Now that Janet Jackson’s Super Bowl antics have given a whole new meaning to the term “boob tube,” I find myself able to sit back and smile at the outrage the ridiculous incident has generated.

Parents across the country were so distressed by the choreographed breast-baring escapade on TV that they lit up the CBS switchboards and dashed off so many angry e-mails that the network’s Web site crashed under the load. They’re asking: Is there no end to the creeping salaciousness our children are subjected to on TV these days? Are there no limits to how far popular entertainment will go to shock and titillate its audiences in order to boost ratings? Will TV ever stop pushing the envelope toward bad taste?

In a word, no, to all of the above, at least if the staggering increase in sex and violence and raunchiness on TV is any indication. Bad taste sells, and the popularity of “Fear Factor” is all the proof you need. And while I can empathize with my fellow parents out there, good folks who simply want to protect their youngsters from TV’s vapid, anything-goes programming, I have passed on my torch. Now that my kids are young adults, with their values fairly well-established by now and probably beyond further influence on my part, I’m happy to say I’ve served my time in the TV and Internet trenches and am leaving the pop culture battlefield behind. In my new, nonparenting role, I remind my friends who have small children to be vigilant at all times, to never give up the good fight, even if it would appear to be a losing battle.

“Hey, man, we love giving you all something to talk about,” said the smarmy Justin Timberlake in an interview shortly after he removed part of Jackson’s blouse on cue and made a nation choke on its nachos and Buffalo wings. His remark pretty much sums up what parents of young children face these days. The entertainment envelope will continue to be pushed, indefinitely, and where it will end is anyone’s guess. So wield your TV remote wisely. It’s your only defense, even if it doesn’t last for long.

I spent years playing sentry at the TV gates, remote in hand, vigilantly guarding against the sleazy and violent intruders looking to rob my kids of their innocence. When the kids were young, I enjoyed snuggling with them on the couch on Saturday mornings as we watched “Peewee’s Playhouse.” But then the real-life Pee Wee went and exposed himself at an X-rated movie theater and that was the end of that. I ushered my children through the first Michael Jackson child-molestation case, and winced as Madonna won my little daughter’s heart with her sentimental “Playground” song and then turned around and started hustling her “Sex” picture book. When my teenage daughter moved into her MTV-obsession phase – they always do, so be prepared – I would squirm uncomfortably at the abundant sex-drenched offerings on the screen until she took pity on her flustered old man and kindly changed the channel.

But now that my kids are grown, free to watch the TV shows they like, buy the CDs they like, and surf the Internet without supervision, my job is over, thank God. So to all the concerned parents of youngsters out there, I bequeath to you such uplifting TV fare as “The Osbournes” and “Jackass.” I leave in your capable hands “The Real World” and “The Howard Stern Show,” “Temptation Island” and “The Simple Life.” I pass along “MTV’s Spring Break,” “Wild On,” and all those ads for the “Girls Gone Wild” videos and male-enhancement products that your teens are probably watching in their bedrooms at night. It’s your turn to talk about the Kobe Bryant and Michael Jackson scandals with your kids, and to explain to them why their favorite billionaire rap artists keep getting arrested and shot.

It’s your pop-culture world now, and welcome to it. As for me, I think I’ll just put my feet up and settle in for an hour of the Food Channel. Now that’s what I call sizzling entertainment.