Here is your brain. Here is your brain on Snookie...

In a recent Facebook posting, I stated that "Snookie was proof that the end was near." I stand by my statement. By 'the end', I don't necessarily mean seeing people fly into the sky as they depart their abandoned cars all over the freeway or the way Mayans intended to ruin Christmas for us, on December 21, 2012. My 'end' refers to the ceasing of entertainment common sense. The more you were not meant to be a celebrity, the more you appear to become one. (not only is this absurdly unfair; it's seemingly permanent.) How did we ever get to this point of nutcaked culturerama? We certainly can't blame all of it on Snookie and her NJ buddies. She is just the steaming spectacle pulled from the oven; the result of a recipe gone bad.

The UK can be credited with having the first authentic reality show. It was called 7-Up and came out in 1964. The production began with 14 English school children who were all age 7. Every 7 years, new installments have come along with updates on their lives. I loved An American Family when it appeared on PBS in 1971. Who knew that Lance Loud's lisp would spawn such a hideous animal (and he doesn't even procreate.) 1992 brought The Real World and it would cement the pathway. I admit I was a fan of this show in its early days. It was voyeuristic glee to watch attractive young people thrown together in cool, city lofts yelling at each other because Puck didn't do the dishes. Real lives were made dramatic. It all felt novel and edgy. There was a tacky goo left in my psyche after watching but I thought little of it. The so-called 'real world' temptations were the exception and definitely not the rule.

But that was way back during the early Clinton administration. What seemed a little silly and train wreck light would take some time to build into a tsunami of 'actuality' garbage rivaling Pakistan's recent water woes. The seemingly endless cretin show is now hideous. Rewarding mediocrity, impetuousness, ignorance and spoiled brattiness has gone far beyond code red status. These show's mutated cells keep multiplying faster than they can be produced. Cussing, lying, narcissistic dopes and their irresponsible actions are now the pop icons young people emulate (not to mention the parents and other adults that encourage their elicit behavior.)

OK, OK.......sorry to get so preachy. "Just don't watch" you're saying. Trust me, I try not to. Admittedly, there are times when it is just too hard to turn away. On occasion, I tune into one or two of them to get an update on the ever expanding modern culture meltdown. Other than that, House Hunters is about as far as I go. (I enjoy seeing a decent three bedroom condo with an updated kitchen and good closet space!)

Alright. I'll come clean. There's a few I have watched quite a few times. (I self flagellate when I've licked clean the popcorn bowl) Its particular guilty pleasure reels me in a special, twisted way and It may be the worst of the lot....the most base..... and truly deplorable. This production fascinates me because it is so mortifying and devoid of boundaries. (No, not the O'Reilly Factor.) Everything from the creepy voiced host (No, not RuPaul) to the poor, 'raw to the bone victim' of seeing his or her lover caught in the "Oh no you dint'" act is mesmerizing. Give up? That's right: Cheaters. It is a show completely centered on humiliation, lust, betrayal and innumerable Motel 8's. Could it get any lower? The only thing that's missing are the philandering partners getting their heads blown off. (Maybe next season...when the Tea Party gets into power, they can dismantle the FCC AND broaden the 2nd Amendment: zero government regulation and do as you please firearms can rule the day!) Oh wait.....but that would mean there might be the possibility of a show about a gun toting, gay couple from northern Idaho who run a day care center/interior design firm. They would never go for that. Never mind. But I digress.

Cheaters wins in my book as one of the all time worst (best) reality horrors (or whores) worthy of dubious accolades. It's magnetic grossness hypnotizes. It is just the kind of show that scares me the most. You can't turn away from it... Your wife might have just broken water and you make her wait until LaQueena catches a nude Tyrone with Shaquita in the whirlpool at the local La Quinta.

Guilty pleasures are a human trait. They just shouldn't become an obsession.

As my mother would say, "Let's get down to brass tacks." America is pretty much a numbed out landscape of stalwart dullards: The United States of Stupid. Our shrinking brains cannot handle the overload of vomit our remotes plug us into daily. Yes, times are hard. We need escape. We desire anesthesia. Feeding off of the too rich dregs of society like the Kardashians and anything New Jersey offers, is not going to bring us back to sober. If we aren't going to read, can we at least go outside and play? Is a game of Clue too much to ask? Will we ever pick up a National Geographic article and stick to it until the last word is absorbed? (The Mauritius Islands need to be understood!) Can we sit and have an hour's conversation without tweeting or checking a Facebook be(de?)friending message on our IPhone? And if the inevitability of TV is going to rule our worlds, can we at least try to find something worthwhile to view between Hoarders and The Littlest Groom? (The latter in reruns only.) The Bachelorette will still find a husband whether we watch or not.

All is not lost. Test drive that clicker. There's still a lot out there to see in spite of the piles of glittering litter. Choices abound. Perhaps the most amazing thing about present day television is that it couldn't be more of a dichotomy. Some of the very best and worst shows in TV history are currently available. The polarization of tastes is astounding. One can watch the incredibly well written and riveting Breaking Bad or click on Kendra. The digital cable universe offers you Mad Men and The Real Wives of Orange County. Consider Frontline over Bridezillas. Alright, maybe those examples are a bit extreme. You get the idea. I'm just saying that if you make yourself watch Charlie Rose once a month instead of Tool Academy, you might be surprised what you'll learn. You can go right back to Sextuplets Take New York. I promise I won't tell. Your brain will thank you and send a sweet little gift of new neurons.