How to Be a Reality Star (and Hasten the End of American Civilization)
With the loads upon loads of reality shows on television, I’ve come to the conclusion that anyone can be a reality “star” — all it takes are a few simple life-altering changes. Thank GOD I’m here to help
TO BE A FEMALE REALITY STAR
You’ve got to be batshit crazy.
I say this with love and honesty, but if you’re not willing to have a fistfight in the front yard or flip a table over when someone disagrees with you, no one wants to see your boring ass on their television. If you don’t get your way, you are going to have to be able to lose your freaking mind in front of children and senior citizens. You may find yourself pulling out hair extensions or scissor-kicking your nail lady, but that’s how real Americans want to be entertained; keep reminding yourself you’re doing the Lord’s work. It’s important to blow every little mundane aspect of your life completely out of proportion. Your dinner parties are the most important thing going on in the world. If the table linens are not to your liking, heads better roll.
Unnecessary surgeries are a must.
You’ll need fake tits, fake lips, fake hair, fake cheekbones, fake chin, fake tan, and a tiny white dog sitting on your lap at all times. While you’re physically fake from head to toe, you’re gonna go ahead and want your voice, friends, and laugh to be fake, too. It will really set off your look.
You have to be able to cry your eyes out over stupid shit.
A bad massage should send tears of anger streaming down your ridiculous face. Lost luggage or too much sweetener in your tea deserves a loud, ugly scream-cry. Cry while eating. Cry while dancing. And for the love of god, cry while wrapping your collagen-injected lips around your lunchtime Chardonnay.
You also must possess the ability to give birth, then completely ignore your kids.
You’ve got to royally screw up your children, whore them out, tell them they’re fat, and let them know they are a huge embarrassment to you and everything you stand for. On a daily basis. But before doing all of this, you’re gonna need to give them really stupid names like “Lazer” and “Burberry Marie.”
You must maintain a lasting, sexless marriage filled with silence and little to no eye contact.
Ladies, it’s important to have nothing whatsoever to talk about (that’s when that lunchtime Chardonnay will come in really handy) with your husband. Always suggest that he smile and wave to you while at parties. He must act like he’s really in love with you; otherwise, your fake friends’ marriages will seem better than yours, and there’s no way you can allow that.
Nobody likes a fat-ass.
Ladies, go to the gym, Pilates, yoga, chase your housekeeper down the street with a kitchen knife. Whatever it takes to keep your shit looking top-notch. Never be afraid to throw up. You stick whatever household object will fit down your throat in order to get rid of those empty calories. If you’re not the skinniest one among your group of fake friends, then you’re the fat friend, and no one wants to eat a ridiculously expensive duck salad across the table from some 135-pound heifer.
Never ask the question, “How are you?” unless you are fully prepared to look around the room for someone better to talk to while the person in front of you attempts to answer. You are no. 1 and every person who enters into your world better understand that.
TO BE A MALE REALITY STAR
Douchebag it up!
You’ll first need to cut all the sleeves off your shirts immediately. Buy wraparound sunglasses with rainbow-tinted lenses. Wear combat boots with shorts; it’s a bold statement that lets everyone who looks at you know you’re proud of your sweaty calves and you’re a tough working man. Grow a goatee. Shave the sides of your head and grow a mullet. If you’re from the South, really get in touch with your inner hillbilly.
Hardworking men need a hardworking-man career.
Apply at pawn shops, tow-truck businesses, repo companies, and biker bars. Catchphrases along with a cool nickname are very important when becoming a working-class male reality star. No one messes with Dog the Bounty Hunter or Thor the Busboy (OK, I’ve never heard of Thor the Busboy, but if there was one, you can bet your ass he would be 100 percent bad to the bone while cleaning cups and plates). Treat your job as if it’s the most important job in the world. When you’re locking and loading a Pontiac Sunfire onto your tow truck (because some 18-year-old mother of seven living in Tampa hasn’t made her car payment in six months), you need to treat it as if you’re signing the Declaration of Independence.
Make every day at the gym “arm day.”
Really focus your exercise on your arms and nothing else (remember, all of the sleeves from your shirts are now in the garbage or being used as a tube top by your teenage daughter). Let your belly get huge (barbecue and beer help), but keep those arms bulky so they’ll be threatening to anyone who dares to park in a handicap spot or tries to pawn a broken Nintendo 64 at your place of business. It’s also important to smoke or chew tobacco; it really ties your hardworking-dude image together.
Every hardworking man’s castle needs a queen with huge tits.
Let’s all stop and picture the sensual Mrs. Dog the Bounty Hunter; that’s the kind of gal you’re gonna have to find. A big-titty, baby-making machine of a woman. She’s going to have to be ready and willing to show off her tits, and the bigger the better. Your woman needs to be 65 percent titty, 25 percent hair, and 10 percent heart (she’s got to have some love buried deep in her 10 inches of freckled cleavage). She’s going to have to spit your children out of her vagina on command. You’ll need at least six kids, all 10 to 12 months apart in age.
I’m certain that if you follow these simple guidelines, the good people at Bravo and/or truTV will be knocking down your door, eager to film your every move. You are more than welcome for my unsolicited tips. Keep on truckin’.
Jenny Johnson is a former television news producer turned full-time comedy writer. She is currently ignoring her mom and husband while writing this article because her mom said she didn’t like Jenny’s new haircut, which is super-cute. Follow Jenny on Twitter at @JennyJohnsonHi5.