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The Guilty Pleasures Hall of Fame

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The Jerry Lewis telethon: The true originator of the phrase “Show me the money,” Jerry deserves an Emmy for choking up on cue every Labor Day.

The Carpenters: Loving the doomed duo is the equivalent of passing gas in an elevator — everyone does it, but no one wants to own up to it — except they’re infinitely more hummable.

Everything David Hasselhoff: The King Midas of Cheese — whether he’s emoting opposite a talking car on Knight Rider or playing macho lifeguard Mitch Buchannon on Baywatch, all he touches turns to grade-A Limburger.

The White Shadow: For no other reason than that the white surfer dude’s name was “Salami.”

St. Elmo’s Fire: A definitive sign that there is indeed a higher order.

The Coreys: Granted, The Lost Boys may have been a mediocre vampire flick — but it was the opening siren of a historic convergence of teen steam between Haim and Feldman.

Rerun“: What’s Happening‘s beret-wearin’, parachute-pants-sportin’, break-dancin’ court jester (played by Fred Berry) single-handedly stole the show from Raj, Dwayne, Dee, and Mama — no easy feat, that.

Ernest Borgnine: It’s Borgnine’s gap-toothed, barrel-chested world — we just live in it. And before you sneer: He has an Oscar; you don’t.

Kitty Kelley: The grande dame of hit-and-run bios. You can have our copy of His Way: The Unauthorized Biography of Frank Sinatra…when you pry it away from our cold dead hands.

Clint Eastwood’s Orangutan Movies: Forget the spaghetti Westerns. Every Which Way But Loose and its sequel, Any Which Way You Can, managed to be the good, the bad, and the ugly, all at the same time.

Watching Scrambled Pay-Cable Porn: No one likes to fess up, but for that split second of softcore sex, we’ll flick back and forth for hours.

The Crush: A.k.a. the movie that launched a generation of Nabokov sympathizers — even though the character was a freakin’ nutjob.

The Spellings: The royal family of Velveeta cheese. The only rational explanation for how Tori could give us 90210‘s Donna, and Aaron could give us The Love Boat, is that cranking out guilty pleasures is genetic.

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