Hollywood has summoned me to a meeting at his office on the movie studio lot. I pull onto the lot and give the guard my name and he hands me an official movie studio visitor pass sticker with my name on it. I don’t put it on because someday, after I’m a star, I’ll probably be able to sell it on E-Bay.
I’m ushered into Hollywood’s office and find him on the phone and a smiling Roger Debris sitting on the sofa. Hollywood motions me to sit down by Debris and just as I’m about to sit down I notice there are stains on the sofa and I get the uneasy feeling this is no ordinary couch I’m being urged to sit on. It’s not one of those sofas you can buy at Levitz or slightly used from Craigslist. No, this is a special couch – one which can only be bought by members of the Producers Guild of America. It’s a genuine casting couch and Hollywood and Roger Debris want me on it.
“I think I’d rather, um,” I try to wash the ‘deer frozen in the headlights’ look off my face while racking my brain for a polite excuse as to why I don’t want to sit down. I’m pretty sure Amy Vanderbilt didn’t face this sort of manners dilemma because if she had I’d probably remember a phrase similar to, “Please kind sir, I would so love to be a movie star, but I really would prefer not reclining on your couch and being sodomized to achieve my goals.”
“Sit down and tell me what’s new in your life,” Roger Debris asks, patting the sofa by him.
I walk over to the window, “You know the piercing fad that’s been going around for the last couple of years? Well I was reading the other day about something way cooler, what you do is stick razor blades up your ass and then if someone tries to stick their…”
Hollywood hangs up the phone and interrupts, “Ric, I didn’t ask you to come here to talk about piercings. What I wanted to talk about was making our movie successful and we need your help.”
“I’m not lying down on the couch, at least not unless you’re talking about…”
“I’m not asking you to lie down on the couch!”
“You promise, both of you?”
“Yes we promise…”
“Okay,” I sit down.
“Look the movie is in the can, and we really like it – in fact it’s got the potential to be huge if everything goes our way. It’s all in the marketing from here on out, and that’s why we’ve called you here. We want to make sure that we maximize our success, by doing everything possible to insure that it’s a hit.” Hollywood explains.
“Well we had our marketing people run these tests on Nina Pennington and your Q rating, and the tests didn’t come out too good,” Hollywood states.
“What’s a ‘Q rating’?” I ask.
“Q rating is a test of popularity,” Roger Debris explains. “The system determines how well known and well-liked a person is by the public.”
“And how’d Nina and I do?”
“Nina did okay, thirteen million twitter followers is pretty good. You on the other hand, how do I put it delicately, no one knows you. You don’t have a Q rating.”
“So you want me to lie on the couch and get known?”
“No. No one wants you on the couch at all,” Hollywood calms me. “Our backers and I have a better plan. We want Nina and you to become Scientologists.”
“What exactly are Scientologists?
“Scientologists believe that 75 million years ago an evil galactic ruler, named Xenu, solved overpopulation by bringing trillions of people to Earth in DC-8 space planes, stacking them around volcanoes and nuking them. Then the souls of these dead space aliens were captured and boxed up and taken to cinemas where they were shown films of what life should be like, false ideas containing God, the devil and Christ and told to get ill. After that they supposedly clustered together and now inhabit our bodies. Scientologists believe that if they rid themselves of these body Thetans then they will be healthier and will gain special powers like mind-over-matter.” Roger Debris explains.
“And why do you want us to believe this shit?”
“Because Scientologists control Hollywood. They can make you or break you. Being a Scientologist will make you big – look what it did for Kirstie Alley.”
“You mean make us fat?”
“Maybe that was a bad example. Look what it did for Tom Cruise?”
“You mean I get to go on Oprah and jump up and down on her couch and tell everyone I love Nina?”
“Oprah’s been cancelled. Tom Cruise hasn’t been. So yes,” Hollywood states.
“Can’t I just be butt fucked?” I ask, dropping my trousers.