I love me some TV, but Sweet Suave-ay Jesus, do it suck. About 98% of it, I’d say. And I’ve rarely felt that so acutely as this week. Tabloidtainment shows refuse to let Anna Nicole Smith die. Yes, still. There’s that doctor who goes on the ladies-who-stay-home shows wearing his scrubs to show he’s a real doctor. Sally Field jumps the ad shark, getting faux-incensed that her friend “has to set aside time every week to take her Osteoporosis medicine.” Casting begins for Fit For Love, looking for “couples who want to improve their love life through a radical fitness and life changing program.” Then Calvert DeForest (Larry “Bud” Melman) dies.

And don’t get me started on The Tony Snow Show broadcasting too infrequently from the White House press room. Worst sit-com ever. It’s enough to make me wanna read a book or something.

Then, like the leathery hero stepping over smoldering dead bodies to hand me a frosty lemonade, comes Thursdays. Earl, Office, the wonderfully dooty obsessed Sarah Silverman (to hopefully return soon, as will Reno 911 in April), 30 Rock, Andy Barker, PI. (Not as good as Andy Richter Rules the Universe, but I’m patient. And devoted.) And now Ira Glass brings This American Life to life. On TV. Thursdays. And so far the visuals don’t seem to ruin it nearly as bad as I’d feared. Quite the opposite, in fact.

But the creamy dollop atop this au gratin of couch potatoism is Penn & Teller: Bullshit, launching its fifth season on Showtime last night with an episode on obesity. These Errol Morrises of cable and stage delectably debunked commonly accepted diet myths, disproved some fitness fallacies (as simplistically as the opposition proved them), and re-won my heart. Made me laugh, too. Got Little Debbie Nutty Bar crumbs all over my bathrobe.

Watch them call bull BM on the BMI here. Schedule of airings here. Later in the season they take on tits, cars, Satan, and Wal-Mart.

And all crammed into Thursday nights. Must-see TV, indeed.