Have you been following the television thing? It’s about television and clocks, because when I read about the television thing they always seem to mention “time”. “Time” is one of the most important things about television, and maybe lights and a camera or something. But this particular television thing is getting worse, I think. Two of the people involved in the television thing are maybe going to do something different soon. On television.

Are wondering what shows you should set your tivo for?  Worried that the next can’t-miss thing is going get away from you because you spend sooooo much time on Wordsmoker.  Well, you are a liar first of all.  Nothing gets by Wordsmoker and you know that by now and besides you spend more time playing Mafia Wars anyway.  But don’t worry, I have complied the top three shows you should go ahead and set your tivo for right now so you won’t miss anything while you are waging war against Dahl or Russia or whoever the fuck you are fighting.

Okay, so you’re probably reading this on Monday, so this post is already dated, even though it was dated already by the time I’d started reading it, but I hear so much lately (today) from the kids (people on the internet) writing about how abso-fucking-lutely horrible NRA NAMBLA SNL was on, eh, Saturday night – a time, I hear, when it airs generally.

You may not know this, but Your Editor is one of The Poors. As it’s coming up to the festive season, and because he’s running out of organs to sell on the black market, he’s decided to vomit up some new pitches for all the major television networks in the US, because – let’s face it – they’ll put fucking anything on the TV these days. If anyone here works in television, feel free to pitch these whenever you can and make me financially stable for the first time in years.

Hello there, fellow Wordsmokers! SFBirdie here, after a bit of a hiatus from the whole writing thing (had a bit of a writer’s block). I’ve decided to kick off my return to putting thoughts and ideas into semi-coherent sentences and paragraphs with a look at the crazies on the season premiere of the Real Housewives of Orange County!

Somewhere, the Maya are laughing. Especially, if they have basic cable.Welcome, Ladies and Gentlemen, to The Hysteria Channel, formerly known as The History Channel.

Make sure you start laying in supplies, because we only have a little over three years to live. The Maya said so. Predicted it, they did. And as we know, if you are long extinct civilization, or a dotty futurist capable of writing down interesting words in some standard format containing no actual information, or have successfully navigated an imaginary geometric stretch of ocean, you must be believed. Must. Be. Believed. For if you aren’t… DOOM!!!

When I watched the pilot episode of Glee, I was hooked almost immediately. The dark humor appealed to me, and the club’s rendition of Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believing” was nothing less than stunning. But there was one character that was bothering me: Kurt Hummel, played by Chris Colfer. The actor’s performance was fine, but the character seemed a little too … gay.

OK, he seemed way too gay.

Oh, hurry up for the love of Oprah. C’mon!!!! Jeez. I kicked you off about 7.30am, and I know that MadMen and Entourage are coming down as well, but for – what? 5.6kB/s? What the hell is that? Okay, 6709 seeds and 27519 peers, I can see your problem, but make an exception wonderful socialist peer network. I’ve been uploading Todd Solondz’s “Happiness” for four days, and for that alone I should be given special privileges.

Remember when Kimberly ripped off her wig? Remember when HIV-positive Matt cut open his hand at a dinner party? Remember when Sydney blackmailed Michael into marrying her, even though he used to be married to her sister, Jane?

Remember when Jo shot Reed?

Remember when Billy was endlessly boring?

TV is so fickle. It dangles beauteous glory in front of you, and then rips it away. (See Veronica Mars, Arrested Development.) It provides fantastic careers, which then naively propel actors into thinking they’ll have even greater success in movies when they’re actually just headed for the great void of the irrelevant. (See David Caruso.) It goes on the fritz and refuses to provide you with the channels it promises. (See Comcast.)

I had trouble sleeping the other night. It was late, and I was tired, but you know when you tell someone that you’re having trouble sleeping and they say “is something on your mind?” Well, something was. I was really, really pissed about the season finale of Make It or Break It. Which had aired a week earlier. And which, at my age, I should never have been watching in the first place.

Eric is moving out, packing his toys. Movey!

Emmanuelle (my girlfriend) has hooker hair. Not a good look, angel. Crappy!

Lloyd is eating grapes because of his diet. Grapey!

Ari and Andrew talk about something boring. Talky!

The boys choose suits for the premiere. Suity!

Eric is having sex with multiple partners because “pussy can smell pussy” according to Johnny. Pussy!

Vinnie can’t drive but passes his test because he promises the examiner tickets to his next premiere. Bribey!

Beverly D-Angelo, a crush from my childhood, looks like she melted in 1998. Scary!

Lloyd screams at Ari because he wants promoted. Hissy!

I’d like to first say “bravo!” to  Bravo and the Blue Light bar for coordinating NYC Prep’s timeslot and the end of Taco Tuesday specials. To the Blue Light, for those margaritas (by the way, it takes about 2 – and by 2 I mean 7) without which I might never be able to sit through even five minutes of NYCP. Ok, that’s probably a lie, but they’re kinda like the spoonful of sugar that makes the medicine go down. The medicine that continues to rot my brain every week and keep me from gettin’ through my bucket list and doing all those big and wonderful things that I had planned when I was a little girl. Ok, I’d love to go off on a tangent about the ramifications of trashy reality TV on our society, but instead how about we revel in the blatant voyeurism and mind-numbing (oh it hurts – hurts so GOOD) tales of those rich, preppy little prepsters?