The Idiot Purse

By Juli

I want to do a new reality TV Show called "The Idiot Purse." So for all you friends in the industry, I need a hook-me-up right now. Here's the idea.

We follow people who are making plans to piss away their money. Large sums, small sums, medium sums. We go through the whole planning process with them, right up to the point before they actually let it loose. The audience gets really, really invested in wanting to beat them senseless at the thought of that much waste and idiocy in any economy, let alone today's. And then we stage an intervention. We make them see the light. Even if we have to tie them to a chair in a dark room with a mysterious drip and shine the bulbs of Sweet Jehovah right into their eyeballs. . .

Like, take Paris Hilton's doghouse for instance. $325,000 for a DOGHOUSE. Okay, it's her money, she can do whatever she wants with it, I get it. But what if we could have reengaged a couple of neurons for a split second and gotten her to scrap the plans, realize that if she's gonna waste that much good goddamn money, she could at least make some unsuspecting soul really, really happy in the process? Her dogs didn't want or need a house, don't give a shit about it, and will never give a shit about it, that's for sure.

So, we get Paris to put 325,000 smackers in a sweet little Gucci overnight bag and stroll down some street in Anytown, U.S.A. Go into a Walmart, hit up a soccer game in the suburbs, knock on the door of an antique colonial in need of a paint job, whatever. Go up to someone she would normally not even blink at, give them a big old Midwestern Hug and say "Here you go. I was going to fritter this money away on stuff that would send my Good Karma Meter into the Beyond Redemption Zone for the rest of my life. You have it instead." And then she just walks away.

The nice thing about this Idiot Purse idea is that it's totally scalable. Like next time I think about taking my kids to The Rainforest Cafe, I could take the 40 or 50 bucks and just hand it to the woman relegated to walking around her mallcart with that fake cigarette hanging out of her mouth. I could say "You, here, take this. I was going to waste it on soggy, cold food made three days ago. I can whip up more food, better, for five dollars at home. Thank you for saving me from gaining a pound or two, stuffing my kids with trash, and near freezing to death under the electromagnetic dust dungeon that is The Rainforest Cafe. God bless." And then I'd kiss both of her cheeks a la francais, pivot on those black flats I got on sale at Target, and head for The Exit. A little lighter in the wallet, but with a lot more coin in the Juju Bank.

I would watch this show with tears in my eyes.