Jerry! Jerry! Jerry!

I love Jerry Springer. He's is whupping Maury's ass in Living TVs weekend showdowns. And he's is big on the trannies, much like myself. Although if you're looking for weaves, Ricki is yer woman. But I don't love the drama. I don't love joining in the heckling, and waggling my finger saying "oh no you didn'h!". I don't even love the lunging attacks between guests, and I most certainly don't love the 20 second long bleeps. I love the sheer tragedy of it all. Heartless, me? Yes. Entirely.

When I watch Jerry Springer, in particular the cheater specials (like today's episode) it totally justifies my reasoning for being very, very happily single. I know the fact they are guests on a chat show exhibits their lower-than-average intelligence, but some people are really bloody deluded. And I fear ever becoming one of those deluded desperados wearing rose-tinted gogs. Crazy cat lady is a far more alluring prospect.

But even I could not stand the screams and howls and sobs of realisation from women watching their twat-nugget partners cheating with some random on secret CCTV footage. I managed about 15 minutes, during which I was Facebooking, before switching over to Genie In The House (which, by the by, has really grown on me). I doubt I could manage more than 5 minutes if I were to give it my undivided attention.

Still, its a reassuring reminder that it's okay for me to be a somewhat social freak. Ahh.

Last night, I made the surprising mixture of vodka and apple juice. Something I don't recall trying before and as mixers go, apple juice isn't the the first thing that springs to mind. It happened out of me being a skinflint tightwad. And made me realise I need a new tipple. Answers on a postcard please.

I've taken to playing an awful lot of online Scrabble. But I lose horrendously everytime. If I can manage to get a 5 letter word, its a good game for me. So I get by on the list on two-letter words which are, in my opinion, made up for the most part, and pluralising the other player's oh-so-clever words. It makes me feel as inadequate as I do when I watch Countdown. And for some strange reason, everytime I think of Countdown, I picture Bill Bailey.... hmm.