As most people do, I spent a great deal of Thanksgiving weekend watching bad television. Thanks to reality shows, watching bad TV is a lot easier than it used to be.

I avoid most reality TV, with a few exceptions. Years ago I was pretty into "Real World San Francisco," but mainly to see Puck and Pedro fight. "Apprentice" was good enough not to shut off right away, and I was even on "Last Comic Standing" briefly, before I found out it was a gigantic hoax. But the cavalcade of garbage to hit the air in this last year has prevented me from ever giving another reality show a fair chance. If I'm thankful for one thing this year, it's that I don't own a TV.

I accidentally caught three minutes of NBC's "The Biggest Loser," while flipping channels, mainly because the title intrigued me. I was wondering if they were trying to figure out who wastes more of their life playing video games or has the worst dating skills, or something like that. I was very wrong.

The concept is fairly simple - the contestants compete to lose weight, and the winner gets a quarter of a million dollars. The show is supposed to positively inspire others to lose weight, so much so that on the Biggest Loser message boards (yes, there are Biggest Loser message boards), the contestants are described as heroes. That's "heroes," not "heros." Very different things.

Let me see if I understand this. "The Biggest Loser" consists of twelve overweight contestants who all say that they're desperate to lose weight, but only get off their butts and do something about their health problems when there's money at stake. Those aren't heroes. For a quarter million dollars, I'd lose 170 pounds. And I only weight 170 pounds.

"Hey, where'd Steve go?"

"I don't know, but if you find him, I have all this money..."

Or maybe I'd be healthier and only drop 165 pounds. Then I'd be a five pound stick, being blown around by a good gust of wind. Hopefully they give me the money in small denominations, so it will weigh me down.

Some people's definition of "hero" is someone who affects positive change in another person. In that respect, maybe these people are heroes. But not in my book - I believe a hero is a firefighter or a soldier, not people who need a bribe to better themselves.

I understand that obesity is a serious problem in America. In a culture of excess, it is logical that while we race to fatten our piece of the pie, many people end up eating too much of it. And maybe it's difficult for you to accept someone skinny discussing this problem. But while I may not know the right answer, I know reality TV isn't it.

The producers of this show would lead you to believe that they're involved because obesity is a serious concern for them. No. Three of the producers came from "For Love or Money," a show full of ratings-pursuing whores. And that's just the producers.

What "The Biggest Loser" does teach is that people should be paid to better themselves, and surrounding fat people with food and seeing what happens makes good television. And as overweight America collectively sits and watches, clumsily spilling Cheeto crumbs on our old high school football jerseys, there's a certain irony. "The Biggest Loser" is not anyone on the show - it's us. It's the people who watch, the people who allow these shows to take over our entertainment. We are the biggest loser. Congratulations America - you win.

What do you think happens to the contestants who get kicked off the show? Who are publicly embarrassed and told that they're a failure at losing weight? While a few may continue to train or eat better, most of them will probably gain more, taking such a blow to their confidence and ego that training and eating better just become reminders of when America spent a season laughing at them. I would not be surprised if in two years, most of the contestants are heavier than they were when the show started. I smell reunion episode!

I'm glad I shut the show off so quickly. And I hope you do, too. If you haven't watched yet, don't. And if you have, you can find something better. Maybe you can find a new way to live vicariously through people instead of actually going out and living your own life.

If you are overweight and need inspiration, please don't look to reality TV. Look to a friend who has been able to lose a few pounds, or a doctor who can help counsel you through the diet that is best for your metabolism. The first step is not seeing how much other people can get paid to shape up - it's to change the channel, or shut off the TV entirely.

Hopefully without the help of a remote.

Steve Hofstetter is the author of Student Body Shots, which is available at www.SteveHofstetter.com. He can be e-mailed at steve@observationalhumor.com.

Damn their blue grass. Damn their Wildcats. Damn their fried chicken. I'm officially declaring war on the state of Kentucky.

If you've been reading my column for longer than one week, you'll remember that I was in a spinout car crash in that state. Though I was thankfully spared, my car and my dignity were not, and I resolved to sue Kentucky, since the state police were the ones who caused the accident. Little did I know that Kentucky's laws make about as much sense as, well, living in Kentucky.

Ooh, dis. Steve 1, Kentucky 0.

I called the Boone County police to determine if the officer that caused the accident did everything he could to avoid it. He had parked on the interstate due to an earlier accident, and hadn't used signal flares. I asked if officers, when parked on the interstate, are required to use signal flares. Yes they are, someone told me, unless they've run out or don't feel it necessary. Nice. Steve 1, Kentucky 1.

I recounted the whole story for the supervisor - about how the cop was rude to me, about how he didn't even notice my accident, about how he made me wait by my smoking car while he filled out paperwork. His supervisor seemed very concerned and assured me the guy would at the least, be called into his office and reprimanded verbally. Steve 2, Kentucky 1.

The supervisor took the cop's word over mine and didn't reprimand him at all. According to Officer Jerkface, I ran over to him very angry, and I told off the tow truck driver that had been on the scene from the previous accident. Odd, since all I said to the tow guy was "I was just in an accident"� and all he said was "tell the officer."� But somehow, that was me telling him off. Steve 2, Kentucky 2.

But the tow truck driver would be honest, wouldn't he? No. The tow truck driver's business is directly related to the police. When the cops see a car in a ditch, they can call whatever tow company they want - and this guy wants to stay in good with the officer. So if the officer says I approached the tow guy wearing a silly hat and dancing the watusi, he'll agree. And I don't even know the watusi. Steve 2, Kentucky 3.

I threatened to sue, but not in a threatening manner. In a cordial, "I really don't want to pursue legal action"� manner. The supervisor explained that before a lawsuit, I'd have to file a written complaint. "No problem,"� I thought, "I'm a writer and I complain constantly."� Then he explained that I'd have to file the complaint in Kentucky. And not at my leisure, either - to make it official, they'd set up an appointment to interview me about it. If I couldn't make it, the complaint was over. Steve 2, Kentucky 4.

Let's imagine that I could make their appointment and the tow truck driver drops his wild claims about me doing the watusi. I also have no legal ground to stand on. In Kentucky, no matter what the reason, if you hit someone from behind, you are guilty. They could be driving without break lights, they could cut you off in traffic, they could drive backwards into you, it is still legally your fault. Recently, an off duty police officer was driving on the interstate when he came upon a drunk woman passed out and parked in the road. He slammed his breaks and hit her from behind - and had to pay for the damages. But I didn't hit anyone from behind, so how does this all apply to me? The root of the law is that a driver needs to maintain control of their car no matter what - and since I could not recover my steering after swerving to avoid hitting the cop from behind, that, in the Kentucky court system, is the same thing as actually hitting the cop from behind. Steve 2, Kentucky ridiculous.

The supervisor admitted that the law was morally wrong, and that the police should always have signal flares, and that there should have been signs telling motorists to slow down on that curve (several cars crash there EVERY WEEK). He also admitted that the officer could have waited to do his paperwork until after the clear danger had subsided. And lastly, he admitted that there wasn't really anything I could do about it, beyond write that complaint. Steve helpless, Kentucky wins.

I don't have time to fly to Kentucky to make my appointment, so this column is my written complaint. If the officer thought I was angry then, imagine me now - $4,000 and several hours of my life poorer. Maybe I'll hold a benefit show to raise the money for a new car. If it's successful, I'll use the extra cash for a few signs on I-75 warning people that there's stupidity around the corner.

I will still perform in Kentucky - one of my favorite clubs is in Louisville. But when I do, I will trash that officer more than you can imagine. I'd print his name now, but, according to the laws of Kentucky, he'd be allowed to sue me.

And he could use the tow guy as a character witness.

Steve Hofstetter is the author of Student Body Shots, which is available at www.SteveHofstetter.com. He can be e-mailed at steve@observationalhumor.com.

Girls - you need to stop flashing people. Put away your breasts. We don't want to see them. It's enough. Stop it.

I'm going to take a lot of heat for writing a column encouraging girls not to flash. Guys will be upset with me. So will lesbians. I even thought of kicking my own butt for a minute there.

I grew up in the late 80s and early 90s, when breasts were not readily available. Even butts were seldom seen, as I distinctly recall my excitement at the episode of NYPD Blue where they showed a naked hooker from behind. Take that, Cop Rock.

Breasts were special. They were new and different and exciting. Now they're everywhere and they're starting to lose their luster. Maybe it's because I'm getting older and I'm able to see them without the help of television, but I think it's because flashing has just become more popular. By the way, my mother reads this column. Thanksgiving is going to be awkward.

Don't get me wrong - I like a good breast glimpse as much as the next guy or lesbian. I often waste a large portion of my day trying to see some cleavage, and am rendered disoriented when there's the slightest hint of cold weather. But things have gone too far. Breasts are just too easy to see.

I'm not talking about the internet, despite spending the better part of the day on it researching this topic. And yes, it was the much better part of the day. I'm talking about public flashers. Public flashing has gotten so ubiquitous that when Janet Jackson showed a breast on the most watched broadcast of the year, many people I knew thought it was "kind of cool." Kind of cool? If that happened while I was growing up, we'd have gone absolutely nuts. Partly because Janet was 15 and playing Charlene on Different Strokes, but we'd have still gone nuts.

My point is that the nation saw Janet Jackson's breast and uttered a collective "seen it before." How depressing is that?

I don't know many women who haven't flashed at some point. I even know a few who have done it on camera. I know women who have flashed for beads at Mardi Gras or at the cajoling of some guys or out of sheer boredom. Twice, I have seen comedy shows destroyed because an audience member flashed. Okay, that's not the whole story - one of the shows was actually ruined when TWO audience members flashed.

It was the first five minutes of the show, and the MC made a comment on how plastic and made up one of the audience members looked. The comedian jokingly asked, "how much did those cost you?" and the woman answered "$6,000" before showing off the finished product. To the crowd's delight and comedian's astonishment, another woman decided to compare her own to see if she got her money's worth. That makes sense - if I got a shiny new car, I'd be showing everyone.

Less than five minutes into the show and there had already been more naked women than comedians. Yes, it was cool. But how do you follow that?

"Wow, those were some breasts, huh? So what's the deal with breast milk?"

And my issue is not with the kind of women who should not be flashing at all (you know who you are). It's with the women who should be flashing but not this often. Sure, seeing a few breasts each morning would make my day. But only at first; the excitement would wear off after a while. Desert is only a treat when it doesn't automatically happen after every meal. If you only have ice cream occasionally, you look forward to it more and you end up healthier.

If you're the type to eat ice cream after every meal, maybe you'll disagree with me. If you're the type to eat ice cream after every meal off of a pair of breasts, you'll really disagree with me.

But, hot women of the world, I'm not asking you to wear turtlenecks. I'm not asking you to wear sports bras. I'm not even asking you to wear bras at all. What I'm asking is for you to keep your shirts on just a bit more often than you do. Then when you finally flash someone, it will be that much more special.

And, if you don't mind, could you please pass the ice cream?

Steve Hofstetter is the author of Student Body Shots, which is available at www.SteveHofstetter.com. He can be e-mailed at steve@observationalhumor.com.

If you've never been in a spinout car crash, I highly recommend it.

This past Tuesday, while the rest of the country was crashing and burning at the polls, I was doing the same in a 1993 Saturn. That's right, I'm not letting this election thing go without a whine. Okay, I'm done. Now, to almost dying.

I really did total my car on Tuesday. It had nothing to do with the election, as I was listening to Jim Breuer rather than CNN call and uncall various states. (As I type this, they're about to let us know who won Florida).

I was 20 miles south of Cincinnati, coming around a blind curve, when I noticed a police car parked in my lane. That's an exaggeration - only half the police car was in my lane. There had been an accident ten minutes earlier, and the cop thought parking in the fast lane of an interstate would protect anyone from hitting the tow truck. It did - I swerved, completely missing everything (including the road). I spun around, slid off the highway, and hit an embankment before stopping with nothing on me damaged. Except my pride. And my Saturn.

When you're spinning on a highway, there are six thoughts that go through your head. The first one is "I can regain control of this!" The second is "Crap, I'm gonna die!" The third is "That cop is a jerk." The fourth is "This is going to make a pretty good column." The fifth is "Wow, this is taking a while." And the sixth is "Crap, I'm going to die. Stupid cop."

I trashed the car, which is hard to do. As I said, it was a 1993 Saturn, which rolled off the assembly line trashed. I sat there and cursed myself while contemplating my second car accident in the first few months I was driving. I already put 10,000 miles on the car, but I didn't expect the last few feet to be through a pile of mud.

After climbing out of the car, I flagged down the cop and told him I was in an accident. He asked, "where?" Which was fascinating to me, considering I had just been going the wrong way on the highway in front of him. This is the kind of cop that misfires his own gun and then asks who shot him.

The cop's second question was more interesting. I expected to field, "are you okay," "was anyone else in the car and are they dead?" or "do you need help making your car stop smoking?" Instead, he asked, "can you wait by your car while I finish the paperwork on this one?" Nice guy, really.

Eventually, the first car was towed and it was my turn. The cop had me come over and sit in the back of his car, which made the day even better. It was bad enough that I wrecked my car and my dignity. Now I had to sit in the back of a squad car while all of northern Kentucky assumed I was being arrested.

"What'd that guy do?"

"I bet he swerved to avoid that cop, who should have put signal flares down, and thus destroyed his car."

"Criminal!"

The cop told me that I obviously lost control of my car and the accident report would say it was my fault. Also, signal flares are for suckers.

However unlucky I was to crash in front of Barney Fife, I was lucky to be unhurt. I was also lucky in that the guy who towed me junked my car and sold me another one. Then I was unlucky in that the new one is an Oldsmobile, which is like driving a boat. Then I was lucky in that the Olds came with sails and a guy with a peg leg in the back seat. When I want to back up, I just put it in "rrrrrr!" Okay, that was terrible. Maybe I lost a little in the accident after all.

I've already scratched one of the doors. When you drive a car that big for the first time, that's easy to do. Let me correct that. When I drive a car that big for the first time, that's easy to do.

Overall, I'm okay. I had to drop a lot of money on the new car, but I will be suing the state of Kentucky to recoup it. I hurt my ego a bit, but my friends have been telling me stories about their accidents all week, so I don't mind. And I cancelled a book signing that night, but the new car is better for traveling. It really is - you should see the trunk space. There may even be buried treasure in there.

I wonder if it's safe to drive with an eye patch.

Steve Hofstetter is the author of Student Body Shots, which is available at www.SteveHofstetter.com. He can be e-mailed at steve@observationalhumor.com.