“Help me look for a shot’s volume worth. I don’t want to go into the other room. I’m really comfortable here.”
“D, that’s a Poland Spring cap. What are you on?”
“I’m kidding. I can’t find anything. How do you not have a cup in your room?”
“Forget it. Open your mouth, there’s no other way. I’m pouring it straight over your mouth.”
“Just go in the other room! Why don’t you just go in the other room?”
“It’s more fun this way.”
“Fine. This is going to be really stupid. Don’t! Careful! Don’t spill any over my clothes. My roommate going to be suspicious if she smells it on my clothes. She hates the smell.”
“Okay, well do you want to take off all your clothes before I pour a shot in your mouth?”
“Ha! You’re funny. Hurry up, there’s papers to be bullshitted.”
“You want me to hurry up or do you want me to be careful?”
“Give me the bottle, I’ll do it myself.”
“Okay, but you won’t be able to do that yourself after the fourth shot, that’s for sure.”
“I’m not writing this paper drunk off my mind, Samuel.”
“Why do you have to call me Samuel? You know I don’t like being called that. And I know you purposely did that because you stressed my name. “
“Samuel! Sammy! Samantha! Hahaha.”
“Just, take the shot already. And you always drink more than four shots. You can never help it.” … “You look like you’re about to suck a dick.”
“See look what you did! You made me laugh. Now I spilled some over my shirt. You’re such an asshole!”
“Hey! You can’t hit me for that! You didn’t even laugh, that was like, a hump of the air. It’s not my fault you can’t aim. Is your roommate your new motherly figure?”
“Do you have orange juice? Yuck!”
“It’s in the other room where I’m not going into. How does that matter? You don’t think your roommate is going to find out when she finds you passed out on the bed smelling like piss, vomit, and a bullshitted paper four in the morning?”
“Samuel, that’s not funny. I need to pass this class. My mom thinks I’m a straight A student since sixth grade.”
“You think there was some guy?”
“Like some guy, guy in the mid 30s. And he knows what he’s doing.”
“Wait, you mean a guy in his thirties?”
“No, I mean a guy in the nineteen thirties. And this guy just knows what he’s doing…”
“Alright, what is it that he knows what he’s doing?”
“Like he knows. So he’s watching Hitler make those damn speeches on his tee-vee. And he’s hearing the American commentators over the broadcast saying that he’s fucking crazy. But the guy doesn’t say, “fucking crazy” like I say it, because how they spoke back then was much more formal. Plus, you can’t say fuck on the television.”
“So, this guy just knows. He’s looking at Hitler in the black and white television of his in the suburban home some-special-quiet place surrounded by other houses that look just like his. I know, suburban neighborhoods weren’t invented yet, but bare with me. I’m painting a picture for you. Anyways, so, when his daughter gets home from school, her daughter just… waves at him, farts and proceeds to pass out in front of him. Like, right in front of the door. And from the guy’s perspective you can even see the bus that dropped her off leaving from outside the frame of the door. You still with me?
“So, his wife or her mom doesn’t see because she’s busy making sandwiches in the back of the kitchen as a housewife. The guy just stares. He’s staring at the close up of the saturated muschache of Hitler and then back at her daughter. He does this about several times. And then he smells a whiff of the air, because he has to, if he doesn’t he dies from oxygen. So then, Eureka! He gets it, man! He sees the light. There’s a flashbulb lighting up above his head.”
“What does he get?”
“He stands up from his chair and thinks “Holy shit, I should invest all my money in cyanide pesticide! I’ll make millions of dollars from Hitler with all the shit he’s about to do on humanity and how he’s going to gas all the Jews!” But he doesn’t say “holy shit” of course, because the phrase hasn’t been coined yet.
“Bro, you just killed my high.”
“This is the story of a man called Bob who earned a Ph.D in Cinematography and Directing from the prestigious American Film Institute a semester early. Bob was the first to donate all of the grants he won from student film festivals he barely gave a shit about. He went on to win the Palme D’or award at the Cannes festival three consecutive times in a row. Tribeca, Sundance, Venice, and Berlin have all given an open invitation for him to be the President of the Jury, which he so graciously declined for the second year straight.
There has been controversial conversations with the public that Bob is a robot, but Bob retweeted a photograph of his pale white ass for validity that he was just like everyone else. A few days later, Bob announced that he was to stop making films at the age of 25. At the same time, he left his polygamy relationship with Natalie Portman, Julia Roberts, and Michelle Obama. This is the story of how Bob retired from professional filmmaking to direct low budget porn videos annoymously and spent the next five years of his life in a desert haven calledSahara Ha Ha.
No one knew what went on in there. There was private, but publicly announced invitations for a certain few to stay with him. Woody Allen and Terrence Malick were the first to leave. Michael Bay checked his emails, phone calls, and mailbox everyday but couldn’t understand why he didn’t get an invitation. He did get one though, but Bay had killed himself in an explosion the day before. Police have investigated the interior for crimes but came out crying and a new drive to make the world a better place. Justin Bieber and Miley Cyrus have volunteered to be his new starlets in his new lesbian pornographic feature. Yes, Cyrus had a sex change. The porno ended up being preserved at the United States National Film Registry by the Library of Congress as being “mad fucking important.” The film reel was placed next to Lumet’s 12 Angry Men and Kubrick’s Dr.Strangelove. No one understood.
Producers, directors, editors, cinematographers, screenwriters, almost everyone in the Hollywood and independent industry have stopped down there to visit him during the limited visiting hours that was organized by Christopher Nolan. Yes, he decided to give up directing the final film to his Batman series to work as an assistant filing meetings for Bob. Well, Kevin Spacey headed the security department where he assumes the role of Lester Burnham from his critically acclaimed American Beauty.
There was a candid photograph leaked over the internet of Tom Hanks and Steven Spielberg on their knees begging in their underwear under the hot sun in the middle of nowhere for him to come back to work. Bob drank his ice tea lemonade made by a naked young beautiful woman. Her name tag read Isabella. He said he was sorry that they were going to leave empty handed. However, depite Spacey’s efforts, Hanks and Spielberg dragged Nolan onto the helicopter and they flew away. They knew how crazy the public would be if Nolan had not completed his film. Bob told Bruce Willis who was method acting John McClane, not to fire his imaginary RPG at the helicopter.
But as the trio were leaving the place, all three of them felt puzzled as they had a bird eye’s view of Bob’s complex. It was nothing extraordinary. Nothing in the world could make them understand what was going on in his mind. They told themselves it was another genius who went crazy. But no one knew that Bob was perfectly fine, playing a charade on the entire globe. He was going to creating the most perfect film that anyone would watch in the 21st century.”
“Do you really expect me to produce a film like this?”
“It’s the name Isabella isn’t it? We can change that.”
“She asks me who am I fucking now and why I’m not fucking her and I tell her why am I not fucking the both of you at once? And that’s why I don’t talk to my sister and mum anymore.”
“Really, that came out of your mouth just now?”
“Okay, which one first? The alcohol or the weed? Now I was thinking of the dro first, because I get cottonmouth a lot. But I know alcohol makes you less hydrated but I’ll be so high I wouldn’t give a fuck right? But if I take the drink first and smoke later, I’ll can’t help but say I feel much more happy. Maybe I should do both at the same time? Or fuck, wait a minute, oh my god, holy fuck man, What if maybe I drink first and then time the smoking of the bud so that the effects hit me at the same time? Wait a fucking minute, do you guys have a connect for acid?
“Who the fuck is this guy? Is he with you?”