It’s always interesting, hearing about how people become an ‘overnight’ success. After eight to ten years, if not a couple of decades, of slogging away in the trenches, they are suddenly ‘discovered’ by the rest of the world. Their star ascends into the celebrity sky and shines bright as it establishes itself. Sometimes, without sleeping with anyone important.
These entities are then imbued with special powers by the masses or maybe just the media hounds. Able to discern the future, pick political leaders, make fashion statements and expose their genitalia, they are supreme in their own estimation, ego-powered beyond the output of any nuclear power plant. Able to light up entire tabloids with their mega-watt smiles. Unless they’re raging at the paparazzi.
The burn-out rate is determined by the self-love factor. The more headlines they seek, the faster they turn to burnt toast. Slow roasted by the fast bored public. A side trip to the pokey or the rehabarama can either be image enhancing or the end of the story. An event usually induced by drugs, sex, driving or guns. Maybe a toxic combination of all of the above. Having drugged sex while driving with guns…there’s a headline!
Probably the only safe way to success in the Biz and maintain it, is to be professional, do your job, keep your mouth shut about your love affairs and never, ever, show off your crotch, whether male or female, to anyone who isn’t your love slave. Get a non-disclosure agreement in writing before you head to bed. A pre-dip pre-nup.
Even if you’re some college girl wanting to be the Phelgm Queen or maybe get into a men’s magazine, one way or another, it can come back to haunt you in the end. Especially if you get the large version of the butterfly tattoo. Which, with old age, will look more like crumpled wall paper than a nymphalis californica. Has anyone told you how it will feel if you have to get a body scan at the hospital? Burn baby burn.
As for the men who think that their manhood can’t be beat, beware. The old race track adage applies, there’s always someone out there with more cubic inches. No matter the chemical or physical enhancements methods you might use to stroke your joke. Sometimes it more about quality, then quantity. Try harder, think like you’re number two.
Otherwise, you could always just fake it. Emote that talent thing all the way to the bank or into the ditch. If you hook up with the right people, even the talent challenged can rise to the top. You might even get to be president. Just don’t ask me to write about it.