If I see one more “girrl” on TV, I swear I’m going to scream. In case you don’t know, a “girrl” is a female who is proficient in the martial arts, who carries a gun at all times, and who is stronger and more courageous than any man around.

Backed into a corner, she doesn’t go “eek”—she growls!

But make no mistake: These female warriors are not macho wannabes sporting crew cuts, big ugly boots and lesbian “partners.” On the contrary, “girrls” tend to be wafer thin, busty and drop-dead beautiful.

It seems TV writers are taking the whole “femi-Nazi” thing one strange step forward by creating female characters who demonstrate traditional masculine behavior, while demoting their male counterparts to weary, whiny wimps.

This dreadful development is seen on “Sanctuary,” where the leading female character, Dr. Helen Magnus, is a brilliant, competent—and totally gorgeous—research scientist who also is courageous and cunning when stalking various monsters.

With her arsenal of guns and her total lack of fear, Dr. Magnus is a definite “girrl”—and so is her daughter, Ashley.

Twenty-something Ashley could easily be dismissed at first glance as a bleached-blonde bimbo until you notice she doesn’t shrink from engaging in fist fights with men twice her size, nor would she be caught dead without her gun.

Cornered by a malicious, maniacal murderer with mayhem in mind, Ashley doesn’t hesitate to vanquish him with a swift kick in the face, which she accomplishes without marring her designer high heels.

On such shows it’s not surprising that men get short shrift. After all, a female warrior does not need rescuing by a man. In fact, she is usually the one to save him.

A prime example of the kind of man these strong women hang out with is “Sanctuary’s” Dr. Will Zimmerman, a meek and mild psychiatrist who slouches about in cute T-shirts more befitting a high-school sophomore than an M.D.

There are many scenes showing Helen Magnus and her daughter with huge and hefty guns in their hands as they stalk monsters—while poor Will trails limply behind, clutching a dinky little flashlight.

So much for obvious Freudian symbols!

Then there is “Fringe,” a show whose female protagonist, Olivia Dunham, is a svelte blonde FBI agent with all the earmarks of a “girrl.”

For one thing—at least in the early seasons of the show—Olivia belongs to the ranks of other female FBI agents on TV who apparently exist in a world without hormones. These women are gorgeous and single, but never seem to have a date.

And even when they are paired off with available and attractive men at work, they show nary a spark of romantic interest. This whole phenomenon started, of course with “The X-Files,” where it took countless shows before the two main characters realized they were members of the opposite sex.

My third example is “Castle,” a show I rather enjoy because the main character, a mystery writer called Richard Castle, has a wacky and wise approach to solving crimes.

Sadly, though, Kate Beckett, the show’s female detective, displays the same mind-numbing mix of female-warrior traits that TV writers seem to love.

Beckett is shapely and beautiful, but she rarely dates. And, despite being rather weak-looking, she is adept at running after—and subduing—gruesome killers—and of course she does this while wearing shoes with stiletto heels.

Castle himself appears strong and quite fit, and certainly does not fit the wimp stereotype. Still, the writers tame his masculinity by having his teen-age daughter—and his mother—frequently get the upper hand with him. Also, he doesn’t carry a gun when he accompanies Beckett, who is always armed to the hilt.

Now I have nothing against real-world women using guns or self-defense techniques when under attack, but this extreme role reversal on TV is alarming because it seems that the stronger the women become, the weaker and more submissive the men become.

Men were once featured in chivalric tales as knights in shining armor who were eager to rescue damsels in distress.

Sadly, on too many TV shows today, they are demoted to weary wimps whining to be whisked away from all their worries by a woman.

Lorraine’s latest mystery is “Death of a Liturgist,” about a liturgist who gets his comeuppance when he tries to tweak the traditions at a fictional church in Georgia. She also authored a biography of Flannery O’Connor called “The Abbess of Andalusia.”