I’m never quite clear on how I should spend a Sunday. For a period of time, some folks around town declared the Sabbath “Fuzzy Sunday,” which was basically just an afternoon drinking session. It was pretty swell, but it didn’t make Monday that way. I’ve tried cooking all day, working out, going to movies and whatever; one is about the same as the other. I generally end up watching sports, taking a nap and then watching TV until I can no longer keep my eyes open. I never really feel good about Sundays and this week, I have managed to find yet another reason to feel worse.

I usually relent that nothing productive is going to come out of my day sometime around 6 p.m. In an effort to at least salvage some knowledge from the day, I turn on 60 Minutes. Around 7, I feel marginally smarter, so I switch to Fox to rectify the situation with some “animation domination.” (Note: That’s their word, not mine. I still just call them cartoons.) The Simpsons used to seem smart and funny, but now it just seems like The Simpsons. King of the Hill still makes me laugh. Family Guy gives me much joy, and American Dad is beginning to grow on me. All in all, it’s a mindless close to a mindless day.

Imagine my chagrin when I tuned in this past Sunday and actually saw live people on Fox. Granted, they were far more cartoonish than any of the actual animation shows, but still, it was unsettling. After about two minutes, it got far more unsettling. The show was called ... um, something to do with holes ... Hole in the Wall, that’s it. The name sort of says it all. Contestants stand on a floor with a pool of water behind them. They dick around playing grab-ass for a few minutes and then a wall with a hole cut in it rolls toward the contestant. It is up to this person to contort their body in some way so it goes through the hole and they don’t fall into the pool.

It’s about as fascinating as it sounds, which is strangely really sort of fascinating. There’s no question and answer or games of chance. They just stand there and try to make it through the hole that’s coming at them. There are two people who help them along the way. The host, a smarmy sort of fella who makes insightful comments that indicate he’s probably made it past the third grade, is inexplicably on a 20-foot-high riser looking down on the proceedings. He has on a nice suit and wears subtlety like Andy Dick.

The other helper is a pretty hot chick who’s smarter than the hovering guy but really not by much. Her task appears to be making several double entendre comments before and after each person attempts to go through the hole. By the end of the show, when she said the contestants were going to face the final hole, I considered calling all my sex-obsessed, smart-assed friends to see if I could get them over to the house for a few minutes so we could also contribute by making childish obvious jokes. Sadly, there wouldn’t have been enough time. I should have called them when the show first started, but I never imagined the entire thing would be so ripe for smart-assed comments.

This particular show was broken down into two teams with three on each team. The first team was the Beer Bellies, and the other team was the Six Packs. Sometimes a guy would try to get through the hole by himself. Other times, they had to do it as a team. The latter led to the hostess actually saying, “Can all three of you fit into the hole at the same time?” Outstanding, just outstanding. It got even creepier when the three Beer Bellies mounted on top of each other and somehow managed to squeeze through a tiny little circular hole in the wall.

It is almost the absolute definition of eye candy. If you miss something, don’t worry, there are countless replays of each attempt to go through the hole. I can just imagine the average family sitting at home. “Holy freaking crap, you think he’s gonna make it through that hole?” “I don’t know, it’s a pretty funny shaped hole.” “You think you could make it through that hole?” “I don’t know, but I’d sure as hell try for $10,000.”

I’m an idiot. I often feel bad about watching too much TV to begin with, and I’m not sure I really need something to make me feel worse about the particular thing I’m watching. It does absolutely nothing for me, or anyone, with the possible exception of a few guilty, self-righteous laughs. The thing is, it’s still somehow compelling. It may just be because it’s so damned stupid. It’s more likely that I’m so damned stupid. It’s a shame I don’t care a little more about such a thing sometimes.