Yeah, that’s the one. So I was watching it, CSI, that is, not porn. Somewhere in the middle of the show, there’s always the 2 minute segment where they show the spikey-haired lab technician analyzing a critical shred of evidence. There’s a lot of tension! “Oh my gawd,” the viewer says, “I hope he’s not using anhydrous ammonium chromate, that would make his results unusable!” The drama is only increased by a bumpin’ techno beat. That’s right, kiddies, the nerd who’s shorts you used to light on fire is, as Phil Hartman would say, SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSASSY!!!

Who knew that a centrifuge was hotter than the disco ball? Clearly not I! Separating semen from a pile of dog excrement? The chicks dig it. And the insects! Don’t get me started on the classic erotic symbolism inherent in the monologues about maggot gestation periods…I’ll need a cold shower. How did the traces of magnesium end up on the aardvark lodged in the victim’s nasal cavity? Please tell me now! I can’t wait until after another Cialis ad, maybe a Yoplait ad, but not Cialis!

And the equipment they use! Enough to make a hard-core gamer backwash into his Mountain Dew. There is clearly no shortage of tax dollars in the Las Vegas Police Department. Hell, in Miami, David Caruso sits stands on a catwalk above is subservient medical examiner and watches the autopsy on wall-length high-definition monitors. That is to say when he’s not peering down her remarkable cleavage from up there. Hey, why scrub in and stand in the same room when the taxpayers of Florida can subsidize this crazy “Dr. No” set up.

So to all you single people out there, don’t troll MySpace or Match.com. Just stroll down to your local morgue and find a hot medical examiner or lab tech. You may be in for a surprize. Furthermore, you may prefer to take one of the corpses home instead.