Madrid McDonald film!

Lord, I was excited. I was to be in a Madrid McDonald film. You know, the heiress to the humburger fortune. The one who let her lesbian lover take digital film of her while they double-dildoed their way to glory. Madrid was outraged when her lover sold the film to a porn distributer, but not so outraged as to share in the profits. Remember the scene in the porn film where they actually tidy up their down-there hair. And then start arguing about leaving bras on the floor (Madrid: "you can trip on them! that's how mummy broke her cock-sack!").



The film shot down in Long Beach at the Goodyear Blimp Hangar. I drove down at 4AM to beat the traffic, and then napped at base camp for 3 hours. We were doing scenes of her trying to thumb a ride on the blimp (cuz she's dumb -- get it?). Madrid had her loveable suger glider with her. I mean, an actual creature, that she keeps as a pet. I'm not sure if it's legal, but on every break, the sugar glider keeper had to bring the fur ball to Madrid to stroke.



You say sugar glider, I say a Rat's uncle. Anyway, this creature would often shreik during takes, so they had to move it back to the trailer. This caused Madrid to have a fit. She then got on the cell phone and proceeded to talk in the most shrill harridan/harpy voice I've ever witnessed, with a thousand FUCKS sprinkled in like too much sugar on a glazed doughnut. "I don't want my FUCKING voice on it!" "I want my FUCKING glider with me! I paid too much FUCKING money for that fucking Sugar Maple Fucking Glider!"

A party-gal pal of mine said she saw Madrid lift her skirt, squat and piss on a dance floor in Vegas. I skeptically told my gay lover, and he said he's already heard it from two other sources. She's almost like a grotesque creation of Roald Dahl, you want to see Willy Wonka open the floor beneath her to plop Madrid down with rest of the bad eggs ...

Willy Wonka: The Egg-dicator can tell the difference between a good egg and a bad egg. If it's a good egg, then it's fresh and ready for packaging. But if it's a bad egg, then down the chute.
Grandpa Joe: It's an educated Egg-dicator.





Another girl was walking around, who was the fatest girl I had ever seen on a film set. Men do the hiring for these things, and they usually stock the pond with sex-bombs for all the production positions. Every now and then, the stray Sweet Sue will sneak in ... which was why I so suprised at the obese person wondering around, and talking with authority and confidence. Then I got up close and realized -- great, great fat suit. Great, great make-up job. It was an actress. Duh, I knew the film was called the The Brat and the Fat, but now it made sense. Usually someone this obese nows their place, and I was ashamed that I was having thoughts like "okay fattie, no one wants to hear your opinion." I knew the cameraman, and he told me she's actually a very beautiful girl.

It was nice to see the wardrobe witches get their come uppance for a change. A SAG rep was on set, and he admonished them for bullying extras who had shown up, following the instructions they had gotten over the phone for wardrobe. The wardrobe witches were threatening to send people home without pay because they didn't like their costumes. To pay us back, the wardrobe wicca made us wait in the rain to sign out for a quite a while, before acknowleding we were outside.

My pal the cameraman, talked to me a couple of times during the day. It was funny to see the naked envy in the eyes of the other extras. How did I know him? Who was I? I love extras for their primal responses to situations: rage, hatred, joy. They are emotional electrons flying around in a particle accelerator called a set.

The cameraman had told me to go "talk to my people." I didn't understand, until I realized we had a SAG rep on set. That's what he meant. I thought he meant extras, and I was sort of annoyed, like I wasn't supposed to talk to him, the crew. I guess I'm getting that extra ability to flash to rage too. I fear I'm headed for a Day of the Locusts ending.


The fim was obviously small budge, maybe even a vanity project. The script was tepid, and I felt bad for the actors trying to up the funny in it. The two male leads walked around giddy. One of them had stared in the movie "Jarts" about a rag-tag team of losers who go to the National Jarts Championship. At one point the screenwriter showed up and spoke to the actors. She sounded none too bright, but maybe she saves her word wonders for the page. She's got more produced feature screenplays then me, that's for sure.

The weird part of the day was this extra they sat me with. Immediately he sat down and started telling me what I was supposed to do. "You are an old man who wants to buy my company."

"Don't EVER direct me," I said. I did it as comedy, but also trying to back him off.

Then he kept trying to GAY the scene up, touching me, saying we were lovers. In five seconds he downloaded his sad life tale -- his father was an alcholic who beat him. He hates authority. In fact, when my pal the cameraman came over and talked to us, I could see his neck muscles tighten.

"Are you okay?" I said.

He sighed big and said: "Authority"

He kept doing HILARIOUS straight-guy parodies of gay people, and I kept gritting my teeth, giving the ha-ha look. Finally, on one take, I GAYED him right back. Ultra-gayed him, from the gayest part of my gay soul. A look that sez I AM GAY, I HAVE DONE ALL THE THINGS YOU THINK ARE DISGUSTING -- AND MORE!!!!! Laser-Gayed his ass. Put my hand on his and shot gay rays through his entire body.

His hair stood on end. I'm not kidding.

He moved his chair back like it was on wheels. It screeched louder than the Sugar Glider.

We got yelled at by an A.D. for too much movement in the background.

The next two times we did the scene, he just mimed saying "A, B, C, A, B, C"

Like a good lil' extra. Didn't say another word to me. Just for kicks I tried to sit next to him on the cramped extra bus taking us back to base camp, and he lept up saying

"Not funny, dude."