By Bob Freville
Spoiler Alert: The entertainment industry hates you.
The entertainment industry doesn’t want you to love yourself. They want you to believe in a love that will never come.
The entertainment industry doesn’t want you to be happy. They want you to dream about being happy so that you wake up disappointed…so that you eat a tub of “Americone Dream.” So that you get fatter and don’t get laid. So that you buy a ticket to their next romcom…so that you can believe in unattainable love anew.
Mainstream entertainment is a propaganda tool to make immature, gullible people more immature and useless. The entertainment industry is the fault in your scars, not the fault in your stars. Don’t believe me? Just take it from Stephanie Meyer.
“Your scent is like a drug to me like my own personal brand of heroin.”
That’s a line from the Twilight series. That’s right, the popular YA franchise. It wasn’t a coincidence that Robert Pattinson looked like a mainlining dandy from the West Village in the movie adaptation. It’s all about pushing body image.
Were you surprised when you showed up to the movie theater for New Moon and you weren’t the only morbidly obese Goth girl in line at the ticket booth? Well, you shouldn’t have been, just as you shouldn’t be surprised now when you turn on the radio and that Limey shitheel Chris Martin starts crooning about how you’re such a “heavenly view.”
You’re not a heavenly view and you damn well know it. If you didn’t know it, the song makes you know it. Of course, the artists and the record company’s PR whore would refute this, insisting that pap like “A Sky Full of Stars” is “uplifting” and “empowering,” but we all know that after you hear it, you only end up feeling inferior to people like Gwyneth Paltrow because you can’t fit your entire being into an overhead storage compartment.
A glance at the Billboard Summer Songs Chart should tell you all you need to know about the machine’s intentions towards you. Titles like “Shape of You,” “I’m the One,” “Unforgettable” and “That’s What I Like” sell you on a Planet Fitness membership and agonizing hours on your knees, doing disgusting things to randos in the name of acceptance and adoration.
Verily, verily, the entertainment industry does not think you are a sky full of stars. They think you’re a pathetic mess with a purse full of sheckles to burn on bullshit like fidget spinners and fancy rims. They see you as an undiscerning consumer who will swallow whatever they’re selling.
They don’t even have to try. Just look at Milky Way’s latest ad slogan. “Sorry, I was eating a Milky Way.” I mean, they’re not even trying. Because they know they don’t have to. If it’s in a bold enough font, you’ll buy it and you’ll stuff it in your mouth and a half hour later, you’ll feel regrets or, as Milky Way would have it, “regerts.”
And once regert sets in and you start feeling sorry for yourself, you’ll reach around frantically for your next bit of escapism and the entertainment industry will be ready for you with stories of suicide and avarice and sociopathy.
The Hollywood elite will tell you one thing and show you another thing. They’ll tell you that guns are bad then they’ll roam the country, promoting motion pictures that shove two barrels in your fugly face in every frame.
Don’t you wish you were Ryan Gosling or Harrison Ford with his LAPD 2019 Blaster? Did you know you could make one of your own? You read that right. The gun from Blade Runner can be yours by combining parts from the real world Steyr Mannlicher .222 Model SL and the Charter Arms Bulldog revolver.
Or better yet, get your hands on a sweet AR-15. There’re even free giveaways online where you might be the lucky winner of a brand spankin’ new assault rifle.
Like you ever won anything in your stupid life.
I mean, ya know, it could happen. Of course, it could happen. You’re a star. You’re a big, bright shining star. Just like Dirk Diggler’s big wiggler.
Except you’re not and they’ll never let you be. If every one of us was a sky full of stars, there’d be no one to market this muck to. Every freak in the freakshow needs their rube. That’s you, Jack. You’re a tub of popcorn. You’re a sad fool who needs to keep up with the Kardashians so you’ll keep getting up in the morning and earning a paycheck…so you can go see the next Marvel movie and dream of being swept up in the arms of Chris Hemsworth.
So the next time you’ve finished paying your bills and you’re thinking about spending the remainder of your hard-earned dollars on a visit to the spa or a vacation with your loved ones, remember your true responsibility. We want YOU…to buy a ticket to live vicariously a life you were never meant to live.
You’re important. You are needed. It’s your job. Don’t forget that you’re a motherhumpin’ Starboy.
Bob Freville is the author of “Battering the Stem” (Journalstone/Bizarro Pulp Press) and the writer/director of “Hemo” (Troma Team Releasing). His pop culture satire “Celebrity Terrorist Sex Bomb” will be available from Journalstone in 2018. Send him dirty pictures and death threats at: firstname.lastname@example.org.