| Confessions
of an Heirhead
October
1, 2004
by Bob Holt
Many
of us in the eight to five work force community are still
part-time writers who dream of seeing our work crack a
major best-seller list. So we try to focus on what we
feel America would like to read today, like a good fiction
story, an action-packed thriller, or an informative yet
educational non-fiction tale. That's when we realize that
we've been focusing with our lens caps on again.
I recently heard about one of fall's newest best-sellers,
Paris Hilton's Confessions of an Heiress. Now
I have to admit that unlike three-quarters of the American
population, I've never been in a sex video. That is mainly
because I have this undying fear that my film would land
in Blockbuster's Comedy section.
But the filming of a sex video has become one of the main
prerequisites of today's leading authors. Now before anyone
faces any nightmares about Dr. Phil McGraw or Bill Clinton
wearing S and M gear, please allow me to clarify.
Like Paris Hilton, former CNN Crossfire regular Pamela
Anderson has recently joined the best-seller lists. And
noted C-Span Booknotes intellectual and dramatic actress
Jenna Jameson is sharing her thoughts with readers on
how to make love like a porn star.
Other noted authors have become successful due to their
dabbling in other secondary careers, such as Hollywood
and politics. Jay Leno, Billy Crystal, and Lady Esther
Madonna Ciccone can now tell you all you need to know
about raising your children. And the Cliff's Notes for
President Clinton's autobiography are about 700 pages.
But my point is that obviously these are the stories everyone
wants to read. Today's book reader has no time for the
paltry offerings of some time clock punching warehouse
worker who thinks he can write when everything they need
to know they learned from Hollywood.
Although I have little doubt that Pamela Anderson spent
endless days and nights poring over her computer fueled
by numerous D cups of coffee to finish her book, I find
myself much more inspired by the confessions from the
pure hell which must be Paris Hilton's existence.
I have now learned that in order to write a really good
book, I need to bare my soul, and then the rest of my
garments, in either order. So before I attempt a take
two on the sex video, I'll first begin work on my new
best-seller:
Confessions
of an Heirhead
I
was born a simple man, and continue to prove as much
on a daily basis. I have but simple needs, a roof
over my head, health and happiness for my family and
friends, and a trophy wife.
I
always felt that my longtime reputation as a partygoer
was completely unfounded. That's because I never get
invited to any. I've come to grips with the fact that
this is because people are so intimidated by the sheer
enormity that is my presence. But eventually I lost
weight.
There
often seemed to be no end to the pain. On one occasion
I suffered the severe trauma of breaking a tooth after
biting into a hoagie at a popular local establishment.
Then upon seeking treatment at my friendly neighborhood
dentist, I passed another dentist's office which had
a ten foot model of a large bicuspid, cup, and toothbrush
advertising his services in front of his office.
After
my tooth was treated, I then had to seek a different
type of treatment, this involving ever increasing
amounts of voltage.
As
our world re-entered war times, my suffering even
reverted to my family. Not that long ago my own mother's
home was faced with an unknown terrorist attack. A
roving band of four guinea hens turned up in her yard
one day, and one even stayed there during an extremely
cold winter. Unfortunately, some of these poor animals
always land on the mean streets in order to escape
being placed in tic-tac-toe booths with those brainy
chickens.
But
after a while anyone would become bored with the glamorous,
jet-set life of the warehouse worker. Frankly, I've
seen it all. Been there on weekends, done that.
I
mean, how many times can one person lose a quarter
in a soda machine in the lunch room, and then perform
wrestling's flying body press on it to get $1.35 before
it becomes old? And what is left after you bring your
blow-up doll of Richard Nixon to work to leave in
the same break area, where you can watch female co-workers
make out with it? |
If
this deep, meaningful confessional doesn't put me on the
best seller lists, I'll have to go back to shooting the
sex video. Funds are limited, but at least as a long time
warehouse worker, I'll save money on the film's budget
because it won't require paying a co-star.
And
to the rest of the eight to five workers who are still
struggling writers, remember to focus on the confessional,
like Paris Hilton. Or at least try to get the proper lighting
on certain scenes so objects seem larger than they appear.
(Bob Holt is a guest writer for 2 Walls Webzine)
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