I was fooled.

The wool was pulled over my eyes. I was deceived. Snowed. Flimflammed. And when it comes right down to it, I have no one to blame but myself.

It began with The Walking Dead “Dead, White And Blue” marathon over the 4th of July weekend. The marathon was nice, diversionary white background noise tuned on in the background. Occasionally I’d plop on the couch in the cool of the house to take in part or all of an episode. No harm in that, I figured.

I’d seen enough chapters of the show, multiple times over and reviewed them. I’m familiar enough with all of them to hold my own in an in-depth discussion should one ever come ’round. So it was nothing more than a guilty pleasure to revisit an episode here and there or a favorite scene when it popped up. Adding to some of the hype was a recent article I read about the music used throughout the show, tunes which have become fan favorites or which punctuated characters or situations. That, too, was another nice little aside between various chores and duties and I took note of the music a bit more closely as a few of the mentioned tunes played out during the broadcast.

I even learned a thing or two, things I’d either forgotten completely or additional pieces of information I could tuck away as little asides: Lizzie’s dangerous prison monkey business in leading a walker down a walkway with Hershel’s subsequent rescue of her when things got out of hand. (There were tons of references throughout the show when it came to her delusions about the undead. I’d completely forgotten this particular one.) The revelation of the Governor’s surname, courtesy of his adviser Milton. (It’s “Blake” if you didn’t know, the same as in the comic series.) Hershel’s bit parts and sage advice, all adding legacy to his character throughout his time on the show. Little tidbits here and there that make The Walking Dead all the more enjoyable.

But there was a downside to the marathon. And it wasn’t the lure of untold hours of slothful, unproductive, eyes-glazed-over watching of rerun after rerun after rerun.

No. It was the incessant call of Chris Hardwick, host of Talking Dead, TWD‘s companion talk show. Over and over again Chris promised me — and millions of my closest friends — exclusive information about AMC’s post-apocalyptic show, along with a not-to-be-missed sneak preview of the upcoming season 5 premiere debuting in October. All I had to do was tune in to Talking Dead at 9:00 p.m.

At each commercial interruption, he teased viewers with little mini-interviews of TWD‘s actors and producers. Just as incessantly he promoted that sneak peek non-stop. I could feel his words wriggling into my brain on a mission to assert mind control over me so I was powerless to do anything but tune in for the 9:00 p.m. exclusive. His words were Kryptonite, oh so potent, wearing me ever more defenseless, eroding away any resolve I might have once had. “Special! Exclusive! Huge! Necessary! Must-See!” These were the exclamations he threw around to get me and everyone else watching to stayed tuned. In the end I’m sure Chris all but commanded me to be there.

And I was there. For the entire hour. Even though I knew for a fact that tease wouldn’t come until the very end, almost sixty minutes in.

And let me tell you something: I’m not proud of the fact I was worn down to a nub of my former self mentally, coerced into submission by an affront of relentless promotion to witness what no man had seen before:

Man, do I feel like a sucker.

Look: I don’t have anything against Chris Hardwick. But Talking Dead — while it was interesting in the very beginning — has become a blowhard promotional tool with zero substance. It used to be fun, it used to feel fresh. There was a time, during season 2 of The Walking Dead (which was the premiere season of Talking Dead) when it had an exciting behind-the-scenes vibe you used to look forward to. No longer. I stopped watching it after its second season because it became old and unwatchable. It turned into senseless hype and unsatisfying emptiness, a joke of its former self. When the likes of Kevin Smith and Todd McFarlane and Sarah Silverman (!) come on to talk about The Walking Dead (Why? Why? Why?), I could give a rat’s ass. Inexplicably, Jack Osbourne (!) and Marilyn Manson (!!!) were on one airing of last year’s program. What the hell was that about?!?

I have rules. Lots of them. Common rules, life rules, common sense rules. I like to think I learn from them. And I do … many times. One of those rules?

“You don’t learn from your successes. You learn from your mistakes.”

Let’s hope I learned something from this one.

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