Tuesday, Sept. 10, 9 p.m.: A show about asses.

Over the course of the last 18 months, VH1 has undergone a horrible change in its programming lineup. This is a complete travesty considering how brilliant the programming was a few months back.

The network that brought us the “Top 100 Albums in Rock ‘n’ Roll History,” “The List” and the “‘Badfinger’ Behind the Music” now finds it necessary to devote two hours of prime time programming to the posterior.

Don’t get me wrong, butts are great. If on the first Tuesday in November, on the ballot, right beneath the highest power in the land, lies a question involving whether I support butts, I will vote for them. Rather than pore over semantics, I will just come right out and declare that I am a butt enthusiast. Go ahead, scream it from the mountaintop; I have no shame.

The problem lies in the channel that the show emanated from – a channel that once actually aired quality programming. If I have a craving that can only be satisfied by butts, I can turn on “Wild On,” or “Baywatch,” or any number of exercise programs. VH1, however, should have remained unmolested.

There are approximately 80 channels in the typical cable system. For the sake of simplicity, let’s say 40 of them (half, for those of you not majoring in math) are completely unwatchable. C-SPAN accounts for at least 10 of them, plus The Weather Channel, Lifetime and a great many others. I’m sure many people love these channels. I, however, am not one of them.

This leaves 40 channels, most of which play about six hours of programming looped to fill a whole day, and about 10 of which are only redeemable by the fact that they play lowest common denominator programming all day long until it charms you. There is a time and a place for “Dukes of Hazzard” and “Slam Ball,” and TNN has thrived on figuring out when these times are.

VH1 should not figure into this equation; it is hallowed ground, a place where they can devote 90 minutes to the life and times of Peter Tosh or fill us in as to what exactly Tony Orlando has been doing for the past 20 years. They never should have had to sink to the level of the butt documentary.

Not just any butt documentary, though. Do not be confused here. This isn’t the kind of charmingly lowbrow thing that FOX would play after the “Glutton Bowl” that we could all watch while doing the Jumble. No. This was a butt documentary with the “esteemed” panel of MTV’s Quddus (a person with so little talent that he was Mandy Moore’s sidekick) and the terminally un-hilarious Debra Wilson (Mad TV sucks; she is the least funny person on that show).

Over the course of the next two hours, they conduct panel discussions about Ricky Martin “having ‘back’ like you wouldn’t believe,” and several slow motion montages of people shaking their posteriors. I would label all of this as delightful, but seeing as I have yet to have a lobotomy, I won’t.

The problem here ultimately revolves around overextending oneself. VH1 has always been a respectable channel.

They have produced documentaries, shown spotlights on under-appreciated artists and carried the load of all music-based programming that would have no place on ‘eMpTy V.’ Then, they felt they could do better.

Contrary to what may be on the posters in the office of your elementary school’s guidance counselor, ambition is not always necessary, nor noble. This almost seems rooted in envy of the hipness of their sister station. So they got greedy, are now trying to make themselves MTV and it’s quite apparent that they have no business doing it.

Just because you listen to the White Stripes does not mean that it’s cool for your 52-year-old Uncle Oscar to wear all red and stop bathing.

Similarly, just because we watch some spring break programming on a Sunday afternoon does not mean that our beloved “informative” music channel should play a 72-hour homage to Sir Mix-A-Lot and start a petition to get him on the 20 dollar bill (because admit it, Andrew Jackson never would have been smart enough to build a giant foam behind to put dancing hoes on).

Trying to do what you think others want from you is patronizing and insulting. That kind of behavior is how we get the documentary on butts, the replay of “Diary of Pink” or the playing of movies that have nothing to do with music, yet fall under the umbrella of “Movies that Rock.” Just because John Hughes directed it does not mean it is musically valid.

Other examples are the “VH1 Fashion Awards” and, the grand misstep, all this week, the “100 Sexiest Artists!!” (Authors note to readers, those exclamation points are sarcastic. In reality, this show will be positively loathsome.)

Essentially, the problem with VH1’s turn for the worse has nothing to do with the quality of the programming. People are responsible for crap every minute of every day and there just isn’t enough time to fight all of them. The reason this situation is different lies in what the network once was. It’s almost as if VH1 has a template of Nickelodeon’s self-destruction and is following it to the letter. For the record, I won’t rest until “Hey Dude” is back on the air.

Tragically, VH1’s fall parallels one of the more riveting episodes of their signature show, “Behind the Music.” Artist (read: network) comes from nothing, and when no one expects anything of them, they launch into the pop-cultural stratosphere, higher than even they anticipated.

Then their handlers just pick at every little detail, grooming it for even more success, which as detached onlookers, we know will never come. Inevitably they deflate, left only as a skeleton to remind us of how great they once were.

The only difference is that instead of this being Leif Garrett passed out in a dark alley wondering where it all went wrong, it’s Video Hits One. And instead of it being alcoholism, drugs, prostitutes or Faberge eggs accelerating their demise, it’s something even more dangerous – a documentary on butts.

See you in five years VH1, when you are robbing convenience stores.