Many years ago, my son and I used to enjoy watching Wheel of Fortune every afternoon as we sat down in front of the television with our take-out supper which I had picked up on my way home from work. Don't judge me. He turned out just fine.
At some point, though, The Wheel began to get on my nerves. The hyperactive contestants, the constant clapping, the ageless Vanna White (who still looks good, by the way) became too much to bear. I have since opted for Seinfeld, Raymond or King of Queens reruns which I watch while eating my Stoeffer's Lean Cuisine. Don't judge me. I've turned out just fine.
The most irritating, nauseating, annoying thing of all, however, the thing that sends me screaming for my remote control, is the way ninety percent of the female contestants describe their children as "fantastic" and their husbands as "wonderful." Just once, I'd love to hear a contestant say:
"Well, Pat, my ungrateful children are constantly embarrassed by me and told me they would disown me if I came on this retarded show, so screw them. If mama's a big winner, you can all kiss my ass. My husband? You mean the raging alcoholic who won't get a job? That guy? Yeah, screw him, too, although I quit doing that years ago."
I, actually, think Pat Sajack would love that.