The Animals. They're watching me.

Another conversation with myself. Normal me is in normal type, sarcastic me is in bold.

---------------------------------

Sigh. I need help. I'm having a problem.

(What? Again? You're such the drama king. Is your iPod not working? Computer being shitty? Heart all aflutter? C'mon ... spill it.)

I think I'm being stalked.

(Oh jeebus. You're so sad. Who'd stalk YOU?)

Animals.

(Are you off your meds? Or on too many? Animals are stalking you?)

Yeah.

(Please do elaborate.)

About two months ago, I left for work one morning and was confronted by the most foul, cruel, and bad-tempered rodent you ever set eyes on:

(Awww, he's a cute little albino squirrel. How is he stalking you?)

He stood there staring me down for a bit. Almost challenging me to cross his path. He backed up and let me get to my car rather than scurrying away like the gray squirrels do. Over the next couple of days, he was watching me. From the tree, and from bushes.

(WHAT? A squirrel watching you? You must be on the crack again. You got some when you were back in Youngstown, didn't you?)

No, really. He was watching me.

(You need a hobby.)

Seriously. But wait, there's more.

(Oh, do continue.)

Today, as I left, there was a bird sitting on my windshield wiper.

(A bird?)

Yeah.(Okay, so that is a bird on your wiper.)

And like the squirrel, he didn't move. He just stood there, watching me. I unlocked the car, he didn't fly away. I opened the door, got in the car, closed the door, started the car and he was still sitting there. Staring at me.

(Really?)

Yeah. So I figured he'd fly away when the car started moving. He didn't. I got to the end of my street, still there. Made a left turn, down to the stop sign, still there. Was doing 35 miles per hour, little fucker was STILL on my wiper. Finally, at the light, I turned on the wiper and only after it hit the 45-degree angle did he fly away.

(Wow. That is weird.)

That's what I'm saying.

(Okay. Remind me to avoid you during lightning storms.)

Thanks. Now just go away. You're no help.

(Go play trivia, whiney boy. Hey, is that chipmunk there under the flowers? I think he's wearing a headset ... probably calling your whereabouts into the Animal Assassination Committee.)

My Idea for a Reality TV Show

Dear MTV Executives:

I have your next great reality show.

No, really.

Here's the premise:

Contact all the castoffs from your other reality shows. Tell them you're having a “Where Are They Now” special and want to visit them and their immediate family at their home, with cameras, and yes there are cash and prizes for playing along.

After a nice little catered affair, you bring in a new 72" LCD TV and show them, and their families, just how pathetic they were during the filming of their particular show. And be sure to include all the passive-aggressive, deceitful, back-stabbing behavior – broadcast and not broadcast – committed in their pursuit of 15 minutes of fame, some cash and/or whatever STDs Brett Michaels, Tia Tequila and Flava Flav or the other castmembers they were banging either have or caught during the show.

Then present the former contestant with a challenge … after all, they’re in the fame and game game and want the attention, the victory and spoils, right?

We bring out the game table. It has two items:

A box with $5,000 in cash; and a Samurai sword. The contestant gets to choose one or the other.

If there is a smile on their face and they take the cash, they are immediately shot dead by snipers posing as boom microphone operators. Then their families are murdered for three generations like Saddam Hussein did to prevent a reoccurrence of this type of behavior. (Granted, he did it to his political enemies, but I consider these people enemies of good taste and good behavior and dread the fact I share a nation, let alone a planet, with them. My show, my rules.)

If, however, they take the Samurai sword and commit seppuku, their family gets to live, and gets keep the cash and TV. Why? If, when later confronted with the truth of their behavior in the name of fame, cash and countless STDs outside of ‘the show’ they were on, the contestant realized there was no point in living such a shamed life and did the honorable thing by ritually cutting their stomach open, disemboweling themselves in front of family and the MTV Nation, and dying a slow, agonizing painful death, they are redeemed and their family has learned a valuable lesson in humility.

Harsh? Perhaps. But it fits with the title of the show:

"Where's My Dignity?"

Now that’s some must-see MTV.
_________________________

(This is a concept that's been floating in my head, but finally made sense after reading about "Hurl" ... a new reality show that's an eating contest followed by extreme action sports to see who can last the longest without vomiting. The winner gets a whopping $1,000.

TRUE FUCKING SHOW.

And we wonder why the world hates us.)