EMMuSings
Wherein troupe members are able to write, blog, or manifesto.
Like MySpace, only OUR Space.
And yours...
OUR NEW REALITY SHOW
While we as artisans of improvisational comedy (amongst other skills such as writing, fishing, and phrenology), we hear the term "unscripted television" most often applied to the so-called "reality show." Talk shows, documentaries, nightly news, and the like are also technically reality shows, and generally unscripted, but they aren't classified as being in the same genre. We discovered this with our last attempt at reality TV: EMMS MAN ON THE STREET, where we all took a vow of poverty, became homeless, then wandered around with a camera discussing the events we could see with our transient brethren. We were cancelled in the middle of filming "boxcar week," having just learned a great recipe for Sterno Stew. Apparently the homeless, our target demographic, don't have easy access to power outlets or DirecTV.
Looking at the trends of what people seem to care about, we've created what is sure to be the next smash hit, bigger than AKA PABLO or its many spin-offs. Bigger than SABADO GRANDE, which one must admit is muy grande. Bigger than RED RIDER, WHITE LIGHTNING, AND THE GREEN HORNET GO TO HUNGARY. We want to be famous, which is where our great idea was born.
WHO WANTS TO BE FAMOUS FOR NO DAMN GOOD REASON?
Not a question, despite that bit of punctuation. We all do. It's a reality show, and the rules are fun.
You go clubbing, hitting all of the hottest spots you can. Cancun, Tara Reid's beach house, the Free Clinic, Club Mako Pako Potato, Amsterdam, Dentaldam, and everywhere in between.
You drink as much as you can. Brown liquor, clear liquor, green liquor, blue liquor. Get beach drinks so strong, the umbrella is there to keep direct sunlight from touching them and possibly causing you to be entombed in glass. It's a science joke involving sand, fire, and explosive... um... it's more of a visual.
Take enough drugs to make Hunter S. Thompson come back from the grave and say "Damn," then maybe try and bum some off of you, charge it to ESPN or Rolling Stone for "research," but you tell them they were comped by a record party trying to sign some new "straight edge" act, so there was lots of extra, then you see Marty, you call him over, "MARTY!" you say, and Hunter's like... He's gone. WTF? Okay, so anyway, there's somebody coming in, and I LOVE THIS SONG! Is it cold in here? Because I'm sweating.
It doesn't hurt to wind up "accidentally" naked in public places, at press conferences, movie premieres, or in Uganda. If you're found having sex, try and get it on tape. Find somebody hot who wants fifteen minutes but has no discernible talent. Have a nice grease fire (what we in the "biz" call getting it on with a flash in the pan), and give them a camera so you two can "remember your love." Let them play along, then the next morning, after a long shower (invite them to interview you during it to pad out the tape) you go off to a meeting, giving them a chance to "lose" the tape to a media outlet. Scandal!
Bonus points for taking shots in the arm, mouth, and eye all in one night, by the way.
At the end of each week try and get sympathy for it all, showing how you're just a misunderstood and troubled person like everyone else. You make mistakes, you trust people who only turn and betray you. It's not the reckless way you live that gets you called a "trainwreck." There's no W in reckless, so it can't be connected. Joe Billy Jo Durga Dipple in Skupeepadunk, Arkanbraska is practically kin to you, getting drunk at the PTA dinner, and you will show them we are all the same. Well, besides the filthy, fantastic riches.
Tune in. Call our 900 number voting hotline. Buy our official show's tabloid. Get our colognes and perfumes, and buy whatever outfits we might be wearing. Otherwise, PBS has already won.
© 2007 Patrick Storck