I have just endured the lowest point in my long life. I have just sat before one of my four televisions, watching a “reality” show based on Gilligan’s Island. How much worse can it get?

First of all, I have an excuse. I am suffering from the dreaded “black death” flu, identified by unmistakable, multiple, simultaneous symptoms. I am too weak to reach across the couch for the remote control, which was at least 36 inches away.

I used to think that the original Gilligan was the dumbest damn thing I ever saw on television, despite the eternal debate over Ginger or Mary Ann (Ginger, of course). But “The Real Gilligan’s Island” makes the Bob Denver series look like opera.

This cast of dopes are competing against each other for a role on a remake of Gilligan’s Island (never happen) plus $250,000 and a new Ford Mustang. (Who would compete for a used car?)

Drifting in and out of a fever-induced coma, I watched these dolts compete in an underwater treasure hunt for starfish, treasure chests and other items. Gradually, those who failed to land their starfish were eliminated from competition, $250,000 and, of course, the Mustang. I can understand these people whose lives are so meaningless that they would sign up for the money. I might give it a shot just to get out of the snow.

Angela Peri, a Boston casting director who has placed New Englanders on “The Apprentice” and “For Love and Money” (missed that one), reports that 600 people showed up for a casting call on a fat reality show, “The Biggest Loser.” I must admit I missed that one, too. She now has 14,000 “reality” wannabes on file.

I can understand all that. It could be fun. But why in the name of all that’s holy would anyone, outside of the cast member’s immediate family, ever sit down and watch this stuff? How can they call it “reality?”

There is hope in sight. One of my new favorite shows, “Desperate Housewives,” actually beat out “Survivor” last week. The “Survivor” series, the bug-eating extravaganza, has dropped 1.9 million watchers this year, but somehow still ranks among the top five shows.

The vacuous “Apprentice,” which I actually watched once, has lost 5 million viewers. God took his revenge on ringleader Donald Trump by bankrupting one of his casinos. How can you bankrupt a cash cow like a casino? Stay tuned for pestilence and locusts in the Trump buildings.

“Fear Factor,” which has people eating even more bugs, snakes and lizards than “Survivor,” has dropped a satisfying 2.4 million viewers. “The Bachelor,” which I missed completely, has dropped by 3.7 million viewers. Is this a trend? Have people discovered more intelligent viewing? Have they started to read?

Don’t be silly. The “Amazing Race” has picked up 1.4 million viewers and there is no end in sight. In January, the country can look forward to “Who’s Your Daddy?” in which an adopted woman gets to choose her real father among eight contenders. No word if Jerry Springer is involved.

The last I saw of Gilligan, the contestants were huddling in a tent talking about voting each other off the island. I thought the starfish competition did that. Oh well, I have a fever.

The longer I watch, the more I think I would make a heck of a captain on Gilligan’s Island, if I live.

Send complaints and compliments to Emmet Meara at emmetmeara@msn.com.