I hereby grant Producer the right to use my name, likeness, voice, and interview. I further grant the right to reproduce or edit materials however Producer sees fit, knowing full well this will be my sole legacy on Earth.
I assert I am one of the following: a suspected murderer, a misunderstood genius, an unapologetic racist, a defensive cop, a man with a funny name, a red herring, a mystic whose religious beliefs will appear droll to an educated, liberal audience, a co-producer who threw themselves into the story unnecessarily.
I acknowledge that my life, which I once held as a unique experience, will now be repurposed and punned in sub-Reddit groups and fan discussion spin-off podcasts.
If deceased, I allow Producer to dig up the sexual ghosts from my past, including but not limited to my former crushes, lovers, one-night stands, and hopefully, BDSM fetishists, whether the material uncovered by Producer is relevant or not.
If imprisoned, I grant Producer the right to broadcast that automated inmate message to drive home the sadness of my life.
I understand that Producer may need to sleep on my couch over the course of the many years it takes to complete the story on a public radio budget. On said house visits, I agree to patiently listen to Producer’s forced metaphor comparing the murder being investigated to the death of the relationship Producer is fleeing in New York for this assignment.
I will not laugh when Producer records sound of shoes crunching on frost-covered crabgrass for the purpose of scene-setting Foley.
I authorize Producer to conduct any stake-out or retracing of timelines deemed necessary, instead of going through proper law enforcement or legal defense channels, which would result, without a doubt, in less-good tape.
I acknowledge that Producer will take one keepsake from home such as a coin, framed photograph, yearbook, dried up flowers, funny coaster with my life motto printed on it, or hidden gold to remember me, his journalistic muse.
I will render all promotional services upon release of show, assuming I’m alive and not missing, including Slate interviews, late-night talk show appearances, and voiceover animation gigs up to and until Producer deems my participation not necessary and/or a distraction from Producer’s own rising star.
In public appearances, I will defend Producer against the primary backlash and also the backlash that follows the post-backlash return to grace.
Above all else, I ascertain that I have enough backstory, hidden quirks, and poetic musings to stretch my story to a minimum of six, but preferably, eight-episode season in perpetuity.