Monday, April 24, 2006

The shit was phat

That’s only way to explain the bomb that I dropped in the ‘Monica. I mean the night wasn’t all roses but it was definitely a win by filmmaker standards (meaning no one got locked up). So I have struggled long and hard as to the best way to tell you how it went down…who owes me money (Portal) and who dissed my crew. So since the fly posts missions have become such a favorite; I thought I would continue the form.

So put your seatbelt on kiddies…’cause you about to hear some shit!

4/20 3:55 PM

ok…so I’m northbound up La Cienega…doin’ a hundred easy ( “I said I was doin’ a hundred easy!”) with my girl beside me and to be honest…I’m trippin’. Sex-Love is screening in less than four hours and I haven’t burned the EPK’s or cut all the VIP passes. Furthermore, I had to fly in one of the homies from my crew (1932 ‘doah coalition ) think of us as the ghetto superfriends where motherfuckers read a lot. So we’ll call this man Special Agent No. Five. Now Agent Five has many years of service in the ‘doah coalition and is one of my most trusted operatives and he’s got mad heads caught up on myspace so I know he can handle the task at hand. His task (which he did choose to accept with a blunt and some gummy cola’s as a bribe) was to be the contact for Operation Z – Girl. I had dispatched him to Venice not 2 hrs prior to my departure to the land of asshole people (also know as LAX). Now keep in mind that I am on the DL ( “on the down low” – like when you fuckin’ somebody that you ain’t supposed to be) because 2 days ago when I was here pickin’ up special agent five I got pulled over by airport security (Wow! a black guy got hassled at the airport – imagine that). Apparently my exhaust is malfunctioning (we’ll see how bad it malfunctions when I break the speed of sound getting on the 405…but whatever). So I got this airport motorcycle cop writing me a ticket because my exhaust smells funny. Because we all know Al-Queda likes to restore classic Z’s when they are not plotting to kill people. And then agent Five shows up. Now realize that the last time I saw Five and there was a police officer standing in front of us, he said something to the affect of “actually the fourth amendment protects me against illegal search and seizure”…needless to say, Five has been know to start some shit. The Copper sees Five and just let’s me off with a warning (who says myspace don’t make motherfuckers famous)…unfuckin’ believable. But that was two days ago; now Five is texting me and telling me that he can’t find an airbrush artist to do the T-shirts. You see I bought matching T-shirts for the models to wear during the premiere. Ok let me back up.

So I ran an ad on Craigslist entitled “Film Premiere seeks hotties”…and let me tell you it’s worth $25 to have hot chicks send you’re their picture, but let’s keep this professional. So I ran this ad and everything was just peachy…even the women offering to fuck me to get a role in the movie (no I am not making that up). I met some hella cool women who like to drink and party (and by party I mean fuck – ahh it’s a joke! Lordy!) So everything is going just fine…that is until I get the asshole email. Now those of you who don’t post often on Craigslist may not know that there are asshole lurking out there in cyberspace. Packs of assholes without a sense of humor (or a spell checker – still think that Emachine is a good purchase?) who seek to do nothing else but waste your fuckin’ time by complaining about things that are nothing but utter and complete bullshit. But people say I have a reputation of being a bit of an exaggerator so to make things fair I thought I’d post it for all to see. Now I will say that I did swear a little and make a few jokes about porno and coke…but hey…this is Cali…Don Simpson was chokin’ hookers in the toilet….why am I getting hate mail?

Oh yeah… this is totally fuckin’ real and if you don’t believe me…send me an email and I’ll forward it to you..

Ok.. here is the email complaining about my ad on Craigslist:

I'm not hatin' but I would like to offer some
constructive criticism of your posting. If you really
expect to hear from professional, attractive women, I
would suggest toning down the language your post.
There is no need to talk about how big your premiere
is, especially when the pay is so low. I understand
that making a film is incredibly expensive, so to the
models. Just state the wages and make sure you have
good food. It's assumed that there is red carpet and
velvet ropes; the fact that you need to state it
indicates that it's a big deal to you and that you're
not used to that kind of thing. Also, profanity is
unprofessional to say nothing of drugs. Finally, your
repeated denials that you are into prostitution or
pornography will only arouse suspicion. There is no
reason for anyone to think that your event is
distasteful. It's not like ads looking for nude photo
or drawing subjects; in that case it might be a good
idea to clarify that the nudity is not porn-related.
Anyway, it's your thing and I wish you the best of
luck; I'm just tryin' to look out. Peace. is it me or does this guy need a nice big cup of “shut the fuck up!” I mean seriously what is this guy’s problem (“we’re making a fuckin’ movie man…chill the fuckout!”). Did they accidentally remove his sarcastic wit when they put the stick up his ass. This is the kind of shit I get in my inbox...but back to the story..

so Five is hittin’ me with mad texts now. He can’t find a single silk screen artist in Venice…I know that is Schwarzeneggar’s fault, but I have no proof. So I’m down to mere hours before I screen and the models have no outfits…..I tell him to just go with the yellow shirts because they are kinda tight (I’m still a producer so fuck you). And down La Cienega we went.


So I have made the command decision to get the Z washed while my GF gets ready. Chirrrp! And I’m blowing down the street. In my head this will be a quick and surgical procedure. Man I drive a classic…my paint is chipped and cracked and generally ugly. Just do the wheels and call it a day dude.

It takes 37 min’s for them to finish with my car. I guess this guy is an “Arrre – teeiist” and take his rims rather seriously. So here I am pacing around in the lobby like tweaker without something to clean waiting for my Z to come out of this place. I mean taking your car to the automated carwash is like taking your dog to the vet (oh that’s how you gonna do me?...this guy can’t even drive stick for fucksake)…I could hear my Z screaming as I walked over to the pick-up side.

My celli is blowing up as it has been all day. I am beginning to have really surreal experiences where I on my celli talkin’ about RSVP and the seating capacity of the theater. People are starting to sweat me and ask what I do. I try to be humble and say no, it’s really not like that. And the cell blows up again, it’s one of my actors. He saw the one sheet on the promenade and it fucked his head up. As I attempt to explain to him what is goin’ on, more people are eavesdropping. I think to myself that I need to do this in Beverly Hills and see if I they want to invest in a feature.

Finally the Z is ready. Bang and I am back to the spot (spot = crib= place where I stay at). I scoop the girlfriend and we are off the Santa Monica.

Five hits me up on the celli. He says the models are there and looking for me….I tell him to stall. I am totally frazzled now. I haven’t spoken to Yoda in 4 hours and I still need to cut the fuckin’ VIP passes.

So I drive to the top of the parking structure where I am supposed to park my Z next to a bunch of other z’s…but I can’t find anyone. And why can’t I find anyone…because I am in the wrong fuckin’ parkin’ structure….Fuck!



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