It Gets Worse Read online

  ME: Because cops are here to help us!

  LISA: We’re in Mexico.

  ME: So?

  LISA: You really need to read more.

  I pulled my car into the cop line and drove up to the gatekeeper. Lisa grabbed my hand and gave it a kiss. My body started trembling with fear. I have never been good at breaking the rules. Even in school if a teacher told me I did something wrong, I would have a full-on panic attack. The thought of a cop yelling at me while holding a gun was making me borderline pee my pants. Pun intended. About that time, a cop approached my window.

  COP: Are you aware that this is a police lane only?

  ME: It is?! Whaaaaaaat?

  Usually I’m a good actor, but that day I was giving a high school play performance and the cop was about to throw some serious tomatoes. And by tomatoes I mean bullets.

  COP: Can I see some passports and ID?

  ME: So the thing is, we actually got lost on the freeway and then we ended up in Mexico. So we don’t have passports.

  COP: You ended up in Mexico?

  ME: Ya. Funny, huh?!

  Lisa and I started cracking up hysterically. But because of the tears and the incredible amount of fear pulsating through our veins, we looked like actual psychopaths having a nervous breakdown.

  COP: Are you two ok?

  I stopped laughing and went back to crying.

  ME: I’m sorry. We’re just really scared. Can you please help us?

  COP: You know, driving through this lane is a federal offense. You know what happens to people who go through this lane without permission?

  ME: They are really sorry?

  COP: Oh ya. And they go to prison.

  ME: Please don’t send us to jail! We have children!

  COP: You do?

  ME: No. But we have a dog! And if we don’t come home, she’s gonna be so confused and probably shit EVERYWHERE!

  COP: Pull your car over to the side and turn it off. I will deal with you two soon.

  The cop walked away, and Lisa started hyperventilating. I pulled the car to the side of the road and turned it off like the cop told me to. I tried to calm down so I could be strong for Lisa.

  ME: Everything is gonna be fine. He’s just going to give us a warning and let us go home.

  LISA: You think so?

  ME: I know so.

  And at that moment we saw the same cop make another car pull over to the side of the road in front of us.

  ME: See, he’s doing it to everyone. He probably just likes to scare people.

  LISA: Ya, that’s probably it.

  Then I heard a bloodcurdling SCREAM and witnessed the cop RIP the driver out of the car and THROW him to the ground. The wife in the passenger seat jumped out of the car to save him while another cop ran over and TACKLED her to the ground like a football player from hell. Then four enormous bear-size dogs stampeded over and searched the entire car for drugs while cops handcuffed the couple and threw them into a cage!

  LISA: Oh my God!!!

  ME: Don’t panic!

  BUZZZZZ!!!! The cop Tasered the driver who was in the cage screaming in Spanish. The wife was crying and clawing at the cage until blood began dripping down her hands onto her arms. It was like the world was ending right in front of us.

  LISA: Oh my God! We’re gonna die!!!

  ME: No! We’re gonna be ok! Call your brother right now!

  Lisa’s brother spent years living in Mexico and knew a lot about the country. If anyone could help us figure out what to do, it was him. Lisa told him what happened and he started to laugh on the other line.

  LISA: It’s not funny! We are literally about to get thrown in a cage!

  LISA’S BROTHER: No, you aren’t. You guys are fine. They probably had drugs in their car.

  Lisa looks over at me with a pissed look on her face. I mouth “I’m sorry” back at her.

  LISA’S BROTHER: Listen, I’ve been through that line before. Just play dumb and act really scared and they will let you go with a warning.

  LISA: Are you sure?

  LISA’S BROTHER: Positive.

  We both let out sighs of relief. I leaned over into my backseat to double-check that there wasn’t any weed anywhere. After feeling around for a few seconds, I was relieved to find nothing except a three-week-old, half-eaten Weight Watchers bar that luckily wasn’t illegal, just disgusting and kind of sad.

  The cop walked back over to our window and leaned in with an angry look on his face.

  COP: What were you looking for in the backseat, boy?

  ME: Nothing! Just my Weight Watchers bar!

  COP: That looks old.

  ME: Ya, I’ve been having a kind of cheat month. You know what I mean?

  COP: No.

  ME: Right. You’re in shape. You don’t need to diet. Look at those muscles! You’re like the fuckin’ Rock!

  I go to touch his huge arm. He stops me.

  COP: Don’t touch me.

  ME: Sorry.

  COP: I’m going to let you go with a warning. But just know. Nothing would give me more pleasure than throwing your asses in prison right now. Especially you.

  He took off his sunglasses and looked me up and down.

  COP: I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but I feel really bad for her.

  LISA: Thank you, Officer. I’ll be ok.

  COP: You sure? I can throw this idiot in jail and protect and serve you if you want.

  Lisa blushed and chuckled.

  LISA: Oh, Officer! You’re too sweet.

  ME: Wait, what?

  COP: Alright, get the hell out of here before I change my mind.

  As we headed back to Los Angeles, Lisa and I couldn’t stop laughing. We were still in shock from the entire experience and could barely process what had happened. A few hours later we pulled into our driveway and turned off the car and sat in silence for a few minutes. It was all hitting us.

  ME: Wow. That was insane.

  LISA: Ya. Do you think that couple died?

  ME: 100 percent.

  LISA: Do you think that cop was serious about arresting you and hooking up with me?

  ME: 110 percent.

  LISA: You know I wouldn’t have let him, right?

  ME: Oh really? What would you have done?

  LISA: I would have punched him in the face so he would have arrested me too. I’m not letting you go to jail alone.

  ME: You know we would be in separate jails, right?

  LISA: Nah, you could pass for a woman.

  We laughed, and then I realized something.

  ME: Hey, guess what.

  LISA: What?

  ME: We took a trip out of the country together.

  LISA: Hey, I guess we did.

  We gave each other a kiss and then sat in the car watching the sun go down. It might not have been the ideal vacation, but it definitely was unforgettable. Or as they say in Mexico, inolvidable. I had to Google that. You’re welcome.

  Too Many Melons: The Story of Lauren Schnipper

  About the Artist

  WILLIAM KEECH began drawing at the age of two. For the past two decades he has continued to improve his work and has developed into an outstanding artist. His art and photography can be found on Instagram @wmkk92.

  I can’t begin to express my love for shitty reality TV. There’s nothing I love more than coming home after a long day, curling up on the couch with a plate full of white-trash pizza nachos (chips covered in spaghetti sauce and Parmesan cheese), and watching four hours’ worth of shows about people with lives worse than mine. It’s much better than people watching in real life because if you scream, “WHAT A FUCKING LOSER!” at the mall, you’ll most likely get kicked out. But at home you can scream at the screen all you want, and all you have to worry about is your neighbors thinking you’re abusing your wife. It’s what I like to call a dream Friday night. My DVR reads like a Wikipedia page for “a list of disgusting fucking things that will make you sick.”

  Shane’s DVR

  8:00
p.m.: THE WOMAN WITH 2 VAGINAS

  8:30 p.m.: THE BOY WHO SHITS OUT OF HIS NECK

  9:00 p.m.: TUMOR OR TWIN?

  9:30 p.m.: THEY FOUND WHAAAAT INSIDE OF ME?

  It’s safe to say I have literally no taste. Anytime a friend recommends a show for me to binge and they start with “It’s gonna get SO many Emmys,” I tune out. I couldn’t care less about a great plot with inspired performances. I’m looking for shows that dedicate entire budgets to providing the camera crew with barf bags and an on-set grief counselor. I want it BAD and I want it SAD.

  One night as I was lying in bed covered in Dorito dust watching a show about teenage girls who are eight feet tall and pregnant I got a phone call from my agent.

  ME: Hello?

  AGENT: Shane! How’s my superstar? Whatcha working on?? I bet you’re SUPER busy!

  I paused the pregnant giants.

  ME: So busy. Literally elbow-deep in paperwork.

  I licked my fingers and shoved my arm back inside the Dorito bag to get the last bit of crumbs.

  AGENT: Well, I have something exciting to tell you!

  ME: They’re making Josie and the Pussycats 2, and they want me in it?!

  AGENT: No. That movie was awful. You liked it?

  ME: Of course not. I have better taste than that.

  A DVR note popped up on my TV. “Are you still watching GIANT PREGNANT TEENS OF LA?”

  I clicked YES.

  AGENT: You got offered to be on a reality show!

  It was at that moment my heart stopped. I don’t know if it was because of my excitement or from the fact that I had just taken out a family-size bag of chips, but whatever it was caused me to yell at him in ALL CAPS.

  ME: WHAT?! ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! WHICH ONE?! LITTLE PEOPLE OF LA? MY 600-POUND SAD LIFE? DO I GET TO SCOOP OUT DEAD CATS FROM A CRAZY WOMAN’S REFRIGERATOR?

  AGENT: Good Lord. What the hell do you watch?

  ME: Honestly, if you knew, you would drop me.

  AGENT: This is a show about the making of your first movie! You will get to direct a film, and they will document the process! It’s called The Chair.

  I got to be on a reality show AND direct a movie? This was like finding out that the Take 5 bar had Reese’s AND Crunch bars in it! Why was God SO good? The next day I told my mom the news, and she’d never been more proud of me.

  ME: Mom! Guess what? I get to direct a movie!

  MOM: That’s great, honey!

  ME: And it’s part of a reality show!

  MOM: JESUS CHRIST IS MY LORD AND SAVIOR, HALLELUJAH!!!!!!

  After I told my mom, it was time to talk to my producing partner Lauren. Lauren was my right-hand woman, and we worked on all my projects together. I had first met her in 2011 when I needed someone to help me with my first major short film. I interviewed her and knew right away we were a match made in heaven.

  ME: So you seem to be really qualified. Do you have any questions for me?

  LAUREN: Yes. How do you fit so many teeth in your mouth?

  ME: What?

  LAUREN: Your teeth. They’re so big. Each one is, like, three teeth. I can’t stop staring at them.

  HIRED. Anyone who had no filter and wasn’t afraid to make fun of my appearance was good with me. Lauren was in her early thirties, and she was ready for a career change. She had tried her hand at acting, and she never made it. She had also tried stand-up comedy, but she realized she was much better at sitting down. One time she gave me a sampling of her old comedy routine. It reminded me of my mom’s upper lip after two weeks of not tweezing. ROUGH.

  ME: Come on, tell me one of your old jokes!

  LAUREN: Ok, this one used to KILL.

  She got off my couch and stood in the middle of my living room like she was on a comedy club stage. Unfortunately this all happened before I started drinking, otherwise I would have gotten wasted.

  LAUREN: Hey, what’s the deal with those melon stands at the grocery store? They stack those melons so high you can’t reach ’em! Then when you try to grab one from the middle, ALL the melons fall off the stand! It’s like, why can’t I just get one melon and not fifty!

  Crickets.

  LAUREN: You’re just not the demo, I guess.

  My mom popped her head into the living room and started cracking up.

  MOM: That was HYSTERICAL! And it’s SO TRUE!!!!!!

  Lauren’s face lit up with pride.

  ME: Oh! I get it! You do mom humor!

  LAUREN: Shut up! No I don’t!

  ME: You know what’s even funnier?! You’re doing mom humor and you don’t even have kids!

  Lauren looked at me with fire in her eyes.

  MOM: You got any jokes about laundry??

  LAUREN: Fuck my life.

  For the next three years, working with Lauren on a daily basis was a blast . . . to the face with a cannon. And I mean that in the best way possible. She always kept me on my toes and always called me out on my shit. Not only was she there to help me create amazing content for my YouTube channel, she also was the only person in my life to tell me if I needed to do a juice cleanse to drop those five white-trash-nacho pounds. She did all the jobs I didn’t want to do and all the jobs I didn’t even know needed to be done. She acted as a casting director, a producer, a prop shopper, an art director, and sometimes a therapist when I needed it. Having her deal with all the mundane tasks of production allowed me to do what I do best: create. While she was doing the paperwork and negotiations, I was writing, editing, and coming up with fun video ideas. It was a great partnership. I trusted her with my entire being, and I imagined us working together forever. We would talk about making movies for the rest of our lives and running Hollywood together like a true power couple. She would be the man, of course.

  Though we worked well together, we also had a lot of disagreements, but we always came out stronger afterward. Our fights were usually about things I’d force her to do that she felt were inappropriate.

  LAUREN: No!

  ME: Please! It’s such a funny joke! The video is gonna be so good!

  LAUREN: Shane, I can’t ask a mother to let her five-year-old daughter snort Pixy Stix dust and pretend it’s cocaine!

  ME: Come on! Don’t be a pussy!

  LAUREN: Fine! But if it ruins some girl’s life and makes her a drug addict when she grows up, I’m blaming you.

  ME: If she watches my videos, her life is already fucked.

  LAUREN: True.

  After I found out about the reality-show opportunity, it was time to sit down with Lauren and see if it was something she wanted to be a part of. I could never make my first movie without her, so if she said no it was game over. I was really hoping she would say yes. I was also really hoping she would notice I’d lost two pounds from a pretty intense hot-sauce-and-lemon-juice-smoothie diet.

  LAUREN: Do you really want to do a reality show? What if you look bad?

  ME: What do you mean?

  LAUREN: I know you think your jokes are funny, but sometimes they come off as mean, and what if they edit you to look like an ass-hole?

  ME: You think my jokes are mean?

  LAUREN: No, but I’m also an asshole. That’s like shit asking throw up if it looks like crap.

  ME: Am I the shit or the throw up?

  LAUREN: Honestly? Both.

  ME: Totes.

  After talking more about it we decided we wanted to do it and we wanted to do it together. But her words forced me to consider what she was saying. I knew I had the tendency to get passionate when I worked. That passion could sometimes come across as anger. I was gonna try my best to keep it in check. The last thing I wanted to do was get into a fight with Lauren on camera and then have to watch it on television months later. Just the thought sounded awful. I have no idea how those pregnant giants watched their average-size boyfriends leave them for shorter girls over and over again. They repeat that show A LOT.

  After Lauren and I agreed to be a part of the show it was time to move our lives to Pittsburgh for three mont
hs to work on our first full-length film, Not Cool. We lived in the same apartment building right next door to each other, which meant around midnight I would hear her FaceTiming with her husband and she would hear me asking Siri how close the nearest Cheesecake Factory was.

  During the first few weeks of production we had a lot of fun and barely had any conflict. I think the only argument we had was over whether I should try wearing a fedora. I explained to her that fedoras are for really ugly people who need a distraction from their face. She explained to me that she owned three. It was a long night.

  Naturally, being on a reality show was a lot different from what I had imagined because The Chair wasn’t the kind of reality show I was used to watching. It was “highbrow” and “classy.” YAWN. Bring on the weave snatching and the Jaws of Life opening up an obese lady’s living room. They pretty much just documented our daily life and watched us make our first movie.

  The only thing that felt reality showish was when my mom came to Pittsburgh to visit me, and the show producers asked to interview her. My mom came to the interview decked out in full hair, makeup, and jewels. She looked like a Real Housewife of YouTube (I’m gonna pitch that show btw. Look for it.), and she was ready to CRY. She sat down and the producer started asking her questions about me. She was anything but shy.

  PRODUCER: So, Teresa, what is it like to watch your son live his dream?

  After five minutes’ crying happy tears she started to speak.

  MOM: It’s like watching a miracle happen right in front of my eyes.

  She let out another epic cry, and the producer turned to me with the biggest smile I had ever seen. She was making reality-show gold.

  PRODUCER: Thank you.

  ME: Don’t thank me, thank Bravo. They taught her well.

  After my mom left, it was time to get back to work. That’s when Lauren and I finally had our first big fight. Fortunately it happened off camera, so we wouldn’t have to relive it months later when the show aired. I don’t even remember what the fight was about, but I remember she cried and I didn’t. I’m not a big crier when I’m having fights. I’m more of a sweater. If I leave a fight covered in man-boob sweat, you know it was a serious one. It’s kind of ironic because fighting is one of the only times I don’t cry. I cry at almost everything, including some TV commercials. I don’t know what it is about commercials that make me tear up, but sometimes they hit me really hard. There was a cereal commercial a few years back that involved a kid sitting on his daddy’s shoulders, and I just lost it. I’m not sure if I was jealous of the child’s relationship with his father or if I was envious that he could ride an adult male’s shoulders without giving him permanent spinal damage. The number of times I tried to ride someone’s shoulders as a kid and was told “Sorry, I’m already at risk for scoliosis” were countless.