Those of us with the slightest grasp of social decorum probably don't roam the streets making fun of poor women with bruises, drug habits, and exposed genitalia, who may or may not be pregnant and passed out.

But when such women end up on TV, we see them as fair game for brutal, relentless derision. America sure knows how to kick a girl while she's down. And incoherently drunk. And naked.

True, reality television is nothing if not schadenfreude. It's great feeling superior to people with bad tans, broken dreams, and obsessive stage mom complexes.

It's also cruel and juvenile. Take the unabashed Rock of Love with Bret Michaels, which presents a bevy of desperate, unstable women for our judgment and amusement. The stars of this dating game show--aging, inked groupies pickled from booze and cigarettes--don't seem like girls who've had a whole lot of options in life.

Yet viewers love watching these women sob and unravel as they are ranked according to their level of attractiveness and ability to please an irrelevant rocker who has been wearing the same bandana since 1987.

Who will win an all-access pass to utter debasement and humiliation?

Rock of Love and similar programs make me feel like I'm staring at the grim aftermath of incest, poverty, and substance abuse--and being asked to laugh at its victims. As far as I'm concerned, a woman in the midst of a mental breakdown shouldn't be considered entertainment unless she's a character in a Tennessee Williams play.

Also, mind the subtext. How often do we call a woman "tacky" or "trashy" and actually mean she-came-from-a-blue-collar-family-and-couldn't-afford-an-education? Why do we automatically equate being anguished, reckless, or scantily clad with being stupid? To assume that women on competition-based reality shows are being evaluated for anything other than their looks and their social class is the real idiocy.

Time for all of us to pack our bags and go home.