Parenting is one of those sacred spheres wherein no one likes to cast any aspersions on another’s parenting style. For good reason: no one wants to have someone tell them how to raise their own kids. That’s part of the drama of Nanny 911 and Supernanny, favorite shows of my wife.

However, there are some truly bad parents out there. You know how I know? Because I’m also forced to watch a lot of children’s television shows during the day. Maybe forced isn’t the right word, but since I stay at home with my boys during the day– when I have to get some stuff done, lazy parent that I am (and thus in the perfect position to judge bad parents when I see them)–I let them watch a couple hours of television. Okay, sometimes they simply pester me to watch their favorite shows [and I engage in a little of the “Indulgo the Clown” brand of parenting].

I suppose I can cut a little slack for child rearing strictly in the animal community. Max and Ruby are rabbits, after all, but still you have an older sister watching her baby brother. Occasionally Grandma bunny pops on the scene. After a bout of my wife’s protests, I quit telling the boys my imaginary “back story” explaining the continued absence of their parents. Though I long for the Fatal Attraction edition where they both end up in pots.

But who would let their daughter–how old’s Dora the Explorer? Four?–run around the country side with a monkey? I mean, really. I’ve been to the zoo. Monkeys aren’t the cleanest of animals: they’re prone to flinging their own crap and masturbating as soon as a crowd has gathered. Well, at least the monkeys at our zoo here in Indianapolis.

Though hanging out with a monkey has got to be better than the disturbing trend of letting your kids run around with monsters. There’s Maggie and the Ferocious Beast. You want to know how bored I get when it’s on? I’ve been trying to count the spots on the Beast. I think that there are somewhere between 23 and 31 spots, depending on how angry he is. At least Dragon Tales has a catchy theme song, unlike Barney.

I console myself with the fact that it’s either them or Jerry Springer and Maury Povich. There can’t possibly be that many trailer park dwelling transvestites. I’m even starting to recognize some of the mothers returning to Maury to test guys to see who’s their baby’s daddy (which will happen when you’ve been on 13 times with no luck).

You’ll note that no bad television choices are my fault.

Comment on this bit of rantus interruptus anyway you want (I don’t know where you’re reading it from) or just do so at my message board.