Kendal, Cumbria

Kendal

So I’m hours away from my first British screening and I’m a little spastic. Ok, maybe spastic is not the word, but I’m skittish. I have a lot less control here in the UK than when I screen in the states and that was becoming increasingly evident as the hours progressed. I was meeting Jo Hutton and the venue and I had no idea what I was going to do till then. Well I pulled out all my PAL version of SLZ and began to count them, I went over my favorite theories from film theory I even beat my cock a few times to make sure it still worked…none of it took my mind of the pending screening.

Suddenly the B&B was too nice and I feared that I was getting soft among the frilly the frilly pillows and endless cups of tea. See, this is how motherfuckers wind up writing wac shit for the rest of eternity; I may have to jack a double-decker bus just to get my homie points back up. I layed down on the bed and promptly passed the fuck out. I woke up about 90 min’s before my screening…time to get it on.

I packed all my DVD’s…well that’s not really true because I try never to take all my screeners to one spot; even if you are killin’ ‘em… even if she has consented to bear your child, you can’t give away all your screeners – under no circumstances!

So I’ve got maybe 12 screeners (I brought 60) and about 30 posters and my 24X36 posters (yeah, like they are going to hang them)..and I was out the door. I got an alternative set of directions from the owner of the B&B (she’s kind of a hottie too) which sent me in a different direction than the hill of death. By my calculations the venue is pretty close…so close that I probably walked past it today when I was roaming around. So I follow my new directions and kind of get lost because Britain never heard of a straight up intersection or a road that keeps its name for longer than half a mile (2 kilometers…whateverthefuckyoucallit). The next thing you know I’m standing in front of Bar 99…the venue.

This is a bar and not a pub. There are music videos playing on the TV screens. There is a food menu and there are women present (which is like unfucking heard of in the pub apparently). I mosey up to the bar and what do you know, they don’t have any Guinness. I think fast and get myself a Boddingtons which is normally my number two pick. I’m not really that big a fan of blondes (unless they’re bouncing off my cock - stop it…that’s the first raunchy joke in like 75K characters…you had to see it coming) but Boddingtons is really pretty when you pour the pint and it’s pretty fucking tasty too…so I was in. I flirt with the woman next to me who is text messaging like she has a fucking Vodaphone endorsement. I make some small talk but things don’t really seem to go my way.

COOPRDOG
Hey what’s up

TEXTING BRITISH CHICK
How are ya

COOPRDOG
Chillen’. Enjoying my pint

TEXTING BRITISH CHICK
So…are you an American?

COOPRDOG
Is my accent that heavy?

TEXTING BRITISH CHICK
Yes.

COOPRDOG
Then why did you ask?

TEXTING BRITISH CHICK
You never know. I didn’t want to pigeonhole ya.

COOPRDOG
It’s ok…I like it rough

TEXTING BRITISH CHICK
So…what brings you to Kendal.

COOPRDOG
I’m screening my film.

TEXTING BRITISH CHICK
Oh really, what film?

I remove screener and hand it to her.

COOPRDOG
It’s kind of cool.

TEXTING BRITISH CHICK
Oh, nice. So, where are you screening?

COOPRDOG
I’m screening here.

TEXTING BRITISH CHICK
Where?

COOPRDOG
Here.

TEXTING BRITISH CHICK
And when you say here you mean…

COOPRDOG
In this bar.

TEXTING BRITISH CHICK
This bar? Are you sure?

COOPRDOG
Uh…yeah. I mean I flew 5400 miles to get here so I’m kind of sure I’m screening here. I even have the name of the bar on the poster.

I open my bag and retrieve a poster and show it to her. She has a look of confusion as she hails the bartender who is apparently also the owner.

BAR OWNER
Oh, shit…that’s right. There’s supposed to be a film night.

Now, that’s not the kind of shit you want to hear when you flew from another country to screen your film. But hey, the ticket was non-refundable so I figured that it was not a good idea to freak out. A matter of minutes later Jo shows up with her partner Phil in tow. There are hugs and kisses before I inform her that the bar is not ready for us.

Jo is very apologetic as she begins to scramble. It appears that the dude who used to work here lent his equipment to the bar for the film screenings. Yeah well…he fucking walked out last week in the middle of a shift and…long story short we don’t have a sound system. Jo really began to worry and to hustle and make mad phone calls. By this point we were upstairs in the actual venue and looking around. I sensed that my presence was making everyone uptight so I told Jo that I’d go back to the bar and let her produce. As I descended the steps I really didn’t know if the screening was going to happen. All I knew was that I had 3 more screenings in the next 9 days so if this completely fell through… I still would have something to show for the trip.

I went back to flirt with the texting chick but she pawned me off on some dude that was playing pool. He asked me if I wanted to play. Now I suck at pool and I can’t even fake it. And to make things even worse, pool is a little different in England. For starters there is only red and yellow balls and an 8-ball. You also don’t have to call your shots and you can do combinations off of the other player’s balls…the fucking Brits play cheeki pool…but whatever. Needless to say I got spanked in like 5 straight games. I mean this dude wasn’t even really playin’ and I couldn’t sink a single ball. The next thing I knew Jo was standing next to me telling me that they were ready to start. I guess they fixed the sound problem.

The Cumbria Filmmakers Network has a primary function to support film in the Northwest. Now I know that sounds weird to us in the states because in our eyes the UK is a pretty small place…so how can a state funded program have any real problems. Well as it turns out the UK film council is exactly overly concerned with supporting and representing all of the UK…or England for that matter. This would be the first in a long line of conversations that I would have about the UK film council. Jo gave a short introduction to the evening and began to play the first film. The assembled crowd was about 15 people and I know…you don’t think that’s a lot. Well let me say this much…most of my screenings have less than 50 people…less than 40 if you really want to be precise. So in the larger scheme of things this is right in line with the size of audiences that we normally screen for. I’m stipulating this because I came to England to see how the Brit’s feel about my film. I’m much more concerned about the average Briton and the average British filmmaker than large, appreciative crowds.

I sat quietly and watched a number of shorts and it’s the same kind of thing we have here in the states. Varying degrees of filming ability, different perspectives…basically the same thing were dealing with in the states. There is a short intermission and then I’m asked to introduce my film. That’s always a hard thing for me to do …because how do I, as the director, effectively doing it without sounding overly braggadocio or too aloof is rather a tough call. Don’t get me wrong I like to talk ad nauseam about my film…I just don’t think that it’s all that appropriate when you are introducing your film…

And hence here was my dilemma, and I didn’t even hesitate…I just stepped up there and said some shit from the dome… from the top of my head and waited to see how it went over. Well apparently I’m an excellent liar because they bought it (now if I could only master that when I’m in a relationship). The lights when dim and we were on our way. The British tend to be a little bit reserved so I wasn’t surprised that they weren’t doubling over with laughter and pounding on their knees.

I struggled to stay conscious as my film screened. I have begun to notice that I become extremely drowsy when my film is playing. I’m not sure if I’m bored by my own work or if I get lulled into some theoretical coma when watching my own work (or maybe it was the 5 pints of Guinness…who knows?) Needless to say I was in the back of the room trying to keep my head from hitting the table when the film ended. I received a nice round of applause and then the Jo introduced me and the questions started coming.

It was a really strange and different film to them; more than anything it was the scope and size of the film…and the production values. It was a big American thing, with big American attitude and that initially didn’t go over well. I was questioned about why all of this…all of these things…all of these lenses were necessary. I could see that I was pushed into the “spending money because he has it” – category. This is normally when I’d go on the offensive and tell motherfuckers what the deal was. But this was a genuine question, a genuine concern by filmmakers foreign to me.

I had to spend a little time explaining how crowded independent filmmaking is in Los Angles let alone the contiguous United States. There seemed initially to be a great amount of doubt about what I was saying and if it was true. I suddenly hated being an American. I hated Hollywood and the requisite affect of all of our exported media. I state it as “our” because as an independent I am indelibly linked to Hollywood film and no amount of drug use or political protesting is going to change that. We are independent from Hollywood and hence we are defined as the “antithesis” of that process.

I had to eat it, I had to concede a lot of things that is a lot of shit going on in the US industry that is not really right. And as soon as I did that, as soon as I stopped pretending like the US Dollar is all that matters and that if you don’t live in LA that you aren’t alive…things got a lot better. The basic disagreement was whether or not you need to shoot on film when digital is so cheap and available. Instead of my typical answer of “why don’t you shut the fuck up” I explained that the story that I was telling dictated that I use celluloid. I told them that I didn’t believe that I could get the yellow paint on the Z to pop if I used mini-DV. I of course had to hear about hi-def and I was very patient as I informed them that hi-def is not cheaper than 35MM and that since you have the ability to colortime on the set that it runs the risk of seriously slowing down your production.

Also screening was Mag Scholes short “Call Me” That Jo Hutton produced. It really seemed as if her and I were diametrically opposed when it came to shooting ideas and methodology and I was quick to point out that much of the differences between our films were stylistic choices and should not be looked at as right or wrong.

Though the Q&A didn’t start out as gang busters it did get quite lively. I handed out tons of posters and a few screeners. I should point out that this UK tour was the first time in the history of Sex-Love that I have not hung a ton of posters. That’s basically because that shit is not tolerated in England. I mean you can try, but I didn’t see any posters anywhere and British culture is not like American culture. This place is a fucking island and resources are scarce. Not only would it be a serious affront to the peacefulness and civility of daily British life but just slapping up posters is not the way to excite Britain. This is a place of one on one meetings, or going into the pubs and the coffee houses and such and speaking your piece. I was quite amazed that we, as a country, have the reputation of being up front and in your face and demanding answers; but it was in Britain that I was approached by random Brits who demanded answers as to who as was and what the fuck I was doing on their island. But it wasn’t in a “who the fuck is this motherfucker” – manner, it was in a “seriously mate, how did you find yourself over here…and what is this thing called Sex, Love & Z-Parts”. What I am trying to say is that there was a level of sincerity that I hadn’t really experience before. I mean I have met a lot of motherfuckers in a lot of places. Fuck in the past 6 months I’ve traveled more than 10K miles just to talk about this film and I’ve never been in a situation like this.

Before you know it, it was midnight and everybody had to get the fuck out. I was really starting to get tired of all this closing at midnight shit… I mean are you for real? There isn’t a bunch of Blokes holed-up somewhere drinking pints and smoking blunts? Speaking of smoking blunts…that activity is damn near impossible here in Kendal. For Starters I can’t find a fucking weed hook up to save my fucking life. Granted, I’m a 6ft dreaded black dude in Kendal Cumbria and I’m sporting snow camouflage and a funny hat. And I keep saying things that really aren’t understood in this part of the world.

For example…

COOPRDOG
Hey man…are there trees in the forest?

BRITISH CHICK
I would assume so mate. That’s why they call it a forest.

Then I tried

COOPRDOG
Eh, if you gonna burn one…holla at ya boy!

OTHER BRITISH CHICK
Burn one? And what would that be? You talking quid mate? You talking about gambling? Cause that machine in the corner will gladly take all your quid. Just ask Benny

BENNY
Fucking El’ it’ll take your pounds it will.

Ok, so…we’re dealing with a little bit of a language barrier and… I have yet to see any Phillies or swishers or any shit like that. It ain’t looking good for the West LA cat so I decided to sail on back to my B&B. Hell maybe I’d get lucky and meet some drunk Brit chick and she’d show me the best way to get hot tea to come out of the kettle (hey… I’m writin’ jokes for Brit’s now…lighten up)

So here I am, lugging DVD’s and posters and all kinds of other shit and here I am at the base of heartbreak hill. I swear to fucking Christ that this thing gets bigger every fucking day. But I am not going to be conquered because I can see the light from the Rifleman’s Arms at the first plateau. I’m going to scale this bitch and get a pint of Guinness before the motherfucker closes…watch me.

Now, you know that I ran a lot of intervals in high school and college. I spent a lot of time with my heart rate north of 180 beats a minute. Sure, my ass is a little wider… I enjoy a big hard shit more than I did when I was twenty and I have Domino’s on speed dial…but whatever… I can do this.

The key to this feat is to maintain my momentum, because will alone doesn’t not work after 30…you’ve got to start to consider physics and shit like that (Physics and shit??) I began to walk as fast as possible as I approached the first climb (there are 3). Head down… long deep breaths to make sure the muscles have fresh oxygen and a serious thought in my mind “I will drink a pint of Guinness before the pub closes”.

I’m 25 yards up the hill and my back starts to tighten. Fuck you back muscles, you insubordinate motherfuckers we will not slow this stride. The back muscles sent a message to the knees to buckle and next thing I knew I was fighting with my own body

FADE IN TO INT. COOPRDOG’S BODY

Fat, out of shape muscles are attempting to deal with excessive energy drain and a level of cardiovascular fitness not seen since we had to use book covers.

BACK
This is the back. We are on fucking fire back here. I respectfully demand that we slow the pace of ascension and seriously consider a nap.

SHOULDERS
That’s a negative Back. I’m dealing with massive loads on both shoulders and something that keeps swinging and rocking into the Ass and destroying the equilibrium and the cadence…and I am managing. You need to toughen up.

BACK
Listen penis. What the fuck do you know about supporting the body’s weight and walking upright. If it wasn’t for me we’d have never gotten out of the kiddie pool!

SHOULDERS
Yeah well, the next time we have to take a piss or a shit why don’t you try opening the bathroom door you appendage-less motherfucker! What you think it’s easy grabbing beers when we’re intoxicated and passing blunts in a moving vehicle, you have no fucking Idea! So shut the fuck up!

RECTUM
Hey! This is the fucking rectum and I’ve had to shit since the 80’s and you motherfuckers are really killin’ my concentration. And believe you me, if I go on strike the whole fucking party is over.

COCK
Listen up rectum, I’m tired of your empty threats. I mean how many fucking times did you sound the alarm and it was just a huge fart?

RECTUM
Hey, you think it’s fucking easy? You wanna run the risk of shitting his pants and then it’s really game over you fucking asshole! Don’t give me your self-righteous shit just because you get pussy.

BRAIN
Can I interject?

LUNGS
Oh, here we fucking go….The Brain has something to say.

BRAIN
Lungs why don’t you shut the fuck up before I shut you down and we all die!

LUNGS
I’m involuntary motherfucker! Why don’t you read the fucking union agreement, asshole! Besides don’t you have a calculus problem to stress on or some shit…or, I’m sure there’s some long lost ex-girlfriend that you treated like shit that you wish you could get back that you could dwell on! …Oh, and nice work with Melissa BTW…she was a real winner!

The rest of the body laughs.

BRAIN
Listen, we’ve got 300 meters to go!

FEET
Is it meters or yards you’re fucking killing me? I’m the one doing the walking here.

BRAIN
If I make the conversion does it really fucking matter?

FEET
I’m just sayin’…it’d be nice to stick to one system of measurement

THIGHS
I’m sorry what did you say? What the fuck did you say? You do all the walking! Fucking please…you wouldn’t know how to loco mote if you were a train engineer.

FEET
What does that mean? You say that shit all the time and no one knows what it means? Why can’t you make it simple, you know…we don’t have a brain.

BRAIN
No, none of you do…because I am the brain and I am in charge.

LUNGS
(Mocking): I am the brain, I’m in charge.

BRAIN
You know what??? When we get back to the States we’re smokin’ nothin’ but backwoods so how do you like those apples.

LUNGS
Listen Napoleon without the rest of us you’ll be writing screenplays from a catatonic state eating through a straw so why don’t you fucking chill out.

BRAIN
Whatever!

I can make out the sign above the door. My ankles are swelling, I think one of my dreads just caught fire, my balls are hella sweaty…and I refuse to stop. I just keep swing my arms and repeating to myself.. “they have Guinness in the pub. They have Guinness in the pub”. The final kick is ugly. I’m dropping shit, my pants are falling down, my glasses are fogging up…I’ve got to get into the fucking gym before I fucking drop dead.

I walk in the door and all the guys are there from last night. They let out a huge cheer/laugh at my disheveled appearance and my return.

They are cracking up at the fact that I can barely speak.

OLD BRIT
You’ve got to breath man! The legs need oxygen.

OTHER OLD BRIT
Damn Yankees! You can bomb the shit out of someone’s country but you can’t walk up a little hill…fascinating!

BRITISH CHICK
It’s not his war!

OLD BRIT
It’s his president…might was well be his war.

COOPRDOG
Ok first of all I’ve had a few pints.

The place erupts with laughter.

COOPRDOG
Second…I woke up one day and we were invading…I never voted for that shit.

BRITISH DUDE
Well, what did you vote for?

COOPRDOG
Man I voted for handjobs with every parking ticket and the legalization of weed.

They all chuckle at my response.

COOPRDOG
I’m just saying…if I got my dog walked with every ticket…I wouldn’t mind paying for them.

BAR KEEP
Can I get you a pint sir?

COOPRDOG
I would love a pint!

I picked up where we left off last night. I haven’t had this warm of a reception when entering a room since I brought sandwiches to the homeless (dude..get the fuck off my jacket) . Again we talked about politics and British identity and who makes the best meat pies. I fucking love this place, I really do.

The conversation finally got around to me and what the fuck I was doing all night…cause according to the local I should have been in the pub drinking and not frolicking around with the women. I reminded them about my screening and shit.

BRITISH CHICK
What screening?

COOPRDOG
My screening.

BRITISH CHICK
You mean like a movie?

COOPRDOG
No, I’m screening my dirty knickers for the entire town.

The bar chuckles

BRITISH CHICK
Seriously, you make movies.

COOPRDOG
Man, I’m not just talkin’ shit. Here let me show you.

I reached into my bag and removed an article in the local paper and a few posters and I gave them all screeners. They were stupefied.

BRITISH CHICK
So this is your movie?

COOPRDOG
That’s what the credit card bills say.

BRITISH CHICK
But you shot it?

COOPRDOG
I wrote it, directed it and co-produced it. I hired all the actors and I raised all the money.

BRITISH DUDE
So… are you going to be famous? Should we take your picture?

COOPRDOG
Well I don’t know if I’m going to be famous. But I’ll probably die suddenly in some hooker-related shoot-out…so pics are always a good idea.

There were some pictures taken, some pints consumed and everybody was down except this one dude. He stared at me like I’d just run over his dog. He wasn’t buying the whole “international filmmaker” bit…and didn’t believe for one minute that I could play darts. The next thing I know…he’s talking to me. He wants to know what’s my deal and what this “movie thing” is. He kind of scoffs at the newspaper articles about me, doesn’t want to hear about my screening. He buys me a beer and we begin to talk. I am initially utterly and completely perplexing to this dude…and then we played some darts and he beat my ass. I wasn’t even trying to let him win but I just couldn’t get a decent round, but I could see that if I would have beat him…it would have made this shit that much harder.

We played three and I lost all three, but I didn’t bitch about it. The locals in the bar kind of loved the fact that I got beat, but at the same time wanted to know if I could be another Brit. He and I weren’t really seeing eye-to-eye till he noticed that I was wearing my Canadian weed shirt (it’s a black shirt that looks like the Canadian flag but instead of a Maple leaf there is a pot leaf in the center. And then it begins….

NEW BRITISH GUY
So you smoke weed?

COOPRDOG
I blaze like Johnny.

NEW BRITISH GUY
What?

COOPRDOG
I blaze like Johnny. Johnny Blaze…Method Man.

NEW BRITISH GUY
Method Man. Who the bloody hell is Method Man?

COOPRDOG
From the Wu-Tang Clan.

NEW BRITISH GUY
The who?

COOPRDOG
No, not The Who…The Wu-Tang Clan.

OTHER BRITISH GUY
We know you’re not talking about The Who…The Who is real music.

The bar chuckles at the comment.

COOPRDOG
C’mon I know you listen to Hip-Hop….Hip-Hop is universal.

OTHER BRITISH GUY
Universally bad

More Laughter.

OTHER BRITISH CHICK
You mean like Jay-Z and Snoop Doggie Dog.

DUDE AT BAR
Man I like Snoop. He reps the LBC.

COOPRDOG
Ok so how the fuck is it that you don’t know shit about Hip-Hop but you know what it means to rep the LBC.

OTHER BRITISH GUY
C’mon mate. 187 on an undercover cop…..you betta recognize!

The entire place erupted in laughter including myself…a bunch of Brit’s bustin’ my stones about Hip-Hop…you gotta love it.

COOPRDOG
Ok.. so you were saying…

NEW BRITISH GUY
I’m saying that my mate has got the best fucking weed you’ll ever smoke.

COOPRDOG
Listen dude. I live in Cali… and I hear that shit a lot. So let me tell you something…Cali got the best weed. I don’t care if your mate is Batman and has a degree in Hydroponics…we’ll still grow better shit than you.

NEW BRITISH GUY
What makes you so sure?

COOPRDOG
Cause you ain’t got no fucking sunshine!

The bar laughs.

NEW BRITISH GUY
We can grow inside mate. We do have technology you know.

COOPRDOG
I don’t care if James fucking Bond and the Goddamn horticulture society team up and buy matching jerseys…we still got hotter shit than you.

NEW BRITISH GUY
I’ll prove it.

And with that comment he grabbed his cell phone and gave it to his girlfriend. He told her to ring up his mate ‘cause we were coming over. Twenty minutes later that dude ain’t answering and neither are the rest of his peeps.

NEW BRITISH GUY
Aw, they’re all sleepin’ mate.

COOPRDOG
I’m sorry, your hard-smoking, drug dealing, anarchist friends are all in bed by midnight? What is the fucking deal with this Island? I mean do you have to make an appointment when you want to get fucked?

OLD BRITISH DUDE
Yeah…especially when you are married, why do you think we drink so much?

NEW BRITISH GUY
I’m telling you….if my mate was awake.

COOPRDOG
Yeah I know..I’d forget my momma’s name. Gravity would cease to exist…I know I know…

The guy shakes his head at the ribbing I’m giving him.

NEW BRITISH GUY
What are you doing later?

COOPRDOG
Later, what does that mean to you…sunrise. I need you to be specific.

NEW BRITISH GUY
I’m talking about going back to my flat mate

NEW BRITISH GUY’S GIRLFRIEND
It’s kind of late for all that don’t you think?

NEW BRITISH GUY
If I want to do some drinking with my new American friend then I don’t see what’s the problem.

NEW BRITISH GUY’S GIRLFRIEND
We have to get up in the morning

NEW BRITISH GUY
Ahh… so, what do you say?

Now I should point out that I stopped leaving bars with strange men when I was in college, but I had a good feeling about this guy. The next thing I know me, him and his wife are trekking across Kendal by foot to this guy’s house. It’s a lively discussion about politics and how the Brit’s really don’t believe in street lights (you could seriously get run-the-fuck-over). And before you know it we’re at this guy’s house and his dog starts barking. The thing sounds fucking huge and it won’t shut up. We briefly go into the house and drop our shit off…and then we go back outside. He knocks on his neighbor’s door and begins to say his name. The cat is not waking up and then he decides to show me something (his words exactly). I didn’t know if I was about to see his half-brother tied up in a shed with a ball-gag or a dead sheep. I was starting to seriously regret this decision. His wife/girlfriend has disappeared into the house and we are turning the corner to walk into the back yard.

It’s pitch fucking black and his dog is really starting to bark…and then he yells at it

NEW BRITISH GUY
Shut it!......

HIS DOG
Woof….Wooooof!

NEW BRITISH GUY
SHUT IT!

So I’m trippin’ on the fact that he’s screaming his fucking head off. I mean it’s like 2:30 in the fucking morning and we’re sneaking up on some dude’s weed stash and the dog is barking like crazy and this guy is yellin’. I’m totally picturing myself either gettin’ murdered by drug dealing-soccer hooligans or narrowly escaping and then participating in a 900 meter mad scramble across the British countryside chased by big dogs, Bobbie’s and the occasionally hooligan that wants to get into the scrum for the fuck of it. This is not fucking LA….I’m in way over my head…and need to remedy this situation.

COOPRDOG
Hey man… is this cool?

NEW BRITISH GUY
It’s me Mate’s crop. And I don’t think he’d shoot ya’

Uh… hello… I’m a big black guy sneaking up on is weed crop….and I live in another country. Is anyone receiving this? Ground control to major fucking Tom…Ground control to Major fucking Tom!!!

The next thing I know we are on the porch of this deck/shed thing. I can barely see my hand in front of my face… it’s kind of cold and since there are rolling hills and shit…the acoustics are really trippy. As I approach the deck I can smell the weed. Then he walk over to the shed door and opens it. The smell of Marijuana was overwhelming. We step into the shed and it really starts to stink. But then he reaches up to grab what is essentially a large trash bag that’s duct-taped to the ceiling. It takes him a fair amount of force and three or four tries to separate it from the ceiling…and then I saw them.

Had to be 30-40 trees about chest high, I almost fucking fainted the sight was so beautiful. The exhaust fan is blowing and the dude’s got the entire set up.. and then the dude starts talking.

NEW BRITISH GUY
They just not ready yet. You’ve got to come back mate… we can smoke forever.

Hell motherfucking yeah I’ve got to come back! I don’t care if I start fucking a super model and driving her Ferrari…I moving to the UK.

The next thing I know we’re moving back to the house. He’s mumbling something about gettin’ a beer. We pounce in through the back door and surprise the shit out of his wife. She chastises us before handing us each a beer (ok.. so, marriage is not all bad). So he and I are sitting in the kitchen smokin’ bowls and talkin’ shit and then he starts in about video games…

NEW BRITISH GUY
So.. are you a gamer

COOPRDOG
Fucking aye’ right I’m a gamer.

NEW BRITISH GUY
So what’s your poison?

COOPRDOG
I like drivers, shooters and tactical military games. And I fucking love rally games.

NEW BRITISH GUY
Which one do you play?

I then broke out my PSP and loaded up World Racing Championship. He couldn’t get over the graphics and the frame rate of the handheld.

NEW BRITISH GUY
…That’s mental.

COOPRDOG
Shit… wait till I get into the real twisties.

We take turns but he has a little trouble with the touchiness of the PSP. And I have to get him to use a light grip and precise movements.

COOPRDOG
It’s a bitch if you have big mitts.

He then suggests that we just play it on the PS2. The PS2..what fucking game are you talking about. That’s when I learned that they have a ton of Rally games in the UK that are never sold in the states. I was like what the fuck? So the Canadian’s have the best potato chips and the Brit’s have the best software? What the fuck is going on? I need to call my Congressman!

So we get to the TV and begin the game. It’s the latest installment of this dude name Colin who was like the best driver like fucking ever, and he was British…and he just died in a tragic helicopter accident. I never even heard of the guy and the story was fucked up. So we roast a bowl and give a toast to his memory and decide to give him his props by rippin’ it up on his game. My new Mate goes first and he’s ok. I mean he like the behind the car view and I personally think he brakes too much (man, you got insurance). But he hasn’t played in a while so.. he’s a little rusty. I on the otherhand have been playing World Racing Championship on a non-stop pace since I left LA.

When it was my turn I set the shit on fire. I was drunk and high and I was puttin’ it down for LA and Philly…

COOPRDOG
Yeah… baby!.......steady….steady boy………ahh.. you dirty bitches…..don’t cry, I owed you…. Yeah…yeah, bitch…come one and get some…… ..fuck!!!

3 minutes later

COOPRDOG
That’s a physical impossibility….. see… see.. that’s what I’m talking about, this guy’s not even trying to win, he’s just trying to run me off the road.. .see.. (banging on the buttons really hard) that’s-why-I-stop-playing-this cheapshot-bullshit-motherfucking- gam----…..WHAT!...Ha…what I say bitches? I’m runnin’ shit up here….no, no…you don’t want none…..aw, you dirty motherfucker……. Um… yeah bitch….. uh, huh…. Whatever…tell ya momma who did it to ya’….tell your momma who did it to ya!

I’m in first person mode (on the fucking hood motherfuckers)..and I’m getting it done. Shit I thing I drove my car up the side of a tree to pass one of these motherfuckers. But I’m pretty with it. Perfect slides, nice wheel spin…the guy is so fucking impressed that he gives me the game and the follow up version. I was flabbergasted. Say what you want about gamers or stoners or guys who download too much porn (can you ever have too much porn…I? mean let’s be realistic) but if two dude who are hella different can not only settle their differences be become true friends while playing a console gamer….them games are the answer…fuck the UN!

The next thing I knew I was stumbling out of a taxi in from of my Bed & Breakfast. I gave the driver a screener and told him that I thought Kendal was a kick-ass place.

I was so drunk it took me nearly six minutes to get the gargantuan skeleton key (Britain…what is the fucking deal with these fucking keys? I understand you have your traditions, but it’s bigger than my dick… I think you should reconsider)…in the fucking door. And then I stumbled up to my room and passed the fuck out. When I wake up I’m head to London and my screening. I should probably get a train schedule and a map…I don’t even know which direction is London….fuck am I faded.

COOPRDOG