Stalin and the Idiot Box

When I first moved in with my two daddies, I thought life would be a happy lark where we would do fun stuff that everyone enjoys, like penguin hunting, surf lurking and subway nibbling. But after a short while, I became aware of a strange object in the household that seems to hold the kind of sway over my daddies I had thought was confined to little old Italian ladies spending hours mumbling in front of some plaster statue at Saint Pedophilius.

That was my first encounter with the idiot box.

Now, thankfully, my daddies do not have cable, so there's a limit to the amount of non-penguin-hunting-related programming I must endure. I have even come to like some of the offerings of the box.

• Law and Order SVU: I always dance to this show's intoxicating theme music - the rhythm just turns me on, and besides, Christopher Meloni seems like a healthy, low-fat nibbling option.
• Desperate Housewives: more tasty nibbling objects and behavior appropriate to my species.
  
• America's Next Top Model: Many people I know from work, all made up to look glamorous.
• The Apprentice, Survivor, et al.: Short of my annual escape to the Great Barrier Reef to go visit with my great-white-supremacist cousins, reality TV shows bring me closest to what being a shark is all about. There is distressingly little nibbling going on, however, which needs to change.
• Tucker Carlson Unfiltered: The entertainment value of this otherwise limp and insipid show rests in my daddies' reaction to it. It's too bad the idiot box is one-way, because I think my daddies' mockery could make Tucker cry (like the sissy he is) in five minutes flat.
  

Oh well. I must be going soon; Daddy (the geeky one) has promised to take me to the gym, because my fins are getting a little bit flabby. Besides, I keep on hoping that I run into Ann Coulter in the pool; rumor has it that this tasty, low-fat morsel works out there as well.