Who can explain why this sort of program works?
I am sure while the story writers in this country writhe on their cheap, shag-carpeted floors in utter frustration and misery, the creators of these "let's-watch-stars-pick-their- wedgies" programs are bathing each other in their ill-earned greenbacks.
Still, I watch.
I watch because you don't get to hear Whitney Houston chat candidly about an impending bowel movement during an installment of Rumpole the Bailey. You never hear Grandpa Brown argue with his kin about who was responsible for inflating their new tent with stale flatulence while watching the Nova special about the blue whale.
I guess I watch because it is there. And it isn't anywhere else.
And I know deep in my heart that the time I spend watching this odiferous crap is lost forever and a little bit more of my brain passes away too.