Now listen, I refuse to accept advice from people in puka shell necklaces. Sure, standing by my principles has gotten me into a lot of JNCO-centric scuffles, but as the saying goes, “I’d rather die on my feet than drag around a chain wallet like an asshole.”
There’s something about putting a camera in front of someone that makes us assume we’re not being lied to. A little sprinkling of that manufactured authenticity and you can convince us that politicians aren’t lizard people, or that Bear Grylls isn’t just hanging out by the interstate, or that David Duchovny is a real person and not a drowsy elephant seal that wandered onto the set.
Or take Youree Dell Harris, aka Miss Cleo, who conned countless Americans into ponying up for “psychic readings” just by sitting in front of a MacBook wallpaper and cobbling together the least-convincing Jamaican accent I’ve heard since I tried opening that jerk chicken restaurant in Cleveland. Honestly, lady; How hard would it have been to rent Cool Runnings one more time, just to be sure?
Of course, Harris’ whole act couldn’t have been any more transparent if she were sitting on top of a literal barrel of snake oil, but thanks to the vaseline-slathered magic of television, it worked. In fact, it worked for seven long years. And then it didn’t. And then she died. So, yeah… How you gonna fix this mess now, Television?
Harris’ run as a TV psychic was not without controversy. Access Resource Services, the company behind Psychic Readers Network, was hit with numerous lawsuits in 2001, and the following year the Federal Trade Commission charged the company’s owners with deceptive advertising, billing and collection practices, in a case that was eventually settled.
After that well dried up, Harris took a series of bizarre gigs to make ends meet, including doing commercials in character for a used car dealership, hawking breakfast cereal, and voicing a character in one of those games that white people used to blame violent crime on until they heard about Muslims.
Harris’ post-fame struggles just go to show that, wherever you are financially, you never know what the future will bring. So, if you’re anything like me, you started saving for your midlife crisis in your early teens. If you haven’t done the same, you should really sit down with your loved ones and think about the specific, pathetic way in which you hope to refute your rapidly-approaching end of days and put together a realistic plan to make it happen. Perhaps you’re finally gonna open that bistro you were only ever half-hearted about to begin with, or maybe you’d like to own an unnecessarily loud motorcycle with which to broadcast to the neighbors, “Hey everyone! I’m still vital and useful to the world!” Whatever dumbass idea you want to see through in order to briefly convince yourself that maybe Death isn’t snickering at the meaninglessness of literally everything you’ve ever done, it’s a stupid dream that I can help you achieve. Just send away for my free informational pamphlet, So You’re Denying Your Irrelevance: The Delusional Fool’s Guide to Personal Finance. How can I afford to send it to you free of charge? Ha, well… let’s just say a certain blogger was really into stamp-collecting for, like, two weeks.
Source: The Wrap