My dear Humoristian hooligans,
For six months I saw their faces on the cover of every magazine as I went through the checkout line at the local supermarket. For six months I wondered who the heck this couple was and why everyone was so interested in them. It was perplexing to me. She looked nice enough – had a nice smile and kind of pretty eyes, and her husband looked like he wasn’t a bad fellow, but… well, nothing about this pair really seemed to stand out to me. It took me six months to care enough to finally ask the supermarket clerk, “Who is this Kate person, and who is Jon, and why are they so famous?”
The clerk started laughing. “That,” she told me, pointing to the blonde on the cover of the magazine, “is Kate Gosselin, and her husband is Jon Gosselin. They are famous because they have eight children and a reality show.”
“Oh,” I said, pretending that I understood.
And then came the Kardashians. Now their faces replaced Kate’s and Jon’s on every cover. They were pretty, I guess – but what, I wondered, did they actually DO? “Oh,” the cashier said, “They’re rich, and they have their own reality show.”
“Uh,” I kind of grunted, non-committally, nodding my head like I knew what she was talking about.
The truth is, I was still pretty clueless about the whole “reality show” deal at that time. But that has now changed, and I’ve come to see the possibilities for a boatload of financial gain from having one’s own reality show. The way I see it, one doesn’t need to have any actual talent or anything to succeed in the reality show business. One simply has to have a good agent and the willingness to put her worst foot forward in public.
Which brings me to my purpose in writing this letter to you.
I propose, me hail, hardy Hooligans, that we start our own reality show. Ohmygosh. Can you not picture it?
I, of course, would be the star of the whole vehicle. I am the obvious choice: First of all because, like the Kardashian sisters and Kate, my first name (Karen) starts with a “K”; and secondly, because my obvious physical charms will, I’m sure, attract tens, maybe even a couple of tens, of viewers – I mean, throwing away all false modesty here – I know my luxuriant eyebrows and noble schnoz would make even Groucho proud. And okay, so maybe the luxuriant eyebrows and noble schnoz are but plastic and faux fur – but look at the Kardashian beauties and Kate and tell me they, too, aren’t artificially enhanced. True, they maybe chose to take a little different route to cosmetic enhancement – but still…
Our reality show would follow the day-to-day drama of our lives – the passion and the power-struggles, the heartbreak and victories, and stuff. It’d be Emmy-winning material, for sure. I’ll let you each figure out what you’d bring to the proverbial table, or add to the proverbial stone soup – but for my part, I think I’d focus on the difficult choices I am constantly forced to make in my day-to-day life: Do I step on the scales so soon after Thanksgiving or do I give it a few days? Should we have turkey enchiladas, turkey lasagna, turkey sandwiches, or turkey chowder for dinner? Should I don the Groucho glasses WITH the mustache, or the Groucho glasses WITHOUT the mustache? Important stuff like that.
I hope you will join me, my Humoristian comrades, as we rake in the big bucks just for being ourselves. Well. With maybe just a little artificial enhancement.
Groucho Karen Wingoov the First. (And, I’m pretty sure, the Only.)