Who needs reality when there's reality TV?

During a time that saw the resignation of Bush cronies Karl Rove and Alberto Gonzalez, the two-year anniversary of Hurricane Katrina (I hear they had a roof party in Crawford, Texas), Mike Vick’s fall from grace and inevitable turning himself over to God, and cancer forums with (some) presidential candidates and Lance Armstrong in my hometown, you’d think reality would be entertainment enough.

Alas, I’m a reality TV addict, even with the alleged “reality” involves grown-ups playing pirate games in the Caribbean. “Pirate Master” wasn’t long for primetime, but CBS mercifully finished out the series with online episodes (even after one of the contestants committed suicide). I took pride in the thought that I might be its only viewer.

If you didn’t hear, Ben found the $500,000 treasure and walked away with $587,624. Buxom blonde stay-at-home mom Christa, whom I cheered from the start, came up short. She pocketed $70,416 for her trouble, and I wouldn’t be at all surprised if she winds up on another reality TV series.

She would certainly be a sight for sore eyes on “Big Brother 8.” The show airs three times a week, yet I can’t seem to get enough of the train wreck. Seldom has a group of less likable people been assembled on network TV (save, perhaps, “The View”), yet I’m pulling for the least likable one of all – Evel Dick.

The show will end about the time “Survivor China” arrives to fill the void in my shallow lifestyle. Surely, there’s another “Amazing Race” around the corner too.

For now, however, I must return to reality. My fantasy football team needs some attention.