Green Room goodness

Good times in the green room at Hollywood Death Cab. Right off H-wood Boulevard, where we load our Death Cab up, there's our offices. Our offices have a beat-to-shit break room for us, that's part treehouse decor, part junkie's last crash pad. Some of the Barker's (they got the $$) have thrown down so we could have a DVD player and cable in our Green Room. (Green Room is the theater term for the room you wait in before you go on stage. The room is not actually green.)

Much of the fun of this job is having a bunch of fairly smart people, all sitting around back stage cutting on each other. Getting a laff in that room is not exactly Algonquin Round Table, but it's still a thrill. We were listing the 100 horror films of all time, and I volunteered "Giggly" for No. 1. Someone started talking about Robert Englund, who played Freddie Krueger. A guide said that the spawn of 10,000 maniacs raping a nun (Freddie Krueger), was once on the guide's Death Cab. Along with Freddy, was a kid from the Make-A-Wish Foundation. Meeting Freddy, was this Make-a-Wish foundation's kid's dying wish.

I said, "Why? He'll be meeting the devil soon enuff."

Another guide told a story of playing a policewoman, and having the neighbors call the cops on her. They could only see barely over the wall, and they saw her get knocked down, and her yelling to put down the gun. The cops showed up, and there were eight guns drawn on the poor dude playing the baddie, before they saw the film crew off to the side. The production crew had filed the permit with the police, but it had somehow not made it all the way through. Imagine meeting your maker, after you had been mistakenly killed by policemen on a movie set. God would get an earful.

We had our typical "DO NOT MENTION THIS STAR," Death Cab change to "YOU HAVE TO MENTION THIS STAR AND ANYONE WHO'S RELATED TO THEM," moment today. Each, equally hysterical. Cat Bruz has bought a piece of our Hollywood Death Cab tour, and the Big Wigs have gone from shrounds of secrecy, to cloaking us in carny cauterwauling for Cat Bruz. We are to announce his new project Citizen Kane at every forced moment we can find.

I had the greazy chicken for lunch. About twenty minutes into my next tour, the greazy chicken made it's presence known to me. We were about to go by the house of one of the Slutty Soccer Moms (the one who's character has been dead from episode one. I know she's not really dead, but our tour does cheat like this every now and then), and I felt like I was about to give birth to a beautiful brown soccer ball. I had to release these less-than-solids or risk bursting my abdomen. I got off mic and begged the driver to take me to a restroom. He couldn't find one right away, and I had to mind control my matter into a stasis. I waived him off, I could finish the tour. As soon as we pulled in, I ran for home base and gave it my all.

Meanwhile, one of my extra pals is a studly dude who does what's called "sex-simulation." Apparently, there's a ring of parties, where peeps pay to watch good-looking people fuck. He just shows up and bangs his girl-friend in front of strangers, and they both walk with hundreds of dollars. No videos or pictures (they even make pepole give up their cell phones) are allowed, so you'll never see their genetalia surface on the net. He asked me if I wanted to be in his horror/skin flick he's making. I said yes. SO I have a seven AM call tomorrow, to play a dude who has sex with a hot chick (my pal's actual girlfriend), and then she kills me. I kept telling him: "you realize, I'm comedy nude? you're sexy nude, but my nudity plays as big comedy?" He's OK with it, so if my gay lover signs off (I can't get him on the cell right now, he's at a velvet underound pool party), I'll do it. Oh, and might have to do some crew too, hold the boom. Oh, he just came home and said: "Explain to the straights that velvet underound does not refer to the band."

Alright, it's a term referring to the gay mafia of hollywood. They have pool parties with lots of nude dudes. Yes, I trust him. Oh, and yes, he's given me the OK to be in the titty film. Ohhhhhhhh, that man of mine!