The Reception:

Our film was received very enthusiastically. Lots of handshaking and atta boys. This is fucking nuts…I mean it’s kind of not real. People are approaching me and introducing themselves….it’s like the real deal.

Director observation: women touch you when you screen well.

Now that right there is enough to make you want to be a shooter. I am making really funny mistakes like introducing myself to everyone, but everyone knows who I am (it’s like that when you screen big.). The party is money. The open bar lasts for like 1:45 min’s and motherfuckers are startin’ to get lit. I got h’orduvers floating around on trays accompanied by waiters….and you know what, when you are the one paying for the food…they never skip you.

The Money guys:

Now this is why we did it, to raise money for the feature. $2.5MM to be exact…yeah go ahead and hate but nobody ever won the Indy 500 driving a K-car…so shut the fuck up! Where was I…oh yeah… the money guys. You know it’s a trip when you chase money guys you know you have to be like a hooker with bad vision….you know act like you don’t notice them in your party and at your screening because you don’t want to appear desperate (you are 3 months behind in your rent and you are feeding your dog Ramen noodles…but no…everything is fine) till they notice you and then you are ready to do what ever they say just to have a conversation about maybe financing a film in your genre by the end of the decade (it would be funny if it wasn’t true). So I’m trying to do this (I am interested – no I am not- yes I am still interested) thing and drink a pint (courtesy of the first lady of 420 – yeah we had a first lady…but still you didn’t come out – weak!). I am smiling and laughing and trying not to say things like “gimmie the money or your kid is a gonner”…or even worse “I’m saying if you had someone you wanted killed I might consider it…if we are talkin’ about my full budget” (I’ll be in post before the try me) but it’s kind of tough. I keep it short and I keep moving. And as per usual when you leave the money guys you have no idea how it went of what they are thinkin’.

Time for another pint.

I have had four sincere conversations about my career and I’m glad I did this. I mean don’t get me wrong there are a lot of other things you could have done with the cash I spent; but we threw a great party and everyone is dancing and getting fucked up….so I think we did 420 justice.

I’m getting loaded now and my jokes are still funny. People are giving me business cards…this is nuts.

Ok.. now things start to get out of hand. With the utterance of three words (those words being “drink”, “pussy” & “tequila”) and next thing I know there are 6 guys lined up with me to knock down some Patron. Now the last time I did this I kicked the side view mirror of a car and started a huge bar brawl (but I was young then).

So it goes shot….chaser…another shot…now I am dancing with my GF….and now I am being pulled away to go outside to the parking structure…must be a meeting of the green leaf association…

Now I’m a bit faded…I just need to find the one from Arizona and bounce to the hotel (oh I got plans motherfucker).

So there is kissing in the elevator…and more kissing in the elevator and it’s getting’ hot (it’s good to be the director)….and then it happened.

She walked out of the elevator and fell off the curb (guys…if she hits the ground in your presence…it’s your bad…I don’t care if it’s an earthquake). So now I’m like trippin’ and feelin’ like an ass because I’m like a superhero…I was supposed to be on that shit (on top of that shit=paying attention=in control like Janet (no not Janet Reno)) and in the following seconds I am kissing and apologizing and helping her into the Z….and we are off to the hotel… that is a whole block away.

The hotel:

Ok.. so somewhere in the last 300 yards I have lost my celli. But I never lose my celli…shit I’d lose my dick before my celli. So I decide to not make the valet guy bring my car back,, because he can barely get the thing in gear as it is (filmmaking is very rough on your car). So I go to bed content that my GF is a hottie and that my film is the bomb and that my cell is somewhere in the hotel room.

Ok.. it’s 7AM..and I am awake because I still cannot find my cell and I have to take agent Five back to asshole land (no not the Beverweil Ralph’s…but close).


My gf is passed out, there are gummy colas all over the hotel room, I have no cell and it’s the most important day of my life. So if you ignore the loss of a $200 piece of equipment, letting my GF fall down, the scrap at the RSVP table and kickin’ people out of a standing room only section…. It was a successful night….


Now how do I follow this up?

Cooprdog

6:15PM and the beat goes on....

So I found the Z guys and met the models and now we are all on the roof of structure 5 and the photographer cat that Ice got for me (“dude…he’s money…no worries”) is really getting’ it done.

I got hot chicks laying on my car….ok.. this director shit is not bad…but watch the boots miss….that’s a piece of automotive history that you are laying on.

So everything is going hunky-dory (is that like the whitest phrase ever-or what?) and then some one says “hey it’s almost 7:30PM. A wave of fear runs through me, I am going to be late to my own fuckin’ premiere….I have got to get my shit together.

So I am busting down the steps (ok that’s a lie I took the elevator…but fuck you I’m 37) and when I get to the ground floor I am running like a shoplifter at K mart (not that I shop there) I come around the corner through the tunnel next to the Broadway deli and what I see almost knocks me over.

There are almost 30 people in line to see my film…..getthefuckouttahere. Ok so lightheaded isn’t even the word to describe the lack of sound coming out of my face. As I approach the entrance next to the box office.. people are reaching out and yelling my name…well either that or cussin’ me out….but I’d like to go with the star struck admiration is that’s ok with you. I go into the theater and it’s chaos. The theater is filling up and people aren’t on the RSVP list and it’s drama..


…man this is awesome!

Next time lets do this is a 50 seater and watch them fight. So I’m kind of getting excited (but I am still acting like everyone is a pain in my ass and about to ruin my night….so they still respect me). I see my DP and Partner Detective Budd approaching from inside the theater.


Fade In:
Int. Theater Lobby

Cooprdog and Detective Budd exchange looks as they walk toward one another.


Cooprdog
Dude!

Detective Budd
I know, Tell me about it.

Cooprdog
Is this for real?

Detective Budd
Kinda

Cooprdog
What the fuck does that mean?

Detective Budd
It means I switched our film with Phat Girls on the theater signs in the lobby

Cooprdog
Are you serious?

Detective Budd
No…not really.

Cooprdog
You are scaring me

Detective Budd
You know you weren’t this much of a pussy when we started this project.

Cooprdog
Why I got to be all that?

Detective Budd
I’m just sayin’…I’m just sayin’.


Detective Budd is totally relaxed and I feel like I am about to shoot a basket ball out of my ass. But then I remember that when a film sucks, nobody blames the DP….fuck detective Budd!

Ok..so the place is like mad packed and they are eager for the show to start. We have like 15 people standing in the back of the theater…listening to Portal rip his shit up (if you missed Roxanne…you might as well kill yourself….no, seriously). So the theater says we have to remove all the people that are standing. So we have to boot like fifteen motherfuckers out of this show and into the next.

I felt really bad…right before Detective Budd said “man that’s awesome”. Ok.. so this shit is startin’ to rock.


We screened for 166 persons in the first screening and 80+ in the second. It was the largest audience we have ever screened the film for. Unlike my past screenings where I was quick to stack the deck with friends and family (who apparently have no problem tellin’ you your shit is booty at a focus screening)…this time it was a fair amount of media and industry cats AKA motherfuckers who have no problem hatin’.

This outta be good; I need to smoke a fattie before this.


COOPRDOG

Sex, Love & Z-Parts 

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:


Brother,
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.



...now 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.


5:00PM

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!


Cooprdog