DON’T ASK WHY

ORIGINALLY WRITTEN DAVID VOGEL
As Desi Arnez once said, “All the world’s a stage.” Or maybe that was William Shakespeare. But anyway, that line is becoming all too true. I am talking about reality TV.

It’s getting to the point where ANYONE can get a reality television show. I say this after recently reading an article about a new reality TV show called “I Want to Be a Hilton,” which debuted June 21 on NBC.

From what I understand, basically “14 eccentric young contestants” will be split into two teams and “vie for the opportunity to live the glamorous lifestyle of high society.” The show will be hosted by Kathy Hilton: Paris “That’s Hot” Hilton’s mother.

I know what you’re thinking: “How much more stupid can reality TV get?” Don’t worry, I have the answer for you right here.

On July 20, ABC Family will launch its newest sure-to-be-a-hit reality six-episode series, “Venus and Serena: For Real.”

I’m not kidding.

In a press statement, Venus said, “The series will provide our fans with an up-close, inside look at our lives away from the tennis courts.”

My question is, who would want to? I had a hard enough time watching them grunt on the tennis courts, and now I’m supposed to watch them AT HOME?

Since “Survivor” began a few years ago, reality TV has basically gummed up the works of a perfectly good entertainment system. Other recent reality TV shows are “Amazing Race,” “American Idol,” “The Apprentice,” the various brands of “Extreme Makeover,” “Fear Factor,” KAKE and KWCH’s battle for the best coverage on BTK, “The Real Gilligan’s Island,” and “Welcome to the Neighborhood.”

In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if a new show will be introduced called “The Will to Survive,” wherein a family battles over the total contents of a recently deceased family member’s last will and testament.

I have watched very few reality TV shows. What’s the point? I can tell you exactly what will happen in almost all of them. A group of people are accepted to come compete on the show. They are promised that the winner will receive a huge cash prize, and through rigorous competitions, they will fight to be the best.

One by one, all contestants will eventually drop out, who will then say nasty things about the other contestants in an interview backstage. Eventually, one person will remain. They will be awarded the prize and go home, and be quickly forgotten by their fans.

I have given this reality TV issue some sincerely deep thought. And I’ve finally come to the conclusion that I want my own reality TV series!

My show would be entitled, “The Life Behind the Word Processor,” and each weekly episode would feature an average day in the life of me. The show would be totally unscripted, except for that packet of papers telling the actors-I mean participants-what to do and say. The series would provide my fans with an up-close, inside look at my life away from the newspaper.

An episode would begin with a classy, but hip, theme song (Do you think they’d let me use “Green Acres”?), with the opening credits in the foreground, with me doing normal, average, everyday things (brushing my teeth, going for a walk, laughing, staring at a computer, picking my nose) in the background.

And since the show would be the normal me, I would be doing normal stuff-for example, totally surprise accidents that make me say words that would have to be bleeped out. This happened recently when I was using a pair of tin snips to cut some very thick wire.

Now all you mechanically inclined readers out there are saying, “You were using WHAT to do WHAT?!”

The tin snips I was using were probably manufactured during the Lincoln administration. They are made out an extremely heavy metal, and are very hard to work with.

So there I was, sitting on my driveway, trying desperately to cut the wire, and suddenly the tin snips actually cut through the wire-with the handle part crashing down right on my finger.

“Bleep,” I said.

It turned out that I had actually pinched a chunk of flesh off of my middle finger. Thankfully, this wound has almost healed, leaving a smooth lump in the tip of my finger.

(If I ever get the urge to rob a store, I will be arrested immediately, because I will be the only criminal with a large ink blotch in the middle of his fingerprint.)

So as you can see, the show would contain quite a bit of drama.

A reality TV show about me would also be a great way to publicly track the growth of my new mustache. This has been my summer project.

(Everybody’s gotta have a hobby! Some people collect stamps and some people rebuild classic cars. I grow invisible facial hair.)

I’ve been at this for about a month, and I have been journaling its progress.

I shave weekly (not that I need to), and the first time that I didn’t shave my upper lip, there was nothing there.

By week two, I had what is scientifically known as “peach fuzz.” By the third week, it was still in the peach-fuzz stage, only there were a few longer and thicker strands here and there; it looked like my upper lip had undergone a skin transplant with a naked mole rat.

As of this writing, I am at week four, and the “whiskers” are actually becoming visible without the aid of a microscope.

I’m thinking that maybe by the end of the summer I’ll have something, but right now it’s too early to tell.

I’m sure you’d love my reality TV show, so when I propose it to all the major television networks, I’ll be looking forward to your 100 percent support. And I’d also like to thank all the little people, and the academy.

* * *

UFO: Paris Hilton-hotel heiress and all-around ditzy blonde-has filed a request with the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office for copyright on her catch-phrase “That’s hot.”

Don’t ask why.

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