Oh come now, it’s a party. You can’t live with the beautiful people if you don’t play the game.
Hell? Why, were you a bad boy? No, this is reality. Once you shuffle off your mortal whatever, you come here. It’s your big shot. Why do you think so many want in? They’re dying to get here. Haven’t you heard that expression? I’m just dying to go to Hollywood. I’m just dying to be an actress. I’d just die if I could… you get the point.
Stop looking so confused, people will think you’re deficient.
The moaning? Oh, that’s just the writers. They hate when their stories get raped, but that’s the biz, babe. You’ve got to dumb it down, make it accessible to the masses. Dollars are more important than sense, ya know?
If you point your ever-so-perceptive ears this direction, you’ll hear laughter. Executives and producers—that’s the crowd you want to hang with. Are you bloodthirsty? Haven’t you always wanted to crush the little guy? Come on, just a little? Take someone and just squeeze every last ounce of life from their body and leave them for the next conquest? No?
Huh.
Directing? Are you a storyteller? Not like writing, you have to be a bit of a yes man for the producer types. Do what you like as long as they agree, ya know? You can always change it back for the DVD once you get your paycheck and can finance it yourself. No? Well, only the best survive there anyway. It’s in the seventh layer.
Well, maybe the behind the scenes is for you… are you artistic? Sculpt, paint, draw, maybe you’re good with computers? Not really?
You aren’t a writer are you? No? Good. Good good good.
Hmmm. You must have some talent. What about sales?
No. Somehow I’m not surprised.
Wow, you are complex, aren’t you.
Listen, hon, I’m out of ideas, so take this.
What is it? It’s a bus pass. For heaven. When you get to Iowa, look for the baseball field.
No comments:
Post a Comment