One of the toughest challenges facing someone who wishes to express a strong opinion is in explaining how he or she came across the information to be complained about. For example, I once read an excoriation of Hustler Magazine.
     But first, let me explain that Hustler, the publication owned by Larry Flynt, is the world’s most obstreperous “adult” magazine What’s “obstreperous”? I don’t have a dictionary handy, but . . . it’s bad.

     The excoriator, a man of the cloth, couldn’t simply write that he’d bought the magazine and thought it was filth. If he had, that would open up path for someone to ask, “And what were YOU doing reading this magazine you hate?” The minister’s explanation went something like this: “I was in the dentist’s office and just happened to notice a magazine I’d never seen before, and it was left open to a very revealing set of pictures. . . .” Notice how in the course of human affairs, “How did you find out?” and “Who told you?” take precedence over that which you wish to complain about.
     That explanation done, I assume readers of Work of Art will not panic when I admit to having watched an entire episode of Jerry Springer.
     I could say, “Well, I was innocently surfing between “Masterpiece Theater” and a program on A&E, I just happened to come across the studio-audience program that exploits people and appeals to the lowest common denominator.
     Let me explain:
     Because I watched an episode of Jerry Springer, I can provide, as a public service, an incisive, inclusive look at the program and thus save all of you the effort of switching it on.
     This is the usual scenario: A man decides to cheat on his “wummun” because he found some other wummun more exciting. Now rather than applying back-woods justice to the offenders, the participants apparently call the 800 number and manage to get invited to appear on the show.
     That means flyin’ to the city, sleepin’ on real pillers, eatin’ with utensils and havin’ runnin’ water.
     Now the participants can’t be making all this up. They’re ready to slug it out.
     Jerry will have the aggrieved wummun tell her story, whereupon, the offending husband and his new wummun, who have been waiting off-stage, suddenly appear.
     The members of the studio audience, the totality of whom possesses the collective consciousness of a box of Krispy Kreme donuts, spontaneously greet the lovers with chants like “You’re a ho’, yo’ a ho.'” Before she prepares to gouge out the other wummun’s eyes, the wife asks something like, “Hast thou had or contemplated having carnal knowledge of my spouse?” The husband and new lover take on not only the wife but the studio audience as well, with highly original suggestions that the jeerers plant a kiss . . . somewhere.
     The irony of the entire scenario — and the plot’s the same every time — is that Jerry Springer feigns shock at learning that one of the parties was (gasp!) unfaithful. Add to that the presence of a half dozen bouncers who step between would-be brawlers. Interesting that a TV host invites and pays for people to share their secrets before a national audience and he knows the subject can be volatile. And Jerry’s surprised when the aggrieved wummun wants to cha-cha with the “other woman”?
     Last week’s episode was well- scripted. Just when we begin feeling sorry for the wife, she breaks down and asks her husband, “Then you didn’t mean all those sweet things you said last night in bed?” Upon discovering that there were conjugal matters between the husband and his own wife, the other wummun becomes irate, wondering what could possess her stolen boyfriend to do things with his wife.
     But the best is yet to come: The girlfriend admits she’d now carrying her boyfriend’s baby, and, to the wife, “Whatcha gonna do about that?” Well, the wife does her one better: “I’m pregnant also, but the baby doesn’t belong to you (the husband). In fact, I’m not even sure who the fathers of our three kids are.” Amid audience chants of “Trailer trash,” “You’re a loser,” and “You suck,” Jerry puts on his “well I never . . .” expression and calls for a break. And what is this break? A solicitation for more guests: “If your wife infected you with genital herpes while on the back of a motorcycle, please call the Jerry Springer Show . . .” That was my cue to step into the other world, with the realization there are many people eager to air their linen before a TV audience. Too spooky all this reality, I thought. I need to go back to something more believable, maybe a novel. What do I have handy? “Harry Potter.” These plots, in which people fly and perform other amazing feats, are much more believable than Jerry Springer.
     A half hour of Jerry convinces us that truth indeed is stranger than fiction.