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Yesterday I was blessed with a gift no American would pass up, free tickets to a taping of the Maury Show in Stamford, CT. Being a part of the audience has brought me to my final conclusion- Maury Povich hates his life.

Let’s rewind to yesterday at 4pm. We had just left Staten Island and I was angry we had left so late and scared we would miss the taping, consequently resulting in my best friend and my sister feeling awkward while my boyfriend drove for the first hour or so. Anyway, at some point during the drive, my sister accused Maury of (probably) hating his life. “Why?” I asked. “He makes mega dough hanging around a bunch of crazies! Why would anyone hate that?”

After arriving an hour late we stood on line for another TWO hours, were put on “stand by”, and would not have gotten in if not for my boyfriend handing a twenty to the security guard. (Did you know, if you hand an employee of almost any business a twenty, they will treat you like a queen? Well they will. It’s pretty awesome, you should try it.) So we were put in the best seats in the house and watched, booed, and cheered as the many paternity tests were revealed. This is when it dawned on me. My sister was right. Maury Povich hates his life.

The poor guy is seventy-three years old and has to travel to bumfuck Connecticut multiple times a week to do a horrible, low class, probably fake (I still haven’t decided) television show that¬† airs at least twice a day every weekday. For instance, on Wednesday, Maury hosted FOUR separate shows with separate guests. Though the guests are different, the story is always the same- WHO IS THE BABY DADDY? I watched as Maury grabbed the envelope with the paternity test results tucked inside. He sadly, haphazardly waved the evelope at the audience (if you can even consider it a wave)¬† and hardly looked up at the guests or the audience. Instead, he looked into the camera, repeating the same words he repeated 20 times earlier that day. “In the case of……you are (not) the father!”

When the show was over, Maury gave the audience a quick peace sign and walked away. He did not talk to us, he did not joke, he was probably thinking about his long drive back to NYC. (That is, I’m assuming he lives in NYC. I mean, why would he live in Stamford?)

This begs the question- does Jerry Springer hate his life? I believe another investigation is in order.

xo
Lisa

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