Stuporstars

How do so many irritating people become celebrities? They infiltrate TV shows, musical groups, magazines and newspapers. Any show or ad featuring them should come with complimentary barf bags.

I understand how some people become “stars”: an icon marries, sires or gives birth, and then uses his/her own fame to convince the media to give his/her talentless family member undeserved coverage. Pia Zadora, Melissa Rivers, Paris Hilton, and Ron Howard’s brother are classic examples. But how do you explain Roseanne Arnold? Snoop Doggy Dogg? Howard Cosell?

Famous wastes of protoplasm are worse than useless; they are detrimental to society. Yet we continue to not only tolerate them, but also pay them. Why is it a crime to steal $5 worth of gas, but it’s okay for Garth Brooks to get paid $5,000 for a single concert? Why is it a crime to spray paint on subway walls, but it’s perfectly legal when Michael Bolton mutilates Sam Cooke’s “You Send Me”?

Then there are everyday people who try to make minor celebrities out of themselves with body “art” such as tattoos, nose rings, tongue rings, etc. As far as I’m concerned, self-mutilation doesn’t deserve special attention.

I think we should find a use for annoying people. For example, jail doesn’t seem to deter crime, given that prisons keep filling up. But what if we forced all convicted felons to look at naked pictures of Rosie O’Donnell?

The fire and brimstone of Hell isn’t strong enough to religiously convert everyone. But what if we convinced folks that Hell also included people we can’t stand? For example, here is my definition of true Hell:

I’m at Starbucks (which in and of itself is bad enough). A snotty teenager with an eyebrow ring and an I’m-cooler-than-you attitude serves me a Double Mocha Latte Frappaccino, which I hate because I don’t drink coffee. John Tesh, Kenny G and Wayne Newton are singing, with LaToya Jackson and George Michael as backup singers, while Sandra Bernhard does a striptease act. All of a sudden I’m overcome by the most annoying sound in the universe. I look over my shoulder and it’s Fran Drescher laughing. She’s sitting with Liza Minnelli. At another table Newt Gingrich and Dr. Ruth Westheimer are making out. Willie Nelson comes up to me and asks for some change. Jim Bakker and Oral Roberts wander over and do the same thing while promising to let me spend eternity with them. Pauly Shore and Milli Vanilli try to sell me Amway. Then Danny Bonaduce sits next to me. He wants me to lend him money to help him get a percentage of a Nigerian prince’s fortune that he got an e-mail about. As I look away, Dionne Warwick and a bunch of her Psychic Friends walk in. She predicts that I will enter into a business relationship with F. Lee Bailey. Just as I pass out from garbage overload, Geraldo Rivera offers to take me home.