“So how do you want to do this Pablo?” I asked while we drinking at the hottest bar in Burbank: Applebee’s. “Do I need to call up my mob connections? Or do you think we can do this ourselves? Jimmy’s made plenty of enemies, ya know? So what do we do? Car bombs? Poisoned Bloody Mary’s? What?”
“Woah woah woah!” Pablo retorted. “Dan didn’t say we had to kill Jimmy. We just have to remove him from his post as president of Trainwreck Productions!”
I stirred my fruity mai tai as I considered my response. “Guys like Jimmy are cockroaches,” I said. “You can’t placate them. You can’t simply remove them. They only know, understand, and respect one thing: power. Jimmy’s a mere suit. We’re the talent. Or, rather, I’m the talent. Whatever happened to us, Pablo? What happened to the days when we could swing our dicks around, literally, and this town would bow to our demands? I wish we could go back to those days.”
“We’re still living those days, James,” Pablo said. “You faked a heart attack last week at Wendy’s. Free Frosties for life!”
“It just doesn’t feel the same anymore,” I lamented. “We’re nothing but fossils to these people. I think it’s time we show these folks that we still run this town.”
Pablo’s cell rang. “It’s Cat,” he informed me. “It probably has something to do with the press conference for Chatty Cathy. Greta will surely be there. So what do you want me to tell her? Are we still on?”
An ingenious idea suddenly came to me. I sipped on my mai tai as I marveled at my genius. “Yes,” I told him. “Tell her we’re still on and we’re ready to play ball.”
Yes, I thought, we were definitely going to play ball. But this wasn’t a game of cooperation anymore. This was another shot at the title.
TO BE CONTINUED….
The Internet Ruined Everything 