Today, a friend of mine explained to me that reality shows are a legitimate way to market one’s brand prior to or while one is launching various business ventures.

I explained to him that he was no longer my friend.

I’m really sick and tired of hearing these contestants go on about their perfect lives while being interviewed by Pat Sajak. How can every player have a beautiful wife, beautiful kids, wonderful husband and the like? I mean, the divorce rate is about 50%. That means at least half the time, we should be hearing…

Pat: So Suzanne, it says here that you’re married.

Suzanne: That’s right Pat. Still married to that lazy son-of-a-bitch, Hank. But not for long!

Pat: Great. Your turn to spin.

[Clap]

In the Italian Deli near my house, they have a TV showing the latest in Italian programming. Including the Italian version of “Judge Judy”. Except in this version, Judge Judy is a man. And one of the witnesses looks like Charo.

Its nice to know that other countries have crappy TV, too.

Dr. Oz is telling me that my fatigue may be due to parasites. Yeah, and one if them will be attending college in the fall.

I am watching Saturday Night Live.

You know, if you put 1 million chimpanzees in front of typewriters, at least one of them will come up with something funny.

Which explains the state of this show. They need to hire some chimps.

It’s time to face facts, network execs, the Super Bowl halftime “concert” (those are air-quotes, people) is an abject failure. Every year. It doesn’t matter what mainstream artist you pay millions to. The format and venue pretty much guarantees that their Greatest Hits Medley will sorely disappoint all but the most ardent fans. Who probably are not watching the Super Bowl anyway.

Most of us use the halftime concert to do sundry things like laundry, clean up spilled beer and go to the bathroom. There was one year in which I continuously hit myself in the head with a hardcover book with about 2 minutes left in the second quarter to ensure that I was rendered unconscious for the entire 20 minute halftime “event” (air-quotes again, people). Sadly, I was unsuccessful.

So, here’s my idea: televise the halftime team meetings. The yelling, cursing, crying and finger-pointing alone will rival those of any reality show. We could call it, “The Real Players of the New York Giants”, or something like that. Not to worry. I’ve got a million of them.

Want to add another wrinkle? Broadcast each team’s meeting in the opposing team’s locker room and watch the players and coaches try to berate each other and plan for the next half, while at the same time, watch their opponent do the same. I expect some football players’ heads will explode trying to absorb all of this information simultaneously.

Now that’s entertainment.

Excerpts From My Recent Appearance on Space Ghost Coast To Coast:

Space Ghost: So, Dave, I hear you’re a school psychologist in a large, public school system…

Me: That’s right, SG.

Space Ghost: I suppose you have to battle alien soul-suckers on a pretty frequent basis, then.

Me: Well, not really. In fact, I can’t remember a single—

Space Ghost: What is your favorite type of blaster? I prefer proton.

Me: To be honest, SG, I don’t use—

Space Ghost: So how do you avoid their tentacles?

Me: Whose—the children’s?

Space Ghost: No silly, the soul-suckers. You don’t need to avoid children’s tentacles.

Me: Clearly not.

Space Ghost: Quick—opinion on hyperdrive time-space travel…

Me: Uh—

Space Ghost: Time’s up. No offense Dave, but this likely will be your last appearance on my show.

Me: *GULP* Are you going to de-materialize me?

Space Ghost: Ha! You’re so 27th Century! How quaint. Maybe there’s hope for you after all…AS A CRYPTONIUM MINING SLAVE! Haw, haw.

Me: Haw. Haw.

Space Ghost: No really, Dave. You’re cosmic dust after this word from our friends at GEICO.

(picture via)