Privacy Problems

There is a disturbing trend in pop culture that is destroying the lives of ordinary, tax-paying, American citizens. I’ll admit that I didn’t really pay much attention to this problem, although I had heard numerous horror stories. And then it happened to me. I’m talking about reverse stalking. I’m talking about celebrities becoming so disenfranchised with their own sordid lives that they prey on normal people.

It seemed harmless at first. I would walk out of my apartment and be greeted by Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie who had camped out on my doorstep just to get a look at me as I go about my daily routine. I didn’t bother me and they weren’t hurting anyone. I wish they wouldn’t leave their trash behind when they do their all-night vigils. They left a pile of empty pork rind bags, malt liquor bottles, and four jars of Vienna sausages in the hallway. No big deal, I guess. Although I can’t prove it, I’m pretty sure that Angelina defecated in the stairwell. As you can imagine by the diet she was on, it was fairly lethal. I suppose that’s the price I pay for being obscure.

Robert Downey Jr. has really become a pain in the ass when he learned that I have never had a drug or alcohol problem. Somehow he got a hold of my phone number and he has been calling me several nights a week and asks the same questions. “So you just go into a bar, order a beer, drink it, ask for the check, leave, and go home? How do you do that? How do you not end up in a pool of your own filth at six in the morning somewhere in another state? What’s your secret?” I wish that I knew so that I could tell him and he could leave me the fuck alone.

It would be nice if I could go to my local pub and have a meal without being hounded half to death by the A-list crowd. I’ll be sitting at the bar minding my own business and Bono or someone will come over. “How’s the Rueben sandwich in this place? I was thinking of ordering it. Is it good? What about the fries? Do you think that I should go with the side salad instead?” I try to be polite but sometimes I lose patience. I was trying to watch the game the other day when Ben Afleck came up and asked me for my autograph. He handed me one of the placemats they give little kids to color on. I told him to grow up and went back to the game.

I can put up with all of the petty annoyances of being stalked by celebrity paparazzi, but sometimes it goes too far. Britney Spears carved my name on her arm with a straight razor—like that is going to impress me. It’s sad to think that this is what passes for love with the stars. It’s creepy and I told her so.

The last straw was when I found out that Tom Cruise was publishing a magazine devoted entirely to yours truly. "Tom, I know that you think I'm dreamy, but I'm really not very tall. Actually, most people would consider 5'9" to be fairly short." He told the other movie stars that he would pay top dollar if anyone could get a picture of me in the nude. "Tom, how many times do I have to tell you? I don't like you in that way."

I decided that I had to pull the plug on the whole deal. I went to the Academy Awards celebration because I knew that most of my stalkers would be there and I told them that they needed to start living their own lives. I told them that their fascination with my personal life was unhealthy and destructive. I didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings but I thought it was for their own good.