Posts Tagged ‘Hollywood’

Another TV Show Pitch

August 17th, 2015

In 2004 or so I had an idea for a animated comedy show that I wanted to pitch for Adult Swim. I never did, because I had no idea how to get in touch with them. Not that it would have mattered. I wanted to write it down before I throw out this notebook.

 

Benny, the Bad-Acting Bear, has a contract to be a spokesperson (spokesbear) for a Canadian beer. He has frequent dialysis treatments for his bad kidneys due to excessive beer drinking. He works as an actor and leans on his agent (a amoral turtle who slept with Benny’s wife) to get him better acting gigs.

 

Episode 1

Benny gets a gig as a mascot for a professional football team, the Chicago Kodiaks. Because he isn’t a Kodiak bear, he is dressed and made up to resemble such. He collapses from exhaustion on the field during a game.

 

Episode 2

The murder mystery. A dead prostitute is found in Benny’s bed, forcing Benny to piece together the mystery of how she ended up there. He comes to the realization that he fell asleep on top of her in the middle of the night and she suffocated. The Royal Canadian Mounted Police, upon realizing they are dealing with a famous beer-drinking bear, help Benny dispose of the body.

 

Episode 3

Big Sam, the famous ice cream bar bear, is on his deathbed. Benny visits him and they have a conversation where Big Sam gives him his blessing to replace him as the face of a famous brand of ice cream bars. Benny goes to audition to become the new ice cream bar bear but loses the part to an animated bear voiced by a human actor.

 

Episode 4

Benny has to protect his job when a special interest group demands he be replaced by a polar bear as the spokesperson for the famous Canadian beer.

 

Episode 5

Benny is jealous of the grunting Coco, who shills for Coco-Cola during Christmas season. Unlike Benny, Coco is not capable of speaking and only grunts.  This drives Benny crazy.

 

Episode 6

Turtle books Benny to perform at a nudist colony. He is booked as a wrestling bear, which he does not know how to do. Benny is intimidated by all the nudity.

 

Episode 7

In an attempt to avoid being typecast, Benny hires a screenwriter to develop a project for him to shop to movie and TV studios. The screenwriter is a hack and the best he can produce is a script titled “Bear Bearson: Backwoods Bear Detective”, which Benny fails to sell.

 

Episode 8

Benny gets into legal trouble and has to go to court, where he is sentenced to anger management therapy, where he understands he has repressed anger from Turtle sleeping with his then-wife.

 

Episode 9

Turtle books Benny what Benny is told is a “reality show” but is actually a group of hunters who kill for sport. Benny assumes this is a hidden-camera show as he avoids being shot.

An Erotic Story I Wish Were True

October 28th, 2014

Here’s a story I’ve never told anyone, mostly because it never happened. This story, which I made up, took place around 2001/2002. Or it would have, had it actually happened. I stress the fiction part of this because it involves a celebrity. I’m afraid my writing will be so good that you’ll believe that this obviously fake story were true. Now you’ll know that it isn’t, but you’ll wish it were. I certainly do.

 

I moved to Los Angeles a few days before 9/11/2001. I only knew one guy in the whole town. Any one I meant in L.A. at first I met through my one friend. I was really nervous to meet anyone, especially girls. Part of is was culture shock, me being a Kentucky would-be hipster. Another part of it was after 9/11, I felt less social and began to withdraw from social situations.

 

I realize now that I blame 9/11 in part for my inability to talk to women. Let’s move on.

 

In spite of my lack of social skills with the fairer sex, I managed to score the occasional piece of ass. The first (of few) was an older woman who I kept seeing around my apartment complex. I finally spoke to her while going to get the mail. She was sitting on the landlord’s stoop. She looked like she wanted to look like the model Jerry Hall but couldn’t quite pull it off.¬† I would reckon she was in her early 50’s. I was twenty-three in 2001. Normally, I wouldn’t have sex with a woman over twice my age but 9/11 really did a number on the country and we all had to try to get back to normal whatever way we could.

 

mamie 151107

She had platinum blonde hair, had on sunglasses, and wore a low-cut top showing off her cleavage. Every time I saw her, she had dressed shabby. Like maybe she was a good twenty years past the glory days but she wouldn’t let go and put on adult clothes. On my way to and back from the mailbox, I did not attempt to hide my gawking at it. I was really not subtle about it.

 

“Take a picture, honey. It’ll last longer,” she barked at me.

 

I apologized. Stammered something about not seeing something like that every day.

 

“What are you, fresh off the turnip truck?”

“Naw, they don’t grow a lotta turnips in Kentucky.”

For some reason, she softened up on me. It must have been the Kentucky thing. She asked me where in Kentucky I was from, and we talked Kentucky stuff for a bit. She told me her name was Joan. We talked a bit more then she invited me into her apartment. Actually, it wasn’t her apartment, it was her son’s. Her son was the property manager of the building and he has his own apartment but he wasn’t home at the moment. This is very important to remember later.

 

So we had a nice chat and Joan brought me a cold pop from the fridge to be nice. I swear this all sounds like Penthouse Forum kinda of stuff but I was sincerely checking her out the whole time. Only this time I was trying to be more subtle about it. What I was not subtle about was wondering how old she was, because I asked her straight up.

 

“How old do you think I am?”

“I don’t know. I. . .uh, um afraid to say. I’m afraid I might get it wrong.”

“You’re not going to offend me.”

 

It would have been impossible to guess. Her teeth were pearly white like in a commercial. She seemed to have had some work done but I couldn’t be sure how far it had gone. I decided to miss by a mile rather than a yard.

 

“If I had to guess, I’d say. . . thirty-two?”

 

van_doren_12

She laughed hard at that one, “you are funny”, and then leaned in and kissed me a little. Then she pulled back, then she leaned again and kissed me some more. Then she pulled back again one more time.

 

“You were staring at my tits, weren’t you?”

“Uhh. . .”

“Oh come on, you’ve been staring at them the whole time.”

“Yeah. I have.”

“Bet you think I’ve had implants, don’t you?”

 

I would not have been surprised. They were very large breasts, and her top was doing time-and-a-half keeping them in. At least they were until she pulled it up to reveal her giant hangers. “You see any surgical scars on these? Go on, take your time. Have a look.” I looked. I looked for a long time. She let me feel them to make sure. They were natural titties of an indeterminate age, at least to me. Obviously, she knew how old she was but she wouldn’t tell me. A gentleman never asks, they say. I’m not a gentleman, or at least I wasn’t at twenty-three.

 

I tried a weak joke, “Hold on, I’m giving you a mammogram.” It was then that she decided to check me over the pants for testicular cancer. She found nothing.

 

Let me rephrase that. She found no signs of testicular cancer over my pants.

 

We fooled around a little bit but before I could get her to touch my dick under the pants, she panicked. “We can’t do this here. Can we go back to your apartment?” I grunted that we could, so we composed ourselves. I told her what apartment I lived in and she would knock on the door a few minutes after I left, to avoid any suspicious looks from any nosey neighbors in the complex.

 

I told you that this woman turned out to be the property manager’s son. I did not know this at the time. I did not know her relationship to the property manager. Relative, girlfriend, what have you, had no clue. I would never have guessed “mother”. Back to the story.

 

She came over and I took her into my room. No one was home. My friend was at work and I didn’t have a job yet. We shared a room, or I slept in my friend’s room in a cot on the floor. The few minutes I had before she came over, I stashed the cot out of sight just so I wouldn’t look like a drifter. I took her into the bedroom and laid her in my friend’s bed.

 

She wouldn’t give me a blowjob because she had just had her teeth cleaned and didn’t want to ruin it with dickmouth. Not exactly how she said it, but I’m the one telling the story here. She offered to give me a titty-fuck instead, which I took happily. I’d never had one before, not even for April Fool’s Day (April 1st is less commonly known as World Tittay Fuck Day). It was pretty cool. Better than a handjob, although not as good as a blowjob. Rimjob continues to be unranked.

 

mamie_van_doren_2006_06_08

I had sex with her after that. I won’t describe that. Have you ever had sex? It was like that. I’ve already written too much as it is. I know that this woman was a good twenty years older than me, perhaps even more so. But we had a nice time. We laid back after it was over. Kept talking. She laid in my arms. Two boats meeting in the harbor. She started telling me about Rock Hudson. At first I thought it was a story, but it turned out to be an anecdote and she was in the tale. I perked up.

 

“You knew Rock Hudson?”

“Knew him? Oh, I knew him. Dated him. Made love to him, too.”
“Are you fucking kidding?” I knew that Hudson had died in 1985 from AIDS.

“I sure did. You remind me a little bit of him, how jittery you are. How eager you were to get to the end. It’s sex. You should enjoy it!”

I sat up and groaned. Now I had to go get an HIV test. “Oh my god.”

“What’s wrong? Why are you upset? Oh, I did it with Rock years ago. They didn’t even have AIDS back then. This was in the fifties, you know.”

I looked at her. “How fucking old are you, really?”

“How old do you think I am?

“I thought you were in your early fifties but now I don’t know.”

Joan smiled. “I’m older than that, dear.”

“How old?”

 

It was then that my friend came home from work and walked into the bedroom and saw me and Joan in his bed. Before he could say anything, I looked at him and yelled, “GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE.”

 

Later on, after the dressing up and the goodbyes and the leaving and the putting of my friend’s bed sheets into the washer and apologizing, he actually congratulated me. Then again, my friend would have fucked Barbara Bush just for the hell of it. W’s mom, the former First Lady.

 

I ended up fucking Joan one more time. It was not as good the second time, and still no blowjob. Oh well.

 

Me and my friend got evicted from the building because I fucked Joan. One day the property manager came over and wanted to talk to me. He gave me the third degree.

 

“Do you know who you had sex with? Don’t act like you don’t know? You had sex with my mother!” I freaked out. Mother?

 

“My mother has dated some of the biggest stars in Hollywood! Steve McQueen! Elvis Presley! Bob Evans! Who the fuck are you?”

“I don’t know what. . . what you mean.”

“You are not a star. My mother dates stars. You are a piece of shit. YOU DIMINISH THE VALUE OF MY MOTHER EVERY TIME YOU FUCK HER!” Ah, he thought his mom was slumming it. I thought we both were.

 

After we moved into a new place, we looked Mamie Van Doren on the Internet. As it turns out, “Joan” was her birth name. She had in fact had affairs with Steve McQueen as well as Tom Jones, Joe Namath, Robert Evans, Elvis, and Howard Hughes. Howard Hughes. I fucked a woman who fucked Howard Hughes.

 

And she was seventy years old when I had sex with her. I had guess her age too conservatively. She is still alive at the age of eighty-three. You can look at pictures of her on her website, and she has turned out well for an elderly woman. She doesn’t look eighty-three years old. I would have guessed at least twenty years younger, but that’s why I don’t work at the carnival.

 

When we found out how old she was, my friend began mocking me. Bastard.

 

An Open Letter To Meryl Streep

February 26th, 2012

Dear Meryl,

I don’t need to tell you what a legendary figure you are in the world of cinema. You have three Oscars and eight Golden Globes, perhaps the most decorated actress in modern movie history. You’re on the Hollywood Walk Of Fame, you’re a Kennedy Center Honoree. You have played iconic characters from Kramer vs. Kramer all the way to The Iron Lady. You were the Devil who wore Prada and you were awesome as Julia Child in a shitty movie about some modern chick who tries to learn how to cook. Silkwood. I mean, Silkwood. C’mon.

 

But you have never done a porn film. Listen to me, don’t click away. . . YOU HAVE NEVER DONE A HARDCORE SEX SCENE IN THE CHARACTER OF JULIA CHILD!

 

It’s not too late, Meryl. You’re sixty-two. You’ve continued to create great work where so many actresses have been dumped into the trash pile. It’s a double-standard, Hollywood and life in general. Men age gracefully and continue to get work and women can’t get good work on screen after they lose their white hotness. It’s not fair but you beat the system because you’re good. You’re so good at what you do that you’re practically untouchable. And I think that your career would not at all be damaged by doing a HARDCORE INTERRACIAL SEX SCENE WHILE IN THE CHARACTER OF JULIA CHILD.

 

Spread-eagled? Awww yeah!

 

Let’s be honest. Julia Child deserves a biopic, not the “Julie and Julia” crap that Hollywood tried to sell us. You nailed Julia Child. Like a boss, like Rick Ross even (he’s a rapper, that’s a cultural reference, ignore it ma’am). And now it’s time for a full feature about Julia Child.

 

I carry a mallet 'cause I love to bang!

 

But there should be one scene where Julia Child has sex. You can even keep most of your clothes on. I just think it would be funny and awesome if you whinnied like a horse while getting drilled, some guy hunched over you while on all fours. Let’s keep it artistic, for the squares.

 

Should you decide (and you won’t) that this is worth exploring, please do not ask Penny Marshall to direct.

Chick-Fil-A STFU!

February 14th, 2012

Much has been made of Chick-Fil-A’s giving $2 million to anti-gay groups in 2009, or I can assume much has been made of it since I see links about it from time to time on my Facebook wall. I use my Facebook wall as a barometer for what people give a shit about. And people really give a shit about the gays, apparently. Some are so mad at Chick-Fil-A they don’t eat there any more. I support that, even if I never ate their to begin with. Not for political reasons, I just never found it appealing. Don’t get me wrong, I like chicken sandwiches. But Chick-Fil-A commercials make me not want to go anywhere near one of their restaurants. What, with the cows holding signs that say “EAT MOR CHIKIN” (see because cows are dumb and can’t spell right).

 

 

The way I see it. . . this is kinda like when Hollywood actors like George Clooney or Sean Penn endorse a political cause or candidate. You don’t give a damn what they think, do you? One of them was Batman in a movie and the other was to married Madonna, the hell do we care about their opinions on Africa or Haiti. Even their biggest fans want them to STFU.

 

Which is what everyone oughta be telling Chick-Fil-A: STFU. Proponents of gay rights and Christian conservatives should actually band together for once and tell them to STFU. Dude, you make chicken sandwiches. Like we give a damn about what you think about anything other than how to make chicken taste better. Same with Clooney, Pitt, et al. I cannot take this dude seriously because he was in I am Sam. No, wait. He was Sam.