It had to happen. Sooner or later, I was going to cop a snobbishly superior attitude and post about how I don’t watch much television. That time has come. Lucky you.

If you think I spend TV prime time in a cafe reading Camus and wearing a beret, think again. I am no intellectual, pseudo or otherwise. I am an alcoholic (hi Dave!) and choose to pass those hours perched on a barstool. While my local does have a TV, a big plasma-screen monstrosity in fact, it is usually tuned to a ball game or the like. Not my thing. Unless a sporting event consists of two women battling it out (preferably with vibrators), I tend to focus my attention on my one true love, my drink.

One of the reasons I don’t save money by staying home and drinking there is that I might find myself having to watch TV. As much as I like think of myself as the kind of serious boozer who can amuse himself by drinking Old Grand Dad straight out of the bottle while sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor, I do need distractions. In a bar, conversation and eavesdropping fill the void. At home, there is the idiot box. And what gems await me if I turn the damn thing on? I am treated to stuff like David Caruso on “CSI: Miami.” For those of you who are unaware of what effects prolonged exposure to this drivel can have on the human psyche, check out this video on YouTube:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_sarYH0z948

For the true couch potatoes, that’s years of wasted existence condensed into just over seven minutes. It’s a miracle they haven’t all hanged themselves.

There was a movie that came out when I was a kid called The Barefoot Executive, starring a pre-Snake Plissken Kurt Russell, who discovers a chimpanzee with the talent of predicting which television shows will get the best ratings. The film teaches a valuable lesson. No, I don’t advocate letting a prescient primate pick the fall line up. From what I’ve seen, the networks have been doing that for years. The point I’m trying to make is that as idiotic as that movie was, it provided and entertaining viewing experience by virtue of its hairy co-star.

So what I propose for “CSI: Miami” is to get rid of David Caruso (he’s used to career setbacks anyway) and replace his character with Sheriff Bobo, the meanest law-enforcement chimp to ever don a cowboy outfit. While we’re at it, toss all the pseudo-science sleuthing as well. What was an hour of tedium and cheesy one-liners becomes five minutes of pure entertainment. Bobo runs onto the set, flings his excrement all over the crime scene, and beats a confession out of the prime suspect.

I would gladly stay home to watch that.