but all of them were more interesting than a few humble VHS cartridges.

“Analogue horror? No, it’s nothing like that, sir. I was just thinking that there might be people out there who could get better use out of these than I could, and that you would know how to get in touch with those people,” I said with a nonchalant shrug. He eyed me suspiciously as he started reading over the labels on the tapes.

“What’s with the cryptic titles then?” he asked. “This one’s called ‘And We All Fall Down’. They’re all like that. You’ve got ‘Crying Girl In The Woods’, ‘It’s Already Too Late’, ‘Why Won’t She Forgive Me?’, etcetera. This one here just says ‘Pity Us’. What’s supposed to be on these things?”

“Well, Mr, Bucklesby, I’ve been given to understand that you’re familiar with a type of device referred to as an ‘In Glorious Retrovision’. Is that correct?” I asked hesitantly. Part of me was hoping that he would say no, that he would scoff at the very question and I could go home and shove the videotapes back in the basement and forget about them.

But he didn’t. Instead, his expression changed from annoyed to serious, and he eyed the tapes with a renewed sense of cautious interest.

“You own a Retrovision then, do you son?” he asked, avoiding eye contact with me.

“No, but my uncle did,” I replied. “He tinkered around with it, and was able to hook up a VCR. Throughout the eighties and nineties, he recorded various signals he picked up on it, right up until his death. With practically his dying breath, he told me to unhook the VCR and hide it with the tape collection, and I did. Not even a day later the Retrovision was gone, but the tapes were left untouched. I don’t know who took it or how they knew about my Uncle’s death so quickly, but I can only assume