A job is something done out of the necessity to pay the bills, any enjoyment or fulfillment coming secondary to the paycheck. Obviously, exotic dancing and your average stripping fall into that category.

But an occupation is more. It's a career or even a calling, something that holds interest beyond money. For example, having your bikini-clad body covered in baby oil then wriggling down a greased-up slip 'n slide to knock down some bowling pins is a real occupation. Think of the creativity involved -- the planning, the practicing, the shaving.

At least that's what Jerry Springer taught me.

The other night I was drawn into some sort of greatest hits collection, basically short clips of the most T-and-A-centric episodes. The most educational aspect of my exposure to Springer was the aforementioned syntax lesson.

There was the original version of "I hate your sexy job." That included a few run-of-the-mill strippers. Then there was "I hate your sexy occupation," which introduced us to the oily little human bowling ball. There had to be 10 different variations on this theme.

I assumed because they were different shows with different titles, there was an actual difference. Jerry wouldn't just be repeating the same shows to get more naked chicks on television, would he? I'm just trying to understand.

See, I'm proudly not a citizen of the newly incorporated Springer Nation. In fact, the phenomenal success of the edited-for-television Larry Flynt actually frightens me.

The guests themselves aren't too scary; they tend to be sad, pathetic or so campy they're actually entertaining. Hey, if someone wants to dress up in a shiny French maid's costume and run around tickling audience members with her feather duster, I'm not going to stop her.

The host himself isn't too intimidating an individual, either. Jerry's a dorky kind of guy who innocently stands back from the fray, shocked to see another "Keep your hands off my man"-induced cat fight. It's as if every taping he expects to host a roundtable discussion on the Euro's impact in the global marketplace, then -- oops! -- strippers show up instead of Alan Greenspan.

No, what truly frightens me is the audience.

It's the hootin' and hollerin', "Jerry! Jerry!" chanting personification of the term "lowest common denominator." Every age, race and gender is usually represented in this pack, although sadly our own age group seems to be dominant.

They are the modern Romans watching the trailer-park Christians being thrown to the lions. They won't go home happy until they see husbands and wives at each other's throats, until someone gets his or her heart broken in front of a national audience.

The guests being hurt, humiliated and laughed at are not real human beings to Springer or his viewers. Apparently, because they don't have guns to their heads forcing them to be on the show, it is OK for us to look down on them and use their real-life misery for "entertainment purposes only."

They may be there voluntarily, but the guests still have feelings and the right to their dignity. They have friends, family and co-workers off camera who care about them. They do have problems, which probably go much deeper than what is exposed on national television.

That used to be cause for sympathy and empathy, even if the person were on television.

Imagine a woman you know, love and respect is pregnant. She's in love with her husband, the father of her child. You're trying to help think of names for the baby, sharing in her joy and anticipation. But then . . . that bastard decides seven months into a pregnancy really is the best time to announce he's leaving to be with another woman.

What would your reaction be?

If you were really close to this woman whose life had just been ripped apart, you might laugh in her face, right? If you saw any tears, you'd tell her how stupid she's being -- he's not worth it! You'd definitely yell and wave your arms to encourage her to take a swing at her newest ex. Then, out of compassion, you'd jump to your feet and cheer like you were ringside at Ali-Frazier.

As a citizen of the Springer Nation, that's your God-given right.

No? Maybe you just haven't been converted yet.