Getting "Discovered" is Tougher than I Thought
Predator Press
[LOBO]
Well, today marks one whole week since we’ve arrived in California and I have yet to appear in a single movie.
Oh sure … I’ve had offers. But at the moment I need to focus on my political career.
-And Civilization IV.
Still, a job might help. It’s pretty tense right now: I’m essentially about one Google search from Terri finding out there’s actually no such thing as Arecacephobia -the morbid fear of palm trees- and without health insurance, the stitches from a blow from a frying pan could totally ruin us.
I need to think of something quick.
Today, taking a page out of Lana Turner’s playbook, I hung out at the drug store all damn day.
“Hey,” says the soda jerk, “Aren’t you-?”
Ah thank god. A Predator Press fan.
“-going to order something?” he continues. “You can’t sit there unless you order something.”
"You're not fooling anybody, damonkappas!" I says. "I'm on to you!"
***
So 6 32-ounce Mountain Dews later, still no employment.
Now I have to pee like a Russian racehorse, and my laptop battery is nearly dead because I’ve written six Broadway musicals and a rather lengthy sequel to Les Misérables.
I was just wrapping up the part where Cosette finds out Marius Pontmercy is actually a zombie space alien and crushes him against his own flying saucer in her Escalade when the drug store closed and I got kicked out.
Honestly with a work ethic like that, I don’t know how anything gets done out here at all.
[LOBO]
Well, today marks one whole week since we’ve arrived in California and I have yet to appear in a single movie.
Oh sure … I’ve had offers. But at the moment I need to focus on my political career.
-And Civilization IV.
Still, a job might help. It’s pretty tense right now: I’m essentially about one Google search from Terri finding out there’s actually no such thing as Arecacephobia -the morbid fear of palm trees- and without health insurance, the stitches from a blow from a frying pan could totally ruin us.
I need to think of something quick.
Today, taking a page out of Lana Turner’s playbook, I hung out at the drug store all damn day.
“Hey,” says the soda jerk, “Aren’t you-?”
Ah thank god. A Predator Press fan.
“-going to order something?” he continues. “You can’t sit there unless you order something.”
"You're not fooling anybody, damonkappas!" I says. "I'm on to you!"
So 6 32-ounce Mountain Dews later, still no employment.
Now I have to pee like a Russian racehorse, and my laptop battery is nearly dead because I’ve written six Broadway musicals and a rather lengthy sequel to Les Misérables.
I was just wrapping up the part where Cosette finds out Marius Pontmercy is actually a zombie space alien and crushes him against his own flying saucer in her Escalade when the drug store closed and I got kicked out.
Honestly with a work ethic like that, I don’t know how anything gets done out here at all.
Comments
Have you tried walking around naked on Venice Beach with a sandwich board sign that says "will write for food?" I heard it worked for the Coen brothers.