Whenever I start to worry that the human race is becoming too intelligent, I take a day off from work to camp out on the sofa and check out some daytime television. I especially enjoy the “Jerry Springer Show,” and its various clones that make it obvious there are some people who'll do anything for their fifteen minutes.
Who can resist a hairy, three-hundred-pound guy in a tutu shaking his moneymaker? Or a couple of skanky-looking women fighting over some kuckle dragger who looks like he'd have a hard time scoring a dishwashing gig at Denny’s?
One Springer clone recently featured the topic (and I swear I’m not making this up) “My Mom Thinks My Baby’s Too Dark to Be My Fiancée’s.”
Fair enough. But I’m looking forward to the follow-up: “My Baby Thinks My Mom’s too Stupid to Be His Grandmother”...
BABY: Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. We welcome our studio audience and viewers at home to “Are You too Stupid to Be My Grandmother?” Is our contestant ready to begin?
BABY: Excellent. Your first question: “What religion is the president of the United States?
BABY: Sorry, that is incorrect. The president is Christian. Next question: “Please name a planet in our solar system other than Earth.”
CONTESTANT: Umm…the Moon?
BABY: Incorrect. The Moon is a satellite, not a planet. Next question: “Is a thespian allowed by law to serve in the Congress of the United States?”
CONTESTANT: Absolutely not!
BABY: That is incorrect. Appearing in a dinner theater production of “Cats” does not preclude holding national public office, although some might argue it should. Are you ready for your final question?
CONTESTANT: I guess…
BABY: Who is buried in Grant’s Tomb?
BABY: Sorry, your time is up. We have now ascertained that you are, indeed, “Too Stupid to Be My Grandmother.” But thank you for playing. We hope you enjoy your parting gifts: a case of Bacon Ranch Pringles and the complete boxed set of “Keeping Up With the Kardashians.” Please exit through the door on your right…no…the other right...
Daytime television reassures the aliens who’ve been monitoring our transmissions for the last hundred and fifty years that Earthlings pose no threat to the Galactic Federation. At some point soon, after checking out the show with the guy whose ex-girlfriend won’t give back his prosthetic leg, or the man who married his horse, the aliens will breathe a collective sigh of relief, grab some Chinese takeout, and head for home.