How they'll remember me
I know that many of you think you know the Jack Jaw story, but believe me: you don't know anything about Jack Jaw that Jack Jaw didn't already tell his people to tell you. Jack Jaw's just that careful about information handling because it's not what you tell, it's who you tell it to. The reason nobody knows the truth is because I never told it.
This is the truth now, laid out for anybody who might have read anything about me that might have been false. I'm straightening the record. Certain congressmen might have wanted you to believe I'm a monster, but they misrepresent the facts. I am not a proponent of assisted suicide. The Suicide Show does not assist suicide, facilitate suicide, reward it or encourage it in any way. The Suicide Show merely shows suicide for exactly what it is--incredible entertainment. We do reward the survivors, because you know what? They need to move on. And that costs money.
Today everybody knows what it's like to watch a person commit suicide. Critics say we glamorized it. We like to say we dignified it. We gave it meaning. Even the New Newyork Post-Times said so. "Jack Jaw has transformed suicide from the ultimate act of human despair to the greatest sacrifice a person can make for their loved ones. For better or worse, Jaw knows how to make the poor rich and the humble great. No wonder the Networls loves him."
You can't buy that kind of advertising. Actually you can, but the point is it's worth a lot more than whatever you paid.
The premise of the show is simple: contestants, by prearrangement, kill themselves slowly over the course of 10 rounds in exchange for a growing amount of cash, college and cars for their loved ones, and it all happens in an arena full of people, live, worldwide. If the contestant fails to die in the 10th round, their beneficiaries get nothing and the contestant must live, horribly disfigured and crippled. If the contestant dies too early, the beneficiaries receive whatever amount Americo foned in.
But the premise takes a distant backseat to the promise of the show. The promise is what provides its social redemption, for when we look around that stadium, we see those mothers and fathers squeezing into a ball with their little families, grieving something terrible on the one hand, but on the other so proud of their son or daughter who had the selflessness to enter that Seven Stage Blender for $100,000, plus the car for mom, plus an education for her kid sister at the community college of her choice, man--that's gut wrenching stuff, and it has a purpose.
The Suicide Show took on death and kicked its ass. In fact it can accurately be said that the Suicide Show is the only thing in history, including war, that ever actually forced death to cough up a purpose. I've probably met half the miserable souls who yearn for an early checkout and I've had to turn so many of them away, but until the FCC lifts its ban on multiples all we can do is hope. And try to find a way around it. There is still much work to be done.
Some have said the Suicide Show has turned death into sport. What's next, they wonder, lions versus Christians? Human catapults? A chain of contestants hanging hand to foot from a blimp over the stadium? These are all excellent ideas, and they've all come from the fans who are the heart and soul of the Suicide Show. Without them we wouldn't exist.
So, to the hundreds of thousands of people whose lives have been touched by the millions of dollars in cash, college, and cars we've given away to their loved ones, heirs and designees, thank you. And thanks especially, as always, to the courage and selflessness shown by our 86 contestants -- so far -- and counting. May you rest in peace knowing you entertained literally billions when we add in the aftermarket.
In the end, if it comes, I'm confident this world will see Jack Jaw for what he is. The man who conquered death. This is my blog.
This is the truth now, laid out for anybody who might have read anything about me that might have been false. I'm straightening the record. Certain congressmen might have wanted you to believe I'm a monster, but they misrepresent the facts. I am not a proponent of assisted suicide. The Suicide Show does not assist suicide, facilitate suicide, reward it or encourage it in any way. The Suicide Show merely shows suicide for exactly what it is--incredible entertainment. We do reward the survivors, because you know what? They need to move on. And that costs money.
Today everybody knows what it's like to watch a person commit suicide. Critics say we glamorized it. We like to say we dignified it. We gave it meaning. Even the New Newyork Post-Times said so. "Jack Jaw has transformed suicide from the ultimate act of human despair to the greatest sacrifice a person can make for their loved ones. For better or worse, Jaw knows how to make the poor rich and the humble great. No wonder the Networls loves him."
You can't buy that kind of advertising. Actually you can, but the point is it's worth a lot more than whatever you paid.
The premise of the show is simple: contestants, by prearrangement, kill themselves slowly over the course of 10 rounds in exchange for a growing amount of cash, college and cars for their loved ones, and it all happens in an arena full of people, live, worldwide. If the contestant fails to die in the 10th round, their beneficiaries get nothing and the contestant must live, horribly disfigured and crippled. If the contestant dies too early, the beneficiaries receive whatever amount Americo foned in.
But the premise takes a distant backseat to the promise of the show. The promise is what provides its social redemption, for when we look around that stadium, we see those mothers and fathers squeezing into a ball with their little families, grieving something terrible on the one hand, but on the other so proud of their son or daughter who had the selflessness to enter that Seven Stage Blender for $100,000, plus the car for mom, plus an education for her kid sister at the community college of her choice, man--that's gut wrenching stuff, and it has a purpose.
The Suicide Show took on death and kicked its ass. In fact it can accurately be said that the Suicide Show is the only thing in history, including war, that ever actually forced death to cough up a purpose. I've probably met half the miserable souls who yearn for an early checkout and I've had to turn so many of them away, but until the FCC lifts its ban on multiples all we can do is hope. And try to find a way around it. There is still much work to be done.
Some have said the Suicide Show has turned death into sport. What's next, they wonder, lions versus Christians? Human catapults? A chain of contestants hanging hand to foot from a blimp over the stadium? These are all excellent ideas, and they've all come from the fans who are the heart and soul of the Suicide Show. Without them we wouldn't exist.
So, to the hundreds of thousands of people whose lives have been touched by the millions of dollars in cash, college, and cars we've given away to their loved ones, heirs and designees, thank you. And thanks especially, as always, to the courage and selflessness shown by our 86 contestants -- so far -- and counting. May you rest in peace knowing you entertained literally billions when we add in the aftermarket.
In the end, if it comes, I'm confident this world will see Jack Jaw for what he is. The man who conquered death. This is my blog.
by CW Fisher at 5:24 PM
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