Exile

The week I have dreaded is now upon me.  For the foreseeable future, I will not be able to cruise through my evenings sitting in my comfy chair and watching cable on my beloved teevee.

My lovely wife, who normally doesn't care what I watch in the evening as long as it isn't South Park or Family Guy will be parked in front of the television, her school papers and Tetrus game be damned, watching her favorite show of all time.

Fucking Dancing With The Fucking Stars.

I'll be forced to sit upstairs in the "extra" room, watching network crap on the teeny television with rabbit ear reception.  How did I come to deserve this ignoble fate?

However, Jan doesn't ask much of me, and I love her.  So, I will not say a word and will let her enjoy "her show" in peace.  That's what kind of guy I am.  Plus, she would de-ball me with a boning knife in about two seconds flat if I touched the remote.

If you're wondering about the competitors, Olympic Skating Guy and Chad Ochocinco have been picked by the Vegas oddsmakers as the picks to win, at 5 to 1 and 4 to 1 respectively.  Super skank Kate Gosselin is pegged to go out on the first round.

And my boyhood hero, Buzz Aldrin is slated to go down by the third round.  Imagine.  Buzz Aldrin, X-15 pilot and the second man on the moon, on some slimy televised dance contest.  I hope he gets the hook during the first dance.

Have some dignity Buzzy.  And the rest of you losers ... break a leg.  Both of them if possible.