I’m in a good mood tonight . . . caught my ex-girlfriend’s new boyfriend on America’s Most Wanted. The TV show that catches the really bad criminals that the police kinda lost track of. He posted bail, said he’d be back — now we can’t find him anywhere although we didn’t really look. If they take away all our TV shows for some religious right reason I hope they leave us this one. I want to know if my new roommate is wanted for eating his old roommate . . . Don’t you? Jim, the guy on America’s Most Wanted, looks just like . . . I’m going out for cigarettes. You know who I feel sorry for? The guy who plays the killer in the reenactments . . . Do you figure people mistake this guy for the real killer . . . I’m not a killer — I just play one on TV. My head shot’s in my wallet officer . . . Poor guy was hoping to be signing autographs is doing fifteen to twenty . . . Bad career move. Neighbors calling 911 — He lives next door and said he was an actor. I just hope they don’t start profiling parking ticket offenders . . .
I’m an idiot born to the TV generation. In the trivial pursuit categories science, history, and geography I’m a moron . . . but a freaking genius in arts and entertainment . . . Growing up I never brought books home with me for fear it would remind Mom and Dad I was in school . . . I graduated in the lower 10% of my senior high school class. One day they handed me this sheet of paper that said I was in the lower 10% which made me really mad . . . No one told me they were keeping track! So needless to say as well as I did in high school I had my pick of community colleges.
Actually I went to a film school because I didn’t know how to read . . . My textbook was TV Guide and my final thesis, “Why didn’t they kill and eat Gilligan?” The entrance exam to film school was one true or false question . . . The woman in the shower scene in Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho was Whoopee Goldberg...I aced it.
So after college I took my screenplays out west young man to LA and was surprised to find out I wasn’t the only one . . . I got involved in the industry . . . the restaurant industry . . . serving important movie moguls . . . fresh manuscript . . . I went into one producer’s office who ran around the room shouting give Klute, give me Deliverance, give me Gremlins . . . I went home and wrote a story about 5 furry little creatures on a canoe trip with Jane Fonda . . . And they can’t get wet. The producer loved it!
I tried to get him to read a western at the time and he said No Dust Pictures. Tell me there is a chase scene? I said yes. He said, “Do the horses crash to the ground?” I said yes there is a scene like that. He said, “Tell me, do the cowboys get up and run from the horse just as the horse explodes?” His point was well taken. . . Then I went into the Nepetism talent agency, filled out a questionnaire that asked it there was a chance that my mother could have at some point in her life been impregnated by Kirk Douglas, Martin Sheen or Lloyd Bridges?
They asked me point blank who I was related to and I told them Lenny Gere? All you people know this guy. He was the guy in Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds in the farmhouse with his eyes pecked out. . . He was also the guy with birds pecking at his head when she was in the phone booth when the birds were attacking town. . . They were about to throw me out of the office when I don’t know what came over me but I decided to lie. I told them I was Harrison Ford’s son. . . There were much nicer after that, getting me soft drinks, comfortable chairs, and rubbing me all over. . . I was about to sign a contract when my luck — Harrison Ford came walking through the office and they go, “Harrison your son’s here.” He turned and looked at me like he was turning to the camera in every Indiana Jones movie ever made. A blood test later, I was out the door. Hollywood better be careful if they keep things too much in the family. . . One of these days all the stars will be wearing straw hats and overalls. (Deliverance music) Uncle Gramma will you produce my screenplay? Hollywood Appalachians... Instead of stills they make meth...
You know I don’t like to poke fun of heavy-set people especially if they are willing to keep their clothes on, but the other day I’m at the beach when Mr. and Mrs. Seacow beach themselves next to me. . . Talk about sun block. . . Then they started putting some kind of suntan ointment on with a paint roller lifting up each other’s flab rolls. . . Like the sun even wants to get in there.