Reality Isn’t If Untelevised

The only  proof of existence is TV. Being off-camera is being a tree in a forest in Mongolia in a zud. Don’t be irrelevant, be famous. Everyone was promised their fifteen seconds by a mystical, ghostly wizard from Pittsburgh late last century. Okay, rounding errors and sequestration have altered the numbers, but still.

To get on TV you need to have killer connections or surrender all  morality and dignity. Or, less redundantly, you need to be resourceful. Crushing up against the Times Square morning show broadcast windows only counts as being a televised shrub in a zud, think bigger.

Offer to polish Donald Trump’s pinky ring with personal adrenaline fluid while under lethal injection. Juggle burning kittens at a Tea Party rally. Hire a blind, autistic personal stylist, pump up your tattoos with some ’roids and an S&M fitness regime, have a double sex change, create a religion based on incontinence, unionize sperm donors, get busy and get famous!

Remember: the world’s your oyster, and you’re its saliva!

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