We Change Your Channel
FUCK HOLLYWOOD
Our boy Will glides through Lalaland and takes us for Korean on 8th Street and recounts the day we shot 36 scenes for a movie about the Vatican and a squirrel. Is that really Sandie in the pudding, wrestling? What happened to the nice girl from the suburbs? Those days are over, says Seanie. Now we've all got less time than we did then, and it's burning quicker which means no more drinking on Friday nights and gossiping about Lindsay Lohan; on our deathbeds, Sandie and Seanie will be lamenting every stupid football game or courtroom drama they ever watched. And Will, bless his hard-working soul, wonders when we ever watched that shit. Seems to him we've been in a scheme ever since we've known him. What football? Whose court case? But that's not the point, I tell him: Point is, we need to get you the Oscar winner into a movie with Jack Nicholson with a budget for twenty five kay, as in $25,000, total, insurance, lawyers, everything, because that's the future. Will always listens to me, since we've known each other as long as John Travolta, but now he gently remonstrates: Sean, I didn't win. Who cares? What about a movie for $25K?
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