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I'm tied in a chair -- a straight-back, wooden kitchen chair, positioned in front of a television. A DVR is connected to the set and will play the following:

6 "judge shows."
American Idol.
Reruns of Andy Griffith.
Maury, Oprah, Ellen and The View.
Fox News prime-time lineup: O'Reilly and Hannity and whatever comes after them.
Real Housewives Of Orange County or whatever it's called.
Nancy Grace saying "Tot Mom" over and over on a repeating loop.
Suze Orman saying anything at all.
Straight "diaper baby" fetish porn.
Bobby Flay cooking something.
Iron Chef.
Another documentary about The Titanic.

I am force-fed Brussels sprouts and asparagus by handsome, shirtless cubs I can never touch. I know my pores and body fluids will stink for weeks and if I'm released from the chair NO ONE is going to swallow for at least a month. I am not allowed to smoke or use a nicotine patch. Queens with OCD arrive and paint my nails. Straight men are brought in to stand around discussing pussy and drink beer -- they become exponentially dumber by the minute. A telephone is strapped to my ear and I'm forced to talk to women with PMS and OCD about their recent divorces. Monkeys hurl feces at me after they have been fed two days worth of fresh fruit.

There is no accent lighting. None at all.

The room is orange.

Bits and pieces of that scenario have already happened to me, just not all at once.

OK, no one can force-feed me anything -- I have powerful jaws.

More hell:

My aunt just came in and asked me to recap and explain the entire two seasons of Lost that she didn't watch because she wants to "catch up" now.

Is she fucking kidding?