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courtesy MTV

I feel nearly certain MTV has slipped me some kind of mind-altering drug these past few weeks. This undetectable yet potent elixir causes me, who would rather claw my own eyes out than watch an episode of ‘The Real World’ or ‘The Hills,’ to be absolutely enthralled by their newest reality offering – ‘Jersey Shore.’

In case you spent the month of December ballooning cross-country, the show follows eight Italian-American twenty-somethings who were chosen to live in a house in the town of Seaside Heights, New Jersey. The group “works” at a T-shirt shop on the boardwalk, but the real magic happens when the sun goes down, skin is exposed, and alcohol and hormones flow freely.

Even though some Italian-American groups have had enough already, I just cannot rid myself of those self-proclaimed guidos and guidettes. The show just has a certain non so che that draws me in week after week, waiting with baited breath to see just how much abuse Pauly D’s hair can take or if Snookie blacks out from drinking too much.

As their actions become more ludicrous, more parodic of human life than anything I’ve seen before, I’m more sucked into the story. I find myself pulling for Vinny, the kid who hasn’t quite made the leap into full-on self-absorption, to make it out of the house without losing whatever youthful innocence he may have left. I hope that Snookie finally finds that maturity she keeps talking about. And I can’t help but root for Mikey – aka “the Situation” – to be exposed as all talk.

And I’m not alone in my obsession. It seems that MTV has created an instant hit, counting the likes of Micheal Cera and a few staff members at New York Magazine among its list of fans. Still don’t quite believe the rumors of the show’s popularity? Try typing “Jersey Shore name generator” into Google and see how many results you get. It’s a phenomenon, all right, and only time will tell just how long 15 minutes lasts for the Sultans of Seaside Heights.

I wish I knew how to quit you, Jersey Shore.

So if you haven’t seen it, that’s the tagline for NBC’s newest steaming pile of reality show, The Baby Borrowers. But when you think about it, isn’t all reality TV the best form of birth control there is? Honestly, who can watch 5 minutes of Tila Tequila, Bret Michaels, or Tyra Banks’ crew of underfed crybabies without questioning the desire to bring a child into the world? I would think that the mere possibility of birthing a child that might end up on the 20th season of Rock of Love is enough to make anyone sterile for a very long time.