We Swear We Won't Watch Scott Storch's Reality Show -- OK, Just the Pilot
In substance-abuse circles, you often hear talk of the moment you "hit rock bottom." For your average schmo, it usually involves stealing abuela's jewelry or fellatio behind a Burger King. For celebrities, there's an even more clear barometer of when you're smashing head-first into your own failure: the reality show. Allowing film crews full-time into your recovery usually means three things: 1) You're in desperate need of quick cash, 2) your work alone is no longer bringing you any sort of publicity, and 3) having a dude follow you around with a camera seems a handy way to keep you from calling that heroin dealer in Boca Raton.
The IRS decided to let him keep the bathrobe.
We aren't shocked to hear Scott Storch has signed his own deal to televise his life as he recovers from addiction. The so-white-it-hurts former hip-hop mega-producer has been keeping TMZ.com busy for a while now. There were the lawsuits from his baby mamas seeking back child support, the unpaid taxes on his Palm Island mansion, and (our favorite) the grand theft auto charge he was hit with for allegedly not returning a rent-a-Bentley. In April, he announced he's "done fuckin' with that Lindsay Lohan" (OK, our paraphrase, but we really don't want to watch this MTV interview), and we're expecting the triumphant Akon collabo single any day now.
We wish him Godspeed on the certain-to-be horrible reality show, and we wouldn't normally be so harsh on a dude trying to get his life together but... just look at that photo. Look at those sandals, that robe, those shades... and what is that a bottle of, Chambord? Scott learned the hard way: God hates tacky.
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