T GAMBLE: Dealing with the influence of really bad TV

With time on my hands, I have watched a good deal of the television show “My Six Hundred Pound Life.” In case you have missed this Emmy-worthy masterpiece of Americana, it revolves around people who weigh more than 600 pounds and their decision to go see Dr. Now about weight-loss surgery.

I watch this show with my 15-year-old son, who has the empathy of Hitler when viewing these episodes; my 16-year-old daughter, who is mesmerized like she is watching a bad car wreck, and my wife, who watches it for the same reason I do. It makes me feel a whole lot better about myself after watching these folks.

It makes me feel better for one thing: because I can still fit into a 2010 Dodge mini-van, even the front seat. Some of these folks can’t, so I’m ahead of the game. I may be a couple of pants sizes larger than I used to be, but these folks seemingly said “Let me see if I can double my size,” and then by gosh they did it. One person actually was sent home to lose weight, returned to Dr Now in a month and had gained 58 pounds. My pot-bellied pig, Some Pig, can’t match that impressive record. You know it can be hard to find someone worse off than yourself sometimes, but, by God, I think this show meets the need if you have it.

Another show with equal ability to make you feel better is the “Hoarders” show. This show features folks that have been overtaken by all the junk they store in their home until they face legal condemnation. I watch it for the same reason as “Six Hundred Pound Life.” I can still get into my storage room at the house. Now, I may need to turn a little sideways, but I can get in it.

The last one of these I watched, they cleaned out the woman’s house only to discover the junk had been holding it all up and they had to tear the house down. I fully expect that one of these episodes will turn up Jimmy Hoffa’s body. I mean, these folks have rooms stacked to the top with stuff nobody would consider worth keeping. A homeless person would come to one of these houses and refuse to sleep in it.

Watching all this may backfire on me. My son now thinks his room looks clean and organized. It actually looks like videos I’ve seen of the World War I trenches, but he’s happy as can be, as he can still maneuver in it pretty well. I’ve decided that 300 pounds, maybe even 350, would not be an unreasonable weight, and I never much liked my mini-van anyway. I may just start driving a ‘72 Cadillac with only the back seat in place. So far, thank the Lord, my daughter and wife seem unaffected.

Hopefully real TV will start with some new shows soon, so I can watch something of more substance … like “The Walking Dead.” I can only watch this junk TV for so long.