I hate game shows.
I used to dig them, totally. I used to get mindless pleasure out of seeing some no-name doofus from Boise, Idaho, win a new bedroom set by sinking a three-foot putt, egged on by Bob Barker and one of his "beauties." Yeah, I was a slave to The Price Is Right, but all that changed when I tried to get on the show last summer and, despite arriving more than three hours before doors even opened, didn't make it in.
I saw the drooling, selfish hooligans who did get in, pushing and screaming. I was sickened by the whole ordeal. I decided I would have rather seen them all being kicked or slammed around somehow. It was over between game shows and me until I got to see some pain.

