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Now that reality TV has enabled previously untelevised occupations like "extreme carpenter," "Top Model finder," and "Donald Trump" to regularly score their own shows, the overall fame-whoring level in town (already the fame-whoring capital of the world) has been elevated to even more ludicrous levels. If there's a camera nearby, you're not even safe when you're going under the knife. From blogging,la:

I was doing a semi-scripted reality show recently and we were featuring a girl who wanted some plastic surgery as part of the storyline. So we followed her trek through interviewing three plastic surgeons. Every single one of them privately pulled me aside and either gave me a script or had a separate meeting with me to pitch a show. That they were the star of. Yikes. And I seriously worried that if I didn’t listen and support their idea (at least while we were filming) that they might not do as good a job for this woman who was a potential patient. Like, if I said, dude, that is a STUPID idea for a show, she might not get great tits!

There's long been a sacred trust in this town between struggling actresses and the titty-doctors that bazoom them. It's an unspeakable violation of the social order to threaten a shoddy augmentation just for a stab at fleeting fame. Think of the economic implications—most of these actresses aren't going to land a role on, say, Desperate Housewives, and a rash of substandard chest-embiggenings would surely trickle down into the service industry, adversely affecting tips, reducing bar and restaurant patronage, and resulting in less money flowing through local businesses. And all because some doctor has an idea to be the next Dr. 90210, but one who exclusively bolts gigantic, porn-star racks onto ordinary soccer moms. (We want a producer credit.)