The Playboy Channel of Schadenfreude would be a channel that, when you turn it on, you'd always see sexual desire pushed to its absolute extreme and then smashed to a whimpering mass by absolute denial.

Attractive men and women of all ages and types would be shown crying screaming tearing themselves apart over sexual desire maximally aroused and then cruelly rejected just moments ago.

The unsophisticated would refer to it as the Blueball Express Channel.

My detractors of course would say, so what's the big deal, it's just more lame reality TV.

But that wouldn't stop me.

I'd go on to invent the Fox News Network of Schadenfreude which would just be all the Fox News anchors and commentators and staff sitting around, on camera, crying and moaning cause the Rapture happened today, and Christ didn't take THEM!

Then I'd create the NFL of Schadenfreude, where every play's a dropped pass, fumble, interception, fumbled interception, failed field goal from the 5, with 3 or 4 career-ending injuries per play on each side, and nobody ever scores and overtime goes on forever, till eventually the players' wives and children have to come in and take over for their deceased and injured spouses and parents, as do the wives and children of the fans.

Then I'd have Julia Childs do a Weekend at Bernie's kinda thing and call it the Cooking Channel of Schadenfreude, where of course not only would all the food taste like shit and come out burned to a crisp, but all the eaters would admit it and get sick on screen, so it's endless eating of charred ugly vile-tasting food and then vomiting it up in exotic restaurants around the world, where it's almost worth it to be eating and puking up shit-tasting food because the surroundings are so exotic and beautiful and the climate is so perfect -- until, that is, the tsunami hits just before dessert.

Then there'd be the History Channel of Schadenfreude, where people would just tell the truth about what happened in the past as well as today.

After that, I'd retire to the planned city I'd build on an island or in Florida -- called Schadenfreude City -- where, all day and night, animatronic people would move around the streets and malls, battered, destroyed, constantly complaining, drunken, broken, impoverished, dismembered, former celebs, fallen stars, in constant pain and rain and snow, while the human (non-animatronic) residents of Schadenfreude City, as well as the many non-animatronic tourists, walk around smiling and happy and carefree and filled with feelings of loving and giving -- and for reasons, they admit, even THEY don't fully understand.

"And if I couldn't do that," I'd tell the people who'd asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, "then I'll probably be something that ends with the suffix '-pathic' and starts with the prefix 'psycho-' or 'socio-' or 'homeo-'.

"And is followed by the word 'healer'."

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