The Only Downside: Having to Watch Jackyl Play ::Updated::

Gray and I.

We are allofasudden totally hooked on some television that never piqued our interest previously. Unfortunately, the new shows don't say many good things about either us as a mentally stable couple or as intellectually ripened individuals. Don't get me wrong...I realize it's too late for ME to be sane. It's just that I was clinging to the hope that Gray would pass some genetic stability on to whatever future children (or demons) we may produce.

I'm afraid that is no longer a viable hope.

First came Full Throttle Saloon. Thanks a lot, Dad, for getting us hooked on this reality show about life behind the scenes at a Sturgis bar. Tits and ass and generous helpings of them both. Dred locks. Mullets. Midgets. A terribly disgusting fajita "chef". Hookers and pole dancers and painted ladies and mediocre rock stars and beer bellies. CHICK beer bellies.

Full Throttle Saloon is the greatest thing that has ever happened to me. Unless you count the boxes of Dots I've consumed while watching it.

The other obsession started some time ago for me, but last night I forced it upon my ailing husband (he has the flu and you would think he has stage four penis cancer with the way he's moaning and sweating), who was promptly sucked in as well, a fact I determined after he demanded more than once that I rewind so that he could re-watch funny moments or re-assess what the characters had said.

 The Millionaire Matchmaker features one of the world's awesomest (she yells at people, has giant breasts, and swears at rich bitches) Jewish relationship gurus setting up helpless, pathetic, yet financially successfully men and women with a bevvy of potential matches.

There is nothing more fascinating than watching fully-grown rich motherfuckers hem and haw about which supermodel is most worthy of their condescension. And money. In the episode we watched last night, a plus-sized millionairess (with the biggest fucking gums I have ever seen) decided it would be fun to impress her potential suitors by drinking wine from a straw and discussing her 100% PINK apartment and herobsession with Hello Kitty.

These shows. They are what is getting my seasonally-depressed and brain-damaged ass through the season of fire and brimstone (also known as the Minnesota winter) without sticking my head in the fish bowl.

Well, these shows and the thought of drowning in goldfish feces.

:: Some of my more brilliant readers have requested info on when these shows air and on which television station. FTS is on TruTV on Wednesday nights and Milly-Match is on Bravo all the damn time. I just set my DVR and the episodes appear as if from nowhere. Patti is a magical Jew. ::