I sent the following to NBC, CBS, ABC, Fox and MTV. I haven't heard back.

Dear Sir and/or Madame,

Please let me first assure you that I am NOT recently in possession of several million dollars from a South African bank. However, I do have a suggestion that is bound to prove very lucrative for you and your associates. I wish to humbly offer the following proposal for your consideration. Having long been a fan of reality TV, I have noticed a vacant area that I believe would prove to be a goldmine for the brave network or media conglomerate willing to venture into this new territory. Of course you are well aware of, as Ronald Reagan so aptly put it, “the sad story of the 60’s and 70’s.” During those dark times reality TV was limited in scope. For some reason, those shortsighted network executives seemed unable to escape the confines of that police action in Vietnam. The cost, not to mention the danger involved could barely justify the riveting suspense of wondering if your family member would be the lucky one to take a bullet on live TV, and that all important question hung like a dark cloud over all the years of coverage. How can even the most imaginative production manager properly execute product placement in a war zone? There were no Coca-Cola machines for our rag-tag band of brothers to stop at for that much needed pause that refreshes after burning down the village. And I’m sure the life of more than one CBS intern was lost trying to get those Miller Lite posters strategically placed throughout Cambodia. For these reasons I can completely understand the aversion to any of the topics related to the current numerous skirmishes our nation has been dragged kicking and screaming into. I thank God every night that we have a peace loving man in the White House, and that the Electoral College had the patronly wisdom to place him in office knowing full well that the fanatic Godless hoards would only be kept at bay by Jesus and a gun.

But I digress. Please accept my apology. Back to the issue, I’m sure you and many of your colleges are working late hours trying to squeeze yet another drop from the carcass of this genre. As the fourth wall comes tumbling down with documentaries on the making of Real World and Anna Nicole has upped her dosage of thorazine to levels that would make Hannibal Lector act more like Chancy Gardner or Pee Wee Herman, there seem to be fewer and fewer characters smaller than life to capture our attention span. Yet there are two perfect stooges I have heard little of, yet the little I have heard has left me wanting more. Yes, I’m sure you’ve already guessed it. Where are our beloved party girls, the Bush sisters? The name alone carries connotations that would send Beavis and Butthead into peals of snickering! The exploits of Jenna and Barbara should already have been keeping us entertained for the last three years or more, but sadly they have been overlooked as the field was once ripe with P.T. Barnum’s favorite kind of folk all ready to sell their souls for a 15 minute fan faire. However, now that the pool of willing victims seems to be as shallow as Dick Cheney’s philosophy on life and as barren as the job market, why not capitalize on this windfall? Set up a house, add a few characters that epitomize various easily recognizable stereotypes, mix in a few secret service agents and you’ve got your self the biggest thing since Pamela and Tommy Lee! But don’t just put them in a trendy and recently gentrified urban context. No, only one place will sufficiently produce all the needed looks of contempt and harrowing cries of “whatever.” Set up the house in Baghdad. Oh, I can see it now. There as the dust settles from the neighbor’s house which has recently been hit by a scud missile, there stands a ranting Jenna Bush resplendent in Calvin Kline jeans, appalled, outraged and generally put out. But is she pouting for injustice? Is she ready to rant against the mechanisms that just left seven children dead? No, she has just discovered that Muslims don’t drink alcohol. “OH MY GOD,” she cries. “I thought they said dry county, not dry country!” And of course since we’ve won the war six months ago when President Bush proudly proclaimed our victory after hopping out of an F-16 and Saddam Hussein has been captured and given a proper shave and haircut, the whole endeavor is perfectly safe. Although perhaps with cameras in place it might finally be revealed how a non-existent army and a gaggle of terrorists are able to lob mortars every hour on the hour. Please don’t get me wrong. I am truly impressed by the media insights into our freedom war. Never before in the history of man have we been able to get accurate, clear and precise coverage from the front using only Instant Messenger and Adobe Photoshop.

But I must in all fairness admit that I am sending this to all the prime network heads, so you must act quickly. Even if you are the first to ply the sisters’ signatures after a case of Zima, the ink will hardly be dry on the contract before your competition is advertising Chelsea Clinton milking a yak in East Timor wearing nothing but a banana leaf, so please send your nearest secretary out for more Jager, stat!

And what do I want in compensation? I wish nothing more than to be entertained, and I know you won’t let me down. That’s right, I will not ask for a cent. I give this freely to the first to be brave enough to step into this brave new really real world.

With sincere thanks for all the years of opiate like television, I bid you good luck.
God bless America, and damn the rest.

Yours truly,
C.T. Thieme