There is never a void in cable television. You will find that be there ruinous fire, torrential flood, cataclysmic volcano, or category-five hurricane, you will still have access to 24-hour cable programming. Most of it tends to be awful as we have all watched at least an episode of something embarrassing, demoralizing and contemptible like The Swan where they found Michael Jackson’s plastic surgeon to turn 300-pound losers into cougar-ready material for Real Housewives of Orange County. Or My Big Fat Obnoxious Fiancé in which a schoolteacher pretended to marry a rude, loathsome, and slobby hippopotamus for a cash prize. Unfortunately, what I’ve just described is wretched and is aired at prime time, so you can only imagine what I watch when I finally have time to ignite the boob tube at 4 a.m. I flip between infomercials with Tattoo selling personal massagers, discount telephone psychics and Suzanne Sommers doing kegel exercises with what appears to be pool noodle. I flip through hundreds of channels in determination of finding something somewhat satisfying. While I hate to admit it, I always stop at the ShamWow guy.
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Cocktailing: Slap Happy
There is never a void in cable television. You will find that be there ruinous fire, torrential flood, cataclysmic volcano, or category-five hurricane, you
