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Every few days I log on to the good ol’ social medias for the sole purpose of perusing comments directed towards my boss, Kathy Griffin. I’m usually able to overlook the one or two comments using choice words like “fire crotch” to find an overwhelming amount of adoration from her legion of followers. They praise her for any and all Kathy show hilarity -- wearing J. Lo’s Grammy dress better than J. Lo did, that one time she got Larry King to confess to killing JFK, getting frisky with A$AP Rocky, etc. But then, no matter what, I always find at least five or six tweets asking Kathy for a job. Well, not just asking. Some people beg, some attach resumes, some claim they would be Kathy’s ultimate gay assistant and some even claim they would just “DiE To wOrK fOr KAtHY!!!” But is that true? Would you really die to work for Kathy Griffin? Because that’s a basic job requirement, or at least it was today. Lemme ‘splain.
Today we filmed a field piece (or what Kathy refers to as one of her “little movies”), and as you might already know, Kathy likes to feature us staff members in these pieces. I’m pretty terrified of being on camera, but Kathy usually convinces us to be in them because “it’s going to be fun!” and “we’re all just joking around!” So we agree to do it and then we somehow find ourselves wearing KKK (Kathy’s Kompassionate Kanines) t-shirts or being featured on a “dildo cam” at a sex shop. Of course this time it was no different, except for the fact that we all got killed during the making of. That’s right, I’m writing this from beyond the grave. Well not really, but wouldn’t that be fun? A ghost that types!Anyway, it wasn’t all that bad because we were given the freedom to choose how we were going to die. Everyone’s means of death was the same -- poisoning -- but those last few seconds post poisoning and pre walking into the light were ours for the choosing and people got creative. For example, producer Erin obviously has a bit of a background in the dramatic arts. She went out in the style of a solid Romeo and Juliet remake. She choked, she heaved, she looked up to the stars and then she fell over with grace. Shepard (from front row of the Kathy audience fame) pulled more of a Vizzini in Princess Bride. He took that fateful sip, he drooled, he went kaput with his eyes wide open. Campbell died the way she lived, with her legs in the air (half kidding). I died like a dainty lady -- a small cough followed by a somewhat fancy fall forward involving a hair flip worthy of a shampoo commercial. Or at least that’s what I think I did. I’m generally so petrified of being on camera that I sort of black out when put in the spotlight and only have vague flashbacks of what happened.
And per usual, you know who really got the short end of the stick? No surprise here -- our very own Space Cop, Associate Producer Cole Bruns. You know him. You love him. Kathy likes to torment him. This week Cole looked like an extra from The Walking Dead, which sounds great until Kathy lets her dog/beast, Larry, get involved. Things got gross and Cole is probably going to have to take more than one shower tonight. But oh well! I guess extra showers and death are just part of the job. So what do you say, Twatters? Still dying to work for Kathy?