For Someone Who Abjectly Despises "Bones" You Sure Do Watch A Lot of Bones...

Yes, I do watch Fox's Bi-annual witty Forensics offering "Bones". I've also seen the infomercial for "The Magic Bullet" at least twenty times. Probably not the whole way through, but 25% counts as a full viewing. What strikes me about "The Magic Bullet" is its versatility, because when I make Fish-head Pâté, I'd like to be able to turn around and make frozen daiquiris without rinsing the container, no small feat. And to have a slightly less powerful blender that I can also use for cutting up schwag and turn slightly more around and use it to Purée (2-2 on French words today, God only knows where I found an accent aigu) a deer carcass, that's a kind of black magic I'd hope not to encounter anywhere else. It's versatile, but also so well supported by an interesting cast of characters in its promotion. There's the British spokesman for a touch of class, the 40-something painfully enthusiastic spokeswoman straight from that well-received Lepra-Gone Cleansing Pads spot, a group of skeptical audience members sitting on a bar interacting with the hosts, whom I might add, are best represented by the bald-forty something alcoholic on the left, and the 70-something cigarette churning housewife on the right for that extra hint of skepticism, and several other bland young people who fill in the gaps. The Magic Bullet slices and dices and blends and chops and cuts and shreds and hacks and rubs a soothing ointment on burns. My point is, the product is simple and effective and conjures a need for something that is not really there. I am not thinking of a simple way to make all of my food smaller and closer to baby-food. And still, if the timing is right, and I feel bad enough about myself, and The Magic Bullet Informercial is shot at me from YOU television, I will watch. And if "Bones" is on and there is no glimmer of anything else entertaining on television anywhere in my apartment complex I will watch. But "Bones" doesn't have a snappy British host to add sophistication, nor does it have a washed up 40-something spokeswoman. There's not even a badly selected studio audience wanting to know more. What we do have, is the hate-child of the screenwriters from "Dawson's Creek" a wooden, inhuman forensics prodigy incapable of feeling even the most basic emotion. This is used for comic effect throughout the show as she attempts to interact with actual half-human castoffs from "Buffy the Vampire slayer" and TV purgatory. In the most recent episode, Bones is trapped in a buried Ford Taurus where she is sentenced to death by suffocation. Unfortunately for everyone viewing, dramatic music kicks in and our compatriot is able to fashion a signal to everyone conveinantly waiting above, using the car's airbags to spray a puff of dirt into the air. Overall, I'm happy that the actors on the show have jobs in these tough economic times, but completely horrified that these particular people are paid and have jobs in these tough economic times.

Cavernous Obesity, Brought to you by the makers of Brita...

The Pink Team's Mission is to Take Everything in the Fucking Bag:

The Biggest Loser, Supreme Edition debuted recently. It included an obstacle course and "The Scale of Shame" brought to you by the fine gentlemen nodding to us off camera from Durex. This is also the Couples Supreme edition, so each team consists of friends or some people who are engaged or the Elderly. Clearly, from the moment the show begins, the object is to kill every contestant on the show, and occasionally show slow motion montages of their deaths. It features the fattest man ever to compete on the show and the trainers immediately sent him on a six day 550 mile death march through the Sudan. Within three minutes of being informed of his mission, he was already sweating profusely and eating energy bars. "Dan" originally weighed 440 pounds. After his plane left the Quallcomm Dinty Moore Beef Stew International Planeport he was eliminated from the show but not told, destined to wander the desert indefinitely.

Jerry and Estella were the oldest couple to compete on the show. They also vied for the honor of quickest exit from the show as Jerry immediately collapsed upon entering the gym.

Then there was a lot of heartfelt exercise, and they forced them to run across a bridge and over a hill of dirt. Lots of people lost a lot of weight, and then they eliminated half of them with vague promises of returning to the show in a month if their teammate was able to go three weeks without eating. All in all, it was a strange lottery.

I will ride a scooter....

And then I will find other things that strip me of my dignity. Maybe I'll watch a marathon of "Bones" on Fox, while I saw both arms off using only the glib and quarky one-liners fleeing like escaped children from Bones' mouth. I'm writing this to you television, because you and you alone have put me in this position. I care a lot for you, but what have you done for me lately? If you want me to watch you, you will cut the Country Music Channel out of you like a murderous tumor. We will sing gleefully and scamper around the corpses of all the Desperate Housewives, all of them. Because I surely cannot focus on my "Good Eats" or "Iron Chef" knowing that Wisteria Lane is close by, fostering the worst parts in all of us, and not in a witty way, but in the way that you feel after storming into an office full of farts...awkward uncomfortable faces begging to admit ownership.

Maybe I'll sit in front of you and not turn you on, wouldn't you like that? I know you have a gallon of "24" you've been waiting to pour on me, but I will not yield to Kiefer, I've been burned too many times, Kiefer, if you want me to watch just one episode, maybe you can unlawfully torture the cast of "Friends" and suffocate anyone from "The Hills" with a plastic shopping bag while water boarding anyone from anything on the Disney Channel.

I guess that's pretty extreme, and a lot to ask of you. We did have some pretty good times, you taught me about death on "Six Feet Under" and about crack on "The Wire" and that if you don't necessarily have anything concrete to write about you can still churn out episodes with "Lost". TV, you really are the girl at the party I feel guilty about taking home, but you're still someone, and if I get close enough to you, you give me goosebumps and lots of static, so for the mean time. We can work it out.