As every last miserable reprobate in the world continues to line up to take their place in the mostly tawdry annals of 21st century television, it seems implausible that there are some things station executives will not broadcast. "For what," you might ask, "could be less worthy of airtime than a game show in which a nice young man has his heart carelessly torn from his chest?" Many things, actually. And this is why I drop to my depraved knees, rickety from hours spent seated at a computer, and thank the Interlord for YouTube.

Without that video sharing site, I would have probably never seen this unaired pilot of Me, Myself & Christopher Lowell, a truly pathetic attempt at daytime television eponymously named after its oddly-haired interior designer host. Had the show continued, I'm not sure if the women surrounding Lowell would have been co-hosts, a la The View, or if they were just the day's guests, but either way they are typecast as (from left to right) the virtuous mom, the bawdy black chick and the rebellious young woman.

The script – there's very obviously a script – is terrible, with the pious mother at one point saying she fears for her daughter who attends "these things called raves." Everyone goes mad when the black chick says raves are fun. ("Girrrrrrrrrl") But don't think everything's peaches and cream for her sassy ass. Her husband won't fuck her and she thinks he's cheating. The youthful rebel at right says she should follow him. You won't believe the audience reaction.

Throughout the whole thing, watch as Lowell time and time again slices apart the paper thin arguments of his female guests, belittling their childish whimsy. When he knocks over the innocent schoolmarm's coffee, be amazed as she apologizes.

Don't be amazed that this never made it to your flat screen. The host and his hens' movements are too stunted, and their dialog too wooden; their problems are relatable and easily fixed. TV viewers these days want their victims ultra-salacious and inhumanly comfortable with their exploitation, and this program offered nothing like that. It was too real. Thankfully, for the rest of us, there's YouTube and its infinite trove of surreal reality and criminally forgotten moments of human authenticity.