Long before I ever saw The Truman Show, I was filled with this paranoia that I was being watched 24/7 by invisible people.
Now, I have a phone: so it's definitely true.
Everything he does is televised: from going to the store, to jerking off, to peeing, to pooping, to pissing, to shitting, to farting, ordering drugs off the darknet, eating grapes off the floor, crying into his underwear, shaving his legs and putting on a dress.
They've seen it all, folks. He's an icon.
His wife is a glorified whore. Whorified. Whorey glory. She legit gets paid to have sex with him.
Random moments that seem inconspicuous turn out to be commercials for products, I say as I take a sip of my delicious Barq's Root Beer: available at stores where you can buy stuff.
Y'know, sometimes I get a little paranoid that there are people reading my webzine and watching my shows. Thank God that's not true!
Google Analytics says this site is actually doing pretty well.
I don't trust science. I trust God.
Eventually, Truman catches onto the fact that his life is a goddamn disgrace and opts to kill himself. Wait, no. Sorry. That's not how this ends. But if I wrote it, that's how it would end.
I can't even imagine what it must be like to go from being a total zilch in life to having a dedicated cult-like following who hangs on your every word. That's insane to me. Almost as insane as the all-new CBS lineup!
Anyway. Buy my shirts.