Tag: sex

another shot at the Title (part iv)

“Are you sure you don’t want to do another take?” Christian (Bale) asked.

“Nope, one is enough,” I said.

Jimmy Del Greco spoke up. “Chris is right,” he said. “You need to do more takes. At the rate we’re going to be seven months ahead of schedule.”

“Hey Jimmy,” I replied, “the donuts are over there. Why don’t you manage the crew while I handle the directing, okay?”

“Do another fucking take,” Kat interrupted. “We’re already $3 billion over budget. We built sets, you rewrote the script, tore the sets down, and now we’re in Bidwell Park with a one-man cast, no sets , and a minimal crew. We could’ve shot this thing for $1 million! Let’s get our money’s worth out of this thing!”

“Kat,” I replied, “you’re the money person, I’m the artist. I know what I’m doing, mmmk? Trust the process.”

Pee-Wee the Production Assistant came running up to me. “Dallas San Antonio Houston is here to see you sir,” he said.

“Thank you Pee-Wee. You’re the only one that listens around here.”

I excused myself to the production trailer. Dallas was pacing back and forth. “What the hell is going on?” he asked.

“Relax Dallas,” I said. “Take a seat.”

I offered him a glass of brandy, which he declined. I drank both glasses myself.

Dallas was livid. “Why is a 350lb Christian Bale running around naked in Bidwell Park?” he asked. “This was supposed to be a courtroom drama. My magnum opus! You completely re-wrote the script!”

“So I took some creative liberties with the script,” I replied. “I might’ve changed it from a courtroom drama into a man-against-nature story a la The Naked Prey. But ask yourself this: what’s the difference between a story about truth and justice and a story about one man’s survival in the woods while his cock flops around? They’re the same thing thematically! It’s still your script.”

“I think you’re trying to abuse the system for your own gain.”

“Dallas, I have more money than I know what to do with. I own governments that I didn’t even know about. Did you know that the EU is investigating me for extorting the Russian government? Can you believe that shit? So what’s $2.5 billion to me?”

“I’ll go to the Guild about this.”

“Listen to me. You don’t want to do that. If you do, that will delay the release and a lot of people’s money and careers are dependent on the success of this film. I’ll tell you what, I’ll cut you a check for $500,000,000 right here. Or how about Trinidad and Tobago? I’m not offering you a trip there, I’m offering you the country of Trinidad and Tobago.”

“You’re disgusting. You think you can bribe me out of this?”

“Yes”

Before Dallas could respond, Pee-Wee ran into the trailer. “Christian (Bale) collapsed!” he yelled. “Call an ambulance!”

another shot at the title (part iiI)

“This Tastes Like Ass is obviously a modern classic,” said Bryce Howard Dallas Antonio, the screenwriter, “but I think it lacks the nuances of some of the earlier postmodern classics from David Lynch and Martin Scorsese.”

Dallas showed up to the pre-production meetings wearing a tweed jacket, a derby, and a walking cane. I wanted to smash that cane right onto his dick.

Sets were going up. I had enough on my plate. But Dallas insisted on following me around.

“Do you like David Lean?” he asked.

“Yeah, he was hott.”

“What’s your biggest influence?”

“I don’t know. Alcohol?”

I was signing papers left and right. I was too busy to listen to this shit. After Dallas called Smokey and the Bandit the most overrated movie of the 70s, I grabbed him by the jacket.

“Listen here shitwad,” I said, “you’re right out of film school. You know who I am? Google my name. I may have diabetes, cirrhosis of the liver, and a venereal disease that doesn’t have a name, but I can still kick your ass. So listen to my advice grasshopper, watch your ass!”

The executive in charge of production, Jimmy Greco, saw what was happening and rushed out of his office. He waddled his fat, Jerry Stiller-lookin ass right up to my face. “You can’t touch the screenwriter!” he screamed. “That’s against WGA rules!”

He then straightened out Dallas’ jacket and ran a hand through his hair. Afterwards, he pointed his finger at me. “Listen here buster,” Jimmy said, “if you pull a stunt like that again, I’ll have your ass!”

“Oh you want my ass?” I replied. I dropped my pants. “You want my cock too?” I turned around and started twirling my penis.

“You’re a fool,” Jimmy said.

“I’M the fool? The only fool here is that idiot screenwriter!”

Jimmy escorted Dallas away. The cast and crew stood around gawking.

“Everyone back to work!” I yelled and pulled up my pants.

I took out a cigarette and walked up to Pablo. “Take it easy, James,” he said.

I lit up the cigarette. “How did the contract negotiations go?” I asked.

“Great!” Pablo replied. “You’ll be pleased to know that you’ll move up the billionaire’s list.”

“I’m a billionaire?”

“James, you’re one of the richest men in the world. You have real estate holdings all across the globe. You even own the deed to the Kremlin for fuck’s sake!”

“Isn’t that a bar in Tallahassee?”

***

I was having brunch with Brett Ratner when Kat slapped down a newspaper. The article read “NOTORIOUS FILM DIRECTOR EXPOSES PENIS…AND ASS…TO CAST AND CREW.”

I looked up to Kat and she began speaking in a monotonous, scripted voice. “The board wanted me to tell you that if you do that again, they will remove you from the project. Please be more considerate of the crew,” she said.

She never made eye contact.

“Kat,” I replied, “as you know, I run my sets a little differently. Besides, per our agreement, I was allowed to change the script so that the entire jury would be nude throughout production. Bare cock will be all over the set. What difference does one more make?”

“This is the position of the board and the production team,” she said, still refusing to make eye contact.

I shrugged. “Very well, will that be all?”

“That is all,” Kat replied and began walking away. Then she stopped. “There is one other thing…”

She turned around and looked me in the eye.

“We are already running over budget,” she continued. “We are having trouble securing funds from the European market. Would you be considerate enough to loan $900,000,000 to help cover pre-production costs?”

I thought for a moment.

“Sure I’d be happy to give you nearly a billion dollars,” I said. “But in return, I want to make more changes to the script.”

TO BE CONTINUED

Another shot at the title (part I)

“Get the fuck out of my house,” I told Pablo.

“At least read the script!” he replied.

“Pablo, I have everything I want. I’m happily married to a Vietnamese hooker I met in Van Nuys. I’ve got a son and a house in the hills. I’ve got more money than god thanks to This Taste Like Ass. I’m done with Hollywood. Fuck Kathleen, fuck the studios. I’m retired.”

Pablo shook his head and looked down at his beer. “You know what they say about you?” he asked. “They say you’re a one-hit wonder. That you got lucky with This Tastes Like Ass, and lightening doesn’t strike twice.”

“And they’re right!” I replied.

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this,” Pablo said. “I remember when I first read your script years ago. I said ‘this guy is going places’ and I thought it was a privilege to represent you.”

He stood up and looked at my three Oscars mounted proudly behind a glass case. “When we first met, you told me that the worst fate someone could have in this town is to have a career like Michael Cimino,” Pablo continued. Then he turned around and looked me in the eye. “Do what Cimino couldn’t do. Prove Hollywood wrong: make another great film.”

I looked away. “Like I said: I’m retired,” I replied.

Pablo stood up straight and laid the script down on the coffee table. “I’ll leave this here with you,” he said then showed himself out the door.

I picked up the script.

“Like a Fart in a Windstorm by Dallas Austin Antonio,” it read.

***

Later that night, my son put on a film streaming on Amazonian Prime. I don’t remember what it was called. “Big Gay Ted’s Excellent Adventure,” or something. I was too drunk to care.

But my blood began to boil during the sex scenes. The action was not much better. Finally I had enough and in a drunken rage, I slammed my foot into the TV.

“What the fuck is this shit?!” I yelled.

“Dad you’re drunk! Go to bed!” my son, Slick Rick, said.

“Fuck you asshole! My creativity built this house! I own Hollywood! Back in my day, we showed rock hard cock, full frontal nudity, and absurdly graphic violence! Not this pussy shit! No tits, no penis? Why is there a plot? We never cared about that crap! What happened to kids these days!?Hollywood just ain’t the same anymore Slick Rick, I’m tellin ya.”

“Dad, you need to get a hobby,” he replied.

I sat down next to Rick and patted him on the knee. “You’re a good son,” I said. “Now go help your mother.”

I then wrapped my bottle of Evan Williams in a paper bag and began wondering the streets Laurel Canyon.

The next morning, when I woke up in my neighbor’s backyard, I began to ponder Pablo’s words. I took out my cellphone and called him up.

“James, where the hell have you been?” he said. “Your wife’s been frantically calling me, wondering if I knew where you were!”

“Nevermind that,” I replied. “Get me a meeting with Kathleen Kennedy (not THAT Kathleen Kennedy, the other one).”

“So you read the script?” Pablo asked.

“Yes, I took your advice. We’re back in business.”

TO BE CONTINUED

not gonna lie, being in a relationship is great

Sucks for all you single people out there. You should really get in a relationship.

I read a lot of blogs from single folks. I get it, dating sucks. Not that YOU suck, it’s just the whole rigamarole.

I haven’t been single in 10 years. Love my family. Best thing that ever happened to me. Couldn’t recommend it enough.

But I’ve been there. I’ve hopped from one dating site to another, scrolling through countless boring profiles. It’s easy to get resentful, I would know. Outside of relationships, I’m the most resentful person you’ll ever meet. So I’ve seen that side.

I’m average looking, got a small pp, have no money, and I’m a dumbass. So if I can do it, so can you!

Here’s my advice: stop overthinking it.

You either feel it or you don’t. If you keep getting rejected, sorry bud…I’m sure you’ve heard it before, YOU’RE the common denominator. Accept the challenge. We’ve all had to spend our time in the wilderness. Your issues probably stem from problems that are hindering your romantic capabilities. You should probably address those. Just sayin’.

A lot of people want to discuss the differences between men and women, but I’ve learned something: other than our physical differences, men and women are exactly the same, at least in terms of needs and wants. No one likes to hear that because projecting their insecurities on the opposite sex justifies their resentment. But it’s true. Sorry.

If you’re looking for a fuck, that’s easy.

But if you’re looking for love, you got it all wrong. If you have a perfect image of “Eros” that no one can live up to, you don’t deserve love.

Love is built on respect, concern, a desire for another’s wellbeing. It requires you to get out of your own head. To many of you single folks haven’t learned how to check your own selfishness. If you’re only concerned on what your “lover” can give you, you don’t deserve love and I hope you remain single forever.

Good luck! 😀

“blue thunder” and “backtrack” (aka Catchfire”)

I watched two movies back-to-back (unintentionally) that had helicopter chases.

The first was Blue Thunder, staring the greatest leading man of all time…Roy Scheider. It is also the greatest movie that Paul Verhoeven never made.

No disrespect to the highly competent John Badham, but Verhoeven would have crushed the shit out of this material. The film takes place in 1980s LA and is about a police pilot and Vietnam vet, played by Scheider, who gets introduced to a military-style helicopter that the city wants to use for patrol. The villain is Malcolm McDowell, a British man that somehow became a Lt. Colonel in the US Army, who for some contrived reason wants to kill Scheider. The fascistic overtones are right up Verhoeven’s alley, and even some of the story beats would be echoed in Robocop four years later.

But the movie looks incredible. John A. Alonzo is really an unsung hero in the field of cinematography. The handheld work is really ahead of its time, and masterfully done. After watching the first scene of Scheider walking out to his helicopter, I was shocked that this came out in 1983. It’s a natural look that even films today have trouble emulating.

And that final helicopter chase was incredible. All of the concerns that Scheider’s character had regarding public safety goes out the window once when he gets hunted by fighter jets and Malcolm McDowell. Chicken factories and buildings get blown up while debris falls on the people below. Meanwhile, Candy Clark drives like a bat out of hell down the streets of LA. As far as 80s action movies go, I’m not saying that it’s up there with the Schwarzenegger, Verhoeven, and John McTiernan classics, but it is very good. In fact, I would say it was a prototype for subsequent 80s flicks.

The other film was less of a banger but no less interesting (for various reasons). It was Dennis Hopper’s Backtrack (or Catchfire, idk). There are apparently two versions: theatrical cut and a directors cut. I guess I watched the director’s cut.

Hopper himself was apparently dissatisfied with the original version and had his “directed by” credit given to Alan Smithee. Honestly, he should have taken his name off the director’s cut as well.

What’s it about? Not sure.

I think Jodie Foster accidentally sees a mob hit by Joe Pesci and Pesci tries to track her down by hiring Hopper and Hopper falls in love with her (and she with him).

Now I’ll say this because I’ve said enough about dude’s bodies in this blog and it’s time women get their due: Jodie Foster is fiiiiiiiiiiiine as hell in this movie. You could say that I was “sexually attracted” to her. It made me uncomfortable (in my pants specifically). I could understand why Hopper didn’t want to kill her.

But the problem with this movie (one of many) is that Dennis Hopper is, I’m sorry to say, not fit for the role. Hopper is at least 25 years older than Foster. There’s nothing romantic about their scenes together. They’re downright creepy. It’s a role that someone like Nicholas Cage, Mickey Rourke, or Sean Penn could have aced at that time.

That being said, Hopper REALLY makes some decisions in this movie, both in front of and behind the camera. To be honest, I don’t even know what he’s trying to do. Is that accent New York or Cajun? Does he know his lines or is he just making shit up? Now no one on God’s green earth could have saved this screenplay, but Hopper’s visual flair and strange acting decisions steal the show…almost to the point where you forget that heavy hitters like Joe Pesci and Vincent Price are also in the movie.

RIP Dennis Hopper and Roy Scheider 😔

the injustice

Posted this before and I’m posting it again 🤷‍♂️

Gotta get this blog back on track, ya know?

So I was totally smashing a milf when I said “hey baby, gotta take a shit.”

“Go use the McDonalds down the street,” she said.

So I walked down the road at 1:30am, dick still hard. I clogged the toilet and ordered some hash browns.

“That’ll be $5.50 sir,” the server said.

“$5.50?! What is this….Hardee’s?!”

conversations with dennis

Nothing to talk about today.

So I was thinking about a conversation I had with my narcissist coworker. For the sake of this post, I’ll call him Dennis. It’s probably in my top 10 favorite conversations I’ve ever had.

The topic: some woman, Jane, who was allegedly a hoe-bag that once worked with Dennis (and always claimed he never messed around with).

The place: the toilet factory where we work. We use a lot of PPE, especially rubber gloves.

Of course, most of the conversation is paraphrased. But the parts said verbatim are in bold.

****

Dennis: I never fucked Jane.

Me: Did she suck your pp?

Dennis: No, but she sucked Tex’s pp, and Bob Dutch’s pp.

Me: But I thought you two worked on the same shift.

Dennis: yeah and one night I came in and she was sleeping naked on a cot we had back there. I turned the lights on and quickly turned them off. She said (mimicking a female voice) “oh sweetie don’t be embarrassed.” Then she asked me if I wanted to lay down with her and but I told her hell no.

Me: So you didn’t even fool around?

Dennis: she kept asking me if I wanted a blowjob, but because she sucked every guy off, I kept telling her no. Then she started badgering me, telling me that I wouldn’t know how to please her anyway. So finally I told her “alright, let me put some gloves on” and I went back to her cot.

Me: (laughing uncontrollably)

***

So Dennis started the convo initially denying he had sex with Jane, then a few moments later admitted to finger blasting her.

Moral of the story: Dennis’ story is probably completely fabricated, Jane probably wasn’t a hoe. Because I was such a good audience for Dennis, he probably thought he could take the story in any direction he wanted, despite the blatant contradictions, and he thought I would believe all of it.

That’s what a conversation with a narcissist looks like.

That’s it. That’s the story. Bye ✋