I Am A Big Bully

Yesterday was the first day of the rest of my life. Whatever that means. It was the day after the death of the Dating Dame. Which I didn't even think about once, incidentally. And it was the first 'Don't Talk To Me Until Noon' day. Which I extended to the entire day because things were rocking on the writing front. I decided copywriting could wait.

Breakthroughs galore in my screenplay. Dear old David (Mr. V-Neck), revealed his secret dreams to me. I knew he had something in him, something behind those perfectly pressed Banana Republic khakis and collared shirts. In the deep, dark recesses of his soul, he is a rock god. Who knew?

And Charlie made some noise, too. That bad bitch decided not to go gentle into that good night. Yesterday, she blazed into her shrink's office and demanded answers. She was having none of that 'what do you think?' psycho-crap either. "What's the fucking point, Doc?" And...I cut the suicide scene. Weird, hey? After that big dramatic deal in gay Paree, I CTRL X-ed it. Of course, I kept the scenes in a backup file, just in case.

Both people who have read this script asked me why she kills herself. I have no idea. I don't even think she knows. Maybe sending me bawling all over the streets of Paris was just a cry for help. So I'm pushing her around a bit. I'm making her tell me. What's the deal Chuckles? Why the dramatic self-finish? Huh? Why? She may off herself just to get me to shut up. I wouldn't be surprised.

Then there's the Undertaker. He's so put together, I almost didn't want to touch him. Look at him! Great suit, great car, great apartment. Making millions. Why would he need a rewrite?

Dude is the loneliest mo-fo I've ever met. For serious. He's constructed this perfect, sterile world where even grief can't penetrate. The only people in his life are his funeral home minions and his effed-up sister. Congratulations Buster. A gold medal in the Control Freak Olympics. He's my project for today. I'm going to rock his world.

I'm in the mood to fuck with these people. Pick some fights. Up some stakes. I'm sick of them acting all poetic and reticent. I wanna know what the hell is going on. I said I was going to push them to choose. Life or death, isolation or connection. Well, people, push has come to shove. Push has come to shove.