Well, it doesn't look like I'll get a part in the movie!
Used to be, you'd go in, read a part to show a range of acting styles, and they let you know. Now, the NudeTube generation has to do it all on film! 25 seconds to talk about yourself.. the one thing I can't talk endlessly about!
Still, I think it might be a bit of a scam y'know! Now, I goes in for the photo,, and the lady sez "Ooooh, I've been looking forward to photographing you!". After I comes out of the Sex, Lies and Videotape bit, she's "You're OK to go, but I'll definately be in touch".
Well, I though there's no way I'll get a callback on my shambolic drivel, and she ain't seen it yet.. so maybe i'm "in there". Whey-hay!!!
BUT...
I popped into John's shop (the other John, not 'John' John, or the other, other John. Or even The John, as I didn't need a whizz) to see if he had the 3-disc edition of Ichi The Killer, as typically, now I've decided to buy it I can't find it anywhere. Then it hit me...
Takashi Miike...
I wonder if the whole thing was set up so photography babe could find herself a bloke, which means I could get casting couch opportunities, leading to a domicile of burlap sack, with extremity removal.
And I had dug me keyboard out an' all! Next thing I know it'll be cheese wire garrottes decapitating me bonce as I tinkle on the ivories*, or paralization with needles under the eyes.
Couldn't have done worse if I'd auditioned for an Opera!
Someone "up there"'s really got it in for me!
And I almost got a severe beating by a burly bus boiler who looked like the back end of a bus. She was all miffed coz the Senior Driver gave her false directions. Presumably these Directions were Henna, giving her the carroty top of the gingers, and the now legendary stereotypical psychotic attribututes and all that goes with it.
Apart from missing umpteen stops stropping out the passengers, there were umpteen wrong turns, culminating in thinking that Ives Road was up near the airport**!
As the last man standing, I got a right earful, for who am I to correct the Senior Driver. Me, who knows this bus route, not some mad harridan hired for the day! She was all ready to start throwing punches... which would have been fine if she was young and pretty, and there was another passenger who was young and pretty aldo getting into heated debate.
In bikinis.
In mud.
But they weren't. One wasn't even there!
What a gyp! They should hire bikini clad maidens purely in case of such eventualities - much more pleasurable than a fat old trout bewailing the trickery of sniggering senior charlatans.
Phew! What with close calls with maniacal maidens with piano wire, and violent femmes in charge of buses, it's a wonder I'm alive! And there's the evening yet... I'll probably get deaded by a taxi driver next for telling him to slow down and follow the right route...
...assuming I can remember the address I'm supposed to go to!
* AND I DON'T MEAN PISSING IN SOMEONE'S GOB. OR UP THEIR TOOTH FILLED KEBAB. TALKING OF WHICH... DIDN'T COVER IT IN THE MOVIE, BUT IF YOU HAD TWAT-TEETH, WOULD YOU HAVE TO BRUSH & FLOSS? IMAGINE THE PLAQUE BUILD UP! BIG BLUE ONES, ADVISING OF FAMOUS COCKS THAT GOT BIT WITHIN.
** WHICH IT IS, ISH. BUT NOT FROM A VULCAN ROAD PERSPECTIVE. A VULCAN PERSPECTIVE IS THAT IT WOULD BE A MORE LOGICAL POSITION TO CHECK YOUR ROUTE FIRST.
