shot at the title II: shots fired

“Bob’s dead,” Pablo told me over the phone. “He was garroted in his garage. Cut his head clean off. Yakuza is suspected.”

“Holy shit!”

“Horrible ordeal. Anyways, a new producer has been assigned, Kathleen Kennedy. Not THAT Kathleen Kennedy. She wants to meet with you ASAP.”

So Pablo and me returned to Burbank to meet with this new hotshot producer. When we arrived, the guard stared blankly at us and said, “Elevator’s broken. You’ll have to climb up the old fireman’s pole.”

So we climbed up to the fourth floor where Mrs. Kennedy was waiting on us.

“Call me Kat,” she said. “Can I offer you a water or soda?”

“No thanks,” I replied. “I’ll take a scotch. Just started drinking again.”

She handed me the drink and sat down behind her desk.

“Let’s get down to business gentlemen,” Kat said. “Bob was a visionary. He knew what he wanted and went after it. I intend on carrying on that vision.”

Pablo and I nodded.

“The studio supports this project and will give us the resources necessary to see it through,” she continued. “That being said, we have some notes about your second draft.”

“What kind of notes?” I asked.

“The studio feels that we need to establish a plot, characters with motivation, sensible dialogue, and cut back on the violent gay sex,” she replied.

“So just make it regular gay sex then?”

“We’ll revisit that question when we see the third draft,” Kat said. “In the meantime, I want to meet one on one with you.”

Pablo looked over at me then exited the room. Kat poured a scotch for herself.

“So what took you so long?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re a middle aged man. Divorcée. Never held a job for longer than 2 years. You’re balding, overweight, and heavy drinker. You’re probably a diabetic and won’t live to see 70. Now you’re in Hollywood. So why now?”

“I just put one foot in front of the other ma’am. Better late than never.”

“This is a tough business,” she said. “Everything’s changing and we need fresh minds to keep us one step ahead. And to me, you’re a dinosaur. So listen to me and listen good: stick with me and I’ll take you to heights you never thought possible. And if you stray one bit, you’ll be just another washout that litters this town.”

I just shrugged.

“All I want is booze money.”

On Being a Cheapskate

World renowned sex pervert Woody Allen said that “80 percent of success is just showing up”.

He’s right.

Throughout my career I’ve just shown up and someone hands me a paycheck. Occasionally I’ll smile and nod and blow smoke up my boss’s ass, but mostly just being physically present has been the secret to my financial security (and occasionally lack thereof).

Now it could be that my bosses think I might become a workplace shooter if they fire me, but I’ve never been terminated due to tardiness (viewing porn on a work computer is a different story).

So people often ask me “you’re poor as shit! How are you not living under a bridge?”

Well let me tell ya: budgeting and selling unused prescription pain medications.

What’s the point of buying a $60,000 Cadillac if you can’t occasionally live in it? Now shoplifting is rarely a good idea. You’d know this if you’ve ever spent enough time in Clark County, NV. And it’s completely unnecessary. Why risk jail time when you can just sell butthole pics to some Saudi “businessman”? If they blackmail you later, just say that the joke’s on them.

But I digress.

Living within your means is easy. In fact, it’s easier than spending money. All you gotta do is nothing! Dumbass.

I told my ex-wife years ago that all I need are two things: my toothbrush and my Glock 19. She left me for a Saudi oilman and tried to extort child support from me. But I told her that I ain’t paying that shit.

I still love her though. Baby, if you’re reading this, I’ll take you back whenever you’re ready but I ain’t ever gonna stop drinking.

So prioritize what’s important to you. Because that’s the secret to financial success.