The Pitfalls of Reality Television

The Pitfalls of Reality Television

It was a dark and stormy night…HA! That’d be some funny shit wouldn’t it. Starting a story with a boring old cliché. Tonight is the night I finish my masterpiece…my greatest work ever. On a side note, this is the also the night I’ll be murdered.

That’s, right. This is the night that I am going to be murdered. Am I worried? A little. Do I fear death? Only a bit. Do I care that I’ll be dead? I cared at first, but then found a way to make it work. You may be asking yourself “WHAT THE FUCK!?!?!?!?”, but fear not, if you understood me or my profession then you wouldn’t be nearly so worried.

I’m a washed up, smoked out, boozer. I stopped caring about most things when fell out of favor with the public; they were pissed off that I didn’t have much (read Nothing) to do with my last few hits , even though I took the credit, awards, cash, and accompanying fame (the nerve). That was about four years ago. Since then I’ve not done much that didn’t involve drugs, drink, hookers, and bad ideas (though some might consider ‘bad ideas’ to be redundant in conjunction with the first three); additionally, I made many bad investments which left me mostly broke. That’s life though, huh?

So, that’s how things went for the last three and a half years. I was on the verge of killing myself. I hate saying it like that because it’s so often used as a way to garner attention. Let’s get one things straight: I no longer wanted any attention. I was going to try and kill myself in such a way that no one would ever find me and I wouldn’t cause much of a fuss (that should tell you something: when was the last time you heard a Hollywood type say they didn’t want any attention). Regardless, that’s where I was: burned up and no longer giving one holy shit.

So, why am I still here writing this story and not dead in some tucked away gorge north of Hollywood? What’s the one thing all good stories have in common? It always comes down to the same thing: a girl. I was sitting at a sidewalk café, trying to survive a mean-ass hangover through the use of copious amounts of black coffee; the staff changed. So, instead of the to-well-dressed-friend-of-Dorothy coming back to refill my joe, it was refilled by a cute little 30-something in short black skirt and heels. She had mid-length blonde hair, perky tits, and a cute little ass that swayed just so when she walked away. I contemplated my options over a few more cups and finally decided that I’d stayed to long to do anything besides ask her out to dinner.

To my great surprise, she agreed to have dinner with me in three days. We had a pretty shitty meal at the local pub, my choice. Then we went to see an even shittier movie, her choice. This was followed by some pretty goddamned good sex (I was surprised by this last bit of good luck). From that point on, the relationship followed a pretty normal pattern. We dated for five and a half months before I proposed. She accepted. We were married on a beach in Puerto Viarta. The only witnesses were the Mexican priest (who spoke very little English) and the waiter from the resort (who spoke no English). It was a pretty day though. The night turned to shit when we both got dysentery from the ice mixed in our fruity, little umbrella drinks. I should’ve viewed  that as the omen it was. I might have lived a little longer, but I would’ve missed the big show.

For the first few months the marriage seemed to be going great, but, like all great loves, it eventually goes to shit. We started to argue all the time and I truly had no idea why. I know that’s a pretty common statement from guys, but I’m being honest; I’d be working on the computer and she start yelling that I hadn’t mowed to grass (we paid a local contractor to do that) or that I hadn’t cleaned the pool (again, that work was hired out). So, she’d start yelling about it and I’d try to tell her that we paid someone to do it (which she already knew since I knew she liked to stare at the help every week as they worked) and then she’d bring something else up and things would really go south from there. 

This shit went on for three and a half more months. It would’ve gone on longer than it did if something strange hadn’t happened. I wasn’t literally struck by lightning or hit by a Mack truck, but it felt like it. This almost physical blow hit me one day when I picked up the phone and heard her talking to some other guy. It was an honest mistake; I wasn’t trying to spy on her…yet. Anyways, I picked up the phone and heard her talking to this guy. At first, no big deal. I talked to women on the phone for business and other mundane things. Some intuition kept me on the phone though; I’m not sure why. Regardless, I stayed on the line a bit longer. Then, my world changed.

She was calling him honey and sweetie and snookums; the same nauseating shit that she used to call me.
She was talking to this other guy about killing me. He was angry that she hadn’t gotten the will changed yet or learned the details of my finances. She was placating him, saying that it would all be done soon enough, that he didn’t have to worry, etc… I was dumbstruck. What I heard literally took my breath away. I snatched up my keys and coat and just took off for the rest of the day. Didn’t drink or do any drugs; idea never actually crossed my mind. I wanted to stay clear headed to deal with this problem (strange behavior for me). Just went to the park, sat on a bench and I thought and I thought and I thought some more. Eventually, I came home. It was late, but I really didn’t notice. Spouted off some lame explanation to my wife and went to bed. I wasn’t tired, but I had no desire to see or hear her so I just pretended.

While at the park I decided what I was going to do…call it my terminal approach to life.

I was going to use my imminent murder to create one last hit for the millions of pet-store pets out there; those pet-store pets that always stare at the glass when something that seems better than their own tiny existence walks by…wishing they could be there, on the other side of the glass, living that better life.

I decided I would play dumb to her plan. I was gonna let her keep on scheming and thinking that the two of them were pretty damn sly. That I was too stupid to ever catch on to their slick plan. I was going to ‘let her’ change the will. I was going to let her in on all of my finances, but what she’d learn wouldn’t be right because I was going to show her some nice, fake documents (it’s not as hard as it sounds to fabricate some financial documents, especially when you know a thousand different people with a million different skills from a lifetime spent in Hollywood). I would acquiesce to her every whim and fancy.

At the same time, I would be recording all that she was doing and saying when she thought I wasn’t paying attention. I would have hidden camera’s throughout the house; they would be in her car; the phones would all be bugged. I was going to invade her private life in as many ways as I could without her knowing about it.

I would then use all this gathered media to create one last hit show. I would create every episode, except for the last one of course (tough to do when your dead, huh?). I’d portray in as bad a light as possible. I’d make myself look like an angel. Drama, drama, drama…that’s the name of the game. The final episode would be edited by my ex-partner (one that I’d fucked over in the past when I stole his show), but I knew he’d do the best job he could as he was to receive all of the royalties. In Hollywood, money rebuilds all those nuked bridges.






DISCLAIMER: The rest of what you read is a transcription from the final episode of Caught Scheming. It doesn’t express the views of the author, as he was dead when the final episode was created; sacrificed so that you, the audience, might have the most entertaining show ever. I tried to stay true to his beliefs: make the most money possible by creating the most outrageous show ever, even if it’s not completely, 100% true.







                “Honey, I’m home…..Hello?”
                 “What?”
                 “I’m home.”
                 “I noticed.”
                “You don’t have to be a prick. Why didn’t you say anything when I came in?”
                “You didn’t ask me a question or say anything that seemed to require a response.”
                “How do you expect us to have a healthy relationship when you treat me like that? Why would you say something like that!?! Do you care about my feelings at all???”
                “Seriously, are you really going to go there? When was the last time you saw your shink?”
                “GAWD….you can be such a prick!!”
                “Yea…well…life can be a real bitch, huh? It just doesn’t always turn out like you think it should. Take me for instance: I meet who I think is the woman of my dreams and it turns out she’s just some conniving bitch trying to use me for what she thinks I’ve got.”
                “Whaddayou  mean ‘thinks you’ve got’? I know damn well what you’ve got. Don’t forget I saw all your……why would you say that? Why are you looking at me like that?”
                “You sure seemed to zero in on my finances…again. I called you a conniving bitch and you let it slide…certainly not like you. If this were any other day I’d bet you’d try to...oh, I don’t know…kill me for saying such a thing.”
                “Why…umm…would you say something like that? Why would you say that…that I would want to kill you?”
                “It just sorta popped into my head….a few months ago. Heard mention of it somewhere…might’ve been exactly 3 months and 1 day ago and 3:13 in the afternoon when I accidentally picked up the phone and heard you talking to some random fucker about tryin to kill me for the money that you thought I had.”
                “Ugh….”
                “What was that…cat got your tongue? Same little fucker sure had mine that day, let me tell you. Took my tongue, my mind, and my feelings. It was weird as hell.”
                “You heard us that day…you heard what I said on the phone….and you didn’t do anything about it…you just left and let it go on…didn’t you care?”
                “Dumb bitch, of course I cared…I just didn’t know what I wanted to do about it yet. Took me a few hours to figure it out…that’s why I left for the rest of the day. I followed that little cat to the park to get my shit back…then I sat there until I figured out what I wanted to do…I came up with a great plan, too. You want to hear it?”
                “If you knew about our plan then why did you do what you did…. you changed the will….why did you show me all of your finances…it doesn’t make any sense. I really don’t understand. Please, just help me understand.”
                “It makes fantastic sense to me and soon it will to you, too. Just sit your little ass right there and listen. That day in the park I decided that’d turn this to my advantage. I used to be able to make hit reality TV shows…I figured I’d just make one more…see if I couldn’t get back on top. I’d cook up some financial documents and I’d change my will to give you everything. I figured I’d do anything I could to speed up the process…to bring about the grand finale. I just wanted you to get to that one special night…the night when you’d be planning to do the deed. This was to be the special night, right?”
                “If you know all that, then why didn’t you call the cops?”
                “Did you not hear anything I just said? I didn’t say ‘I’d decided to live and try to make something of myself’…I said I was gonna sell my death to the pets out there….give them one more hit…see if I couldn’t be cool again. Only time will tell, but I think it’s gonna be one helluva show.”
                “If your dead then how can you enjoy your fame…what’s the point in that…I don’t get it?”
                “I think it’ll make a better show and I’d do pretty much anything to have the best show out there. Speaking of anything, you wanna hand me that gun you’ve got there in your purse.”
                “How do you know about that? Have you been spying on me?”
                “Are you serious…how the hell would I make hit without a villain…there always has to be some drama in a good show…reality TV show’s are nothing without drama…even if it’s a little constructed, it still makes them great! So, of course I’ve been spying on you…every day since a learned about your little plan…I’ve had camera’s everywhere that you’ve been…everywhere.”
                “You’ve been spyin on me?!? And you admit it! That’s not fuckin right and you know it…how dare you…you’ll never get away with it.”
                “Are you dense? Of course I will…how are they going to punish someone who’s dead? Ahh…I see that little bulb of understanding...finally. I never thought you were smart, but I didn’t think you were that fuckin stupid.”
                “Your going to kill me and then kill yourself….just to make a TV show?”
                “BIN-FUCKING-GO….I do believe we have a winner…so, give me that goddamn gun and no, its not loaded….as soon as I found out you had it I swapped your bullets…that way you couldn’t get jumpy and kill me on accident or before I was ready for it….there you go…good girl.”
                “Please don’t….I don’t want to die…its not fair…I was supposed to get all your money…it was gonna look like you off’d yourself…I was going to start a new life away from your miserable ass….its just not fair.”
                “Baby…comeon…that’s life in showbiz…the fast lane…get hip or get out. You just weren’t quite as hip as you thought you were. Them’s the breaks...suck it up. As they say, the show must go on….Do you have any last words?”
                “I…I..don’t want to die…not for some shitty show your making...it just doesn’t seem right to die for TV.”
                “Like I said...them’s the breaks.”

BANG….thump
BANG….thump




After a three week investigation the deaths were ruled a murder-suicide. The police said that they just couldn’t believe that someone would do something so heinous just to make a television show. They said that they wanted to check every angle. In the end, the evidence was just proved too overwhelming The California government tried to stop the release of the series. They lost. Those who said “Why would you grant one sicko’s dream?” or “What the fuck is wrong with you television people” were quickly silenced by the pet’s that couldn’t wait to live vicariously (hmm? Seems strange given the circumstances) through one deceased Reality TV producer.