What, and Give Up Show Business?

(based on a true story)

A man goes to the doctor for a terrible rash on his arm. The doctor asks him what he does for a living. He tells the doctor that he works at the circus. He shoves suppositories up elephants’ butts. The doctor tells him to get another job and the rash will go away. “What, and give up show business?”

I don’t like to drop names but I know Kevin Spacey’s personal assistant’s ex-dog walker. Yes, there is quite a view from up here but I promise that I won’t let the stardom that I now enjoy change me in any way. I won’t forget where I came from and all of the people who have helped me to get where I am now. Life is so different for me, I won’t kid you. No more waiting in those humiliating lines at popular night clubs. I always get the table up front by the window in the best restaurants in town. If I were still a lowly dirt bag like you, it would be hard for me not to be jealous of me.

It’s not like my fame doesn’t come at a price. I just wish that I could go out and have dinner with friends like a normal person without being interrupted constantly by fans. I always try to be polite to people but knowing Kevin Spacey’s personal assistant’s ex-dog walker isn’t always a bowl of cherries. Dark sunglasses are a pretty effective disguise. I wear them all the time—even when I’m sleeping.

This is going to be difficult for you but I just don’t think we can hang out anymore. I need to be around other famous superstars. They are the only people who are capable of understanding what it is like to be me. I mean, Mick’s musical career has slipped a little, but he used to be pretty huge, so he knows what it is like for an A-list celebrity like me. Maybe Johnny Depp just likes to bask in the glow of stardom that surrounds me, but he’s not a bad guy, and he always picks up the check.

How is my sex life these days? Call me spoiled but I won’t even look twice at super models. Guys like me only date super-duper models. Let me just say that those letters to Penthouse Forum now seem like harmless bedtime stories for the kids compared to what life is like for a guy who knows Kevin Spacey’s personal assistant’s ex-dog walker. I try not to let my insecurities bother me because I know all famous people wonder at times if the woman lying beside them loves them for who they really are. Lying beside me now are Siamese twins, a transvestite midget nun, an entire women’s softball team (fast pitch), Mrs. Howell from Gilligan’s Island, a blow-up doll that looks like Oprah, and an Amish hooker. I’ll be honest with you; I’m too damn tired right now to care if they love me for who I am or if they just want to be with a guy who knows Kevin Spacey’s personal assistant’s ex-dog walker.

It may all come crashing down on me some day; I won’t be the first celebrity to take a bad fall. Substance abuse, divorce, paternity suits, plastic surgery, drunk driving, eating disorders, weight gain, bad hair cuts, and sometimes even murder--these are all occupational hazards of the rich and famous. We are only human, after all. Not loser not-famous human like you, but celebrity human. My star may fade. I’ll be stuck doing Hollywood Squares and late night infomercials for exercise equipment, but I’ll still be more famous than your sorry, unfamous ass. You have absolutely no idea what it’s like for us people in show business.