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    Jeremy sat mesmerized by the television set.  His body sank low into the old chair.  The pale red fabric was worn out from years of use.  His unblinking eyes stared straight ahead and his mouth hung open slightly. A spot of drool collected at the corner or his mouth.  Emanating from the television set was the steady chanting of the name Jerry.
    Jeremy never missed an episode of Jerry Springer.  And this afternoon’s show was an especially interesting one.  It turned out that today’s guests were women who were really men that needed to tell their boyfriends that they were men and that they were cheating on them with another man who happened to be their boyfriend’s best friend.  It was all quite exciting.  Most of the show consisted of incoherent yelling and cursing interspersed with fistfights and flying chairs. And not to mention everyone’s favorite: topless woman.  But if Jeremy wants to see them uncensored he’ll have to order “Jerry Springer: Too Hot for TV” as he will soon find out during the next commercial break.
    “Jeremy!” came a voice from somewhere else.
    Jeremy didn’t flinch.
    “Jeremy!” came the voice again, but louder this time.
    Again, Jeremy did not move.
    The sound of thunderous footsteps could be heard and soon a figure erupted into the living room where Jeremy sat. It was a woman.  In her early forties perhaps. And she wasn’t happy.
    “Jeremy!” she yelled again, “Are you deaf?”
    Slowly, Jeremy spoke, never taking his eyes off of the television screen.  “No,” was all he said.
    “How can you watch this garbage?” she asked him.  She received no answer though.
    “I’m going out.  Make sure you clean your pigsty of a room, and do your homework.  I’ll see you in the morning.” And without waiting for a response, which Jeremy had no intention of giving, she turned around and walked out of the apartment.
    For the next several hours Jeremy sat in front of the television, as he never planned to do any homework or clean anything.  Why should he do homework when he can hear so many tasteless jokes, see so much pointless violence and witness lots of gratuitous sex (thanks to pay-per-view) without ever moving?
    Jeremy was more or less raised by his television.  His mother was never home. His father was nonexistent.  But supposedly he lived with some stripper in Chicago.  His life was like an episode of the Jerry Springer show.  So he just sat at home alone most of the time using the TV to keep him occupied.

    That was ten years ago.  Now Jeremy was older.  He managed to struggle through High School in five years.  And he dropped out of his local community college after his third semester.  He then went on to become one of the greatest burger flippers of his time. His nametag no longer said Jeremy.  He was known through out the fast food industry as Super Spatula.  Jeremy had been long forgotten.
    Jeremy stood alone in a small room.  The sounds of people shouting and crowds cheering could be heard through distant walls.  He crossed his arms and tapped his foot impatiently.  Suddenly a voice erupted over an intercom.  It said, “You’re on Jeremy.”  He opened the only door out of the room and made his way down a narrow corridor.  The cheering of the crowd grew louder.
    As he stepped out of the hallway he found himself on a large stage.  Hundreds of people were standing and cheering.  A woman sat alone on the stage.  And an empty chair was waiting for Jeremy.  A strangely familiar old man with a microphone wandered around the audience, and across the back wall of the huge room was a sign bearing the words: “The Jerry Springer Show.”  This was the day Jeremy had been waiting for.  The day that his whole life had been leading up to.
    “Welcome to the show,” the old man said.
    “Hi Jerry,” was Jeremy’s response.  He walked over to the empty seat and sat down.
    “So your mother tells us you’ve become a male prostitute.”
    “That’s right Jerry.”
    “He’s a whore!” Jeremy’s mother interjected.
    “I am not you stupid bitch!”
    “Please calm down folks,” Jerry said. “Now tell us Jeremy.  Why did you decide to become a prostitute?”
    “Well, Jerry, I never finished college, and my McDonald’s salary just doesn’t cut it anymore.  Prostitution is good money.”
    “But why prostitution?”
    “Yeah, you dirty little whore!” his mother added.
    “Shut the fuck up!” he yelled. “I like prostitution.  And I’m good at it!”
    “He even fucks men too Jerry!” Laughter erupted from the audience.
    “Yeah that’s right!” Jeremy responded, “And so what?  I could get any man in here to pay me for sex, Jerry.”
    “I’m sorry, but you couldn’t pay me to have sex with you,” came Jerry’s witty response; which immediately prompted another explosion of laughter from his audience.
    “I didn’t raise you like this!” his mother shouted.
    “That’s because you didn’t raise me at all!  You were never there for me mother!”  Tears began to swell up in his eyes.
    “Oh yes I was!  I worked my ass off for you!”
    “But you were never home!” tears began flowing down his face. “You just left me in front of the TV all day long!  I never even went to school.  Not that you would know.  You were too busy out fucking men all day!”
    “Don’t you talk to me like that!”
    “Shut up!  Don’t tell me what to do.  At least I get paid for sex, you slut!”
    The crowd began chanting, “Jerry! Jerry! Jerry!”

    Harry sat mesmerized by the television set.  His body sank low into the old sofa.  The pale green fabric was worn out from years of use.  His unblinking eyes stared straight ahead and his mouth hung open slightly. A spot of drool collected at the corner or his mouth.  Emanating from the television set was the steady chanting of the name Jerry
    Harry never missed an episode of Jerry Springer.  And this afternoon’s show was an especially interesting one.  It turned out that today’s guests were male prostitutes, and their families didn’t like that very much.  It was all quite exciting.  Most of the show consisted of incoherent yelling and cursing interspersed with fistfights and flying chairs.
    “Harry!” came a voice from somewhere else.
    Harry didn’t flinch.
    “Harry!” came the voice again, but louder this time.
    Again, Harry did not move.
    The sound of thunderous footsteps could be heard and soon a figure erupted into the living room where Harry sat. It was a woman.  In her early forties perhaps. And she wasn’t happy.
     “Harry!” she yelled again, “What’s wrong with you?”
     Slowly, Harry spoke, never taking his eyes off of the television screen.  “Nothing,” was all he said.
     “How can you watch this shit?” she asked him.  She received no answer though.
     “I’m going out.  Make sure you clean your room, and do your homework.  Maybe I’ll see you in the morning.” And without waiting for a response, which Harry had no intention of giving, she turned around and walked out of the apartment.

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