There’s nothing like junk TV when there’s not much else you can do besides lay on the couch, lay on the bed, slump in a chair, then stand up and drag your feet over to the couch to lay there again. Some nasty upper respiratory thing held me captive for two weeks, and the educated part of my brain decided to take a really long nap. I couldn’t follow documentaries intelligently, and the antibiotics kept knocking me out intermittently that I woke up in a haze wondering how George Washington could have traveled into space to investigate global warming.

 
So I opted out of misinformation and shamelessly allowed myself to be entertained and amused by big networks’ mindless programming. (Sorry PBS, I’ll get back to you when I’m saner.) The sad thing about this is that you run the risk of somehow getting hooked, no matter how hard you resist or how many times you insist it’s just a temporary fix, a last resort antidote for boredom.

 
But seriously, how could you not be entertained by a uniformed deputy sheriff singing, appropriately enough, “I shot the sheriiiiiiff … but I didn’t shoot the deputeeeee.” whilst stroking his belly and doing the hip hop bounce? I guess he didn’t realize the song had other words, too. I swear, the American Idol auditions were hilarious!

 
Then there was that lady who was so nervous (awww) that she kept forgetting the lyrics to “Blue Moon.” After, oh, four or five attempts, she, without warning, switches to another song, the lyrics of which manage to escape her as well. Cut to her with her hands to her face trying to regain composure, then belting out (out of the, well, blue) “Blue Moon” all over again. The quick detour across the other song didn’t help her remember more words. It was funny and painful at the same time.

 
Of course I can say this because I sing only when there are no judges or cameras within 50 feet of me.

 
Then there was that Beauty and the Geek promo where the girl is asked where roast beef comes from, and she thinks hard (trouble already) before replying, “Uhm … Arby’s?” Are these people for real? Or how about that oncologist bachelorette who announces to the Bachelor that her eggs are rotting and that she is soooo ready for the next phase in her life: the reproductive phase. Hmm … I wonder why he didn’t pick her.

 
Some things are just so bad they’re downright delicious. Just … not rotten eggs.