This week's piece might not make a ton of sense to those who do not view television. Actually, since when do any of these essays make much sense?

Sorry if some of you might be lost, due to the above-mentioned reasoning, but I just cannot hold back any longer about the infuriating subject matter. So, please, for those of you who are anti telly, have pity on me because I do need to get this jazz out in the open. Thank you for your consideration in this most pressing issue and now, on with the show...

A new and exciting leisure activity has been discovered here in the home, and it goes by the name of “Investigation Discovery,” (I.D. for the purposes of this column). For those of you who are not familiar, this channel deals with all things murder, abduction, vanishing, (without a trace), and other highly uplifting subjects.

Aunt Liz, Perpetual and I are certain that soon, we should be able to pull off a major caper and get away with it. Oh, I guess I just put that in writing. Oh well, moving along...

Believe it or not, this commentary is not about giving a free plug to Armstrong Cable, since they carry the channel, nor is it about imparting gruesome details pertaining to some hideous death. Aren't you simply delighted?

Instead, the focus is something which has bothered me for eons but was buried in the back of my clogged mind. It floated to the front of my thoughts, (do thoughts really have a front?) as I gazed at I.D. and planned my next con—I mean meal for the night. OK already, here it is.

What is it with some of the downright stupid questions that people ask during various interviews with grieving families, spouses, friends, or neighbors, just to name a few?

I’ve conducted an interview, or thirty, since I took on this most prestigious employment adventure, and feel that I might know a thing or two about what is, or isn’t, a totally dim-witted line of questioning.

For example, I don’t think that I would look at a person, whose mother had just been found dead, and ask something like: “Do you wish your mom were here right now?”

To borrow a saying from years ago, when it was actually popular... “Duh.”

I kid you not when I say that I heard something very close to that being asked of a person who had lost a loved-one due to some crazed serial killer's rampage.

The ridiculous questions do not stop with I.D., of course, and also occur in other outlets that are not focused on death. In fact, I’m sure you have also noted this trend on the nightly news or even on the radio.

Take, for instance, the world-famous “Dancing with the Stars.” I have to admit that I have become somewhat of a fan. However, due to my having a PVR from Armstrong Cable, I’m able to just catch the so-called-stars who interest me. This has nothing to do with anything at all so, I shall bring it back to the subject at hand.

Every week, without fail, the one host, Brook Something-or-Other, (who wouldn’t know spontaneous banter if it kissed her on the lips), throws in “how does it feel?” for kicks after EVERY dance.

If a high heel gets stuck in a lapel during a wild jive, no problem as Brook is ready with: “How did it feel when the shoe became wedged under the armpit?” If a celebrity scores all threes after a foxtrot, no problemo as Brook is on the scene with: “How does that make you feel?”

How the #@*% do you think it feels you idiotic bimbo? We just got the lowest scores of the season and it FEELS like crapola! That's how it feels. Whew, sorry about that. I just got carried away with the entire “how does it feel” stuff.

Gently trotting away from the whole dancing scenario, as it's clearly kicking up some deeply buried issues for me, I must head back over to I.D. momentito.

Last night, as I used the now infamous station for background music, I actually heard the reporter, from one of the murderous evening shows, ask something peculiar. Allow me to set the stage for you.

Some kind of lab tech was fiddle farting around with an interesting technique having to do with matching up fingerprints with those of an alleged homicidal hothead accused of something hideous. How was that for details? At any rate, the person narrating the show and asking the questions actually spoke these words to said technician: “So, you're hoping for a match then?”

No you *&%$# moron. I'm hoping that the prints do NOT match and that this killer goes free to ravage society at large again, in the near future—Of course I'm looking for a match. Too bad those words were not used in response to that denser-than-a-forest-in-Oregon question posed by “Inept Interviewer.”

These are just a few examples of the kooky things that reporters, hosts & others ask. Space prevents me from blathering on too incessantly at this time but, I think I've made my point.

I have some advice for those truth seekers & inept interviewers across this great land. Just take a page from my unconventional interviewing style and follow this easy recipe.

Rather than asking how people feel, or if they miss their dead relatives, or if they are hoping for some kind of justice, concerning some societal wrong, I simply plunk my tape recorder down on a hard surface and say, “OK, tell me details.”

That's it. That is the secret Houserman style that you've all been dying to uncover for years now.

Well, what else can I say about this subject? This is the point in the column where I attempt to wrap it all up in an enchanting, fluid, literary gift box and ship it off to the newsroom.

Your homework assignment for next time is to take note of some of the deeply moving and boldly captivating questions flowing from the mouths of those who ask questions for a living.

The End.