I don't really know how a Twitter war happens, but I think it could be a good way to become famous for nothing while simultaneously working off my growing frustration over the overwhelming amount of stupidity in this world.
Today, I decided that these women are my sworn archenemies. They just don't know it.
But I confess that I enjoy Khloe, who is funny and seems to genuinely love her husband, Lamar. I feel sorry for Kourtney because her boyfriend seems like an awful person. I don't know if it's played up for the cameras or not (I hope it is), but he is an abusive alcoholic. I want her to leave him. When he drunkenly slammed his fist into a mirror and it shattered, leaving him bleeding and blinking in confusion like some wounded animal, I wanted her to walk out and never go back. And I understood completely why she couldn't do it. But then, I can show you the real reality of living with an addict and the horrible consequences it can bring.
So why do I care now? Why do I feel so offended every time I see another headline about Kim and her fake marriage or read about the new novel she has "written" with her sisters?
Because I'm becoming slightly disillusioned with the publishing industry and its focus on having a platform. If you aren't familiar with this word, it's basically just lingo for these questions: "How famous are you? How many people know you exist? How many people consider you an expert on a certain topic?"
Don't ask me what the Kardashians are experts on other than selling every little thing about themselves and their lives for mass consumption. Note: Mass consumption can only happen with things that appeal to the lowest common denominator. So, unfortunately, dumb things and bland things are the key to success. (Key examples: Two and a Half Men, Twilight, Adam Sandler movies, the McRib.)
If you know me, you know I've been looking for an agent to represent me and my memoir. It's about addiction and tragedy but it's also about forgiveness, healing, love, and hope.
Today, I decided that I can, at least, be grateful that the message I continue to get from the agents who have rejected me and from industry insiders who have agreed to read my proposal is consistent:
"Well-written, powerful, compelling."
Yea!
"You don't have a platform."
Boo!
I see the books being promoted on Today and on the front tables at major bookstores. There are books (plural) by Snooki. This doesn't make the baby Jesus cry. It makes him crap in his diaper. There is a memoir by Kris Jenner, the self-proclaimed "momager" of the Kardashians. There is a novel by Kim, Khloe, and Kourtney Kardashian. There is a book by a creepy, old boat captain who has suddenly decided to dredge up (sorry for the pun) the Natalie Wood drowning for personal gain.
It seems clear to me now what I must do. I must find a way to become famous.
Here are some options:
1. Make a sex tape with a B- or C-list celebrity or the close male relative of an A- or B-list celebrity.
2. Accuse Herman Cain of sexual harassment. Because, apparently, my continued accusations of his willful ignorance and ass-hattery aren't enough.3. Claim that Justin Bieber is the father of my baby. I don't have a baby. I'll need to find a baby somewhere. I'll need to find a baby with this hairdo. ----->
4. Try out for a reality show such as The Bachelor or The Apprentice or The Real Housewives of Wherever the Hell Intolerable Bitches Live. Act like an enormous, unreasonable, intolerable bitch on whichever show it is because the squeaky bitch gets the grease.
5. Accuse Robert Wagner of shoving Natalie Wood off a yacht.
6. Date George Clooney and get him to take me to the Academy Awards. Maybe Stacy Keibler will soon realize that no, he's really not going to marry her or let her have his babies, and she'll move on. I always think these women must believe they will be the one out of a thousand (he has dated a thousand women by now, hasn't he?) who will change his mind about bachelorhood. George, I don't want to change your mind. I don't want to have any babies and I sure as hell don't want to get married. Even to you. We can just date a little bit and get photographed at premieres for a few months.
7. Invent a time machine and go back to an era in which good writing and a compelling story are more important than who has the biggest ass, the grossest sex tape, the dumbest reality show, or the audacity to accuse a famous actor of killing his wife 30 years ago.
How far back would I have to go exactly? Because, with this option, I might actually change some other things instead. And then, instead of having a compelling story to tell, I'd have my best friend back and my children would have their dad.
With whom should I start a Twitter war to address that?
0 comments:
Post a Comment