Although by and large I enjoy being a man, I've always had an awkward relationship with some of the niche aspects of maleness, such as the dull preoccupation with sport and pubs, or the deluded belief that breaking wind is funny. I like to think there's more to us than that.

Apparently I'm wrong. That's all we are. We're goons.

Well, according to the telly, anyway. We're not portrayed as sex objects. We're not portrayed as bastards. No. We're portrayed as bell-ends, and it's getting embarrassing.

He's Having A Baby (today, 5.35pm, BBC1) is the final straw. The premise: each week, Davina McCall hosts a live studio show following a group of first-time dads (some whose partners have recently given birth, some who are still expecting). And each week, a couple of these dads are given hilarious tasks to undertake - such as organising a toddlers' party, or teaching a kiddywink to swim. These reach us in the form of side-splitting VT segments, generally accompanied by comedy parp-parp music. After which we cut back to the studio where Davina takes the piss out of them while the audience laughs. Because men are hilariously rubbish! They're big useless boys! Ha ha ha! But they're cute, too, bless 'em! A can of beer and some footie on the box and they're in heaven! Awww! Wook at his wickle face! He's dreaming about pubs! Tee hee! Men! Lovable, huggable, tumbling ninnies, the lot of 'em!

NO! NO! JESUS CHRIST, NO! If we men must be reduced to paper-thin cartoons, I'd rather see us depicted as warmongering rapists-in-waiting than dickless pudge-faced clowns. Every man involved in He's Having a Baby is a sex traitor who should hang his head in shame (except for Danny Wallace, who should hang his in a box of seriously irritated rats).

It isn't the only offender, of course. We've also got to contend with the downright jaw-dropping Bring Your Husband To Heel (Mon, 7pm, BBC2), in which "misbehaving" men have their behaviour "modified" by a dog trainer, and Kept (Sun, 10pm, VH1), a reality show about a wizened hag (played to perfection by Jerry Hall) choosing a pet boy from a bunch of dismal, preening bimbos.

You could be forgiven for thinking Michael Buerk's recent grumble about women ruling TV was correct. But you'd be wrong. There are loads of women in television, but few are network controllers; ultimately men are nodding these through. Why?

Well, since the anal study of demographics became a number one priority in TV land, it's been noted that men are a tough audience to snare. So perhaps it's an act of revenge. Here's a quote in which Nick Elliot, ITV's controller of drama, explains why most of his output is aimed at women:

"You can bash your head against a brick wall trying to make dramas for 16- to 34-year-old males, but if they only want to watch football or videos and PlayStation, there's no point ... I'm not sure what a very male drama is. Maybe it's about business or something. We do guns and violence for boys occasionally... We actually thought Footballers' Wives would appeal to men, but it doesn't very much ... they soon suss out it isn't about football."

Jesus! He hates men! And no wonder: from the sounds of it, they're morons! Because that's what you see when you study any demographic: a hateful, ignorant, unthinking mass. And in this case, a mass which doesn't watch much telly.

Everyone in telly studies demographics. And I think that's why they hate us.

So - how about a Saturday night show called Tumblebloke Twit Time, in which men in nappies bounce around inside a large revolving drum, while Jerry Hall sits at the side laughing whenever one of their balls pops out? And in the second round they climb greased poles to reach a can of beer perched on top? And in the third round we let them off their leads in a park, and they scamper about and blow off and talk about football - and it's cute! Because that's where we're headed, chaps. Pass the noose.