Watching bad karaoke is surprisingly fun, but best taken in small doses.

I SWEAR TO THE FLYING Spaghetti Monster I wanted to hate this show. If I had any self-respect, (which I don't, and anyone who has seen what I wear when I drop the kids off at school will confirm,) I would lie through my teeth and give The Singing Bee a right monstering. I'd be frothing at the mouth about this show being low-rent, dumbed-down, lowest-common-denominator excrement from the corporate maggots who have infected our screens with The Footy Show, McLeod's Daughter and Livinia Nixon.

Let's get this straight: I'm not recommending you watch Channel Nine. Just between you and me, you'd experience more compassion, equality and tolerance if you were a Sudanese asylum seeker attending a dinner party hosted by Kevin Andrews. You know how cigarette packets have those warnings? I think Channel Nine should have a warning such as "Watching Channel Nine while pregnant may harm your baby" or "Channel Nine causes cultural cancer".

Four reasons I should hate The Singing Bee: 1. It's on Channel Nine; 2. It's a franchise of a show from overseas, cooked up purely to sell advertising and not to shed any light on the human condition or promote artistic merit; 3. It's hosted by a bloke from overseas; 4. The bloke from overseas used to be in 'N Sync, which was a boy band that had hits with songs like I Want You Back and Tearin' Up My Heart that were heavy on words such as lovin', losin', hurtin', needin' and holdin'.

The Singing Bee is a toe-tapping, karaoke crowd pleaser. And no, I haven't sold out, I have always promised you the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth complete with jokes about Jamie Durie handling his hairy succulents.

The show is simple.

Audience members sing lines from popular songs and have to be word perfect to win cash. Why does it work? The band rocks, the songs are all wedding reception sure-fire dance-floor fillers and the audience is more pumped than a Hillsong congregation off their head on Gloria Jeans' double mocha frapachino.

We're talking "Cheryl from Traralgon, Come On Down!" The audience is wall-to-wall mums and dads from the burbs who haven't had so much fun since that key party at Paul and Rhonda's. They can't sing, can't dance, can barely clap in time but they are going right off, mate. And it makes for great family television. I'm sorry. I know I've let you down.

Tune in to see audience members rip the mike out of Joey Fatone's hand and complete the line "I'm so excited, and I just can't hide it …" with all the musical ability of the tone deaf singing while wearing headphones. They belt out the numbers with all the gusto of a bridesmaid at a hen's night slurring I Will Survive just before pashing the nearest recently separated fitter and turner.

I know I shouldn't, but I love this show.

Maybe The Singing Bee is like chocolate crackles. The first one is fantastic but after the third you start feeling sick and you suddenly remember why you don't have them more often.

The Singing Bee, Channel Nine, Sundays 6.30pm.