fallen soul in tv's gaping maw

Tonight I tried sitting down in a lounge at the library to eat dinner and watch TV, simple enough. Little did I know, one of TV's zombie-like worshippers had already taken control of it, and probably would have started frothing at the mouth and fighting me off with a club had I tried to change it. The cause of this obsession was of course American Idol, the show that lets you call in and show that you are stupid and have the statistics to prove so.
American Idol had consumed this woman. When Ryan Seacrest asked "Who will make it past the final eight tonight?", she responded to him saying "Nadia's going to win! Who do YOU think is best? Don't you think Nadia is so pretty? And just look at her skirt, she's the bomb!" Expecting me to say something, she must have been let down by my lack of knowledge/interest/retarded obsession for such excrement.
People passed us by, she the TV and me, looking at us like one does a group of winos screaming for change. I tried to show them that I felt the same way, and that I was once like them. But I had been associated with the blind stupidness that was this woman's life, and to the rest of the world I might as well have been cheering, too.