For the past few days, I've been watching VH1's non-stop reruns of their reality show The Pickup Artist, which is just an unmarked white van and fistful of roofies away from being the creepiest show on television. I cannot bring myself to look away, so I watch each episode with my face twisted in an expression that is equal parts horror and malicious amusement. The finale will air tonight and I have already come to accept that I don't have the self-control to avoid watching, despite the fact that every time I tune in, I lose a little more faith in humanity.

I suppose it isn't the fault of the contestants. After all, they're unintentional virgins and their minds are malleable, subject to easy manipulation by anyone who wears eyeliner. That's where the show's host, Mystery, comes in.