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Thomas Wictor

The videos my publicists used to scam me, Part Two

The videos my publicists used to scam me, Part Two

Here are the final five parts of Dad’s Death, the videos my publicists used to scam me.

I thought long and hard about whether or not such private documents should be made public. The reason I showed them to my publicists was that I needed to explain my solitary lifestyle and why I didn’t want a Facebook account. My life has been extremely difficult, and I can’t take stress. My publicists came across as such nice people, so different from the bag of sleaze who’d just ripped me off.

His scam is that he signs you up for a shockingly reasonable fee, and then and only then do you learn that you’re expected to write your own press kit and radio-station pitch. They give you no guidance whatsoever, all the better to make you fail, my dear. The bag-of-sleaze publicist was big on lists. Everything had to be bullet points, and you had to present yourself as an expert and be entertaining. So I sent him this.

How to overcome every bad thing that can possibly happen to you.

1. Recognize the Pig - When someone commits to a choice, give up on them.

2. Lost Lemurs Should Keep Moving - Don’t try to fit in where you don’t belong.

3. If You Don’t Like the New Cheeseburger, Stop Eating It - Don’t fight reality.

4. Tune Out the Moon-promisers - Most offers are bogus.

5. Laugh at Yourself; Everybody Else Does - It’s the only way to survive.

6. Develop an On-Off Switch - For people.

Thomas Wictor is a former music journalist and the author of five books. He is an expert on overcoming every failure imaginable, having experienced them all, including death.

The bag-of-sleaze publicist replied.

Hi Thomas,

You asked me to always be candid with you — so here is my opinion on this initial attempt. I honestly don’t think much (if any) media will bite on it. It is more or less just a list of really old cliche type quotes. What they want is something new, original and entertaining. A clear and fresh “how to” people can use or something really funny. I suggest going back to the drawing board to create something with a stronger media appeal, originality and entertainment punch.

I never said a fucking thing about him always being candid with me. Did he think we were dating? And “Recognize the Pig” is a “really old cliche type quote”? I tried twice more, got rejected twice more, and then the light bulb went on over my dizzy head. When I asked his dumbass assistant if the bag-of-sleaze publicist would be willing to write the pitch himself, she said sure—for five times the price.

He was just another lying, synthetic LA humanoid, so I fired him and queried what appeared to be a large, legitimate publicity company. The boss has a really deep, calm, soothing voice, and over the seven months he raped me, he kept reaching out to express his sympathy, his status as a fellow survivor of trauma, and his devotion to my once-in-a-lifetime writing skills.

They sent me a card after Mom died.


People who send you sympathy cards after your mother dies horribly, in fear and agony—they wouldn’t scam you, would they?

You betcha! Not only that, they started billing me outrageously for things they never did, beginning the day after Mom died. I simply couldn’t keep track of everything. They knew it, and they also added to my stress by messing with my Website. I can’t prove it, but I know it’s true.

All I wanted was to be an author. Think what I could’ve accomplished if I’d had a legitimate book publicist. Now, I have to expose much of my private life and the lives of my late parents, and I have to smash two evil predators into the ground. I’d rather be writing. But this is the mission I’ve been given, so It’s what I’ll do. When the two main grifters are destroyed, I’ll take down all their little helpers, one after another.

Part Six of Dad’s Death.

Part Seven.

Part Eight.

Part Nine.

Part Ten.

What kind of people look at those videos and think, “Oh boy! Another rube! We’ve hit the jackpot!”

Well, I’m no rube. Things were really, really bad at the time, and I wasn’t myself. As awful as Dad’s death was, Mom’s was much worse. Dad’s death was a blitz attack, while Mom’s was a siege. It was a slow-motion replay. My former publicists knew this. They used the indescribable suffering of the previous year to steal $40,000 from me.

You’re going to see quite a different Thomas, M. and L. Now you get to pay for what you did. And when the dust has settled, just remember: You brought it on yourselves.