I’m nervous in court, especially when I’m the star prosecution witness in a murder trial. Assistant State Attorney Bernie de la Rionda is grilling me about a murder I witnessed. The defendant is some celebrity singing sensation and his fate, whether he lives or dies, depends on my testimony.
“Did you know the victim?” Bernie de la Rionda asks, “the black one in the hoodie, the one who is lying cold on a slab in the morgue?”
“Can you tell the ladies of the jury what the victim’s name was?”
“I think his street name was ‘Music’.”
“Now do you see the person who killed Music in this courtroom today?”
“Can you please point out that person for the jury?” de la Rionda asks.
I point to the defense table where the defendant stares at me icily. “It’s that white nebbishy guy there,” I state with hatred for the way he cold bloodedly slaughtered Music who I so dearly had loved.
“Let the record show that the witness has identified Music’s killer as Josh Grob…”
“Ric, wake up,” Nina Pennington is shaking me. “You’ve got a telephone call.”
“Shit,” I mutter, reaching for the phone, “couldn’t it have waited one more minute so I could have saved the world? Who is it?”
“It’s someone who says she’s a producer for the E! network. They want to talk to you!”
Maybe this is still part of my dream, I think, as I take the phone, and because I’m not always fully alert and at my best when people wake me up, I’m only semi-cognizant of what the woman on the phone is saying. But the gist of it is Giuliana Rancic wants to talk to me about “the dog” on television and I need to get my ass down to the E studios on Wilshire Boulevard, if I want to be on television.
Do I want to be on television? There is a precise mathematical formula to calculate how much I want to be on television. You take the estimated number of female viewers in the prime 18-34 demographic. You then subtract the number of viewers who have gone to a university where the entrance requirements are more than having a pulse, and the number of viewers who are virgins, as well as the number of female viewers who are either on parole or incarcerated for a violent crime not televised on either Cops or Las Vegas Jailhouse, and also the number of women who have ‘Satan’ tattooed on either their neck, face or knuckles. Then you take that number and subtract the number of girls who have ever considered having sex with me. That unfortunate number is the accurate representation of how much I want to be on television – because from what everything I have ever read on the internet, E! Entertainment covers celebrities. Celebrities get laid by hot looking women who dump them for someone even more famous as soon as they upload a video of them having sex with the aforementioned celebrity from their iPhone – and I have shitty cellular reception where I live. I want this so bad I can taste it.
I jump up and go to the bathroom, take a shower and use the good pyramid shaped soap that I had brought back as a souvenir from the Luxor hotel the time I went to Las Vegas to serve as a witness for my sister Kristen’s green card wedding to this gay guy from Thailand who offered her $10,000 and two ounces of Thai stick if she would marry him.
“This could be my big break, someone is finally realizing the genius of While I’m Dead…Feed the Dog. I’m going to be more famous than the Kardashians!”
“Sorry to burst your bubble; but she didn’t say anything about While I’m Dead…Feed the Dog. She said she wanted to talk to you about ‘the dog.’ I think she was referring to Behaving Badly the dog of a movie Hollywood and Roger Debris made of your stupid book. Besides look at the way you’re dressed, Giuliana Rancic was on Fashion Police – and you buy your clothes from the 99 Cent store,” my future former girlfriend demonstrates why the first thing a new celebrity does is replace his old girlfriend with some big titted starlet who will try to convert him to Scientology.
“It’s just like if you’re invited to be a guest on the Jerry Springer show,” Nina continues to vie for Ms. Buzzkill of the year, “you probably don’t want to go. It’s a setup. No one wants to talk to you. You’re a writer. You’re boring. They want to talk about Selena Gomez and glamorous stuff like whether her breakup was caused by Justin Bieber having scabies. They couldn’t care less about how much you hate Hollywood and Roger Debris for ruining your book and calling it “Behaving Badly”. No one cares what you think.”
I slam the door and drive over to E! studios.
I get there and ring the extension of the producer, who tells me she will be right down with some of her assistants. Two minutes later I am surrounded by a phalanx of beautiful young women, possibly starlets, in dresses and five inch heels, each of them carrying a very cute puppy.
I’m escorted to a stage where Terrence Jenkins is standing. We make polite small talk and he’s a really nice guy. A few minutes later Giuliana Rancic walks over and introduces herself. She’s really nice too. I guess celebrities have some sort of professional courtesy they extend to other celebrities, and are only assholes when there are enough paparazzi around to film them when they need a salacious news story to boost their sagging ratings.
A technician straps a microphone to me, as the women with the puppies surround me. It’s showtime! The director counts down the seconds to air, and I feel like an astronaut about to be launched on a rocket to stardom.
“Hi we’re here with Ric Thibault,” Giuliana Rancic says, “and we’re here to talk about puppies. Ric I understand you’re a dog expert. What do you do with dogs when they are behaving badly?”
“Well, you have your lawyer write Hollywood’s lawyer a nasty letter and demand that he send you a shitload of money for violating your contract and destroying your book to make a dog of a movie…”
“Cut. Go to commercial.” screams the director.
“What the hell type of answer was that?” Giuliana Rancic yells.
“You asked me about Behaving Badly, the stupid movie Roger Debris made from my book.”
“No I didn’t. I asked you what you do when your dog behaves badly. I don’t know what you’re babbling on about. We’re talking about these cute puppies and the need to adopt pets from the shelter and spay/neuter your pets. We have the right guest don’t we?” she asks the director who nods his head.
‘You are qualified to talk about this aren’t you?” she presses, as the director counts down the seconds to air time.
“Okay, we’re back with Ric Thibault and we’re going to talk about the importance of neutering your dog. Is it important to neuter your dog?”
“Yes, each year shelters across the United States kill more than four million unwanted pets because they can’t find homes…”
“Cut,” the director yells.
“Did I say something wrong?” I ask.
“No, we just looked you up on imdb and found out that you’re the associate producer of a movie that Selena Gomez is in. It just changes the questions a little bit. Hold on we’re loading them into Giuliana’s teleprompter. Here it is, we’ll be rolling in 5, 4, 3, 2,1.. Action.”
“Okay, we’re back with Ric Thibault and we’re going to talk about the importance of Selena Gomez and neutering your dog. Is it important to neuter Justin Bieber?”
I love this! Justin Bieber is socially and emotionally dysfunctional…he’s missing all three of the soul plane numbers (emotional numbers) and thus suffers from foot-in-mouth disease often. He should be neutered :)
Here’s a link to my profile on Justin Bieber…http://michellearbeau.com/celebrity-profiles-2/justin-bieber-isnt-perfect-gasp/