My Own Television Show

If I do ever get to go on television (and fulfil that latent desire of mine of getting to hear myself live out of a box), I would be great, because I walk the walk and talk the talk. And my name is made for the job.

At least that's what they say, anyway.

A lot of the times, that is how it all begins... Yes, yes, yes, thank you Lord! Thank you Gypsy woman! Thank you ruby, emerald and opal! I am going to be a celebrity!

Only in my case, is there room for cynicism.

"Really?" I ask, without a trace of excitement. More like, "Right - and next you will tell me you are a p*rnstar."

Nevertheless:

I understand I can talk quite a bit. Which is generally quite appreciated on television to make up for awkward pauses and burps and the countdown till the next commercial break. I know my appearance can be slightly deviating from this statement, but I assure you, once we are acquainted you will need to tell me when to stop. I mean it.

But that also does probably mean that I talk nonsense. Which I don't. Because I talk to tell. And I don't just say anything to anyone, although I wish I could tell everything to everyone sometimes, but since that isn't the case, I can't possibly be told that my chat is nonsensical in any regard. Right?

A word of caution, though; often times shows involve a dedicated team effort, which is fine since I am great at working with people. But do I like them?

Uh. Nope.

I will be downright spiteful (be it behind their scrawny little backs) to almost everybody I hate. Which will be almost everybody. That moronic astrologer, whom I spoke readily about in this blogpost, here; I am afraid, but she will have to go if it's my show. And it most definitely is my show.

And that stand-up comedian will have to leave, too. He is a sodding bore and I just can't stand him. In fact, I crack far better jokes! And I laugh at them too, when I am alone.

Oh, that Executive Producer might as well be given the boot, too, while we are at it. He is huge, fat and ugly. And he also happens to have two gold teeth...

There will be no annoying catchphrases. And I refuse to name my sponsors every thirty seconds, at random.

I will also have the final consent in how everything goes. I will not work every day of the week, and I will definitely not work weekends.

Okay, so I have a show. There's no reason for me to not still have a life.

I will not permit flirting over phone-calls made to the show at broadcast. Half of the callers will be dim-witted girls obviously (since they have nothing better to do than ogle at the screen all day) and nearly all of them will be fuglier than they sound. So that also puts taking proposals online, completely out of the question.

And there shall be no room for over-rated personalities. I will be just as famous as him, her and it, and won't need to kiss their backsides. I would also like to give each one a piece of my mind. Especially, the beautiful Meera. And the even prettier Aishwarya Rai. Oh, and Miley Cyrus just has to be on the list, at any blinking cost.

Maybe I can get them on the same show. And get them into a cat-fight. And then act that I have been turned on in the process.

Think about it. I mean, I know Arabs don't go anywhere on camels. And Asians don't eat with their fingers and then lick them clean afterwards. And that whites don't have all the hot women. Hence, I could make it big as the guy who breaks all the myths. Erases all stereotypes. And knows all the hoes apart. Imagine.

Heck, I will probably be the only television being with a proper rating. That is neither under- or over- and simply an approximation of my true awesome-ality.

Now, if you are ready to accept my conditions for work, let's get it started now...let's get it started in here.

Err...that will be all. Thank you.