back from HELLywood

i have returned from my hiatus. my hell. it's terrible. and i'm going to quit writing. i'm taking the LSAT's. i'm going to become a lawyer. i'm throwing away the big ball of fuck-up that's known as writing. this thing has taken over my life like an evil, a hateful, version of ET. it's this greasy alien watching tv and forces me to make stupid decisions. it has mind-melded with me and is hotwiring my emotions.

i dropped out of this blog because i was appraoched by "two producers" to create a show. the show was to be called "lakota falls." it's about an indian chick who, like isn't "connected" with her "people," and then like gets called back to the reservation to run the casino. anyways, i hated it. i hated having to write something because i was indian. but they said words like "money" and "showrunner" which to me are better words than "broke" and "nobody." in television, writers have much more power, and a show runner is like the main producer, basically the hole in the funnel where all the cash goes.

it was all very exciting but then carnival music started up and the suckfest was on.

my manager was stoked. because basically he's a nobody too. his office is his apartment and everytime i go in it, it smells like gas. half the time he's not even wearing pants at his desk. he just sits in his boxer shorts. and he's a little over weight so like his gut and drumstick thighs pull at his underwear, and like open the fly hole, and so i have to train my eyes on his face. don't look down. this is the guy who's supposed to be "shaping" my career. instead he's on the internet all day learning about new food allergies he thinks he has. right now he thinks he's got too much yeast in his system. don't ask me how that happens. i guess he eats too much bread, or he dates filthy chicks. i don't know. he told me he failed the yeast test. apparently you're supposed to spit in a glass of water and let it sit over night. in the morning, if there's like "strings" in the water then you got too much yeast. so he needs to cut down on bread. this was after he went on the atkins diet. this was after he failed weight watchers. this was after he blew the zone into a thousand little peices. now he's got too much yeast in his system. i think maybe he's just got too much FOOD in his system. he blames his A.D.D. on yeast. i think he just needs to get laid. anyways, he's stoked because if i make money, then he makes money, then it's hot tubs, champagne, a platoon of hot black chicks, and he can tell his ex-partner (who got all the good clients) to fuck off.

anyways, at this time it looks like all systems go. i have a conversation with ****. she is a body image advocate. basically she goes to highschools and talks about how we need to accept our bodies and stuff. i don't dare say one word about how i feel fat, and how i think i'm not entitled to eat anything i want. i already got a big mouth and i don't want start shooting it off now. not while there's dough on the table. anyways body image advocate digs what i have to say about indian issues. and she has this partner she wants me to meet right away. they want me to write the pilot. it's going to be huge. my manager takes me and my friend out to dinner (i pick up the tab).

So at this stage of the game it looks like your boy is about to make money and finally advance himself into the pantheon of unknown television writers who wrote for a show no one watched but somehow still made enough money to spend sic hours at starbucks everyday...details coming.

i don't spellcheck