15 Minutes.

"Everyone will be famous for 15 minutes. " Andy Warhol

15 Minutes.
(12-12-09)

The spotlights hum as the stage is redressed and set for another day. The cameras have begun rolling capturing every behind the scene tidbit for later cut-away candid moments during the show. Everyone wants their 15 minutes. Fame. The world is practically split into two factions. There are those who possess the potential, the talent and the drive followed by those who do not, could not and should never. The plain Joes, outnumbering the gifted few, each wanting just a glimpse of star attention and craving a mere moment to shine in the spotlight. Longing for the love that needs not be returned. That selfish love. Despite the desire, most of the poor ordinary fools will never be noticed. Unable to walk out into the warm spotlight or have a voice that will be heard. And in all honesty, that’s the best thing for them. A simple life of anonymity. It is a better fate to be known for nothing than remembered for just anything.

Anyone can get on TV; it’s the reality of circumstances. Anybody who is somebody is on TV. Why be ordinary when you can be somebody? It’s better to be interesting than ordinary. Far more interesting if you’re sleeping with your half sister or cousin. Even better if your live in lover happens to be a man masquerading as a woman having an affair with your half-sister or cousin. The tendency to produce more obscure and deviant oddities is what sends the ratings through the roof. Before there was the invention of reality television, the channels were populated by the self help talk show gurus in the business of creating Real moments populated by Real people. All of which insisted they were in it to help the poor helpless victims sort out these derelictions and deviations. Your problems = Our help for the entertainment of the masses.

“Manny can make it happen!” screams the crowd wrangler as the audience fills into the seats. A recorded answer prompts via the speaker system surrounding the stage as the wrangler continues his voice cues to the audience.Manny can! “Who can?”Manny can! “CAN DO! NOT CAN DON’T!” Manny can! “Ladies and gentlemen Manny Creed…” The host misses his cue for the impromptu rehearsal. Our host, invisible to the audience, is the small man exit stage right screaming into a phone about today’s show. Today’s show isn’t about unwed mothers, disappearing genitalia, or the rapid mobilization of drugs into the streets by the Catholic Church; in fact it wasn’t going to be introduced until the taping went live. Even Manny was going in completely unrehearsed. Producers were longing for an opportunity to liven things up a little and a candid very Real show seemed like an unusual creature to tackle.

Manny Creed, the man behind the mission and possibly the man behind the next somebody’s 15 minutes of fame. The man who has become the pinnacle of the trash talk show wasn’t always the savior of the afternoon and late night television. Manny used to be a traveling salesman and son of a preacher man. By no means was his father a man of the cloth. Manny’s dad was one of the first revolutionaries to tap into evangelism turned profit. Monty Creed, a friend of fair weather blowing into town by town preying on the hopes of the few in trade for any monetary collections. Which from the looks of things, this rotten apple didn’t fall too far from the tree. Day after day the show produces segment after segment about the freak aberrations of human culture while gaining popularity among the masses in trade for profit accumulated by its advertisers. Manny promised hope to the undereducated, unimportant, and unheard minorities of the world.

It’s a funny thing to prey on the souls of the faceless victims. What’s the harm when you never have to face someone again? They get those 15 minutes, while you continue to profit and propel forward away from that moment. The moment when they’ll live forever and you’ll keep going. Not sort of the thing one would want to be remembered for. Yet there’s a million people waiting to air their dirty laundry, tell that hidden secret and confess to living a sham for the sake of celebrity. Not so harmless when you know the people on the other end of the stick willing to hang you out to further extend their moment of fame.

500th episode. Nearly in syndication, The Manny Creed Show is a household name and climbing. The producers want a special show. A show to top the other dogs in the game. Mareska Donnells, empowering women. Antivar James, tackling the tough issues. Hallahan, with his cheesy gimmicks. None of which had ever contemplated a show like this. Today the audience would be wowed and dazzled to the hidden intricacies of Manny’s life. Manny’s was livid. His childhood spoken from the mouth of his father, reuniting with the brother he never had growing up, praises and accolades from his beautiful wife of 12 years among other surprise guests. Producers had spent months in planning to hide the details until it was too late to do anything. Twenty-Five minutes before air a mere assistant places a convenient call that fuels a wave of emotional panic. However the show must go on and Manny finds composure within as he closes the cell phone. Reaching out he trades the phone for a microphone and proceeds out on stage. There would be no way of knowing what would ensue. One thing for sure, Manny knew this better than anyone else, the audience was going to love this.

Proceeding out on stage as the audience cheers the veteran on, the teleprompter cues Manny to deliver his warm remarks and thanks to those participating in the special event. Cameras pan around the room as Manny spins around shaking hands. The stage is set and the guests are already seated. There’s no way of knowing what hell on earth would be like but as he looks at the panel without breaking his fake, Manny understands that this is the day he will be held accountable for actions in this life. The Real. Farthest to the left sits his mistress, now a man, with the twin bastard children he fathered, followed by his wife and her best friend in flagrante as the audience cheers on, a man that could be his older fatter twin seated next to a common whore, and lastly on the far right sits his father Monty Creed, a homosexual preacher who molested thousands during his spiritual journey, now dying of AIDS. Truth. The scariest of realities.

Teleprompters push and prod the host to confront the demons before him.

The infidelity of his wife with her lesbian lover. Both professing love and openly sharing the sham of their 12 years together in marriage. The former Mrs. Creed screaming “I never loved you! You piece of scum! I’m here to make sure the public knows the truth about your lies.” She concludes her say by setting fire to a wedding album.

The affair with a transgendered man that resulted in the birth of twins. A six year union that he carefully hid from the public scrutiny now openly out on display for the masses. “Carefully I’ll choose my words, as I know the public frowns upon gay marriages. But please understand, my Manny isn’t gay. Our love produced these two beautiful children. I can’t change who I am and I’m glad Manny helped me see that.” Despite his loving former partner’s kind words the audience gasps and boos.

The older brother he never knew, sitting before him with a prostitute he married and continues to sell for sex. Funds which in turn help to profit a pornographic bookstore that has been shut down repeatedly for fronting as a brothel. “Yo, I can’t help it if I’m the straight one in the family. A man’s gotta stand up for what he believes. You know what, little bro, I love you, gay or whatever the hell, even if we didn’t grow up together you got my support. And if you ever wanna discount let me know, I can take care of that. The name of the place is the Hook-Up on the corner of Frank and Fitz. The number GL5-5555 for anyone else looking to HOOK UP.” Producers love this shameless self promotion as the switchboard lights up with calls.

Lastly sits the father who molested thousands of children years before contracting AIDS and bilking the everyday man out of millions all in the sake of Christianity. Accusations of BLAME and questions of WHY and HOW COULD YOU escape Manny. His father effortlessly gives an enigmatic response, “Son the Lord is a forgiving man, but at this time in your life he holds you responsible for your loved ones.” Manny looks away in pure disgust as the man of God, with his simple mind, now speaks in riddles.

Teleprompter reads: Time to take a few calls, but Manny isn’t reading it anymore. Manny isn’t saying anything now. Cut away fast. As the she-male and bastard twins look for comfort. Cut back to Manny. As his wife holds the burning wedding album while embracing another woman. Wait for it. His brother with the prostitute wife. Wait. Gay father dying of AIDS. Watch. The man offering hope, promises and bad advice crumbles. Face breaking. There it is. No non-refundable love. The true moment of clarity unraveling within 15 minutes. There it is your life is up on stage and confronting you. Life answers in a scream and then waits for a response. Can you handle it? Manny can’t. Can’t Do It. No he can’t.


This was written for and inspired by my little sister, who still loves Jerry Springer. I always felt it could use a little more depravity. If you watch Jerry you understand. Anyhow, it felt appropriate to repost this one. It was actually one of my more memorable stories to write. Enjoy if you've never read it. M.