Networks love reality shows.  They cost infinitely less to produce than an hour long drama series of some, minimal artistic value such as the recently cancelled Boston Legal.  Get a bunch of nitwits together, toss them in the human rat maze of your choice, place the cheese where you want and Voila!  Who cares if the dialog sucks.  We watch these things in a manner similar to the way we can’t help ourselves from slowing up to eyeball car crashes. 

We simply cannot look away.

In this day and age of profit driven programming, we find ourselves inundated with the most ridiculous of Reality Shows as these folks look to mail it in on us.

So, ladies and gentlemen, I give you “Mother Knows Sex” a reality show about a woman who runs a sex toy company and the trials and tribulations of her family.  Actually, it’s not the “trials and tribulations” but rather, as the press release says, “the struggles faced by Patty Brisben and her family as she runs her business.”

What struggles?  The mortification her children might have that their mother might come to their school for a little show and tell after stopping off at the local 7Eleven for a blueberry slurpy and a few extra packages of Duracells?  Maybe it’s the difficulty her husband has with the needling he takes at work from his peers.  

Or does mom put her latest product out on the dinner table as a discussion topic to get input from her husband and children on what to call the thing?  I mean, you do have to wonder where these names come from, right?  Maybe we wouldn’t find them so utterly ridiculous if we figured the owner was just throwing a bone to her kid who rides the short bus to school wearing a hockey helmet when we click to find a product with the name “Coochy.”  

I mean in the right context, we might be a tad more understanding of these things.

And what of this name for the show, “Mother Knows Sex? Clearly they seek to have a take off on that timeless piece of 1950s Americana called “Father Knows Best”  that knew everything we needed to know about sex which was to let the big guy, Robert Young, come to Jane Wyman when the lights were off so she could take one for the team before he crawled off her and went back to his own twin bed.  Jane, naturally, got to sleep in the wet spot, if there ever, in fact, was one, that is.

Further down this press release we learn that Patty’s company, Pure Romance, was founded in 1993 and has 80 full-time employees in a multi-million dollar business built on a base of “independent consultants” who organize in-home parties where the products are sold.

Independent consultants?  Isn’t that a nice euphemism for Ponzi Scheme?  Or does it just make Patty a sex toy pimp?

And reportedly folks prefer anonymity when picking out this stuff.  How well does that work if you are having to pick up that 10” piece of pure silicon ecstasy in front of the wife of your son’s Little League Coach and ask if it comes in a bigger size?  You think that is bad, but how badly will your husband be blindsided by this when you ask whether or not it can fit in a harness?

Alcohol and other items likely get ingested to take the edge off.  This means most folks likely do not worry about this until they wake up the next morning and cringe and realize it will be more than your son that the Little League Coach is likely going to offer to drive home from now on.

Most of us realize these products play a reasonable role in many people’s lives, but, come on, there is such a thing as over sharing.  Do we really need to have a television show chronicling the trials and tribulations of someone who eats, breathes, and sleeps this stuff?  Is nothing sacred anymore?

Where or where is Jane Wyman when we need her?