A parking lot at Knott's Berry Farm fills with dread. The list if life.

What a fucking cattle call. People actually start going "Moo" as they are moving us from location to location. This is the mother of all cattle calls. 1000 is the number I've heard. With the briskness of the guards, excuse me, I mean the PAs, it's hard not to think: Auschwitz. There's been stories on the net of extra's mistreatment on this movie Citizen Kane. Every AD thinks: they'll be the zealot who will catch director Stanley Spongymeyer's eye.

You're told at point of entry, the parking lot: "LEAVE YOUR ALL YOUR EARTHLY POSSESSIONS BEHIND. YOU WON'T NEED THEM WHERE YOU ARE GOING." At a table they are pulling teeth and extracting gold fillings. Ahhh, show biz!! They have these guys who don't look A.D.s, but more like bouncers at a club from Blade Runner, shorn heads and sci-fi looking overcoats. They check your I.D. and voucher at the door of the bus (second time it's checked), and then pack the cattle on the bus with sharp sticks. The bus door closes, and the Blade-Runner-Bouncers come on and say again:

YOU WILL NOT NEED YOUR VALUABLES. DO NOT BRING YOUR CHAIRS."

"What, no chairs?," sez an extra who's clearly in a love affair with his portable folding chair.

The Blade-Runner-Bouncer sez something about "People making money ... mumble, mumble, mumble"

Uses his quiet voice indicating he's not sure why there's no space on set for the extra's chair, his womb. I have been reading the extra's reports from set on the net, jetting around to different sites, and it appears that someone called "STEVE SIMON" was satan. You see his name a lot, and usually in large caps: STEVE SIMON. I'm scairt to see STEVE SIMON and his flaming head of evil. Extras were being shot with mud cannons in this one scene when they are fleeing. Apparently STEVE SIMON personally picked peeps for the mud cannons and then fired them himself until they fell. Then he'd demand more extras from the holding tent and fire until they begged for medics. I feel like I'm on the front part of the rollar coaster ride, where you hear the wheels clacking and groaning with each inch they take you higher.

Where is this bus taking us? Rollar Coasters loom behind us as we leave the parking lot of Knott's Berry Farm. The laffable phone message for this shoot, left by the harpy-harridan-hag of pushiness, lied to us: "You'll only be getting sprinkled on!" The P.A.'s have made it very clear on the bus: "YOU WILL GET WET! VERY WET!!" This woman also promised that peeps would get bumps for all manners of things, none of which came true, and then she denied ever saying that. She grows tiresome and will be dealt with in the revolution.

I'm sure with a call of this magnitude, ex-convicts, thieves, junkies, mormons, god-knows-what is amongst us today. Maybe it's a good thing I ditched all my valuables. The trillion-watt star of our film is Cat Bruz, he who-we-can-not-look-in-the-eyes! It's a persistant myth in Backie lore that you'll be terminated for this offense. Apparently he can shoot laser rays if you lock eyes, and you'll just be a pile of dust on a beach chair. I've also heard from my pal the journalist that they built a tunnel from the parking lot at Paramount to the lot, so Cat Bruz can walk from his car without having human interaction.

The bus lurches around and again: What the fuck are we in for? The drive to set uses lotsa back roads, sudden turns: as if they are purposely disorienting you to make your more malleable to their commands. I have a pal's pal who is First A.D. on this. I told him about the Last Rider of the Apocolypse, STEVE SIMON, and this shoot is so big, the First A.D. doesn't even know who this guy is! I must find this First A.D. and ask him to be spared the mud guns of dirty-death. Put me on the list to be a patient in the Red Cross tent. I hear this is easy duty. You just lie down on a cot, under a blanket, under a tent's cover. The list is life.