Ass Intruders

Because of the sheer force of my whoreish magnetism, I was recently tasked with writing a commercial for Fox Searchlight, a TV spot that will air nationally in order to promote one of the studio's upcoming releases. (I'm not sure exactly what I can or cannot talk about yet—if you know anything about studio lawyers, you know that they will find myriad reasons to climb up your ass and park there to make sure you never forget who holds the power.)

I was at the commercial shoot all day today, but, unfortunately, not in the capacity of a writer on set, which would've given me permission to run around demanding my ad copy be spoken exactly the way I wanted it to be spoken. ("You're ruining by brilliant words!")

Instead, I was responsible for crafts service, which basically meant buying a lot of food that I personally liked and everybody else be damned. Okay, not really. I know how to treat a crew—try to force-feed them yummy snacks and beverages the way an Asian mother rides her kids about food.

More details to come—once I manage to evict the lawyers from my rear.


  1. Is this a surgical procedure, or will a simple pair of pliers do?

  2. Adoresixtyfour, extreme flatulence might do the trick.

    Thanks, Mike.

  3. To the burrito stand--STAT!

  4. Hope the crew drinks green tea.

  5. I kept threatening the director, "I'm just gonna buy some Diet Coke and Shrimp Chips!"