Who says nothing good can come out of putting 18 self-involved, well-toned, fame-whores under one roof to compete for a $250,000 prize? Who says that valuable life lessons and human truths can't be mined from watching some of the greediest 20 something's in our country harass and violate each other weekly, all whilst maintaining their ideal body mass index?

For those of you not in "the know"; for those who still read Kierkegaard at night; or interact with family; or only limit themselves to yoga or taking care of their children, I am referring to the magical world of ABC's The Bachelor Pad. The Bachelor Pad: A reality show that makes its forefather, The Bachelor, look like 60 Minutes; a reality show that's as wholesome as brushing one's teeth with crack and rinsing with Coca Cola.
 
I found myself first begrudgingly, then anxiously tuning into this human sh*t-storm each Monday night. Like many guys, I happened upon it because my lady had secured TV rights for the night. (We have a sign up board that we keep in the bedroom). I went from "this is the most wretched sh*t I've ever seen! To,"Oh my god, this is the most wretched sh*t I've ever seen!"
 
I was no match for it. What with Holly and Michael possibly rekindling their engagement flame? With Blake's charm and obscenely white tusks threatening to derail Michael's plan and take Holly for his own? How could I pick up The New Yorker or bathe when this gold was being channeled right into my living room? What with the lazy-eyed Vienna and her man-boy, Casey, scheming for dominance? With their inner ugliness in a death match against their outer idiocy, who in their right mind could turn away?
 
Week by week I lost sight of my goals. My own writing and disciplined masturbation regimen was no match for the rose ceremonies or Chis Harrison's clever challenges each week. The Nearlywed Game? Blind fold kissing, Mr. Harrison? You had me at suspending couples over a bed until their muscles gave out!
 
Yes, I can lie and say I wanted to watch sports or Rachel Maddow's take on the national debt, but bat-ass-crazy Melissa?  The thing with the yogurt...? Remember? Remember that? Jackie and Ames finding love in the strangest of ways? Gia's adorable  breakdowns with that mini lisp that creeps out when she's so upset. Put a fork in me - I'm hooked! Jake's quest for redemption; Erica's quest for respect; Graham's quest for the perfect 5 o'clock stubble. Yes, yes and yes. Play on sirs and madam. 
 
In short, I am your's Mr. Chris Harrison. Do with me as you wish. I bequeath to you my Monday evenings. I lay down my tasks and goals so that I may be a humble foot solider in your Monday Night Army. All I ask in return is you remember this: with great power comes great responsibility. I, your humble ratings servant, ask that when I say stop, you ignore me. When I want to work on my writing, you offer up a back stabbing Susie with Double Ds or a six pack stud so stupid I can't blink.
 
I salute you, Bachelor Pad. Land of the freaks and the home of the depraved. Besides there's always Tuesdays, right?
 
Sh*t, when is Dancing With the Stars on?