So here I am, in my apartment, just after midnight.
Adult swim, in its infinite wisdom, has decided that 12-12:30 is the Pee-Wee Herman half hour and I fucking hate Pee-Wee's Playhouse.
I've recently showered, I'm getting into my PJs and I'm flipping through the channels to find something for background noise while I finish my evening ablutions.
Success! Comedic goldmine to a connoisseur of Really Bad Dating Shows, something on MTV called "Parental Control." This is of course a gladiatorial variation on a theme of stupendously bad television. MTV also produced a show called "Date My Mom," similar in some ways but without any real bloodlust-satiating hook.
On this particular episode, a son's parents dislike his girlfriend because she's too self-involved and vain. She's so selfish, they claim, their son gives her the world and she does nothing for him. Listening from the bathroom sink, once they begin interview potential replacement girlfriends I come running.
Mouth agape, my toothbrush dangling from the corner of my mouth, I watch as the parents move from the basic "what do you look for in a man?" to "are you a traditional person?" which, as all we media-savvy 20-somethings know, is code word for "Do you buy into the tradition of female oppression?" But oh, it gets better! Does she cook? Does she cook homey traditional foods like dear old mom? Does she like children?
Then, the coup de grace? Oh man, let me tell you.
They bring out a doll and the girls have to diaper the doll.
Obviously, if she wants the privilege of dating their darling son she must never even dream of him sullying his hands with something so base as changing his kid's poopy diaper.
I mean, sweet Jesus on a pogo stick, she might as well just whip out the castrating knife and cut his balls off right then and there if she's going to expect him to do that sort of thing.
Then I finish brushing my teeth, turn of the TV, and tuck myself in.
And I hate the world just a little extra special bit more.