It’s well after midnight on a school night. The television is still bathing me in its flickering light and dispensing its wisdom. During the day, television keeps us abreast of breaking news and compelled to stay tuned with its regularly scheduled programming. But at night, the television lineup consists of can’t-miss deals, pseudo-religious figures spewing nonsense and more cleavage than could possibly be healthy.

By far, late-night programming has the most exciting content on television.

Flipping through the channels we can find a man deep freezing a turkey and putting it in a contraption that will allegedly cook it to a succulent perfection. Meanwhile, Cathy Mitchell concocts a culinary miscarriage of her own on another channel with her GT Xpress 101, an indoor grill that aims to make our lives pleasurable by cooking good food quickly. As Mitchell pours brownie batter and stuffs fun-size candy bars into the wells of the contraption with her stubby fingers, two individually delicious ingredients are combined to create a horrific hockey puck of fat and calories.

On another station, a frail man whose wispy goatee makes my pathetic attempt at growing facial hair seem both virile and potent, is extolling the virtues of colon detox. He says that many Americans are bogged down by pounds of fecal matter that’s virtually spackled on to the inner walls of our intestines. Informercials are always educational.

Then there are the real estate programs. These enlightening segments are often about can’t-miss strategies to build wealth in the housing market without putting a lot of money in. The nitwits with room temperature IQ’s who host these programs are as much to blame for the foreclosure crisis as anyone.

Feeling amorous in the later hours and too poor to spring for an adult movie? Tune into an infomercial that is hawking some workout technique or piece of exercise equipment. In many cases, it is 30 minutes of something very similar to soft-core pornography. The women wear form-fitting outfits and sexually prance about, while men usually parade around glistening and shirtless.

But after being aroused and distracted by temptations of the flesh, a little televised hellfire and brimstone can quickly bring you back to reality. Seeing a sweaty Bible-thumper in all his glory really puts life in perspective. There is nothing like seeing some sequined-clad spectacle smacking disabled people in an effort to cure them that really makes you want to glorify God.

But I’m exhausted. Maybe it’s finally time to go to bed. My credit card is maxed out and pastor Melissa Scott is starting to look pretty foxy.

Jordan Guinn can be reached at [email protected]