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I was sitting at my desk, getting ready to go home for the day, when I got a really interesting email. The subject line read: “Candy Crush saga addiction.” I was intrigued.
The email was from an associate producer of the Dr. Phil show, although I didn’t figure this out until later. I’m assuming this female producer Googled “Candy Crush addiction” and came across a column I wrote in July titled “Diary Of A Candy Crush Addict.”
Like I said, it was the end of the day, so I wasn’t really paying attention and honestly didn’t even notice the Dr. Phil logo in her original email’s signature. I assumed this was some whacky reality TV show producer looking to create something like The Real World, except instead of filling a house with alcoholic sociopaths, they were going to fill it with Candy Crush addicts.
When I wrote that column in July, which was obviously satirical, it didn’t even cross my mind that Candy Crush addiction might be a real thing. I just thought it was a funny concept. It should also be noted that at this point in the email exchange, my dumbass still hadn’t figured out that I was talking to a producer of the Dr. Phil show, but I decided to make a cash grab nonetheless.
Why not kick things off with a nice, low starting price of $2.42 million? You never know what you can get out these Hollywood types. I figured it was worth a shot. I’m trying to stack paper.
Sent from my iPhone? Totally disrespectful. She obviously wasn’t taking me seriously, so I decided to let her know I mean business.
As this was unfolding, I was sending screenshots of the email exchange out to my Twitter followers, because it was hilarious, and around this time one of them kindly pointed out that I was talking to a producer of the Dr. Phil show.
She wants to play hardball? I’m game.
Perfect response, right? Wrong. She totally ignored me. So I decided to take shit to the next level.
You’ll notice I raised my asking price. Why? Because I want to make it rain.
Probably would’ve won an Emmy with that idea. Their loss. I wasn’t deterred, though.
Follow me on Twitter.
Ouch. I have to admit, that cheap shot hurt a little. However, she still hadn’t realized that I was totally fucking with her, and I was determined to see how far I could take this.
Just stunted so hard all over this chick.
Like Ol’ Dirty Bastard said, “Girl, you better gimme that money.”
Tell me you wouldn’t watch this episode of Dr. Phil. It would’ve been the greatest episode in the history of television. Better than Breaking Bad.
I was pretty disappointed that she didn’t throw another smiley face in there. The jig was up. She had figured me out. So I decided to make one more power play for all the marbles.
She never responded. I’m still waiting on that friend request. We could’ve stacked paper together, Dr. Phil. You’ll never know what you missed out on.