Your mama never warned you to watch out for reality TV, but it can be poison. You sense its brain destructiveness when you get up in the morning, thinking, "I can't wait to see if T.O. makes it with the real estate agent."

The reality wheel comes round to Philadelphia's least favorite sports figure (if you're finally over J.D. Drew) tonight on VH1, when the show nobody has been waiting for premieres at 10, for a mind-numbing hour. (The remaining six episodes, mercifully, are half that long, Mondays at 10.)

The T.O. Show is so shallow mosquitoes couldn't breed in it, though it appears some of the humans are trying to, as Terrell Owens joins up with two publicists, who are also supposed to be his best friends.

It would make sense that the toxically self-involved ex-Eagle wide receiver would have to hire his friends, though the show, as it does almost constantly, contradicts itself by including T.O.'s actual best friend: a big lug named Pablo, who constitutes Owens' entourage of one.

One of the lowest high points in TV history comes when Pablo cuts such a fabulous dose of methane in the Bentley that it threatens to overcome Owens and his publicists, even though it's a convertible, as they drive on an L.A. freeway on the way to some shopping in Beverly Hills.

"Where do you go to find yourself?" this show asks. Los Angeles, of course.

No. That's where you go to shoot a $1.99 reality show that's lame even in this genre, where dwarves and mega-procreators and the morbidly obese have provided thrills and chills that leave this meager show no chance. Once again, Owens demonstrates that the only place he can find success is on the gridiron.

Yet, he's famously failed long-term there, too, being booted first out of San Francisco, then Philadelphia and then Dallas in a distinctly downward spiral, measured by the cities' quotient of cool, if not their teams' football prowess.

Now, he's shuffling off to Buffalo, where they must not have newspapers, radio, TV or the Internet, since, in the coming attractions, Terrell is shown receiving the key to the city, rather than the askance glances his previous performances would seem to inspire.

In another scene from the trailers, the wide receiver makes like Rocky on the Philadelphia Art Museum steps, except that T.O.'s huffing up to the entrance of the decidedly more minor league Albright-Knox Art Gallery in Buffalo.

It's a long ride down, punctuated by the stop in Los Angeles, where his publicist friends, Monique and Kita, supposedly try to re-mold his image. "The plan is working on the man," says one, following that comment with, "Let us pray."

The publicists, obviously, aren't totally clueless.

Though they think the audience is.

Even a Dallas Cowboys fan can see that the real reason for the L.A. move is to make a show where Owens can inhabit a gorgeous hillside pad, cruise in a Bentley (most likely courtesy of the producers and VH1), party all night with hootchie mamas, much to the disdain of his publicist friends, and, in a de rigueur scene in these living-with-the-crass-and-tasteless shows, spend a ridiculous sum in an overpriced shop. In this case, Owens purports to plunk down $137,000 for new diamond earrings.

The beauty of T.O.'s house is matched only by that of the alleged real estate agent who hooked him up with it and shows up the next night for a private date (in front of the continuously rolling cameras) that appears to end with a different kind of hookup in the hot tub.

Well, he is a handsome and well-conditioned devil, and he does spend a lot of time shirtless in this show, so it's possible some people might find one reason to enjoy it.

Jonathan Storm:

The T.O. Show

Premieres at 10 tonight on VH1

Contact television critic Jonathan Storm at 215-854-5618 or jstorm@phillynews.com. Read his recent work at http:// go.philly.com/jonathanstorm.