The Sandals Resort of Delightfully Tacky Daytime TV

Okay, I know I blogged about the tacky goodness of The Maury Show paternity tests not that long ago, but with the looming John Edwards episode being booked as I type this, I figured, what the hell, let's do it again.
Nothing motivates me more than flea market junkies on the tube, so I flipped the television over to my heart's delight so I could gear up for today's articles. First, a space-eyed gentlemen and his spit-flinging girlfriend charged that the 3 women claiming to have his children were make these erroneous allegations because they sought the charming company of Bubba. His name, by the way, wasn't Bubba, which I believe was a utter mistake on the part of his parents. Of course, each child was his and I was left dumbfounded by the divine comedy of life and this asshole's uncanny ability to procreate. Amazing!
Then comes the commercials and I stare at the blank computer page, the blinking cursor taunting my blocked mind. A few minutes pass, I've written not a word and another hapless couple takes center stage of the Maury carnival.
This time around a new mother of a 1-week-old baby girl has dragged her boyfriend, totally clueless to her prior infidelity, halfway across the country only to confess to him and the nation that the baby might not be his (a scrapbook moment, if you ask me). Of course she cries and he cusses and Maury tells both kids there's no reason to fret. He, after all, can get to the bottom of this DNA dilemma. Two cheek swaps and a day later, the results are in! It actually says that on the bottom of the tv screen.
Maury opens the prophet envelope, "In the case of the therapy-bound baby, you ARE the father!"
The young lovers leap in each other's arms, excited and apparently more in love than two people ever have been. He confessed his undying affection, she does hers and the two skip off together toward a life of boundless bliss.
And I think to myself, hy the hell are the rest of us forking over hundreds if not thousands of dollars for romantic getaways in the Caribbean or Hawaii or Venice or wherever the hell else we rush off to it reignite our passion when clearly the most romantic vacation on Earth takes place center stage at dysfunctionpalooza. I mean, shit, Maury will even fly you out to New York, pay for a gourmet meal like wings at Hooters, send some "sexy decoy" into the green room to suck face with your cheating man so you don't have to and put you two lovebirds up at a 2 star hotel. Now that's all-inclusive, Cancun!
So, listen up America, you think Sandals Resort is a love retreat? Guess again, fool. Go appear on national television, reveal secrets that will render your kid forever teased and likely unbalanced, and then you really will know what love is.

You are NOT the.......

I have a confession. It's really scary to just put this out there, so I'm just gonna do it, like ripping off a Band-Aid. Okay, here goes: I LOVE THE MAURY POVICH SHOW! I mean, really, really love it. Well, not all the Maury shows. I could really care less about the "little people" who overcome the challenges of the BIG, BIG world, not very liberal of me, I know. I also don't want to watch that spitting drill sergeant abandon those screaming toddlers with the loud-mouthed hood rats. Personally, I doubt that 30 minutes of shock therapy baby-sitting as prevented one of those disrespectful brats from premature parenting, but God knows how scared the poor kids are. But, either way, those show have far more taste and refinery than the Maury sets I adore. You guessed it, it's the paternity show. Occasionally I will pull for either a positive or a negative result, but normally I'm just giddy over both parties so passionately believing their paternity position. One way or another, one is going to be wrong. I find it especially sinfully awesome when they bring up some cussing grandma or new wife for good measure. They fight, they break dance, they even do back flips. Since paternity tests have gotten so cheap, I really don't understand why most of these folks come on national tv for their scandalous ways to exposed to a dumbfounded country. What's worse is this airs in the exact same slot as Democracy Now, when I am suppose to be learning about what section of the Constitution is currently being used as a rug for the nation's lawless indiscretions. As ashamed as I am to admit this, I'd really rather find out just who the Baby Daddy is.
As though these Maury paternity shows weren't flea market tacky enough already, he has now added a fancy feature to his website. Basically, photos of two people are uploaded and then merged into their future "baby. The result is some unholy image of a zombie child or something else straight out of horror flicks. I struggle to explain it, really. It is like the bit Conan O'Brien did with the famous couples. He did it for years until Maury came along and stole his side-show thunder.
When I visited the site, as you knew I would, I noticed a "Baby Album," the morphed images of other visitors on display. Now, some of these folks are pretty special in their own right and will most likely be future guests, if you are smelling what I'm stepping in. I really wanted to do one with my photo with Rowdy's, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I've admitted to you, my faithful readers, that I have this Maury addiction. It's all about the baby steps, no pun intended.