Reality TV is in trouble. The Situation is in rehab, America’s alcoholism mascot Snooki is pregnant, and there are only two shows left on the air worthy of inclusion in the GRTFL. With this in mind, I’ve decided to change it up this week and take you with me on my deep dive into the creepy/scary triple-digit section of your channel guide in search of new shows to celebrate in future columns. I spent the whole week sifting through endless hours of hoarding, cooking, rehabbing, building, destroying, partying, arguing, driving, swamping, dancing, parenting, storing, eating, puking, and RuPauling in an attempt at finding a digital nugget of reality TV gold. To be honest, I enjoyed the shit out of it. It was so exhilarating/depressing, I decided that every week I will go in on at least one new show and share with you my thoughts on it.

(Okay, fine, I probably won’t do this every week because I’m lazy and will forget that I even wrote this. I apologize in advance.)

I will watch Jersey Shore until one of us dies.

Even if it goes on forever and is never any damn good again, it will be the Zippo flame with which I burn my palm, G. Gordon Liddy-style, to prove my devotion to the medium of reality television. I’m even going to watch the reunion show that airs on MTV tonight, even though, if past reunions are anything to go by, this one will yo-yo tonally between mildly contentious and gun-to-the-head stilted and suck away an hour of my life without teaching me anything. I don’t care. I’ll watch it, and I’ll be back for Season 6, which begins filming in Seaside this summer, despite abundant evidence that there’s not enough Ron-Ron Juice left in the tank to get this vehicle around the block one more time. I have made a commitment. I want to see what happens to these people, even if what happens to them is nothing. Which I guess means I just like looking at them on a screen, and that there is no objective difference between me and Pauly D’s stalker, except physical distance and the fact that I don’t carry a sparkly bag.

Jersey Shore still does huge ratings numbers, and MTV has already announced they’re bringing it back for a sixth season -- but things are getting a little depressing over in Seaside. Exhibit A: according to TMZ, Mike "The Situation" Sorrentino is now seeking treatment for substance abuse. As they explain, “A rep for the Situation just contacted TMZ to say they are not confirming that Mike is in rehab ... just that he 'has spent the past several weeks at an undisclosed location for much needed rest and recuperation after his extensive production and appearance schedule.'"

Courtney The Bill Belichick of Bachelorettes’s reign as HBIC on The Bachelor has come to end. The way she captivated all that have been exposed to her particular brand of bitchy genius makes her exit feel much more like an intermission than the final curtain. On the flip side, watching the tanned and tatted crew from Joisey pack up their Shore Store shirts and scatter to their native tri-state enclaves had a feeling of finality. I'm sure that MTV will trot out the Seaside Seven for one more go 'round — but America’s feelings about this show pretty much mirror the cast’s feelings about the roof-deck hot tub. Both were super-exciting novelty items at first. Now, the novelty has worn off and they feel like neglected relics of parties past that pose a serious health risk and should be avoided at all costs. I have watched my last episode of Jersey Shore.

We don’t score reunion shows here at the GRTFL. Why? No idea, it is just a dumb rule that’s grandfathered in like the extra point in football or “Thou shalt not kill” in that God book. That said, I am not going to let an insignificant detail like “no one scored” get in the way of oversharing my thoughts on the hornet's swarm of hussie hatred that was released this week on The Bachelor: Women Tell All. Behold, “Things I Learned While Watching The Bachelor: Women Tell All”:

Nothing happened on Jersey Shore this week. Nothing. I can honestly look you right in the eye and tell you that we've established a stupid scoring system that rewards reality TV cast members for drinking, fighting, and coitus-denying — yet the entire cast of Jersey Shore scored a mere five points. Five points. You probably scored more than five GRTFL points at Thursday happy hour yesterday. I couldn’t be more disappointed by a show that just a year ago was a frenzy of fisticuffs and freakiness. Thank god for The Bachelor. The Bachelor is like a Justin Timberlake song; I don’t want to like it, I pretend I don’t like it, but I can’t get it out of my head. The Bachelor is so dumb, so wrong, and so damn American I want to print every frame of it on paper so I can eat it and have it sit in my tummy. If you aren’t watching The Bachelor, start immediately: It is like Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea — it’s about nothing and everything all at the same time.

Less than 24 hours after The Suspiciously Real Fake Bachelor Wedding that rocked the TV world, Bill Simmons and Reality Czar David Jacoby discuss the inevitability of Fantasy Suite relations, whether a winery or a sports bar is a better status symbol for a bachelor-on-the-make, and when is the optimal time for a bachelorette to reveal her baggage. Also discussed: Survivor, The Challenge and Jacoby's secret stash of reality TV shame-porn. (Yes, the Kardashians are involved.)

You can listen to this podcast on the ESPN.com Podcenter or on iTunes.

Previously on the B.S. Report:

Mike Breen and JackO
Chuck Klosterman
Bob Ryan
Marc Stein
Mike Lombardi, J-Bug

Dear Survivor,

I've been thinking about it a lot and I have decided that we're going to have to see other shows. It’s not me. It’s you. You see, Survivor, in the GRTFL you're only as good as your last start — and you sucked last season. Really sucked. I respect that you're trying to rope me back in with a format change, Jeff Probst ghost-riding a helicopter, and a super-hot country gal who scoops up chickens like Ozzie Smith scoops ground balls. But it's too little, too late. You are spending this GRTFL season in the GRTFL Development League. (I refuse to make the easy Jeremy Lin joke here; I have to save my easy-joke energy for the rest of the column.)

Love,

Jacoby

Would you like to see Ben the Bachelor’s rap video? Do you care what other reality show Courtney the Bill Belichick of Bachelorettes was on? Have you heard who Paula Walnuts from The Challenge thinks killed John F. Kennedy? Does it interest you which state in America Snooki thinks never sees sunlight?

Yes? Good! The GRTFL has answers to all those questions and more. Matter of fact, I won’t even make you wait for the last one, it’s Arkansas. Snooki thinks that Arkansas is in a perpetual state of darkness and has never seen the sun. I am really starting to think that Snooki is some sort of über-genius prodigy who created this character for her Princeton thesis. She is totally getting an A.

This GRTFL is being dispatched from Indianapolis during the lead-up to the Super Bowl. As I write this, the muted bass of hip-hop vibrates the hotel window, the hoots and hollers of revelers tickle my ears, and the creepy desperation of middle-aged, drunken “clients” in ill-fitting suits oozes through every wall. Did I go to a party tonight? No. I stayed in my room, watched Jersey Shore, and wrote about the television shows people refuse to admit they watch. Would I have it any other way? Absofuckinglutely not. There will be other Super Bowls, but there will never be another Bill Belichick of Bachelorettes, another sexual assault as casual as what we saw on The Challenge, or another episode of Jersey Shore in which Snooki urinates her way around the boardwalk like a wolf marking its territory. (Hey, I saw The Grey last week; it haunts you.) These events need to be recorded, they need to be scored, and hacky jokes need to be written about them. Above all else, duty.

With the triumphant return of America’s fifth major sport, MTV’s The Challenge, the 2012 GRTFL vintage is now more complex — with an added aroma of desperation, a savory sexiness, and an even stronger kick of “I can’t believe I am this excited about watching sociopaths cover themselves in honey to win a cash prize.” So allow me to be your sommelier and shamelessly pour you a glass (or 15) of the naughty nectar. There is a lot to take in this week and it is best to be a bit intoxicated while we take a meticulously detailed deep-dive into the lives of those who are always intoxicated. This week in the top scorers we have the Bill Belichick of Bachelorettes, friend of Grantland Johnny Bananas, and a Jersey boardwalk lass that we at GRTFL headquarters had subconsciously attempted to will out of existence. Sorry, Sammi.

Buckle up, GRTFLers, next week we are adding The Challenge: Battle of the Exes to the fray. What does that mean? That means that you should write a few of your dumbest friends, make a wager, and hold yourself a draft. What was that? No chance? I guess that’s cool, too. Next Wednesday, in anticipation of the premiere, we will be revealing The Challenge-specific rules, our draft results, and a little extra something-something that methinks will make The Challenge fans happy. Or confuse them. Most likely both. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves: There was plenty of weird this week on Jersey Shore and The Bachelor to tide us over until next week when The Challenge’s alchopsychoholics come marching in:

This week in reality TV was a study in human nature, with each storyline like an experiment meticulously engineered to test beliefs that are woven into the fabric of our modern society. On Jersey Shore, Snooki proves that you cannot, in fact, teach an old dog new tricks. On The Bachelor, Ben The Bachelor Who I Have Never Seen In The Same Room At The Same Time As Tennis Star Rafa Nadal proves that men are so soothed by the song of beauty that they are deaf to the sound of their own innate, internal “this chick is so nuts she might kill me, drain my blood, and drink it” alarm. And Pauly D, well, he taught us not to leave diamond chains laying around on the smush room floor for floozies to sweep up into their underpants. That one was actually less scientific experiment and more inexperience. To the top scorers: