Running Man — as in the show the movie is about* — is the wrong kind of reality TV. Oh, and there's one more problem, too:

To the best of my knowledge, no one has seriously proposed remaking The Running Man. I made that up to get you to click. Sorry about that. That said, it's surely only a matter of time before someone does start mulling it over, so consider this a preemptive strike.

As I was saying, The Running Man highlights the wrong kind of reality TV. Audiences of the future would never go for it, if they're anything like audiences of today. Because while audiences of today do love Personal Triumph Over Overwhelming Odds (which The Running Man has in spades), as well as Terrible People Doing Awful Things (another of its hallmarks), and while they have no problem with, or even register any awareness of, Misleading Editing on the Part of a Show's Producers (on which the film's plot hinges), one thing they hate is People Getting Killed For Real.

This might not have been so clear in 1987, when The Running Man was released. Back then, it felt like half of primetime — Hunter, The Equalizer, Simon & Simon, Crockett and Tubbs, the Scarecrow, even Mrs. King — was packing steel, and if you followed that trend to its logical conclusion, it was easy to imagine widespread disregard for human life spilling over into the real world, too. Tack the TV listings to the wall today, though, and toss a dart at them, and odds are far better you'll hit a show about making soufflés than shooting bad guys. Heck, even the one faintly (and I stress that) sinister reality program, Survivor — well, is that still on? It is, apparently, but ratings-wise, it's no Dancing With the Stars.

So, no. If the most intense conflict that most viewers can handle now involves a group of people known as "cheftestants," we're not going to tune in to watch anyone get gunned down in cold blood, not any time soon. At the same time, it seems equally unlikely that Western civilization is going to stop declining. Here, then, are a few of the not so violent, but still sublimely asinine reality series I'm sure we'll see before God or His servant, the four-foot Cthulhu worm, are kind enough to put us out of our misery:

Scoring With the Spur Posse. What two elements of reality TV are more proven successes than (1) bringing back people who were famous a decade ago but aren't anymore and (2) sex? This show combines both.

Up for grabs is membership in that early-'90s version of the Rat Pack, the (reunited) Spur Posse. As one of the competing dudes, all you have to do is score more points than the other contestants by sleeping with more girls. Potential challenges include the Three-Way Challenge, the Friend's Sister Challenge, and the Convincing Her to Have Sex With All the Guys in the Posse, Too Challenge. Bonus points for cockblocking an opponent, and even more bonus points if you manage to score with the girl you blocked him from, bro. The second season, in which half the contestants are female (yes, they're trying to have sex with girls too), sees unprecedented ratings, and the unfiltered extra material available online earns record traffic for Spike TV's website.

Make Me a Topless Dancer. Are you pretty, but self-aware enough to know you're never going to be anywhere's next top model? Do you have too much dignity to be a Pussycat Doll? This is your show.

I can't think of any celebrity strippers, so who will host it? Probably Lindsay Lohan. The challenges here should be fairly clear-cut: learning to work the pole, selling the most private dances, smoothly removing a customer's belt and then fastening it around his neck like a collar, before leading him on all fours around the stage while spanking him. The heartbreak at the end of each episode, though, when one contestant is forced to turn in her Lucite platform heels to Lindsay and then is shown crying in the confessional booth about how she'll never be able to pay for med school now — devastating.

Flame Wars. Take ten Internet users. Stick them together in a house somewhere with a gorgeous climate and all sorts of places to visit and fun activities to take part in nearby.

Then give the contestants each their own computer and have teams employed by the producers (these teams will be posing as single, anonymous individuals, of course) start arguments with them on random message boards, about pretty much anything. Never let the contestants get the last word in, no matter how late it gets or how long the fight goes on. The first of the ten with the presence of mind and willpower to leave the house for at least an hour (and then not get sucked back into the fight when they come back) wins.

I Want to Be on a Reality Show. This, I think, is the inevitable omega point of reality television. As it currently stands, thousands — shit, possibly millions of people desperately want to be on reality shows so that they can be hairstylists, or fashion designers, or dancers, or comedians, or lose weight, or just get married.**

There's only so much TV time, though, so there'll have to be a way to separate the wheat from the chaff. Or rather, the chaff from the even chaffier. The winner gets to be on the program of his or her choice. The losers...

The losers get hunted by opera-singing Stalkers who shoot lightning at them, actually. America might never be ready to watch that happen on TV, but that doesn't mean we can't do it without the cameras.

Commenter Moff's real name is Josh Wimmer, and like Buzzsaw, he had to split. He can usually be found at scribblescribblescribble.com/blog.

*I should probably note here that this essay is dealing exclusively with the movie version of The Running Man, starring Arnold Schwarzenegger. Yes, I know the movie was a book first. Yes, it is a very good book. Yes, an actual movie version of the book would be awesome. You should write a blog post about it.

**In fairness, this was how I met Mrs. Moff, although the show in question was The Ultimate Fighter.

You see, Schwarzenegger isn't just an action hero, he's our guide to the worlds of the fantastic and bizarre. His acting skills are as prodigious as his pecs, but they've gone unappreciated — until now. I recently sat down and watched pretty much every Schwarzenegger science fiction epic, and I came away with a new appreciation for his acting skillz. Here are the moments where he rises above his situation, no matter how dire, and manages to shine.

1. No eyebrows, in The Terminator.
Major challenge: Arnold is a killer cyborg from the future, and he uses his eyebrows convey a subtle menace — until his eyebrows get singed off halfway through the movie. He looks like Bob Geldof at the end of Pink Floyd's The Wall.
Massive solution: Arnie is up to the task, scowling and grimacing and turning his forehead into a gnarled mask of terror. Until he finally gets some big sunglasses, which solve the problem for him.

2. Covered with mud, in Predator.
Major challenge: At the end of this alien hunter movie, Arnie gets slathered with mud, which hides him from the creature. Not only is he deprived of his eyebrows, but you can't even make out his sharp jawline and jutting chin.
Massive solution: Arnie's eyes go into maximum overdrive, bugging out, rolling around and finally bursting out of his sockets. "Cmawwn! Kill me!" He yells.

3. The yellow unitard, in Running Man.
Major challenge: Accused of a crime he didn't commit, Arnie is dropped into a maze of death for the amusement of the dystopian masses. Worst of all, he's wearing a bright yellow spandex unitard.
Massive solution: You can't repress Arnie's masculinity just by putting him in a bizarre aerobics outfit. You'll only make him more manly. And indeed, the moment the unitard goes on, Arnie gets mean. He grins with delight as he strangles his attackers or castrates them with a chainsaw, and his face finds four new outer quadrants of expression, expanding to convey the full scope of his rage as he threatens to rip out the producer's spine.

4. Danny DeVito chemistry, in Twins.
Major challenge: Arnie is paired with comedian Danny DeVito, as they pretend to be twins, the result of a weird genetic experiment. How can Arnie bring his usual gravitas opposite this sleazy clown?
Massive solution: He basically goes for the "overgrown child" thing, grinning and acting super eager in contrast to DeVito's world-weary scumbag. Arnie is super smart but ignorant of the "real" world, and doesn't know what tossing your cookies means.

5. The crotch kick, in Total Recall.
Major challenge: Sharon Stone wearing aerobics gear (considerably cuter than Arnie's in Running Man) kicks Arnie in the crotch over and over. How can Arnie convey the wounded masculinity? How?
Massive solution: Luckily, Arnie has had a hundred extra teeth added to his mouth for this film, and he uses all of them, in a grimace so massive it disrupts the gravity of Mars. Little known fact: Arnie and his many teeth were the model for Rob Liefeld's art.

6. Slave robot, in Terminator 2.
Major challenge: Arnie's back playing a killer cyborg, but this time he has to obey everything a punk kid tells him to do.
Massive solution: He brings a quiet dignity, underplaying the role for once and letting Edward Furlong and Linda Hamilton spaz out around him.

7. Getting hormonal, in Junior.
Major challenge: Not only is he acting opposite DeVito once again, but he has to play a pregnant man, who gets all emotional on massive doses of female hormones and starts to cry while watching a Lifetime TV movie. And then he finally has to go undercover and pose as a woman. Can Arnie bring his sensitive side?
Massive solution: Score! Arnie reaches deep inside himself, a little fold of softness under the five thousand layers of muscle. His eyes crinkle up, his mouth twists into an S-shape, or maybe that mysterious symbol that's on Hiro's sword in Heroes, and he looks like he's experiencing the joys and sorrows of every mother, everywhere. Mothers, Arnold Schwarzenegger is you.

8. Covered with goop, in Batman And Robin.
Major challenge: His greatest struggle yet. This time, he's got no eyebrows, like in Terminator. He's covered with gunk, like in Predator. And he's wearing weird dance wear, like in Running Man. What can he do?
Massive solution: He can't act with his eyes, or his jaw, or his teeth, or his chin this time around. The only thing Arnie has left is his voice, and he just works it, shouting at the top of his lungs. With dialogue like "You're not sending ME to the cooler!" and "Tonight, Hell freezes over!" it's probably the best option.

9. Too many facelifts, in The Sixth Day.
Major challenge: It's like a futuristic science fiction nightmare. Medical technology has advanced to the point where you can give Arnold Schwarzenegger a whole new face. It just may not be a good idea. Gone are Arnie's trademark grimaces, scowls and eye-pops, because the skin on his face has been stretched so tight he can barely see any more.
Massive solution: Arnie just relaxes and goes with it. It's a more laid-back Arnie, even after a clone takes his place and sleeps with his wife. He has one facial expression, a rigid grin, and it sometimes expands to turn into a cracked-out leer. It sort of works, as the maniac who's on the run from the evil clone heads.

10. Obsolescence, in Terminator 3.
Major challenge: Arnie is kind of old to be playing a super-advanced ageless cyborg from the future, a fact he references by referring to himself as an "obsolete design." Plus, he's stuck acting opposite an annoying Nick Stahl, who isn't nearly as fun as Edward Furlong was.
Massive solution: Arnie just sort of zones out, acting way more robotic than in the first two Terminators.

And here's our video compilation of Arnie's greatest science fiction moments: