But first, we must admit. . . . .

***** Whether you realize it or not, this website has essentially been a 24/7 infomercial for why I should be Winona's man and get my dream Hollywood job. For under $50/month, I rent my web-hosting platform and the limit is only my creativity and the upward limits of technology-- mining the world of common experience around me for great material. I have "nothing to lose" and "everything to gain", so I can take all the creative risks I want and truly "go for broke" and figure out how to live with courage, and not audacity-- conviction and not obnoxiousness. Consider it "training wheels" for "the big time" when and if I get discovered and am found worthy to join "the round table".

-- Thanks for watchin'!

5

     -- "And your personal career choices allegedly MAKE MORE SENSE? That puppet "you ran off with" has more artistic integrity, no matter "how wooden, and stiff, and passive"!!!!!!! Al Gore would shit!"

A Brief Story of Note--

ome years back, in those wicked & spineless 1990's, my old Bettie Boop of a New Jersey mother was telling me how she knew a friend whose cousin's son, or by several degrees "West" to the mythical "6", was a writer for "The Roseanne Show" and had "made it" as a comedy writer to whatever capacity. My mental gears began gnashing, wandering what kind of solemn game of manipulation I could play on this nebbish, meekly-grinning fucker in a baseball cap, or perchance a bad silk suit as he ambled up and down the boulevards of L.A. "like Ed Wood" or at least "Fred Savage" holding a sheaf of papers before him like someone I could plead my case before.

We were roughly from a similar quadrant, on the same side of the tracks, children of liberal Jewish candy-ass mothers who bought Paul Neuman salad dressing and listened to "Simon & Garfunkel" like low-fi, fuzzy puke of the parmecieum 1980's post-McGovernik/"Ms. Magazine" page-flip consciousness like so much "comfort-food" and Ding-Dong snack cakes, like cats looking up expectantly with their marble eyes and standing on their hind legs for treats. . . . . their fucking fat, frozy little boy scowling "like Trog".

I figured I would do "the soft-shoe", the ole' "Jew-to-Jew" bit, but scowled to myself that even that would be "unavailing". Then one would try kissing the ass of Winona Ryder, hoping I could rope her into adopting my cynical, self-pitying self with her wide, doe-like eyes as I conned her with canned Jewish, liberal-arts lies like John Updike or worse, Raymond Carver.

Then one figured. . . . . FUCK IT. They were gonna BOOT THEIR WAY IN by telling the truth, instead of carrying on like soft, stinking SPORE-SHIT or their pathetic enablers which Hollywood is infested with like one big Shaheeny party, whirling around rags in fuckin' weepy-eyed Babylon with dick-sucking in back (-- i.e. in scenarios I do not care to imagine). Nothing sells like "shock-rock theatre", and "tweaking some noses". A half-Jewish bullshit artist and right-wing paleo-con could not hope for more. . . . . and it is always amusing how a lad shows off his short-coming's.

        -- Would you listen to this monologue I recorded in response to James Cameron's $300 million costly miscalculation, "Avatar" after reading an article at the "Daily Mail". (Click & Save)

On why "Young Bullshit Artists" become the most successful-- here

Read about a quasi-succesful bullshit artist here

Continue on. . . . .