I love love love George Lopez's new game show, Take Me Out. George is a charismatic host when he isn't serving as a flash card for the symptoms of alcoholism. Thirty "girls" are lined up at podiums, and one "man" comes out who they might win a chance to date. As the man gives more and more embarrassing information about himself, though, the girls can hit their buzzers to say, essentially, "Yeesh, I ain't getting in a car with that!"

Clearly there are some things the producers aren't telling us. Like, why would fame-seeking females hit a buzzer that kicks them out of a game? If the choice is between standing in the dark and possibly getting a free dinner with a Civil War re-enactor who collects Dolly Parton's used wigs, I'll go with the latter, thanks. It's like somebody on Jeopardy! saying Don Knotts was the eighth president so they won't have to endure the bonus round.

Ignoring the inexplicable, I love how the show defines American gender roles. See, men have confidence. We're goofballs, but we're gutsy. We can stand up and say, "Hey, I like dressing chickens in tiny suits of armor, and I don't care who knows!" We know what we like, and we just don't give a fuck.

Women, on the other hand, are shallow and judgmental. Why'd they ring the buzzer? Oh, I don't know, you know? He walks like a duck. His ears stick out. He reminds me of my sister's boyfriend's dad. Imagine an opposite-sex version of this show, where one woman is judged by thirty men. That show would be, like, eighteen hours long, because every time a dude declared the chick un-hot she'd burst into tears and go buy another pair of shoes.

Rest assured, the show is airy bliss. The best part is George's quips when he drags out the men for the ladies' critique. It's like Genitalia Euphemisms 101. "Let the sausage see the peppers!" he declares. "Let the hot dog see the buns!" he announces. "Let the clams meet the chowder!" he says.

I'm in love. I'm in heaven. I hope this fun can go on forever, but after the tacos find their hot sauce I'm stumped.