Kulikovia
29-05-2008, 06:09
It's a warm, sunny, and beautiful day here in Hollywood, rather cliche-huh? Well, that's what Hollywood is: Cliche. From the wealthy, oversize sunglass wearing bitches to desperate actors all the way to optomistic writers looking for someone to just glance at their script fro a movie that will 'change the face of cinema forever'. It's a place where dreams stay dreams and reality, with the help of drugs and cheap thrills, becomes a dream. It's a isolated pocket, an oasis to some, from another cliche: Los Angeles. As a district of Los Angeles, it shares the same fate as it's big brother. Gangbangers, racial divides, and smog, clout the minds of visitors, investors, and tourists. So, the people of Hollywood do everything they can to seperate themselves from the rest of the city, which they do quite well. The famous Hollywood sign is a testement to their indominateable will to prove their difference from Los Angeles.
A place where hopefuls, carrying nothing but a dream and a toothbrush, try to strike it out on their own and make something out of their boring, mundane, and unimportant lives. They all want the American Dream: To become filthy rich and gain all the drugs and free ass imagineable. You've all done it, fantasizing about being a famous actor or actress. "Yes Mr.Nobody, your table is ready" or "You can tell Tom Hanks I'm not interested in his idea". Yeah, that sounds nice. To live in the hill top mansion with an indoor and outdoor pool. The ten exotic and colorful cars in the massive garage, all the drugs you can ingest and not overdose, and rubbing elbows with the bigwigs of showbiz. To buy ridiculously expensive items that you could probably get at Wal-Mart but is nonetheless useless. We all want that. Okay, it may not be the American Dream but it is a dream...The Hollywood Dream.
A survey of the room sums up Vince Greenberg's life fairly accurately. There's a glass coffee table with what can only be lines of cocaine, three to be exact with a razor blade, well used, lying next to its' handy work. There's a dusting which leads one to believe a fourth did exist but is now consumed up the hollowed out nostril of Vince. Various posters line the wall, all of them promos for his pornos:
The Ejaculator
Riding Ms.Daisy
Car 69, What's Your Number?
Freaky Foxes Part 1 through 8
There's plenty of other posters with varying graphic depictions of the stars. A reoccurring star is Dutch Manstrong, one of the adult entertainment industry's leading male performers. Doesn't the Adult Entertainment Indusrty breath a fresh and different air about itself? Sure sounds better than The Porn Biz! Some say it's the moral decay of society. But as long as society's existed, throughout the ages, so has the adult entertainment industry advanced with it, through thick and thin. Prostitution is the world's oldest profession, did you know that? You probably did, hearsay or some fact you heard on the History Channel or VH1. The morality war has raged on just as long. From upity Puritans who rejected carnal lust but turned around and burned supposed witches at the stake for heresey. I theorize they were so sexually pent up that they went ape-shit. Concerned mothers and conservative Christians batter the porn industry with hate and protest. They stand up, fists high in the air and shout: Not my children! They won't be corrupted by this sin!
It's quiet in the dusty office. The blinds are crooked and there's a part midway up, probably from Vince nervously peeping outside for his ex-wife or the IRS. Various trophies sit adorn a mantle piece along the wall. The seats look like if I sat on them, I'd get an STD or just feel dirty and used, requiring a long hot shower for three hours. I didn't want to come here, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Past failures, mounting bills, and an angry girlfriend are at my castle gate, ready to behead me. The sting of defeat after defeat have numbed my psyche for the most part. In a bag I carry is my last chance for hope, my last chance to obtain the Hollywood Dream.
Vince Greenberg is face down on his desk. There's too much clutter on the desk, unorganized papers, a provacative figurine, several framed photos. I almost walk out, thinking him dead but then hear shallow breathing. Damn, now there's no turning back. My hand shakily taps his shoulder-nothing. Another tap-nothing still. Either he's hopped up on sleeping pills, or is in his death throws.
"Vince Greenberg?" I ask close to his ear, praying on his ego to register the sound of his own name, "Vince Greenberg!"
His shoulders shrug upards, followed by a head.
"W-What?!" he exclaims, head swishing back and forth. Those bloodshot eyes catch me, "Who are you? Your that damn lawyer of hers, aren't you?!"
"Sorry to disappoint you" I feel bad about waking him from his drug endused slumber, "Someone recommended you to me"
He straightens up his desk, stuttering for words, then running his hands through his hair, it's unkempt, "What do you want?"
"I have a proposition for you, Mr.Greenberg" I say.
"Have a seat" Vince's hand indicates to the chairs...the chairs
"No thanks, I'll stand" I clear my throat. "I have here something that will change both our lives"
"What? A million dollars?" he laughs but turns into a coughing fit
"Something that will earn much much more than a million dollars" I smile, baiting him, inviting him to inquire.
He leans back, interlocking his fingers behind his head, "Reeeally? What would that be?"
"Let me tell you..."
A place where hopefuls, carrying nothing but a dream and a toothbrush, try to strike it out on their own and make something out of their boring, mundane, and unimportant lives. They all want the American Dream: To become filthy rich and gain all the drugs and free ass imagineable. You've all done it, fantasizing about being a famous actor or actress. "Yes Mr.Nobody, your table is ready" or "You can tell Tom Hanks I'm not interested in his idea". Yeah, that sounds nice. To live in the hill top mansion with an indoor and outdoor pool. The ten exotic and colorful cars in the massive garage, all the drugs you can ingest and not overdose, and rubbing elbows with the bigwigs of showbiz. To buy ridiculously expensive items that you could probably get at Wal-Mart but is nonetheless useless. We all want that. Okay, it may not be the American Dream but it is a dream...The Hollywood Dream.
A survey of the room sums up Vince Greenberg's life fairly accurately. There's a glass coffee table with what can only be lines of cocaine, three to be exact with a razor blade, well used, lying next to its' handy work. There's a dusting which leads one to believe a fourth did exist but is now consumed up the hollowed out nostril of Vince. Various posters line the wall, all of them promos for his pornos:
The Ejaculator
Riding Ms.Daisy
Car 69, What's Your Number?
Freaky Foxes Part 1 through 8
There's plenty of other posters with varying graphic depictions of the stars. A reoccurring star is Dutch Manstrong, one of the adult entertainment industry's leading male performers. Doesn't the Adult Entertainment Indusrty breath a fresh and different air about itself? Sure sounds better than The Porn Biz! Some say it's the moral decay of society. But as long as society's existed, throughout the ages, so has the adult entertainment industry advanced with it, through thick and thin. Prostitution is the world's oldest profession, did you know that? You probably did, hearsay or some fact you heard on the History Channel or VH1. The morality war has raged on just as long. From upity Puritans who rejected carnal lust but turned around and burned supposed witches at the stake for heresey. I theorize they were so sexually pent up that they went ape-shit. Concerned mothers and conservative Christians batter the porn industry with hate and protest. They stand up, fists high in the air and shout: Not my children! They won't be corrupted by this sin!
It's quiet in the dusty office. The blinds are crooked and there's a part midway up, probably from Vince nervously peeping outside for his ex-wife or the IRS. Various trophies sit adorn a mantle piece along the wall. The seats look like if I sat on them, I'd get an STD or just feel dirty and used, requiring a long hot shower for three hours. I didn't want to come here, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Past failures, mounting bills, and an angry girlfriend are at my castle gate, ready to behead me. The sting of defeat after defeat have numbed my psyche for the most part. In a bag I carry is my last chance for hope, my last chance to obtain the Hollywood Dream.
Vince Greenberg is face down on his desk. There's too much clutter on the desk, unorganized papers, a provacative figurine, several framed photos. I almost walk out, thinking him dead but then hear shallow breathing. Damn, now there's no turning back. My hand shakily taps his shoulder-nothing. Another tap-nothing still. Either he's hopped up on sleeping pills, or is in his death throws.
"Vince Greenberg?" I ask close to his ear, praying on his ego to register the sound of his own name, "Vince Greenberg!"
His shoulders shrug upards, followed by a head.
"W-What?!" he exclaims, head swishing back and forth. Those bloodshot eyes catch me, "Who are you? Your that damn lawyer of hers, aren't you?!"
"Sorry to disappoint you" I feel bad about waking him from his drug endused slumber, "Someone recommended you to me"
He straightens up his desk, stuttering for words, then running his hands through his hair, it's unkempt, "What do you want?"
"I have a proposition for you, Mr.Greenberg" I say.
"Have a seat" Vince's hand indicates to the chairs...the chairs
"No thanks, I'll stand" I clear my throat. "I have here something that will change both our lives"
"What? A million dollars?" he laughs but turns into a coughing fit
"Something that will earn much much more than a million dollars" I smile, baiting him, inviting him to inquire.
He leans back, interlocking his fingers behind his head, "Reeeally? What would that be?"
"Let me tell you..."