First of all, when did it get to be September of 2005? I could swear when I went to bed it was 1993. Is it me, or are the years going faster and faster? I need to catch up, because before I know it, I’m gonna be some schmuck agent still pedaling his clients when I’m 70. Pathetic. Oh, what should I be doing by the time I’m 70? Glad you asked, you pricks. Here’s my game plan:
By the time I’m 35, I plan to have at least 3 Super A-list clients, 2 A-list, five working and 3 that are Commers. (Get your minds out of the gutters you pricks). A “Commer” is a person who you think is gonna be huge but at that moment is a loser who no one has heard of or cares about and they work two different shifts at three different restaurants. Some of the women Commers have a side gig that has more to do with servicing a cock then a hungry person, but we can talk about that some other time. You’d be amazed at how many super A-list stars are in this book they keep for those in the know and who have the doe to spend on the pro...but I ain’t a kiss and tell kinda guy, so you ain’t getting any names from me. Anyway, like I said, a Commer is a person you think is going to rise to the cream of the crop and be on top and why am I fucking rhyming today is beyond me...but sometimes, you just have to go with the flow. By the way, there are starlets in LA who are known as “Screamers.” A Screamer is some chick you have in bed that makes your neighbors envious of your life.
A lot of guys in my position don’t like to take on Commers anymore. Too much work. 99% of the time they don’t pan out because others don’t see what you see, they don’t have the guts to stick with it. They get hooked on drugs or they end up with someone who they fall in love with and they think, “who needs this shit.” I’m not worried about others not seeing what I don’t see…because eventually I get them to see it. The other stuff is hard to control. As a great Zen Buddha once said, “If you think you can or think you can’t you’re right about both.” One can think their way to the top, to be whatever they want to be. But that’s another blog for another time. We’re talking about Commers right now.
Danny, for example, is a fucking Commer. The only thing that’s gonna stop that prick from being super A-list is himself. Don’t get me wrong, I love that prick bastard. He’s one of a kind. That’s why I stick with him and haven’t fucked his girlfriend...yet.
I like to have Commers because they keep the juices flowing. They keep me grounded, remind me of my roots when I was a loser agent still trying to prove I could piss in the same pot with the big boys. Now, it’s my fucking pot. But I never want to forget what it was like then. Also, I still love breaking someone; getting them their start. The look in their eyes…can’t tell you what it’s like. Almost as good as the look in some woman’s eyes when I’m fucking her.
Yeah, I’m cocky, so what? As long as I can back up my cock-e-ness I’m not being cocky, now am I? I’m being real.
More People need to be real, to be honest with who they are. Good and bad. Sure, I’ve got my faults, who the fuck doesn’t? There are people who hate me; get in line if you do and plan to camp out for a while. Makes the release of “Star Wars” look like the quickest line in the world. But as the Crow Indians said, “The greatness of a man is not judged by the friends he keeps but by the enemies he has.”
So fuck you if you can’t deal with my honesty, and welcome on board if you can.
Where was I? Oh, my career goals. Right. Okay, I’m thinking I’d like to run a studio by the time I hit 45. See if I can take the mess they all made out of the studio system and turn it into something that actually makes good movies. Every fuckin’ year I hear all the studios and knuckledicks in this town wonder why the audiences are thinning, why people aren’t going to the movies as much. “Oh, it’s videogames.” “No, it’s TV.” “No it’s the internet.”
It’s the PRODUCT you FUCKING ASSWADS!!!
Imagine if Ford built a car that was a total piece of crap. I mean, TOTAL. The wheels fell off after two blocks, the dashboard controls blew after three and on the forth block, the engine fell the fuck out of the car. And, despite all this, the people who made the fucking car go on TV and talk show and magazines and tell you how wonderful and great that fucking car is. That you should run out and buy the car ASAP.
THAT’S what these motherfuckers are doing to you. They are alienating the audience that they need to buy tickets. Here’s my plan. I’m gonna make a film that starts at the begging of all the films that my studio releases. I’m going to say:
“Hi, My name is Sid Sherdel and I’m the president of WHATEVER STUDIO I AM PRESIDENT OF. The films we make don’t always come out the way we intended them to. When we make a really bad movie, one we all know is a stinker, we won’t release it in movie theaters no matter how much we spend on it. We’ll release it on DVD, and if you so chose, you can rent it. People’s tastes vary, and you might be one of the few who like it. But we won’t ram it down your throat telling you it’s the greatest thing since sliced bread. We know how hard you work for your money and how important your time is, and we want you to walk away with a pleasant experience. We also know that there will be times we release a movie and some of you won’t like it because some people like chocolate and others like vanilla. But please know that we believe in that movie-- that everyone who worked on any movie we release worked hard and earnestly and is proud to be associated with it.. This movie is one of those cases. So thank you for coming. We hope you have a very enjoyable experience.”
It’s so fucking simple. Give them good product. If it sucks ass, don’t put it out there. Then you know what? The numbers will rise…people will come.
Okay, back to my plan. I’ll run the studio for ten years, then I’ll quit. I won’t be able to retire, it’s not in my blood. I’ll become a consultant to several companies, maybe even right a book about my experiences…well, the one’s I’m willing to talk about. I’ll trash someone, but to their face. Not behind their back. That kind of person is a fucking pussy. I’ll talk in generalizations, but won’t be specific. Meaning something like, “Why is just about every fucking actress on some kind of happy pill?” I’m talking about a group, not one person who doesn't want people to know. If it’s common knowledge, then fine, I’ll go for it.
Okay, you pricks, I have to get back to attending to some clients. One of them is stuck on the 405 and has 15 minutes to get to a meeting. It’s only 3 miles from where they are stuck, so it shouldn’t take them more than two…make that two and a half hours to get there. LA traffic. I have to call the director, tell him what’s up and convince him it’s to his benefit to wait. You know how I do that? I put the fear of God in his mind. I make him believe if he doesn’t wait for this prick, he’s going to become a major star and when that day comes he’s going to remember who went the extra mile for him. And he’s damn sure going to remember who didn’t.
Adios, Amigos Pricks!
Sid
