“Excuse me, my t--s are up here,” says Jessica, the title character of Comedy Central’s new show “Secret Girlfriend,” whom you’ve just met at a liquor store. That’s right—she’s talking directly to “you.”

The show, which airs Wednesdays on Comedy Central, attempts to make at-home viewers the stars of the show. The characters address the camera as though it’s a person interacting with them—specifically, it’s a 20-something chauvinist working as a videographer for a viral website.

The camerawork resembles gonzo pornography, and it carries about the same artistic value.

I discovered the show because it follows “South Park,” of which I am a devoted fan. Almost immediately, it became apparent that “Secret Girlfriend” was the type of program

that had absolutely no chance of winning

over critics.

Then again, neither did “The Man Show,” Jimmy Kimmel and Adam Carolla’s comedy show, which was nearly as sexist but still enjoyed a successful—albeit short—run on Comedy Central.

But after watching just a single episode of “Secret Girlfriend,” it’s hard to find even one redeeming piece of artistic merit in it. There isn’t much of a plot, save for chasing women; the acting is awful; and the jokes just aren’t witty and too often rely on ill-conceived toilet humor.

There’s an incredible disconnect between my objective feelings on how awful this program is versus the actual attention I pay it. I absolutely despise “Secret Girlfriend” and think it may be one of the worst TV shows ever, yet I have watched every episode thus far, and it would be a lie to blame the show’s post-“South Park” timing.

The episodes usually follow a vague plot line set at a random party, bar, or series of strip clubs, yet somehow this format appealed enough to my base senses that it still catches my attention, week after week.

But for a show that puts the viewer as a first-person character, the fatal flaw of “Secret Girlfriend” is that nothing that happens in any episode’s plot is ever remotely believable.

Your ex-girlfriend, Mandy, is a caricatured stereotype of a delusionally jealous woman, and your two best friends, Sam and Phil, are dim-witted at best.

In this parallel universe, if you are caught inappropriately staring at a woman’s buttocks, she’ll unequivocally be attracted to you.

Sex sells, and I am a mature enough person to admit I have emotional and physical desires which don’t line up with how I intellectually believe the world is or should be. While I don’t expect a woman to direct me toward her breasts after she catches me checking out her behind in a liquor store, there’s still a sick part of me that wishes I could be a part of this alternate reality.

What “Secret Girlfriend” has created is social porn. Most nights when I go out to Pacific Avenue bars, I don’t end up bringing half a dozen attractive women I just met back to my apartment to party. But “Secret Girlfriend” creates that virtual world for me, where women will strip half-naked just because you suggest it.

I know that television like this is a societal evil. Women should not be treated like the sex objects they’re viewed as in “Secret Girlfriend.” However, I would also be lying if I said that the part of me that identifies with wanting to have a threesome with two strippers doesn’t exist. And so would nearly all other men.

If “Secret Girlfriend” is evil, it’s an evil genius.

Photo courtesy of comedycentral.com