I’ve always thought of this as a sort of morality play on reflected glory. There is a lot of this going on these days; perhaps it has always been so. From sports apparel to Kato Kaelin to the parade of hangers-on flitting in and out of the company of trainwreck media whores, we’ve seen the cheaper side. And we’ve seen the more callous and sinister side, in the form of a former Air National Guard no-show strutting on the deck of an aircraft carrier in a flight suit and codpiece.
Whatever the case, these people are seen for what they are with a clarity I wish were applied to the principals instead of the coattail riders. Sad, lame, untalented, lacking in the even meanest degree of dignity, they seem oblivious to the pathetic spectacle they are, so engrossed are they in having a toe in accretion disc of their masters’ celebrity.
Their sad story ends – almost invariably – the same way every time. They grow restless being the shadow of other people, and either try to step out on their own, or cash in. And just as surely as they are recognized as the remora that they are, they are slapped down immediately. When Kaelin tried to sell his fifteen minute cache, nobody was buying. The slob in the Tom Brady jersey isn’t passing to Randy Moss; nor is he nailing Gisele Bundchen. And contracting herpes from Paris Hilton won’t make you anything more than a nobody with painful sores who forgot to wear a condom.
Everyone who thinks they’ve been robbed of their rightful place in the firmament of American celebrity should be forced to watch Michigan J. Frog torture his discoverer. Maybe we’d fill the resulting gigantic hole in our so-called news with actual information. Just a thought.
But whatever you do, don’t trust the frog – he’ll fuck you over every time.
That Frog Will Fuck You Over,