So I am sitting around with some friends and we were talking about celebrity. Well, actually we were talking about people who become famous without actually doing anything.

The conversation:

Friend #1: When you have Snooki and Kim Kardashian making millions, it’s a bit much of a commentary, isn’t it?

Me: (snarling) Yes.

Friend #2: What about Paris Hilton?

Me: (growling) Two of them made sex tapes. Blurry, weird sex tapes. I have no idea about Snooki, but she had a New York Times bestseller. (Viciously bangs head into wall.) And this gets more attention than news. BRAVE NEW WORLD, this is what the world … (Both friends hold up their hands stopping me. I’ve raged about this before.I became quiet. I know I will need an audience in the future when I get all wound up about the death of news again and these two pals are quite tolerant of my rants.)

Friend #1: They also had reality shows and we are talking about institutionalized wealth with the Kardashian chicks and Hilton.

Me: (lightbulb) FINE, if I can get my novels published, I guess I will make a sex tape to get international acclaim so I can actually get through the door of a publisher. THROUGH THE DOOR!

Friends #1 and #2: WHA…?  (One of these friends looked rather disgusted, which sort of punched me in the feelings. Of course, I’m teasing, but why CAN’T I? I sorta love it when people hesitate for a tenth of a second.)

Friend #1: (In a measured voice) Why in the world would you say that?

Friend #2: I don’t think you are thinking this through. What in the hell would you make your sex tape about?

Me: (grinning and filled with asshattery) Picture the scene, I’m in corner covered in a blanket with only my face showing. We would film this with a night vision camera.  I would cry, eat out of a Nutella jar with a spoon, holding a remote with House playing in the background. We would call it “The Nutella Diary” and then market it for people who want to read Fifty Shades of Grey but who won’t because they feel kinda pervy buying it at Books-A-Million. It would be like The Blair Witch Project meets the loneliness of any one scene in a Lifetime movie of the week at the halfway point. (Quite proud of myself.)

Friend #2: That isn’t a sex tape, Sharp.

Me: I know but if I tell people it’s a sex tape, then book deal secured. It’s like Fox News, it doesn’t matter if it is real or not. Smoke and mirrors, bay-bee! Open those doors, publishers, I am on my way to fame and infamy.

Friend #1: You are so full of shit.

Me: Better be nice or you don’t get to go on the book tour. I hear Des Moines is lovely this time of year.

Of course, this lovely tale ended with both of these fine people ignoring me and headed back to a conversation of the Miami Zombie Bath Salts dude searching for a cold beer in a cooler at the lake.

Dare to dream about mediocrity and gaming the system, campers.

Facts just tend to get in the way.