And yet another shot at the title (part xxvii)

“Alright, as executive consultants on this picture the studio is willing to pay out $850,000 in salary and you are entitled to 3% of the gross with an executive producer credit,” Kat explained to Mama Mohammed and Dick. “That is the best that we can do.”

Mama stood up and grabbed the paperwork from Kat. “I agree to these terms,” she said. Then crumpled up the paper and swallowed it whole. “I’ll have the paperwork mailed back to you in week’s time,” Mama concluded and left the room.

“Dick, what about you?” Kat asked. Dick took his paperwork, laid it on the ground and pissed on it. When he was done, he picked up the soggy and dripping paper and put it on Kat’s desk. He too left the room without saying a word.

“Well done Kat!” I said. “You’re a very talented negotiator.”

“What the hell do you mean?” she asked. “Dick rejected the terms!”

“Nonsense! If you noticed, he didn’t indiscriminately piss on the paper. With his urine stream, he very legibly signed his name on the signature line. He agreed!”

“That makes me feel a little better. I guess? But I’m still concerned about Dick and Mama working together. You heard Jimmy. He wants this production to go off without a hitch but I’m afraid that we have an explosive situation on our hands.”

“Never mind Jimmy,” I said. “Kat, when are you going to learn that you don’t need him? You are better than him. I’m just going to say it: YOU need to be head of this studio. We put a lot of work into rebuilding this company and we need to continue being the gold standard in Hollywood. Do you honestly think Jimmy is capable of keeping us on top?”

“Now you shut your mouth!” Kat said with fire in her eyes. “I will have no more talk of me replacing Jimmy, do you hear me?”

“Yeah, sure,” I said sardonically. “Loud and clear.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

And yet another shot at the title (part xxvi)

Mama Anandra Sheila Mohammed Anard caught me staring at her superb supple breast fully exposed through her eclectic mixture of Turkish, Persian, Hindu, Swahili, Hotep, Aztec, Mongolian, Tibetan, Vietnamese, Hmong, and Puerto Rican garb. “What is it about these two exposed swelling glands that amplify the fertility of women that appeal to men?” she asks me.

“I dunno,” I shrugged. “Personally I’m an ass man.”

Perhaps it was a game of one-upmanship between her and Dick who was sitting on the other side of the room wide legged with his nutsack fully exposed. Not his penis. Just his long, wrinkly scrotum. “Men are too easily entertained,” Mama continued, “certainly the lesser of the species.”

“No argument here,” I said.

Jimmy and Kat walked in side by side with Kat holding stacks of paperwork under her arm. Jimmy was inexplicably donned in traditional Sikh clothing. “This is absurd,” Jimmy said, “of course Mama should be a consultant on this project!”

He knelt down in front of the guru, cupping one of her breast in his hand. “Oh Mama,” Jimmy uttered, “the mother goddess graces us with her presence.”

Mama placed her hands on his face. “Of the evil that man doeth,” she spoke, “you are the one shining beacon of hope that lights up this cruel world.”

“Oh Mama, oh Mama,” Jimmy repeated. He shed a few tears then stood up and looked me square in the eye. “This woman is a saint,” he said to me. “Regardless of the beef between you and me, you treat this woman as royalty. Understood?”

“Whatever you say Jimmy,” I said.

He grabbed some of the paperwork from Kat and began signing away. Afterwards he threw down the pen and approached Kat. “Katherine, we’ve worked together a long time. I trust you. But with Mama Sheila Mohammed onboard, I require your utmost professionalism,” he warned. “No more shenanigans like in the previous pictures. This production must come in on time and on budget.”

Kat swallowed and nodded. “Yes sir,” she said.

Then he looked back at me. “And James…”

“Yes Jimmy?” I said awaiting his response. But he said nothing and departed the room.

TO BE CONTINUED…

And yet another shot at the title (part xi)

Dick’s fully erect penis glistened under the glowing California sun. He stood as a specter on the balcony over looking the Los Angeles skyline. I was in awe of this naked figure as I sat at his feet. Then he began his ominous rhapsody.

“Los Angeles,” he uttered, “even the name is a deception. For in the City of Angels, one will only find spawns of Satan.”

He was statuesque; a physique rivaled only by Michelangelo’s David (with a much bigger penis of course). Sometimes he would stand there motionless, me waiting with anticipation for his next movement. It was not unlike watching Michael Jackson in the early 90s.

“All sense of brotherly love has been eroded by greed and avarice,” Dick continued. “This is a city of shattered dreams…of broken promises. Everything that can be deemed good in humanity is vacant here, in this godless land. But you, my sweet James: my most trusted disciple, you were strong enough to weather the storm. Much like that naked shrub in Palm Springs, you have carved out a lone existence in this barren soil. The seed planted here many moons ago has survived. You are the one bit of life that still clings on to this forsaken land. Oh, how the gods have touched you.”

I sat in lotus position as I pondered his words. “But there are those that wish to stamp out my flourishing seed, oh Master….ME…a defenseless shrub. Why must the burden of talent be so heavy?” I ask.

Dick grabbed me and pulled me up to my feet. He slapped me across the face and then gave me his warm embrace. His erection was poking me in the thigh. Then he put his hands to my face and looked me in the eye. “Do not be distraught, oh little one,” he said. “Haven’t you learned from my words? Only I am stronger than you. Nothing in this land can tear you down. Not earth, wind, or California wildfires. Thanks to me, you are stronger than they.”

I lowered my head in shame. “Forgive me, Master,” I said, “I am ashamed to say that for the first time, I feel…vulnerable. Afraid. Unsure of myself.”

Dick shined his calming smile and placed his hand on my shoulder. “Through me, all things are possible,” he said. “You will vanquish your enemies. They will bow down before you and tremble at the very name, James Pietermeister. Show them once again to never doubt you. And more importantly, never forgive them. Mercy is for the weak.”

I nodded in solemn agreement.

“Now,” Dick concluded, “this visitation will cost $354,000 and the keys to your Maserati to drive back to Palm Springs.”

Then I reached into my pocket.

TO BE CONTINUED…