(My half of the Sun’s “Vs.” feature, in which two columnists face off on a topic every other Monday. Erica’s rebuttal can be found at the Daily Sun website)

Ah, television. It used to be that if you wanted to see a midget mother of three in a bikini drinking pureed slugs while standing in a tub of horse vomit, you’d have to get a blender and a kiddie pool and some very drunk friends. But now, through the miracle of technology, you need only turn to FOX during the 8:00 to 10:00 timeslot.

Of course, this is assuming that one actually wants to see such a spectacle. I, for one, do not, and I fear that this means I am quickly losing touch with mainstream American culture. You see, I don’t care what happens when you put seven attention whores together in a swanky apartment for three months. I don’t care who’s in it for love and who’s in it for money. I especially don’t care who the last person left on the island is.

Here’s what I would like to see: a well-written, well-acted, well-shot show with that perfect blend of wit and drama. But that’s a pipe dream, because reality shows are so much cheaper and easier to produce that they have all but replaced quality scripted shows. There are no preening actors to pay, no rooms full of insomniac writers; all you need is a pack of Type A personalities who thrive on exhibitionism, a couple of editors who lack scruples, and a hairdresser with a strong stomach who can keep Donald Trump’s comb-over freshly shellacked. If you play your cards right, all you have to do is lock the doors from the outside and let the fur fly: 99 percent of the footage will end up on the cutting room floor, and the remaining 1 percent can be twisted into some kind of shocking narrative with the help of sound effects (if only double-takes were accompanied by a resounding Boing! in real life).

Though my opponent in this debate may claim that the proliferation of cheap reality shows frees up resources to be put toward higher-quality scripted shows — and though my opponent may also be the Associate Editor and therefore has the ability to change my entire column to illiterate grunts — the fact is that networks don’t put the money into more skillful endeavors. What little money TV executives are willing to shell out for scripted programming goes toward making the same old formulaic shows: Beautiful, Young Lawyers or Beautiful, Slightly Older Doctors or Ruggedly Handsome, Age-Worn Police Officers (Except for the Beautiful, Young One) or CSI: Duluth.

After all, why give your dog filet mignon when he’s happy eating his own feces? The analogy is all too apt, as most reality television is, essentially, crap. One narcissistic personality blends into another as minor spats escalate into full-out warfare. Blandly attractive people with oddly-spelled names create a vacuum of charisma as they “confessionalize” to the camera, pulling out all the malapropisms and mondegreens they can muster. And the editing — oh, the editing.

Heavy editing is necessary to overcome one of reality television’s rather burdensome problems: Real people are boring. So clips are tossed around like confetti, with little regard for chronological order or linearity. Real people sit around in their pajamas watching the news and eating pickles right out of the jar; reality television people go straight from pickle-eating to bungee-jumping to clubbing to pickle-juice fighting, as clothing and time of day change illogically. Dramatic music signifies The Big Climactic Moment of the Episode, wherein Jonn realizes that Khrysteene has eaten the last pickle.

What began as a revolutionary new genre that focused on real people has become less and less realistic as the premises for the shows have become more and more outlandish. Viewers are no longer content with seeing how people react and interact when put in new situations with strangers. Plots have become cloaked in layer upon layer of deceit, each season taking advantage of the jaded participants who think they’re wise to the scheme. It’s only a matter of time before reality shows have so many clauses built into their premises and employ such heavy editing that they become, essentially, fictional narrative.

All of this sleight of hand has an effect even graver than turning television into a cesspool of lost human dignity; the prevalence of reality shows makes everyone think that they are interesting enough to be on television. Previously, only a select few could broadcast their boringness on national television, in the form of “wacky” stories on Jeopardy! and the like. “I once sneezed on Michael Caine,” a contestant would assert proudly, and the audience would think, “Wow, I’ve never even met a celebrity, let alone showered one with bodily fluids!”

But now, in an era when someone like Paris Hilton can be famous simply for being famous, any old schmoe with a beer belly and a complete lack of shame can find his way on television. And the last thing we need is a bunch of morons swelled with a sense of self-importance, thinking they’re fascinating because they saw someone just like them on TV, who was sticking peas up his nose with chopsticks while covered in honey and sitting on an anthill in the sweltering sun.

Television offers one of the few opportunities to escape from the real world and enter a universe where everyone is beautiful and talented. Reality shows eschew this fantasy world and instead turn television into a veritable museum of humanity’s worst facets. For lack of wit and charm, people are petty and conniving; for lack of anything substantial to say, people sensationalize. Let’s drop the ad-libbing and stick to the script.