ANTHONY REALE

When I return home from working at the organic Pepper Jack factory every evening, I turn on the television. There was such respite in the halls of House Hunters, the kitchens of Iron Chef, and the fast-moving conversations of The West Wing. What a vacation from daily life! I found my vacation days to be essentially useless with this televised repose. My supervisor actually got me in trouble once because I had accrued over a year of vacation days! Those were the good times, though, when lemonade ran effortlessly from the tap and butter came in a bottle. As time has gone on, I’ve noticed a newer, more mean-spirited type of television coming on air––something that takes more than it gives. Living in the twenty-first century affords one with a series of newfangled machines, devices, and whatchamacallits in order to perceive how one’s life is––simply put––a pile of muskox manure.

Frankly, I do not think the Founding Fathers meant for any of this to happen. Our world of supply chains, strong relationship with Britain, and corroding of democracy would have fried the wigs right off their dandruff-laden heads. Modern society is a scourge to itself, and we are here to bear witness to some of the most pungent horse and pony shows that have ever been broadcast on the humming (and defenseless to cutting for a very defensible list of reasons) underwater fiber optic cables that make up the Internet: Selling Sunset.

Wads of Money

Everything in my life was like yours once. I, like you, was a fan of this show. I, like you, smiled with my teeth once. I, like me, deluded myself into thinking that my newfound obsession with reality television was harmless, that the fancy plastic ladies and negative 3 percent body fat men were actually adding value to my life. But time reveals all spells, doesn’t it? What a slap to the face it was when I realized that Selling Sunset was simply breaking the Constitution, melting the Amendments into a puddle of sludge that simply does not protect me (and through me, us) one bit! I mean, does the Eighth Amendment mean anything to anyone anymore? Anyhow, I found myself crying every night when I popped this travesty of a show on for my hungry brain. To know that I would never own a home myself was painful enough, but to have these lavish homes presented by couture-clad charlatans verged on villainous. How could I, a freedom-loving American, be free when I am watching these homes being purchased and lived in by the well-heeled, the well-to-do, the well-off?! The simplest answer I could come up with: immediately file suit with the Supreme Court and get this show off the air permanently.

Legally, it is my solemn duty to alert the general public that I will be suing each and every member of the Selling Sunset team in order to recoup money for the pains that this show caused for me. The title of the suit? United States v. Selling Sunset. I am suing on behalf of everyone, from the coal miners of Appalachia to the chia seed-consuming supermodels of West Hollywood. According to our founding document, we have a right to a life that is whatever we want it to be, and this includes a happy, good life where I get to yell about anything that bothers me! Will we sit idly by while Selling Sunset rakes in the coins of that sinking barge known as Netflix? Or shall we stand up, supporting me as I try to become a billionaire without any work of my own? Before you offer any measly critique, let’s remember that I am deserving. Through my gains, you will know that any of you could become a billionaire too. You won’t get any of my billions, but you’ll know that you could maybe possibly eventually hopefully get to my status at some point in the distant, distant, far away future (or maybe even your next life.) Wouldn’t that make you feel good as you went to your coal miner job where you earn one hamburger patty per 20 hours of work? I think that knowledge alone will help you thrive as you feel your physical form decay into a pile of noodles in return for a small sum of quarters that you can leave behind for your living descendants upon your death.

Lately, I’ve been prone to digression, but I don’t want to lose the point. Let’s go on an imaginary trip: you are watching Selling Sunset, seeing that one Russian guy’s compound in Beverly Hills that Davina will sell when our Sun expands and swallows up this godforsaken planet in 5 billion years. You are in some dilapidated, pre-war apartment where the water comes out green for the first ninety minutes of running it. You sit on a couch made of glass shards and pig excrement while Chrishell enters a relationship with one of the Oppenheim twins (unclear which one, they are identical) and travels to Greece for one weekend. You are not going to Greece. Ever. Mary and Romain surprise each other by buying a house for each other, and you drool over the spare change you found during your last spelunking journey in your building’s septic tank. Does this seem fair to you? Does this seem right? Thomas Jefferson did not write the entire Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin to have the country end up like this! Now that I’ve gotten you righteously fired up about my lawsuit, I implore you to join my movement to enrich myself. Because when one of us becomes enriched, we all go up a tax bracket! That’s the America that the Founders envisioned, truly! I am, contrary to what I told the garbage truck driver who hit me with his truck the other day, a litigious man. Many people and things (here, things refers to corporations; if you have some issue with this, show me where a corporation’s phallus is. Better yet, explain to me what happens when one corporation loves another corporation very much) deserve to be sued in this day and age, especially since there is no other legal recourse in this, the greatest country in the world. I have had some success suing the local crows for congregating in a tree nearby where I live, the city for insufficiently interesting sidewalks, and BP (did they think we’d forget that they were British Petroleum if they abbreviated it?) for the various oil spills I heard about from some pelicans on the Santa Monica Pier. Litigation is the people’s way to fight back, so why should we sit idly by and not litigate?! Shall we allow these injustices to just wash over us indiscriminately? I am putting my metaphorical foot down and stating plainly for all to hear: not on your life!

Finance Bro Shoes

Nary a problem has struck me with such importance, nay, pain before in my life. I used to think that the Wall Street firms warping prices in local markets in order to ensure that people who couldn’t afford their property taxes anymore would never again be able to afford a house even after selling their current home was the problem, but that’s just good business. Tricking people into being renters for life? That’s exactly what I will do when I am the next celebrity on the 10-Under-10 list (I am 7.) Can you blame a business for businessing? If a girl boss falls in the woods and no one is around to hear her, can she take home a hefty settlement? No, the real problem is much more malicious, because it is beamed directly into our homes via electric signals from the satellites that are melting our brains! I mean, they’re putting the problem on television. How much more bold can you get?!

I fear I’ve lost the thread, so let me take us back to the point: you should love me for beginning this lawsuit. I am brave. I won’t let reality television win again. If you agree, you should contribute to my legal fund. It will be worth your while, in that I will succeed with my plan. I hope you can make a donation. Every billion counts! Once I have the money, I will go to war, not stopping until we as a society can count on the fact that when an angry enough person complains about something that doesn’t affect them pretty much at all, they will receive recompense! Thank you all for your support!

And who knows? After their money is safe in my bank account, I’ll be looking for a house someday. I think I know just the realtors to see when that time comes.


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