Looks like it's going to be another season of reality TV cast members and washed-up singers on Dancing With the Stars!
I remember it like yesterday: After six hours of karaoke and three bottles of wine, I stumbled home to pass out in front of the TV. Collapsing on my couch, I turned on the boob tube only to discover that mother effer, it was Super Bowl Sunday. Sure there was only one channel that the game was on, but every other channel seemed to be airing some type of commentary or football themed craptastic-ness. All I really wanted was a Law and Order marathon or similar. I flipped drunkenly between channels, spouting occasional frustrated obscenities every time I landed on anything depicting a pigskin or a man in a helmet or John Madden. And then I found myself staring at a screen full of puppies. Puppies on a small, to-scale football field. Puppies playing and peeing and drinking water while a commentator affecting his best approximation of a sportscaster announced that the beagle on left field was being suspended for "unnecessary roughness."