A lull before May sweeps sends me to "The Restaurant" for my reality-TV sustenance. The tone of this NBC show is as fake as Rocco's attitude toward his fans. (He calls even the chubbiest housewife "a cute girl" and panders shamelessly to the dowdy New York chicks who long to stuff his manicotti). The scripted lines and overdubbed dialogue (the phone calls between that odious owner, Jeffrey Chodorow and his flying-monkey-like minions) on this show stink worse than garlic breath. Was producer Mark Barnett so desperado for drama in this one that he had to resort to obvious fakery? Sure, it's a watchable show, compelling at times. But you just know that the little cretinous "intern," Drew, is a plant. A potted plant, if you ask me. And all those dishy waitrons come from central casting, not from other restaurants. Wanna know why it takes an hour and a half to get a plate of cold ravioli at Rocco's? All the waitresses are in the back, fixing their lip gloss, getting ready for their close-ups. This restaurant looks more horrible customer-wise and foodwise than the old Model Cafe in Times Square. ("Our special today -- bulimia and Botox!")

And speaking of models, I caught Janice Dickinson on "Regis & Kelly" this morning. Her eyebrows now arch like the symbol for St. Louis and her facelift is so high and tight, when she smiles, her toes curl. But I LOVE HER! She'll say and do anything on TV and there are far too few of those free spirits lighting up the tube.

Later, I'll get into Boston Rob et al on the waning days of "Survivor: All-Stars." Loved the audience booing Omarosa on "Jimmy Kimmel Live." She fled the studio before her couch time because she suspected they were going to hook her up to a polygraph. Oh, if only.

And as the bikini-clad model on "Fear Factor" last night crawled into a sewer pipe to face an alligator, all I kept thinking was, so what? It's not like she has to have SEX with the thing.

Contestants 2 and 3 on "The Swan" were done over to LOOK JUST ALIKE. It's the Stepford Women, I tell you. Fox is creating Fembots on that show.

OK, I have to go teach my last classes of this semester. Goodbye, young ones. Go forth and prosper. And if you ever turn up on "The Bachelor," you can't say you haven't been warned.