Los Angeles, CA
2015. Silver Lake. Two middle-aged men dressed like 15-year old skater kids stand in front of a vegan Malaysian-Tex-Mex taco truck.
"I haven't seen you in a couple weeks. You look paler than usual."
"Been busy. I'm almost finished with a screenplay."
"You and three million assholes in this shit hole of a abhorrent city."
"Mine's different."
"That's what all those shit-for-brains shitstains say."
"Seriously. Mine is different. It's about the inequality of wealth in the world."
"The inequality of whats-a-who?"
"Wealth. Inequality. You know, the rich keep getting richer. The shrinking middle class."
"Why the fuck did you write that kind of pinko-commie bullshit? You don't get it do you? Why waste your time with some sort of social injustice crap? You'll never sell it in a million years. This is not the town for that type of commie bullshit. Grow your hair out and move up to Berkley and adapt it as a stage play and get some naked hippie chicks to act it out in the middle of Golden Gate Park."
"Keep talking shit. After you finish reading it, you'll apologize because it will change your view on the world and how we're complicit in helping the rich trick the middle class into blaming the poor about all of their problems. Divide and conquer. It's the oldest trick in the book, except I wrote a post-modern version."
"Post-modern-whats-shit? Dude, are you back on the sauce again? How long you've been living in this fucking town? Ten years? Fifteen years? Stop using more than two-syllable words to describe your script. You know all of those exec-u-monkeys suits at Warner Brothers are fucking brain dead morons. Explaining a simple concept to any non-creative is like trying to explain nuclear physics to fucking Corky."
"They'll want to read this. Even the dumb ones. It's one of those once-in-a-generation scripts. It'll create buzz. I'm thinking so out-side the box that someone will want to take a chance on it."
"Are you snorting bath salts again? Lacing your joints with rat poison? Drinking floor polish? Shoving vodka-soaked tampons up your bung-hole again? What the fuck happened to you? Were you kidnapped by aliens or something and replaced by a total fucking self-righteous shit-for-brains?"
"When you're done with your ornery rant and get off your soap box and finally go home, please check your email. I sent you the latest draft."
"What did you agent say?"
"She hasn't seen it yet. You're the only person I sent it to. The only person who read it was Juanita, my cleaning lady and she loved it."
"Whaaaaa? Your fucking maid read your script?"
"She wrote two spec scripts already. She's been asking me to show them to my agent."
"Geez, that's how fucking bad it is in Hollywood, eh? Even illegal maids who can't even fucking speak English are writing a script. Now you know why I'm working in the non-script reality genre. Writing reality TV is hard fucking shit. It's impossible enough to get real fucking actors to say your lines without changing shit up or stepping on the jokes. Good luck getting shit-for-brains reality TB douche-queens and dick-cheesers to follow the fucking general outline."
"Maybe if you wrote about real-world issues instead of fake-world issues, you might feel a lot less angry about yourself?"
"I can write whatever the fuck I want, but in the end, it's tough to sell anything anymore without taking it in the ass. Seriously, please save yourself the embarrassment and humiliation and delete that script. Don't show it to your agent. Don't show it to anyone. Burn the fucker to the ground. Even if it's the greatest social inequality script in the world, not a single fucking suit will be foolish enough to even broach the incendiary subject in public. This is the golden age of excess and over-consumption and giving dumb mother fuckers their 15 minutes of fame. The dumber, the better. If you want to write about social inequality, then start a Tumblr and post pictures of starving pot-bellied children from third-world countries."
"You're usually very supportive, yet you're now being mean. What gives? Even when you wrote for that shitty reality channel, the one that had 24-hour coverage of the Kardashians, I never gave you shit. When you wrote for the spin off show that followed their dogs, I still respected you. I never gave you shit. I could have, but I knew you needed to pay the rent like the rest of us."
"Fuck off, dude. That fucking dog had fucking puppies and now there's three fucking spinoffs and a fourth one fucking coming. I gotta keep milking those fucking Kardashians-fucking-clowns for every cent I can. Those vapid beasts are gonna pay my kid's college tab. Get with the program. Stop with all this inequality crap. You're biting the hand that feeds you."
"People don't like to talk about wealth and the grossly absurd division of wealth for a reason. I can judge by your reaction. You're proving my point exactly. That's why this script is going to be huge. It makes people angry. That's my point. They should be enraged. If you're not angry, then you're not paying attention."
"This town is a bastion of snobbery. Stop fighting against the world you're a part of. If you want to sell a screenplay, you better write a Spider-Man spec script otherwise, it better have zombies, vampires, or giant fucking robots. Better yet, how about all four? Spider-Man fights zombies, vampires, and giant fucking robots. Think smarter. Giant. Fucking. Robots."
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