I'm a simple man with simple needs:
A trophy wife. A trophy wife with a car. A trophy wife with a good day job.
Is that too much to ask here in L.A.?
Everyone knows. The Cartels are slow payers.
The FBI knows. The CIA knows. Your sweet Grandma knows. God bless her.
Slow-paying is a lifestyle here in Los Angeles. Like earthquakes. Like those hot winds raking across the desert from Coachella.
Yes, I'm still eking out a living.
Vegan demos at Pavillions. Movie background extra work. The two-finger typed blogs I write and sell. Bitcoin and that gigolo caper both went south. The Big South.
OK, fishing through my overflowing Speedos Sunday mornings over an omelet and two cups of Java at Philippe's makes me smile after those late-Saturday Midnight shows on stage @ Magic Mike's.
One dollar notes still work. One dollar notes still pay the rent. Still, put gas in the tank. Still, pay for light catering. Bud Light. Still waiting in the shadows of the Hollywood Sign.
Still waiting for the suits to buy one of our comedy screenplays.
Still waiting to meet the second Miss Right. Maybe an elbow-to-elbow heavy breathing scene as we share an Uber Express Pool. Take one. Take five. Maybe.
Hot dates. Cold beer. Restraining orders.
The usual scenarios. The usual suspects.
Fame? Shame? I'm game.
I'll be streaming. Dreaming. Hoping.
Have an awesome summer.
Have a good one...