Congratulations are in order all around, for Your Mayor and for you, for your Herculean patience: This represents The Mayor of Television’s 300th blog entry. And upon the event of such a rarefied occasion, Your Mayor has agreed to market a series of limited-edition souvenirs to commemorate this landmark event.

For verily, through these dark and troubled times, it has only been Your Mayor who has understood the challenges confronting the Good People of Television, and only I who have been courageous enough to present them in terms euphemized enough so as not to unduly alarm the constituency. Only I have been bold enough to conceal the disturbing truth that your leaders in the Land of Television have egregiously weighted their egos and legacies in favor of what may actually serve the greater good, in the guarded assumption that the history books will be closed on Television (as even Bill Gates believes they will be) before the ruinous errors of our policies will be exposed.

For those of you who churlishly find this endeavor a craven opportunity to cash in the burgeoning avalanche of Mayor-o-mania, not to mention the chance to offer links to some of this blog’s “Greatest Hits� to more recent fans, well, all I can do is chide you for your cynicism and perspicacity. And, of course, invite you to partake of these wares anyway.

* First up, a bronzed imprint of the inaugural “Mayor of Television� blog entry, a heroic and historic document in which I railed against the insurgents of reality television while allowing them to terrorize our viewership untrammeled. True, this handsome item is so oppressively heavy that not even the overpriced nail-and-Y-shaped frame holders at Restoration Hardware will be able to affix it to the cheap plaster walls of most homes, but, still, you’ll want to own this chronicle of a troubled age, no matter how many times it leaves vexing indentations in your hardwood floors.

* Hummel figurines re-enacting Your Mayor’s bold, “Manchurian Candidate�-style assassination attempt on CBS COO Les Moonves. The attention to detail on these porcelain figurines is truly astonishing, from the square, jutted jaws of Moonves’ bodyguards/thugs, to the benign threat proffered by the knives accompanying the melting, sunflower-shaped butter pats on the tables in the far back of the ballroom, where Your Mayor was relegated to absorb Mr. Moonves’ jolly self-aggrandizements.

* A tintype of Larry King composing one of “The Mayor of Television’s� very first weblog entries in the early 1950s. King, a perceptive purveyor of pop culture even a half-century ago, posited the tough observations: “Joe McCarthy has a presence that simply lights up the screen! He could peddle floor wax, and then, I’d have way too much floor wax cluttering up my apartment!� and “Hey, now that television is such a big deal, does anyone know if they’re still making books? This is a rare chance to behold King before he made suspenders the saucy fashion statement they are today.

* A high-definition DVD of Chris Wallace’s hard-hitting and contentious interview with Your Mayor about my contributions through negligence to the bastardization of Television’s body politic, conducted not long before his notorious session with Bill Clinton. This special-edition DVD includes my exclusive commentary of my chest-poking responses, in which I demand whether Wallace “asked Stu Bloomberg, when he was at ABC, how hard he tried to keep Jim Belushi off the air. Did you ever ask Gail Berman when she was at Fox, what she was doing to protect Television from reality programming?� To be honest, the commentary just basically notes camera angles and lighting considerations and the camaraderie circling the crew habituating the craft-services table, but they offer insight nonetheless into the febrile considerations that go into creating something of nominal value that viewers will watch momentarily, then forget.

* A Franklin-Mint plate celebrating Your Mayor leaking, to the New York Times, a bombshell memo entitled, “Television: Illustrative New Courses of Action,� conceding that everything my Administration had attempted and was likely to attempt to take the cudgel of righteousness to the noggin of reality television was doomed to failure now and into the foreseeable future. The plate’s portrait, commissioned to one of Thomas Kinkade’s lesser acolytes, isn’t particularly flattering in its depiction of Your Mayor (my goatee, in particular, looks like a particularly grievous imagining perpetrated by one of those magnet-and-lead-filing toys), but the expression of heroic stoicism upon my face is almost vaguely passable, and anyway, we’ve already commissioned 500 of these things that we have to move at the fairly scandalous price of $49.95, so I can’t badmouth them too much.

Order now! Operators (or, at least, an operator) are standing by – until, at least, the 500th blog entry, at which point these items will be peddled as valuable antique keepsakes, at twice the price.