Tony Montana: Me, I want what’s coming to me.
Manny: Oh, well… what’s coming to you?
Tony Montana: The world, Chico, and everything in it (including Iraqi shoes and death). ~ from “Scarface”
Dear Mark Scum of the Earth:
There are some people who don’t know who you are. But they should. And I’m going to introduce you to them. Forgive me for saying this, but you are made in the mold of a modern-day slave master.
Too harsh? I’ll bring it down a notch.
I wish that 31,572 Iraqi journalists could hurl their New Balance knockoffs at your dome … after all of them have been laced in dog manure. Oh yeah, I want you to be bound to a tree just before they start chucking their Chucks. I want them to spew the same venom they would at George W. Bush or Saddam Hussein, if it were feasible without punishment.
You deserve it. Seriously, you need to smell like what you best produce: manure. If you haven’t figured it out yet, you are what much of the world hates about America. Oh yeah, I’m taking you behind the woodshed. No grease will be necessary (No E. Lynn Harris. No Ellen DeGeneres).
You, Mark Cronin, are the creator of numerous reality shows on VH1. They include: “The Surreal Life,” “My Fair Brady,” “Flavor of Love,” “I Love New York,” “Rock of Love with Bret Michaels,” “I Love Money,” “Real Chance of Love” and “Daisy of Love.”
We know you can define the words lust and greed. But do you know the meaning of the word love? That was rhetorical. You clearly don’t if you’d mistakenly stick it in so many titles, especially “I Love Money,” ha!
Yes, I make regular snide references about VH1 in these letters, and with reason. You and VH1 are trying your best to set our nation back a century or two with the buffoonery you broadcast daily in the name of the almighty dollar.
No, I can’t blame you for using celebrities who desired exploitation to keep their dimming stars flickering. Jose Canseco, Verne Troyer, Chris Knight, Chyna and even Flavor Flav deserve what they got themselves into a few years back. I’m sure they were compensated well. (Hell, Jose realized he could make a fortune bashing his brothers and himself, and wrote a book about steroids before anyone cared titled “Juiced.”)
I’ll admit it. I watched the entire first season of “Flavor of Love.” But who could resist that? Flav is at the top of every short list for the perfect combination of craziest and scariest-looking former (alleged) crackhead ever to earn a $1 million. Can you name another one? But you were the person ultimately responsible for bringing in 65 girls during three seasons of the show. All 65 were actually foolish enough — believing the exposure would help advance their careers — to pretend to want to fall in love with Flav while allowing you to exploit them for profit.
The only one who was brilliant enough to figure you out might have been the dumbest one of them all: Tiffany “New York” Pollard. She got you to give her two seasons of her own show where men played the attention-starved idiots (at least you evened it out) and a show where you tried to teach her to be an actress. She embarrassed the home state of The Bronx Zoo, and resembled at best a …… let’s just say she might be the perfect extra for the next installment of “Planet of The Apes.”
It’s gotten worse. You’ve continued restructuring VH1 — a once interesting station with great documentaries like “Behind The Music” and “The Drug Years” series and insightful music shows like “Pop-Up Video” — into an assembly line specializing in coontastic bojangling for profit. Somehow people still watch and think the hogwash you peddle is “reality” television.
Sure, you gave us some hope when you tried to rehabilitate the clowns you had previously paraded out in front of our nation with the “Charm School” shows. But I’m sorry, those contestants needed more than for you to try to rehab (read: further exploit) them on national television while tweaking and refining the factory line to meet your ratings’ quota.
Then you recycle the garbage again by creating “For the Lust of Brandy’s Brother?” I have no words for this. I refused to watch it. (But Luvvie did.)
Now, I know you are a brilliant person modern-day slave master, and have more money than I could ever hope to earn. But do you have a conscience? Have you read this? Do you know what morals are? Can’t you see that all of this is nothing more than a legalized version of the drug game that has infiltrated American life for years (I really have watched “The Drug Years” series at least five times)?
If you don’t get it yet, you’re starring in the role of Frank Lucas, and I hope that you end up fallin’ harder than Tony Montana, Rod Blagojevich, Mike Vick and Kwame Kilpatrick combined. And you will. You’ve clearly made a deal with the devil and “have two left feet” (~Jay).
Seriously, take an honest self-inventory by answering the aforementioned questions. If you find yourself in anyway in the wrong, please stop. Find something productive to do with your life. Work out the kink in your second left foot. Hell, bring back “Singled Out.”
Otherwise, you’re nothing more than Maury Povich with a script (it’s not reality), but lacking baby-daddy drama (oops, wrote that too soon. Google: Brandy’s brother, pregnancy).
I apologize if I’ve offended you. But someone has to at least try to help you find your reflection and a moral compass (even if it’s already buried in your grave patiently awaiting your arrival).
You’re a big reason too many Americans can’t find their own moral compasses. But they surely know where the remote is come prime time on Sunday and Monday nights. SMH. You’ve trained them us well.
cc: Chris Abrego, Debra Lee, Reggie Hudlin, Brendon Canter, Bruce Klassen and Kallissa Miller (Kallissa, I really could write a book about the tomfoolery that is “Parental Control,” but won’t yet. You’re “NEXT” at some point, though).