Jeremy Eaton

IT IS BECOMING increasingly apparent to me that the world needs a new kind of TV superstar. A superstar that not only appeals to every demographic, but also looks great when his honey-baked ham is vacuum-packed into a tight pair of trousers. Naturally, that superstar should be ME. I was struck by this realization after noticing that there are absolutely no new shows starring a hot, young, sexy slice of meatloaf as a superhero. Oh, sure, you have Deadline, which stars Oliver Platt as a smarty-ass news reporter, but HELLO! He's tipping the scales at 450 pounds, for chrissakes! And you have The District, starring Craig T. Nelson as the fascist top cop in Washington, D.C., which is fine too--if you like your heroes with a drippy colostomy bag and a personality like Hitler with a stinging case of the itchy bungy.

Where have all the Tom Sellecks gone? Where are all the MacGyvers? How come there ain't no more Manimal? Where art thou, Fall Guy? And don't give me any Walker, Texas Ranger or Nash Bridges, either! Those guys are so old, it's a wonder they can swallow their own Metamucil, much less catch a crook! Of course, when you're looking for superhero meatloaf of the female persuasion, there are plenty of hotsy-totsies to fill the bill. You've got your vampire-stickin' Buffy, your sword-slingin' Xena, your vine-swingin' Sheena, and the newest addition to the ass-kickin' female arsenal, Dark Angel.

While I gotta admit that Dark Angel has a body that would make a preacher kick a hole in a stained glass window, the title of this show is stoo-ooh-ooh-PID! See, she's dark, but at the same time she's an ANGEL! Actually she's neither: Max (her character's name) is a genetically enhanced super-soldier on the lam from a secret government project, and living in a bombed-out Seattle in the year 2020. She's got a job as a bike messenger, lives in an abandoned warehouse (that looks almost as good as the set of Friends), and has a--wowza!--black lesbian pal. Anyway, when she's not whipping around town on her crotch-rocket motorcycle or ripping off or kicking the asses of all the rich people, she's downright depressed about being a super-powered hottie who can't hold down a b-friend. So, instead of Dark Angel, they should have named it Mopey Soldier, or maybe Clinically Depressed Bike Messenger, or waitasecond! If they changed the main character from a girl to a guy soldier with a venereal disease, they could call it Dishonorable Discharge!

But I digress. To encapsulate, I don't have any problem with the proliferation of women dressing up in tight leather and opening up cans of whoop-ass. But the point of this particular column is ME, and why I am not the newest TV superstar. I would like all the TV producers out there to know that I look great in tight leather outfits (especially if I have the opportunity to shave my hairy body beforehand), and would like to propose the following show for a mid-season replacement: Happy Humpy. In this show, I am a genetically enhanced TV columnist who uses his powers to score some booty. Get it? I'm not "dark" I'm happy!