My recent complaints about stealth marketing at the All Star Game might have given you the wrong idea. Sure, I hate ad culture with a passion. But that's only half the story; I'm also a raging hypocrite.

So with that in mind, allow me to wholeheartedly recommend VH1's Hogan Knows Best. Yes, it's a trashy reality show on VH1. No, it has no redeeming values whatsoever. Yes, it is another small step toward the complete destruction of American culture.

But, like the scientists who developed the hydrogen bomb, I don't have the time or inclination to consider the implications surrounding my participation in this process. Instead I am entirely consumed by the potential for the endeavor to attain a state of perfection. And Hogan Knows Best is a significant step forward. Allow me to explain.

Ex-wrestlers are ideal reality TV stars. They have spent years honing their entertainment skills into their crassest, most deadly form. They are visual spectacles trained to convey the maximum drama possible through a severely limited dramatic medium, and they know how to do it with a single set, a few props, and no budget for writers. And, in addition to being well-trained at appearing to be emotionally unstable, many of them actually are (largely thanks to a carney lifestyle and that perennial crowd favorite, substance abuse). Hulk Hogan was very good on the mic, but it would be a mistake to think that he was a knucklehead who just happened to be good at imploring kids to eat their vitamins. It takes a highly specialized set of theatrical skills to become the kind of star that Hogan was.

In the episode of HKB that I caught, daughter Brooke (age 16) would like to go out on her first date with an older aquaintance (age 22). The Hulkster doesn't like this idea. A simple, central conflict has been established.

Cut to the next scene. Hulk is working out in his lavish home gym with a former colleague (a round-looking fellow who I think was in the Legion of Doom). The conversation is completely natural, but focused. "You can't let her" changes to "how about a chaperone?" which changes to "you could always spy on her."

"You know," says Hulk thoughtfully, from beneath a barbell, "That's not a bad idea." Next scene: auto customizer's office. A remote GPS system is surreptitiously installed in Brooke's car. And things unfold from there.

The show moves forward efficiently, amusingly, and naturally. Other episode highlights include Hulk's pre-date interview with the prospective suitor, and son Nick's revelation, in the midst of remotely monitoring the date with dad, that the young man has nipple rings.

It's trash, and the storylines are a bit too tightly structured to be believable, but they're fake in just the right way. Reality has always been the Achilles' heel of reality TV. Putting a wrestler in the starring role ankles that problem nicely.

And did I mention that the show takes place in Clearwater, FL, the location of Scientology's national headquarters? There's something for everyone!