Here we go: Dr. Phil rules because he’s a pompous ass, much like yours truly, who is really focused on getting to the truth of the matter. That’s cool. I respect that. I dig it when he gets medieval on some loser for not knowing the basics of how to be human. Where they find these people…well, that’s a question best left for God to answer.

Do I watch his show? What, are you like…you know…brain dead or something? Hell no! I’m a guy first of all. Second, I don’t watch TV except for the aforementi…well, blimey, if I’m not going to have to come up with another word for that.

Break In The Coverage: I have a new “Challenge”. Present Bingo (that’s me) with your Top 3 substitutes for the word “aforementioned.” No thesaurus allowed, unless you can also come up with another word for “thesaurus”.

Also, just for the record, here’s what I deem “Must-See TV”, and it’s not what that network whose slogan I just bogarted wants to pass by you.

Oh DEAR God. The King Of Queens?? Can’t you just see the pitch for that one?:

Okay, here’s fresh new idea G.G.; a fat, obnoxious ugly ass of a man who’s married to a fine thin little hottie that, for reasons that reason knows not of, is attracted to him. You know — as if it’s never been done before. Who will notice? No one! It’s genius, I tell you…

“Okay, G.G., Jr…what’s the rest of the plot?”

Who gives a s—t. People will watch anything with a fat stupid man and a hot woman who loves him.

Something like that.

Hey — network TV jackoheads: you suck. You’ve been added to the list (just check to your right, people.)

May the ghost of Redd Foxx come back and emasculate you all in your sleep while chanting, “So THIS is the BIG ONE??…OH…OHHHHHH….”

I’ve come up with better plots after spilling Alphabet Soup as a kid.

Breaking wind requires more thought.

I have no idea why I even HAVE to point this out to the world, but…I do. Alas, welcome to my heaven and my hell.

Bingo’s Purgatory Now Open! First person to voice an opinion one way or another wins a free can of sardines.

Onward and upward: here’s my “this makes good TV” list:

• God’s Game (football) within reason (i.e. great games like tonight’s Colts/Steelers match-up, or any Cowboy game for any reason, any season, anytime.)
• Smallville; yeah? What about it? It’s about SUPERMAN (kinda), so lay off the Man of Steel. Actually the show is damn clever and has more hotties per square inch than Central Park on a warm Sunday. I was surprised to really get into the show, but I did in a big way. Always loved the mythos of Superman…great stuff.
• Family Guy — sheer genius. Seth Mcfarland’s I.Q. cannot be charted with conventional testing methods, nor can a determination of “sanity” be proclaimed with absolute certainty. Honest-to-Vishnu, I’d love to have been a fly on the wall when Family Guy wasn’t so well-known (I’ve been a fan from day one, literally) and some poor Midwestern conservative family tuned in, thinking this was “good, old-fashioned wholesome entertainment.” After being duped by the “wholesome” musical intro, the next thing they hear is, “And now back to Sherry and The Anus. (This was a spoof cartoon on Peter Griffin’s TV set mocking the 80s “family sitcoms” that were written on cocktail napkins with the aforementioned brainpower of wind-breaking.) We are treated to a mockery of a “Family Ties”-like sitcom so sugary sweet it was deemed unsafe for diabetics…but with a twist. The sister, Sherry, was chatting with her brother, Anus….who was just a butt. That’s all. A butt. A talking butt, but a butt nonetheless. Hence the name “Anus”, one would suppose. The bit ends with Peter saying, “Oh, that was good! That was even funnier than the one where Anus got the hamster stuck in his mouth.” Genius I say! Oh my…what a lucky fly what was.
• Star Trek: classic, Next Gen, and Voyager. Once again, if you mock me, I will find you. Star Trek is the thinking geek’s man’s Sci-Fi show that changed the world as we know it. No kidding. The opposite of this is Star Wars, which is something to put on while baby-sitting toddlers. They can relate. They cannot relate to the plot of Star Trek, as it requires more than an I.Q. of 27 to process. Long live Spock.
• CSI: Miami — originally drug into this by a friend of mine with a lot of spare time on his hands and promises that “this blonde hottie will make it all worthwhile”, CSI ended up being a really enjoyable show. Very entertaining, and the blonde just makes it that much better. Can’t get into the other CSIs, although I have tried.
• Selected movies on DVD or rental

That’s it, with the exception of a stray re-run of Frazier, Friends, or The Simpsons, all of which are funny but not worth actually owning a TV set for.

There you go.

Now, on to something you actually give a jacko about: more about Dr. Phil and why that even means a darn thing to you. It really does. Important stuff ahead: warning, warning.

So, we know now why Dr. Phil rules: he’s seeking honesty. Here’s why he sucks:

The jackass wrote a diet book.

Now, let me put that into perspective for you. This would be like me, garnishing my fame from fitness book sales on a massive Oprah-like scale, penning a work called Jon Benson’s Guide To A Successful Marriage With A Supermodel Who Earns 22% Annually From The Nasdaq.

Small problems quickly appear on the horizon. First, I’ve never been married (and Dr.Phil has never, repeat never, been fit, lean or seen his toes. I’m pretty sure his wife has to remind him that he does indeed have male genetalia.) Second, I’ve certainly never been married to a supermodel, and it’s doubtful that doing so during their prime would result in a successful “anything” related to marriage except for the painfully obvious. In a similar fashion (read: not even close, but that bit before was funny), Dr. Phil is trying to tell America how to solve the obesity issue by lying out his pooter about being “big-boned” (a “large man”…yeah, jackass, a large FAT man), but still dishing you the pompous ass-like advice that’s best rendered, “Do as I say, not as I have EVER freakin’ done.”

Then there’s that whole “22% from Nasdaq” bit. No one does that, save perhaps Warren Buffett. A supermodel probably couldn’t spell “Nasdaq” if she was spotted the “n”, “a” and “q”. If pinned down for an answer, she would probably define “Nasdaq” as “that hot new fashion designer who specializes in making size -4 skirts out of imported bamboo sprouts.”

Compound this with another small problem — Dr. Phil’s book sucks. That’s just wrong multipled by the infinity of wrong. He could have at least read that Time Magazine article on carbs…or something. Sheesh.

There you go. Lots of issues there if you ask me.

The simple solution to “diet books” is not to write them. If you DO write them, make them holistic (as I shall do, my faithful) and be sure to show yourself on the cover in either a shirtless pose or a skin-tight something-or-other, NOT a freakin Armani “hide all the rolls, please” tailor-made FAT SUIT. If you don’t have abs, or at least HAD abs at one time in your life that you had to actually ‘earn’, then shut the hell up and write a book on duck hunting.

I long for the day when Dr. Phil and I meet. Seriously. I respect the man for the first bit…really, I do. I think he’s helping people, which is cool.

I’d take him to school from that point on.

Oh, yes…he would be crying by the end of the episode, and his wife would want to walk out of the cheering studio with Bingo. Bingo would refuse her on the grounds of Commandments 1, 2 and 3. If you need a reference, please take Ginkgo or re-read the blog post that started the entire Bingo movement.

Folks, beware of most “diet” books. Truly. Especially, and underscore this bit, ones that are written by people who have either never been lean a day in their life, or who have been naturally lean from the day they were born. These people could have more consonants behind their name than half the Saudi phone books, and they still don’t know Jack Jacko. Are we clear? Good! I love it when we’re clear.

Again, someone please hold me.

Later tonight my workout will be posted…but I had to get this off my chest before I go and train chest. The extra weight is just a bit much right now. I already feel 280 pounds lighter — about the weight of one Dr. Phil. {10}