There's not much time left. Not much time left to do what I gotta do. What I gotta do, is what I shoulda done, way back when. Woulda. Coulda. Shouda. Time to man up. May God help me. I know she'll be there for me. It's time. Time for my...plastic surgery.
The virus crisis is on. I know that's important. But this is more important. This is my career. This is Hollywood. This is my life. This is my face. My face is my fortune.
I have fans. They buy tickets. The little people. Fans. Not those dwarfs that live down the street. My fans. I don't want to disappoint either one of them. Enuff said. A couple of inches. A couple of pounds. A little Nick. A little Tuck. I owe it to myself. Forgive my candor. I owe it to the world.
I've gone the extra mile here in the City of Actors & Angels. I've worked in the mud and rain on War of the Worlds. I've danced in a Tuxedo for 17 hours going into Golden Time on Atlas Shrugged at the Biltmore Hotel. I've worked Non-Union. Some would call Non-Human.
I was used. I was abused. Even with a SAG card, times were tough and getting tougher. Acting is no cake-walk. Lately, I've been doing more acting out, than acting. But, now it's time to shine.
Now it's time to go under the knife. Wish me well. I'll Uber over to that private doctor in Chinatown. He doesn't speak the King's English, but I heard he's good with a knife. Disbarred by Sacramento, but nobody's perfect. Hopefully, I'll see you on the other side. A new face; a new career. But, enough about me...
