I awoke this morning — OK, this afternoon — and, like usual, turned on the television…. I awoke this morning — OK, this afternoon — and, like usual, turned on the television. Normally, my geeky ass just goes straight for the bank of TiVo-ed “X-files” reruns that this godsend of a glowing box accumulates for me, but today would be different. Shocking as though it may be, I found myself very much not in the mood for Mulder’s paranoid musings over the supernatural and Scully’s laconic skepticism.

Ah, Scully. What’s wrong? You look a little stressed out. Yeah, I know, Mulder doesn’t really appreciate you the way you deserve. What you need in your life is an intelligent man with an undeniable boyish charm and the skills to give a disarming back massage. Only I truly understand you. Come on over here and let Dan …

Nevermind. I’m off track.

Anyway, with a bit of curiosity, I thought to myself “I wonder what middle America is watching right now,” and with that, I set forth on a frightful journey into the vast and foreboding land of daytime television. So long, cable, old friend, I’m headed to the networks for the afternoon. If I’m not back in three hours, call the police.

Click: “Maury” is on. Oh, Maury, you pretentious mockery of a broadcaster. You bring me such horror, such decadent splendor. The topic of today’s show? “I hope my stepfather isn’t my baby’s daddy.” Don’t think about that too hard. You’ll have an aneurysm. It was here that I got to see a man dressed in designer clothes and sporting platinum teeth with — and I’m honestly not making this up — vampire incisors, telling a frantic woman that he will not support their two kids because he’s broke. Maybe vampire man isn’t the ideal baby daddy anyway.

Click. Ah, “The Price is Right.” Few people know this, but Bob Barker actually died at the age of 114 in 1979. The Bob we know today is actually an extremely advanced cyborg constructed from Bob’s own real tissues and a complex electronic nervous system that Viacom built 26 years ago. He doesn’t feel pain or pity or remorse, and he absolutely will not stop until you are behind the wheel of … A brand new car!

Click. “The View.” Uhhhh…

Click. “Jerry Springer.” Old faithful. If you ever want to be truly disgusted at the human condition, turn to Jerry. What was the topic of the show? The hell if I know. Somebody’s cheating on somebody with somebody. That’s all you need to know. The real meat and potatoes of Jerry these days now that the fighting isn’t kosher anymore — wouldn’t want to promote anything immoral — is the audience ridicule. Jerry takes to the audience to field “questions” from fat, middle-class idiots who showed up to laugh at those who are far less fortunate than they.

There’s something deeply disturbing about seeing some spoiled, insipid little rat of a man stand up just to ridicule some poor white trash who never had a chance at an education, good health or a decent job just for being — surprise — ignorant. Someone actually said, “1984 called and it wants your haircut back.” Congratulations, vapid swine. You were able to point out that a man from the middle of nowhere living below the poverty line has no sense of style. Wait ’til they hear about this back at the office — they won’t ignore you at the water cooler anymore! Oh, and David Spade called from 1995. He wants you to let his tired, old joke die.

What in the hell is going on here? Is this what it has come to? Is this really what mom is watching while the kids are at school and dad is ogling his secretary? I’m not saying television has ever exactly been a fertile source of enlightenment and knowledge, but people are tuning in to revel in the misfortune of others. This may not exactly be a new habit for the human race, but people like to think we’re above this sort of thing, and clearly we’re not.

Look, some things never change. We fed Christians to lions in ancient Rome for entertainment, now we just feed the poor to the passive-aggressive middle class dumbasses on Springer. Nobody dies, true, but we’re getting the same thing out of it: the spectacle of human degradation.

I’m not sure if I have a point. As of this writing, I’ve been watching daytime television for like three hours, and science has proven that it kills more brain cells than drinking a whole bottle of Jack Daniel’s and banging your head against a wall while listening to Motorhead. OK, so it wasn’t exactly science that proved that; it was me (and I made five bucks off it.) Everybody’s so concerned with the moral fabric and the deterioration of the family and how this is apparently the function of a lot of things, including the media. But the media doesn’t give us anything we don’t ask for. People are watching this stuff. All over America, the babysitter has this on in the background while she watches the impressionable little kids.

We’d rather watch people abuse each other than watch the news. I won’t pretend to be above any of this myself, but I suspect most people will, even as they flip from “Montel” to “Cheaters.” Maybe it’s because we manage to convince ourselves that we’re above this sort of thing that we need to point fingers at scapegoats to account for our moral and cultural bankruptcy. Maybe we ought to at least get off the faux moral high horses we like to sit upon so as to look down on those who are different from us. Don’t bitch about the moral fabric of our society if you come home from church and gawk at the misfortunate and depraved as they dance on the sick little sideshow we call television.

Actually, forget all that. I blame homosexuals and brown-skinned people.

Click.

Daniel Richey is willing to take a paternity test if it’ll end all his baby-mama drama. E-mail him at [email protected].