The Marriage Ref OR Catching A Glimpse Of What Hell Looks Like

Nothing makes me more physically ill than reality television. If I even catch a glimpse of anything hosted by Regis Philbin or Ryan Seacrest I die a little inside. My own personal hell would be watching a group of skeletons clamoring incessantly, trying desperately to become Paris Hilton's new bff, while engaged in an eternal dance battle with Danny Bonaducie and the situation, all the while being judged by David Hasselhoff, Kathy Griffin, and some random british asshole.

That in mind, I recently decided to watch the pilot episode of Jerry Seinfelds new show "The Marriage Ref." Needless to say I went in with low expectations. Extremely low. So low in fact that I would have been perfectly satisfied with being disgusted.

Instead it was like watching an ambulance crash into an orphanage on Christmas. I have never been so afraid. Jerry Seinfeld and Tom Papa took my brain out of my skull, flattened it out, and wore it as a bib while they giggled and skipped around like two little girls at a make believe tea party.

If you must know, the show is about Tom Papa (a relatively unknown nobody) and a panel of B-list celebrity 'experts' adjudicating the most ridiculous, blatantly scripted, marital disputes. However, if anyone asked me to describe this show in real life I would simply say "it's bad... really bad."

The whole time I was hoping to get some sort of respite from the celebrity guest panel --Alec Baldwin from 30 Rock, a glimmer of hope-- but there was none to be had. Baldwin seemed like an abused animal at a corporate circus, "fact checker" Natalie Morales was silently screaming "WHY?!", and Kelly Rippa proved that you can put lipstick on a pig but everyone knows it's still just Kelly Rippa. No one was even telling jokes, they were all just yelling and cackling at each other. It was like I was in a hot tub full of witches and I couldn't get out...

In the end my pain was all for naught. I was asking for it. I could have shut my computer and ran, but I didn't, I stayed in that hot tub and let those evil witches have their way with me. You win Jerry Seinfeld, you win. I watched your stupid show and reinforced for you the fact that you can do whatever the hell you want. I don't have a bajillion dollars and I don't have a tv sitcom named after me, all I can do is seek refuge in the self-aggrandizing glory hole that is the blogosphere. I'm gonna go cry and post my feelings on twitter.