Crapass Morass

I played my favorite game tonight.

Pin the tip on the stripper? No.
Tandem ferret legging? No.
Taste the penny?? No no no!

Nestled snuggly in a vale of Viagra ads, credit card solicitations, and the other bits of various hoo-hah, with which my cavern-like mail box is daily padded, I discovered my long-anticipated annual guide to practical prognostication. Yes, it had arrived, in all of it's shiny mind-numbing splendor.

The monkey child, temporarily entranced in her post-commute coma, grew increasingly more curious about the object that elicited the "ooh!" from Daddy. However, before the newly arrived treasure could receive the slobber-of-approval, I baited my unsuspecting progeny with a ring of rattling bobbles, and concealed my prize within the waistband cargo-hold of my pants.

What object, you may ask, could generate such glee? Why it's TV Guide's 2005 Fall Preview of course. It is the debutante ball for all young and desperate television shows, hoping to catch the eye of a strapping audience suitor, with the network marketing departments laying out their wares for all to see.

With the tot tucked away, and adult beverages doled out, the missus reads each pitch from the Guide, giving me the culpable network and allotted timeslot. Conjuring my Jovian power to foretell the fate of network television, one by one, I decree whether each new show will last a half season, full season, or will be granted the rare and highly coveted "Renew."

Yearly, I face this task with some trepidation, for disappointment abounds. In truth, my task is akin to that of the Reaper, scythe in hand, separating the chaff from the, uh, (what's worse than chaff?) Anyway, you get the picture. Unfortunately, this year is no better, and actually may be a whole lot worse. To risk a RANT, I will say simply that there seem to be more actors playing lawyers than there are lawyers. Since I do not find watching television shows about people doing what I do all day at work to be relaxing, I will not be watching these.

What I will be watching, though, is The Apprentice: Martha Stewart. Albeit, generally, I disdain unscripted programming, and have nothing more than slight annoyance for the Donald, I freely confess my undying love for Martha. I think she's hot, but I'm not talking about soft-lighted cupcake-slinging Matron Martha. No. No, I'm in love with axe-wielding corporate raider multi-billion dollar Empress Martha. Hero-Martha, who took the hit for the team. Jack-booted thug Martha, who could kick my ass and take my name.

It is hard to take intimidation from the Donald seriously, what with the comb-over and the pouty lips. But Martha... Oh, Martha, with the trimly tailored business suits and the creme brulee-charring laser beam glare. When she says, with oh-so-polite grace, "you're fired," trust me, you'll believe it.