For some weird reason, I’ve never been invited to moderate a presidential debate. The first of three debates between President Obama and “Golden Mittens” Romney is scheduled for this coming Wednesday (6 pm PST/9 pm ET, all major networks), and if I were asked to moderate, I’m purrrr-etty sure I’d have a lot to offer! The way I see it, I’d bring up important subjects that are rarely discussed in the realm of political debate. SUCH AS:

Guys! The Emmy Awards are this week (ABC, Sun Sept 23, 8 pm)! But who has the time, am I right? I am one busy super cool horny dude, which is why I don’t watch the Emmys—I just predict the Emmys and thereafter accept my predictions as FACT. For example, the winners of this year’s Emmy Awards are as follows: Mad Men, Girls, American Horror Story, Louis C.K., Tina Fey, Bryan Cranston, Giancarlo Esposito, Benedict Cumberbatch, Betty White, and the guy who makes the drippy skin sores for The Walking Dead. Done, done, and DONE.

HOWEVER! The question still remains about who will win the 2013 Emmy Awards! Luckily for you, I can make similar insanely random predictions for next year’s ceremony, that are close to 100 percent accurate.

“Oh, boo-hoo-hoo,” I hear you cry. “Oh, boo-hoo-hoo, I’m scared of the coming apocalypse, and therefore I’m a big tubby crybaby with a diaper full of bottom-squirts because I am such a scaredy-cat crybaby chicken bawk-bawk!” YOU DISGUST ME. I am not the least bit scared of the coming apocalypse, for two reasons: 1) I have mad survival skillz, and 2) I’m not a scaredy-cat crybaby chicken bawk-bawk-BAAAAAWWWK!

But if you’re not scared? Then you obviously haven’t seen the commercial for Revolution—the new NBC show from J.J. Abrams (Lost) and Eric Kripke (Supernatural) that debuts this coming Monday (Sept 17, 10 pm). Revolution begins by depicting a modern, device-heavy world much like our own, when suddenly… KLUNK! Hey! Some stupid jerk shut off all the electricity in the entire world! And now? Nothing works.

If there’s one thing these Republican and Democratic conventions have taught me, it’s this: Feigned excitement always trumps the truth! Both parties have been crowing for their candidates like a team of cheerleaders hopped up on crystal meth—with little regard for facts, or the knowledge that most of us decided who we were voting for on November 5, 2008.

However! That being said, “enthusiasm” counts for a lot—especially in the sack. While I prefer the sexual wiles and experience of older lovers, it’s fun to occasionally to hop on the bone train with someone in their early 20s (who tend to treat coitus with the same aggressive enthusiasm as an Olympic gymnast working a pommel horse).

Guys! So here’s the deal (in regards to what’s on TV this week):

THURSDAY—The last day of the Republican National Convention. SNOOOOORRRRE!

SUNDAY—Breaking Bad’s mini-season finale. YAAAYYYYY!

TUESDAY—The first day of the Democratic National Convention. SNOOOOORRRRE!

And that’s it. WAIT! One more…

TUESDAY—That TLC reality show about conjoined twins. YAAAYYYYY! SNOOOOORRRRE! Ew.

And that’s it, for real. See, next week the new fall TV season starts in earnest, which will be super exciting, and you’re gonna have to hook up seven DVRs just to record it all. But this week is as barren as Jennifer Aniston’s baby-making bits. So if you ask me, this could be the perfect time for a… SELF-INDUCED COMA!

Greetings new Christian conservative readers! I welcome you to I Love Television™—the only TV column that believes in the teachings of our Lord Jesus Christ while actively despising Hispanic illegal immigrants. [Confidential to regular readers: Not really! My bosses noticed that my approval ratings have dipped… coincidentally when this newspaper started running my column. So now I’m courting the “Christian conservatives” in a desperate, cynical attempt to boost my numbers and keep my job. Hey, it worked for Republicans, right? Shhhhh! Mums the word.]

Let’s talk about television… right after this quick word of prayer. “Oh sweet glorious Jesus! Thank you for smiting the world’s wicked-doers, which includes, but is not limited to: Hell-bound atheists, liquor enthusiasts, internet porn sites, rap music, President Obama, the previously mentioned Hispanic immigrants, and sexy gay people with six-pack abs and tight butts that look like two French bulldogs fighting in a sack. In Chik-fil-A we pray… Amen.”

I’m feeling a bit insecure right now. As regular readers of I Love Television™ know, I’ve made a career out of sexual and occasionally violent shenanigans. I’m not bragging, but if you can’t remember the last time you instigated a drug and alcohol-fueled orgy involving a stolen police van, 27 drag queens, a case of Hormel Chili, and the graduating class of a Catholic Girls School—then I guess I am bragging. That being said… I’VE BEEN ONE-UPPED!

Here I was smugly thinking to myself that I’m the most grotesque, morally contaminated deviant to ever sell kittens into slavery—and along comes a comedy series that’s so deranged, so violent, and so steeped in debauchery that even its own network is ashamed of it! Say hello to Bullet in the Face (debuting this Thursday, Aug 16 on IFC at 10 pm), which was originally intended to run over six consecutive weeks.

I haven’t researched this at all, but to my knowledge there are “four horsemen of the apocalypse,” whom the Bible claims are scheduled to appear just before the end of the world—and they are as follows: HORSEMAN #1: Bloomin’ Onions at Outback Steakhouse. (OH! I forgot to mention these “horsemen” aren’t necessarily “men on horses”—they can be metaphors, too. In this case, a bloomin’ onion.) A bloomin’ onion is a large onion cut to resemble a flower and then battered and deep-fried. Obviously this is an unnatural evil abomination that deserves to reside on the Outback Steakhouse menu, and has done so since 1988. (OH! Forgot to mention these “horsemen” don’t have to arrive at once.) HORSEMAN #2: Siri.

Look, I have nothing against Shark Week. This annual weeklong tribute to those finny, ass-chomping murderers of the deep is as anticipated in the Humpy household as Christmas, Easter, and all those other made-up holidays. HOWEVER! The Discovery Channel could devote the occasional week to a far more frightening animal—the weenie dog. DON'T YOU DARE LAUGH AT MY PHOBIA!! The weenie dog is, statistically speaking, far more dangerous, and here's my three-pronged proof:

Proof One! Unless you're that dick Aquaman, how much time do you spend in the ocean? 20 minutes a year tops? Comparatively, how many times a year do you pass a weenie dog? Maybe 125? Therefore your ankle's chances of being mauled by a weenie dog are 125 times greater than an attack from a shark. (Note: The previous statistic was pulled directly from my ass, but it's nonetheless scientifically sound.)

UGGGHHNNNHH!!! It’s time for the Olympics again?? IT’S ONLY BEEN FOUR YEARS!! Groooooan, the Olympics are, like, the worst… thing… ever! And yes, I’m including: 1) George Zimmerman, 2) rancid cotton candy, 3) mysterious anal pains, 4) nose pimples, 5) visiting relatives, 6) empty pens that are returned to the pen cup, even though I’ve told that person a thousand times not to do so, 7) celery, 8) Holocostco—terrible name for a discount store, 9) weenie dogs, and 10) leukemia. Okay… fine… putting an empty pen back in the pen cup is worse than the Olympics. BUT I’M STANDING BEHIND THE REST!

Craigslist does not have a “ninja wanted” section. DID YOU KNOW THIS? Now, maybe they don’t have this problem in Japan—I don’t know, I haven’t checked Japan’s Craigslist, which I assume is called Takumislist or something—but my point is that thousands of ninja are currently unemployed because we, as a nation, aren’t putting these highly skilled laborers to work!

As most employers should know, ninja have a number of remarkable skill sets, such as a) wicked freaky martial arts moves, b) awesome weapons such as swords and grappling hooks and c) oh, just the power of “invisibility.” EVER HEARD OF IT? And if you’re an employer who can’t somehow make good use of these talents? Then maybe you should pass on the management of your business to someone who isn’t an IDIOT.

Jeff Daniels storms out of the glass-walled conference room for the fifth time in 25 minutes. Apparently, Nancy Grace can do that to a man. Take after take, her Southern-fried commentary on the Casey Anthony murder case has been blaring on multiple television monitors around the set of a TV newsroom, and her "Oh, God, will you look at that" attitude is more than Daniels' character, Will McAvoy, can bear.

McAvoy is a veteran anchorman unraveling before our eyes on The Newsroom, Aaron Sorkin's new HBO drama about the inner workings of a cable news channel. Imagine a Walter Cronkite type in our 24/7 schlock news cycle and you get the picture. McAvoy is mad as hell and he couldn't care less what Grace, God or Twitter has to say about it.

You want ME to calm down?!? Well, I want YOU to calm down!! Look. I know I’ve been a little stressed out lately—but you’d be too, if you were starting your own at-home pharmaceutical business. (Did you seriously think that writing this stupid TV column pays my bills? HA!! Amateur pharmaceuticology pays my bills!) Anyway, while being an entrepreneur can make one tense, I’ve come up with a product that will not only make me kazillions of dollars, but will also cure my low-grade nervous psychosis—and it’s called, “A Touch of Valium.”

Surprise! I’m hung over again. Luckily, I have a surefire three-pronged cure that fixes my hangover every time: 1) Pork belly. And lots of it. 2) Rough sex. And lots of it. And 3) six hours splayed upon the couch in my underpants watching Veronica Mars reruns.

Naturally pounds of pork belly and rough sex can be procured at any grocery store. HOWEVER! If one is looking for old episodes of Veronica Mars, I suggest the SOAPnet channel, which features old-timey eps of All My Children, General Hospital, and daily doses of Veronica (M-F 5 & 6 pm, Sat 1-3 pm, Sun 10 am-noon).

Hoooo-RAH! The greatest holiday of the year—Fourth of July—is right around the corner, and I’m happier than a dingo with a fat Australian baby in his mouth. I love Fourth of July because it contains all my favorite things: Explosives, binge eating, binge drinking, and binge porking. And it has absolutely nothing to do with that holiday hog, Jesus. The Fourth of July is all about KICKING ASS—whether it’s kicking the asses of those dandy British fops during the Revolutionary War or kicking the ass of Ronny Schlamicker, who very unwisely tried to baloney-block me with Shirley Roundtree at Camp Wannawee’s July 4th Big Bang Extravaganza of 1983! (Note to Ronny: All is forgiven, and you should drop by for dinner—that is if you’re no longer eating from a tube.)

Have I mentioned I have a lot of readers in prison? It makes sense if you think about it: I watch tons of TV, they watch tons of TV… I make wine in my toilet, they make wine in their toilet… BUT! What’s interesting is that the incarcerated readership of I Love Television™ is almost exclusively female. And I’m still trying to figure out why. I assume it’s because male prisoners find me threatening. They are threatened by a) my tats—even though I drew those tears on with a Bic pen, and b) my sexuality. It’s just too much for them. Male prison is already a hotbed of pent up sexual frustration, and I can easily imagine a horny riot breaking out after reading one of my columns. But lady prisoners love me!

Let’s talk… TECHNOLOGY. Now, while I am generally in favor of technological progress, there is definitely some room for improvement. Example: And I hate to play “Monday morning quarterback” here, but… before Steve Jobs died, I kinda wish he’d spent a little less time on the iPhone, and a little more time on making a FUNCTIONING INTERNET. I’m sorry, but my internet STINKS! When I flip on a light switch, does it take anywhere from ten to 45 seconds to turn on? NO! It comes on immediately. And yet, when I hit the internet porn button on my internet, I’m forced to wait… and wait… and wait—sometimes up to a full minute for it to come on! THAT AIN’T RIGHT, AND I’M TIRED OF WHAT AIN’T RIGHT!

YAY!! Summer’s here! And that means two things: 1) There’s an anus-load of new TV shows to watch, and 2) my thong finally gets to emerge from hibernation! (Naturally, number two is far more important than number one, which is why I’ll spend the bulk of this column talking about number two.)

Oh thong, how I’ve missed you so! You must’ve been so lonely crammed in that dark, musty corner of my underpants drawer for lo, so many months. But now? You’re free at last, free at last, thank god it’s summer, because you’re free at last!

There are three great inventions of the modern era: 1) Totino Pizza Rolls. 2) Corporate sponsorship of crappy television columns [Thanks again, Totino Pizza Roll company!], and 3)… the internet! Now, I’m old enough to remember the dark days of humanity before the internet was born. For example, if I needed to publish a “fact,” I’d either make it up, or go to the library. (HA! Right. “The library.”) If I wanted porn, I’d rent it from a skeezy adult shop, and suffer through several minutes of boring exposition (usually involving pizza deliveries, suspicious job interviews, or a weekend lesbian getaways) before the banging would finally commence. And before the internet, there wasn’t a public forum for videos involving hilarious and crippling trampoline accidents.

Memorial Day! The official holiday for “remembering things,” as originally created by the Hallmark Greeting Card Company back in 1965. Now, I love Memorial Day because a) it reminds me to remember to take a day off from work, and b) it’s the only holiday designed to celebrate a function of the brain. Does the liver get a holiday? MINE CERTAINLY DOESN’T! HAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAA!

Goddammit, I need to remember to get my own comedy show.