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Fame This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine.

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   Today on Geraldo: Tonya Harding's alleged hit man is now sharing a cell with Joey Buttafuoco, who is having affair with the jurors on the Menendez trial.

Now that it appears that the Kerrigan-Harding fracas is resolved at least until the hearings occur later this month, the only question on everyone's mind is: Who's the next shocking scandal going to feature? Well, I'll be honest, I want to be the next person the media exploits. I want the money, the attention, and yes, I want to meet Howard Stern.

So, what do I need to do? First, I need an adequate scandal. Bashing Nancy Kerrigan in the knee seems most logical since she lives around here, but Jeff Gillooly beat me to it. Incidentally, Gillooly is my new favorite word. Just say it a few times and you'll know why. I could kill my parents, but they're still useful, and then I'd have to claim that I was molested. The whole molestation scheme is too much of a clich"; I want to be original in the way my story is blown out of proportion. And the knives will remain in the kitchen, thank you.

Next I'll need a partner. Have you noticed that all of these scandals, now immortalized in mini-series for posterity, involve pairs? Amy and Joey, the Menendez brothers, Tonya and Nancy, David Koresh and God, John Wayne and Lorena, Michael Jackson and that kid no one has ever seen but who is now richer than most Central American nations.

Now I need an "inside source," my own LaToya Jackson if you will, someone who will heartlessly leak my story to the media. He or she will need no skill other than the ability to remember and recite, "I could not let it go on. Now I feel that it is my obligation to tell the public the truth, preferably while the ability to earn 7.5 million dollars still remains." This person must be willing to see his or her face, along with mine, plastered on every talk show, news show, magazine, newspaper and church bulletin in the English-speaking world. There will be books to be published, movies to be made, and money to be earned.

The key element is a trial. I'll need a place to break down and tearfully tell the world that (a) "My mother made me do it," (b) "My father made me do it," or (c) "Jeff Gillooly made me do it." Then I'll claim temporary insanity and spend a half an hour in a home for the criminally insane. Have you noticed that temporary insanity is the new plague of America?

"Mr. Davis, did you know you were going 75 in a 55 mph zone?" "I'm sorry, officer, I was temporarily insane."

Well, now that I've been acquitted, all that's left is the media attention. First I'll go on all the major networks at prime time and, come to think of it, at all times in between. Then I'll embark on a 50-state, 4,000-station radio tour with an option to add Europe if ratings are good. Finally I'll do public appearances, write newspaper columns, attend functions, luncheons, Disney on Ice. I can see it now: "Here to speak with the graduating class of Harvard Medical school, Lorena Bobbitt, who, without any surgical experience."

But then, after my six months of fame are up, I'll be forgotten, survived only by the legacy I've left in TV movie history. The next big scandal will move in, and the media and public will flock to a new, even more pointless story that will be America's biggest news, even as the homeless die, war rages in Bosnia, and people lose their jobs by the thousands. Get real, folks.


This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.






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