Such a Zero



chaoscott



          I looked up the word “stupid” in the dictionary and found a picture of you.  You’re just another piece of driftwood floating along a sea of losers.  You’ve got nothing, such a zero.  Pathetic.  The word has such a harsh bite, but as they say, if the shoe fits.  I simply see you as sad.  Frequently people talk about “unrealized potential.”  They’re not talking about you.  I feel for your mother.  She’s too kind and protective of you to show her true feelings.  Instead, she cries at night in bed alone.

          I read your poor, inadequate screenplays and witness your constant failing attempts to break into Hollywood.  What can I say?  A bad joke!  Bottom line, you simply don’t have the talent.  Maybe you know this, maybe you don’t.  It doesn’t really matter.  You’ll drown either way.  I can’t stand the way you constantly ask me to read your mediocre work.  You always want my feedback.  What an annoyance.  I never knew friendship could be such a burden.

          Ya’ know how some people have mojo and some people don’t?  Guess which category you fall into.  It’s no secret they know you well at Kinko’s.  You’re on a name to name basis with many of the clerks.  They say hello when you arrive.  You reply back politely.  You get the “screenwriter’s discount,” still the charges build up rather quickly.  Ten cents here, ten cents there, again and again, wasted money!

Guess what happens when you send your screenplays out to the agencies.  I often wonder if you know where your scripts end up because, honestly, you seem ignorant to reality.  Check the trash can, the fireplace, the garbage heap at the city dump.  “We don’t accept unsolicited material.”  Don’t you know what that means?  Get a clue!  Even facing all this adversity you keep at it, you keep on keepin’ on.  Like Churchill said, “Never, never, never give up!”  But Churchill never met you.  He might have changed his tune.  Once in a while you, “take a meeting” or “do lunch.”  Your efforts are always meaningless and unproductive.  Deals are never closed because people don’t want to associate themselves with you.  You’re a thief of others’ time.  Wake up! 



chaoscott



          You don’t even dress the part.  A loyal Top Ramen consumer, you sport second hand rags that disqualify you immediately, before you have the opportunity to utter word one.  You can’t hang with the heavies, this is the big time!  You’re strictly minor leagues, a sucker and a chump.  In this town, they do judge books by their covers and yours reads rather boring.  As soon as you show your face, doors slam.  People regret ever having taken your phone call.  You don’t have a warm glowing aura of success, that intangible amorphous quality that attracts.  Instead, you’re coated in mud, emitting the stench of a rabid skunk.

          You’re standing in front of a brick wall, slamming your head against it, one, two, three times, continuously nonstop.  Skin is broken, blood starts flowing, but somehow you still don’t get it.  You seem oblivious to the pain even after you’ve cracked your skull and gray brain matter begins to leak out.  Everyone sees it but you, but nobody wants to tell you for fear of hurting your feelings.   Look at you!  No connections, you forever remain the outsider, desperate for a break, always denied access to the club.  You wonder why, you look for a reason.  Sometimes I think you’re blind.

          You probably never heard the one about Stevie Nicks’ assistant.  Back in the day, Stevie snorted so much coke she fucked up and mangled the inside of her nose until she couldn’t snort any more.  What to do?  I mean, talk about a serious predicament!  So, how did Stevie solve her dilemma?  She had her assistant blow the powder up her ass with a straw.  When I think of Stevie Nicks’ assistant, I think of you.