Image by delgaudm via Flickr
A Day in the Life of a Movie Star
I went to bed a movie star, and I awoke a movie star. For the rest of the day I will be a movie star, and into next week I will be a movie star. How great is my life? I'm a movie star!
This morning I checked to see if my name was in the news, and of course it was. I bookmarked all the websites that mentioned me for future reference. I'm a movie star, so I don't have the time to scroll through them right now. Maybe later, when I'm no longer a star, but not now.
I plan on visiting the Church of Scientology today. They are holding a gala in my honor. What a rush! I wonder what kind of church this is, this 'Scientology.' Maybe I'll ask them about it while I'm there.
My agent called. He told me not to ask Scientology any questions, to get my award and get the hell out. Too late: I've already written a bunch of questions for them as part of my acceptance speech.
My date was another movie star, but she wasn't available, so I had to go with a TV star instead. She picked me up at a quarter to nine and we headed to Scientology headquarters. Scientology prefers all its celebrity fetes be at night, when it's dark, for some reason. The banquet hall was brilliantly lit; it felt like we were entering another galaxy. No flashbulbs, though, which is nice; they respected my eyesight. Most people don't realize that stars end up seeing other stars after so many flashbulbs get popped in their faces. Once, I got accused of groping a woman during a red carpet event after I stumbled into her hot ass after being blinded temporarily by a flashbulb. I was never charged, but my agent had to arrange for her to meet Ryan Seacrest ASAP.
I got approached by several famous Scientologists after my speech. One told me he loved my speech, but since Scientology has no rules regarding alcohol, he couldn't remember any of it.
Another told me he loved my speech, but if he answered any of my questions, he'd have to kill me. Just kidding, he said, but he wasn't smiling. I offered to write him a check for $100,000 on the spot for some quick answers, but he wouldn't budge. I realized that's when you know you've made it: you've attempted to bribe a prominent Scientologist with an ungodly sum of money about answers to the universe and you don't even sweat it. I had a smile on my face for the rest of the evening. I had "made" it.
Back at home, I ditched the TV bitch for a movie B-actress. In a card game, my movie B-actress would trump your television A-actress every time. The B-actress admitted to me that she would make love to an A-actor but not a B-actor. What about a "C" actor, I asked her. "Never," she said.
We made love, and I gently whispered my Oscar speech into her breasts. She moaned like crazy.
I showed her my tattoos. "Don't you worry about those showing up in your nudie scenes?" she asked. "Technology handles that now," I said, "where've you been?"
"In my movies, they still use paint," she sulked.
"It's nice being a major movie star today because you can get all the tattoos you want," I said.
"I hate you," she pouted.
"Don't write a song about me," I threatened.
"Keep it up and I might."
"I can introduce you to Simon Cowell, you know."
"Go to hell."
So the Abdul meeting is scheduled for next week. In the meantime, I'm getting another tattoo made, this one of Prince Michael II, one of Michael Jackson's orphaned children.
I loved Michael Jackson, and got a tattoo of him on my arm in the early '80s when nobody else did, and I kept updating it through the years to correspond with his surgeries. By the time everything was said and done, I had updated it over ten times!
I showed the tattoo once to Michael, who loved it. It inspired him to get more things done to his face, he said, especially when I flexed.
He told me Vincent Price was a real hammy actor to work with, but a pretty cool guy off set. He said Price gave him one of his famous caskets which Michael turned into a pressurized oxygen chamber.
They say Michael was a Jehovah's Witness. Funny, because I have a banquet with them next week.