Plot Point Zero

Dreams On Spec

2008-09-21T01:37:00.001-07:00

Watch and Learn

Funny or Die - Green Team

2008-01-27T18:38:00.000-08:00

J.J. Abrams at TED

2008-01-10T18:14:00.000-08:00

Now THIS is how you work a room.

Slip of the Tongue?

2007-12-29T09:49:00.001-08:00

Sositch

2007-12-06T15:55:00.001-08:00

This never gets old.

First Rule of Ecstasy Use

2007-08-26T00:30:00.000-07:00

Stay the fuck home, or attend a rave surrounded by your closest -- and equally-intoxicated -- friends.

Ratatoullie is one of the...

2007-07-08T01:25:00.000-07:00

... best movies I've seen in years - and I'm a mother fuckin' grade-A movie dork with a penchant for horror, comedy, action and other live-action-type flicks. If you haven't seen it yet, pull your flabby ass away the computer and bolt to your nearest multiplex.

Well... what the fuck are you waiting for?

Chimera?

2007-07-07T23:32:00.000-07:00

Take a look at Mr. Alias's new piece of genius, viral marketing. This trailer precedes a recent uber-robot flick. Follow this link and catch a not-so-suck-job of a teaser, before the 'mount yanks it off the inter-tubes.

Free Movies

2007-06-23T15:21:00.000-07:00

Wonder how long this baby's gonna be up.

http://www.jonhs.net/freemovies/

TastiSkank

2007-05-24T18:56:00.000-07:00

If Jenna and Barbara Bush were ten times hotter, a few years younger, and possessed a cache of amusingly profane talent, this would be the result:

TastiSkank

iPhone

2007-01-09T19:08:00.000-08:00

Somewhere, Bill Gates is wishing he worked on that Zune for a *little* bit longer.

http://www.apple.com/iphone/

Scapegoat

2007-01-03T16:37:00.000-08:00

Since our efforts to unearth Osama Bin Laden have been useless, we snuffed this guy. Why?... you know... 'cause, damn it, it's the 'Merican way...

Makes me proud to be an American. We killed that bastard who attacked us on 9... hey... wait a minute...

Happy New Year, America.

"Go back to bed, America. Your government is in control."
Bill Hicks

Two Months.

2006-11-02T20:14:00.000-08:00

Two months without a cigarette... more to come.

I Quit…

2006-09-26T19:03:00.000-07:00

Well, I didn’t quit screenwriting, but I’ve sure as hell cut back on the bloggling… No, I quit smoking cigarettes. It’s been Three weeks, three days, 15 hours, 39 minutes and 24 seconds. 739 cigarettes not smoked, saving $110.93. Life saved: 2 days, 13 hours, 35 minutes – these statistics courtesy of the free ‘quit smoking meter’ from Silkquit.

Anybody ever quit smoking? Well, I quit – two or three times, maybe – back in 1997… and, obviously, started back. At that time, I was a Virgin Nicotine Addict; meaning that I had only been addicted for a good year-and-a-half. Now… well, it’s been nine years of a pack-and-a-half a day of smoking, followed by an abrupt quit … and life’s been a raw dog bitch the past three weeks.

The positives? I can breathe better, I have more energy, and my asthma’s been curbed (By the way, eight weeks ago, my doctor diagnosed me with asthma – another bonus of over ten years of smoking.)

The negatives? There’s the obvious weight gain, the occasional craves – kind of like one may crave a steak – and urges to light up, and the psychological dependency of the ‘missing’ death stick. Then there’s the Attention Deficient Disorder… I would offer one-thousand dollars and trade some lucky bastard my couch for a bottle of Adderall, in order to kill this ADD. I’ve quit highly illegal drugs which were friggin’ easier to quit than nicotine, but the lack of concentration involved in quitting smoking is relatively difficult to handle.

I was lucky enough to finish the script I’ve been working on (and off) since January, because my ability to concentrate on intricate details and whatnot have faded… yet I’m confident that, over time, my abilities to get my brain and concentration in order will become more refined.

I realize that, with all the negatives, quitting smoking -- and staying off the nicotine -- will have a better impact on my life. I realize that my health is important, and I’ll learn to get through life with dealing with urges to smoke... and, eventually – hopefully – learning to overcome them.

My daughter has always told me that smoking would kill me… I’m here to prove her wrong… and not end up like this guy --

http://whyquit.com/whyquit/BryanLeeCurtis.html

Somebody Nominate Mr. Stephen Colbert for...

2006-04-30T10:43:00.000-07:00

... Best Ball-Bustin' Speech of '06. He just killed at the White House Correspondents' Dinner as the closing speaker. Download the video at --

http://www.crooksandliars.com/2006/04/29.html#a8104

-- and observe Colbert's equivalent of John Stewart's appearance on Crossfire.

Is Your Concept Better Than You?

2006-04-28T16:48:00.000-07:00

Or…

Do your concept and the required execution of said concept overshadow your abilities? I’ve been pondering this predicament over and over again with my current incantation. I reconvened with my writer’s group (side note: a writer’s group happens to be a rare gathering, here in the sticks of North Florida) and everybody dug the concept, the writing, and the first thirty pages.

Yet, my skull, as thick as it is, can’t let through the fact that I might be doing the right thing with this script. In other words, I have a great concept and I don’t wanna fuck it up. Ya dig? I know I’m not the only one out there who’s feeling the downage of the hey-maybe-I’m-not-such-a-good-writer-after-all blues.

Damn… I’m not tring to play the pity card, here... errr, maybe I am… but I’m sure everybody has a slight downward-cycle during their writing process.

P.S. Buy the new TOOL album on Tuesday. It. Will. Rock.

Four Things

2006-04-04T18:30:00.000-07:00

Lucy called me out on my Blog-Slackin’ and tagged me with the 4 things MEME. I’ve no excuses for said slackerdom, save for work, full-time school, family, internet time, and my crazy-whack-funky beast of a screenplay. More posts to come in the near future.

Four Jobs I've Held

Delivery Driver/Tech Guy for local Office Supply Company

Waiter

Bagboy

Street-Corner Pharmaceutical Salesman

Four Films I Could Watch Again And Again

The Shining

Starship Troopers

Lost Highway

Office Space

Four Places I've Lived

Brunswick, ME

Pensacola, FL

Virginia Beach, VA

London, England (Rickmansworth)

Four TV Shows I Love

The Sopranos

Seinfeld

South Park

American Idol (‘cause I loves me some Kelly Pickler)

Four Places I've Been On Vacation

Garmisch, Germany (Boy Scout camp)

Berchtesgaden, Germany

Alton Towers (UK theme park)

Disney World

Four Of My Favorite Dishes

Southwestern Omelet

Surf and Turf

Bacon Cheesburger and Fries

Hell, I'll enjoy almost any dish, as long as it’s not a bowl of Ramen Noodles

Four Blogs I Visit Every Day

Fun Joel

One Slack Martian

Scott the Reader

Chris Soth

Four Places I'd Rather Be Right Now

Since I have my daughter with me, there’s no place I’d rather be. (Come on, let me hear those awwws).

Too Many Twists and Asian Cinema…

2006-02-02T20:18:00.000-08:00

Back from a two-and-a-half week hiatus… I’ve been busy working on my latest “opus.” My last post mentioned acts one and three were conquered territory... Well... speaking too soon is a character flaw of mine… as I have, now, jettisoned said acts and started anew. Gotta love rewrites, huh?

Ninety pages later (half of which will be tossed into the shredder) I’ve come to the realization that the third act is subdued by too many twists – or big reveals. At this point, the twists feel organic and appropriate for the flow of the story, yet...

Is it possible to put in too many twists into the final minutes/pages? I remember Saw had a few nice WHAMMIES, as did The Usual Suspects and Frailty. This is, of course, relative to each viewer’s movie-going experience, but does anybody have any examples of third act twists which made you feel as if you were being nailed over head with revelation after revelation?

If you haven’t caught onto the Asian film craze, you can start by Netflixing/buying either one, or both, of the following:

Oldboy

I purchased Oldboy on a whim and have enjoyed, at least, four repeat viewings. It follows a man who is locked in a hotel room for fifteen years, only to be released to seek out his captors. It's a dark action extravaganza in the vein of Sin City and the noir video game Max Payne. I hear Hollywood is making a remake, yet I’m not sure if American audiences will be prepared for, or able to digest, its (famous?) twist – which I hear will be kept in the remake.

A Tale Of Two Sisters

The act of jumping from fear while partaking a horror flick has been foreign to me only since Zelda cried out for Rachel in Stephen King’s Pet Semetary; I’ve been a jaded horror fan since. The “jump” returned to me while viewing certain scenes in A Tale Of Two Sisters -- the story of two sisters released from a mental institution, only to return home to a wicked stepmother and emotionally-deficient father.

Whether it be the slow-burn story-telling, great cinematography, or the fuck-with-your-brain phantasmagorical aesthetic of the third act, ATOTS is one for the Netflix queue.

Act Two Pros

2006-01-13T22:39:00.000-08:00

After discovering that a film recently placed into development was dangerously close to a script I wrote back in Dec. '04, I dug said script up from the bowels of my abandoned screenplay deluge, and did a lil' rethinkin' on the bastard child. After an hour, or so, of tinkering, I came up with a better concept than the original. Successfully doctoring a premise has never came this quick, so, overall, it was a good day.

Post-necessary-self-congratulatory-celebration of a Bud Light tall boy and a quarter-pack of Marlboro Lights, I started a rough outline. And, you know what?... the fucker sang. I beat out Act Two with ease (Acts One and Three were conquered territory -- even with the premise reclamation). The pace found itself. The twists, character arcs, and plot points pieced themselves together.

The issue with the previous version of the screenplay -- besides the aforementioned similarities -- was that my Act Two was bogged down with bad plotting and a virulent plague of fifth-grade dialogue. (I throw feces at the pages and see what sticks, like the good spec monkey I am. )

So far, it's been about a week since the operation began, and this go-round feels like a step in a positive direction. Hey... so far, so good.

More to come.

Writing What You've Lived

2006-01-08T04:15:00.000-08:00

Derek Haas, over at The Artful Forum, mentioned in one of his posts to "write what you think is cool." This goes beyond the maxim "write what you know" on many levels, and make a helluva lot of sense.

Fun Joel mentioned in a recent post on his blog to be spontaneous; pull from your life experiences with the hopes they will enrich your stories. This is very true, and it all depends on how you choose to utilize said experiences.

I've had plenty of life experiences, or so I think. I am at a point in my life where I've had a boatload of extraneous, exciting, and highly illegal events occur in my lifetime.

Thus, the reason for me not giving my real name on my blog, unlike many of my fellow contributors to the scribosphere. I'm not trying to be coy with my anonymnity, yet I just feel that if I'm going to blog and give details about members of my past, I won't want them looking for me. Ya dig?

I'm at a time in my life where I've been sober -- of illegal drugs -- for two years, after an 8 year binge. (Don't applaud... I should have never gone that route,) I've been to jail -- and have had further close calls, involving the law -- far too many times to explain (thanks, MOM -- and BABY's MOM -- for the bail money)... I've done too many drugs and have been a participant of so many social events (parties) that I'm fucking sick of them, now. You couldn't pay me to attend a kegger. Sounds crazy, huh? But that was my life for a good many years.

This goes back to what Fun Joel mentioned about writing from life events you've experienced. I've completed (roughly) ten scripts, a few treatments, and have logged countless future prospects (ideas); all, of which, I plan to get into the future.

It's funny... All of the scripts I've written don't cover ANYTHING that I've been through. It was weird going over what I've written, and not finding an ounce of my works covered any SPECIFIC EVENT of my -- now -- previous life.

But what I've done... is pulled from the themes and emotions from these events. and encoded them into my stories. I'm confused about all this, but maybe this is how it works...

I plan on posting a lot of these events on the blog in the future. Why? Maybe, so that you don't make the same mistakes I did. Or - Maybe it might encourage you -- as if Fun Joel didn't do a good enough job at explaing this, already -- to get out there and live life; to take advantages of all the curve-balls it has to offer.

Here's one event (and, yes, I'll conclude the Nomi the Tiger story when the time -- and memory -- allows):

My old drug dealer (one of a few) -- let's call him GARY -- lived with a PORN STAR at a local beach mansion in Florida. PORN STAR was smoking hot and was making enough bank to buy said multi-million dollar domain.

It was Gary's birthday, and Gary knew how to throw a party -- so he invited me and a few of my buddies over to partake in the event.

Now, my buddies and I showed up looking for a chilled party, where a few illicit drugs would be passed around (read: ecstasy and LSD, which -- when combined -- is aka TROLLING) and we would smoke pot. Chill. And all would be merry.

This was not the case.

When we arrived, we noticed this place was poppin'. We went inside. It was packed. Tons of people rollin', tripping, smoking dope -- you're average H'wood party, I assume.

My buddies and I met up with Gary... we chilled for a bit. Smoked some dope, picked up a TEN-PACK of beans (ecstasy) -- which at the time went for about $180. That was pocket change for us, since me and a couple buddies were stealing mad bank from the register at our place of employment -- more on that later.

About an hour before we dosed, Gary pulled me into a room with a bunch of HIS BOYS... some I knew; some I didn't. I shot the shit with those I knew.

One of Gary's buddies came in -- BLUE -- and Blue was a member of the CRYPTS, a gang of merry men, whose prime objective in life was to kill, to protect their beilief.

At this point, Gary had been fucked up from an earlier, mid-day, excursion of partaking in copious amounts of hydroponic marijuana sessions and was feeling a bit "off" and in the non-party mode.

So, Blue pulls out a bag of white powder. Now, I was no stranger to eight balls of cocaine, or the like, but this was a zip-lock, three finger bag of pure white snow... about four ounces, if I recall correctly...

Blue gave Gary a few key-bumps... and Gary was back in business within minutes, as --

Blue recapped the events of his night, where he shot THREE MOTHER-FUCKERS -- who cut him off -- with his tech nine... which he pulled out, in the room. I almst shit myself.
I've seen guns before, but having one this close, in the hands of a coked up (and whatever else the fuck he was on) gang member.

After gang signs were flashed in the air, and whatnot, things calmed down... and I -- the laid back, shy guy, to some a pussy -- found myself in deep conversation with Blue...

The funny thing about it... we, as a society, have such a strange take on gang members (more, or less, due to their, obvious, protryaed-as-crazy nature), but I found this cat interesting, as he -- and some of his fellow gang members -- brought me into a small room...

... where every portion of the wall was covered in spray-painting of various colors (all but red, of course), and at the end of the room, was a poster of Tupac Shakur. Me, being the dumbass I was, asked "what was he doing up there?"

I, expecting shit from Blue and his fellow gang members, was surprised that they were cool with me (I being the only non-gang member in the room) and explained that Tupac was their light; that he stood for everything they believed. I held back on mentioning the rumors of Tupac being a homosexual, in lieu of not wanting to be capped.

Gary walked in the "spray-painted room" and offered to give Blue a few hits of ecstasy.

Blue got scared and mentioned that he didn't want to take X, because he was afraid of becoming vulnerable in front of two-hundred people he didn't know... after a little coercion from Gary -- the best salesman I've met to date -- he popped two beans into Blue's mouth like they were Alleve...

Over the course of a few hours, my buddies and I chilled, fought for space in the various bathrooms where people dropped LSD geltabs and snorted bumps of Special K, snuck outside -- on the deck -- to grab a few of our BYOB Bud Drys... since the fridge was a breeding ground for alcohol thievery.

About an hour later, everybody at the party was deep into mind-bending, reality shifting intoxication... I found myself sitting next to Blue... and -- as he feared -- his TRUE SELF came out...

And I was surprised... be was one of the good guys: misunderstood, not sure why he joined a gang, a true bad ass, yet afraid of fucking up (I.E. the type of shit you would never expect to hear from a hard core gang banger)... Although, when you're rollin' on X, it all comes out.

Just then, a cute ASIAN CHICK -- whom I, coincidentally, went to high school with -- stormed into the room, claiming that somebody stole a HUNDRED PACK OF X.

The party of two-hundred-some-odd ravers came to a screeching halt. The CD paler -- which had just been banging the hottest beats from Roni Size -- came to a screeching halt.

Everybody was stunned, trippin', wildin' out.

I looked next to me, and there was Blue digging into his pockets...

ME: What's up, bro. What're you doing?

And Blue pulls out a GLOCK NINE...

I turn to my buddy Stan, who was "blowin' up" just as well as I -- noticed the glock -- and we both sobered up mighty quick, and gave each other the "oh, holy fuck shit" glance.

In my mind, Blue was about to cap somebody's ass.

ME: (TO BLUE) You're not gonna shoot anybody, are ya?

BLUE: Chill out, I ain't gonna hurt no one.

But when he stood up on a chair and held out that gun, I was sure he was having flashbacks from the night before -- the Tech Nine incident -- and he was ready to blow away some mother fucker.

It only took one gunshot from Blue -- to the ceiling -- the clear the party out mighty quick.

Me and Stan, and his wife -- Sherry -- sat there, nonplussed in our full-on drug peak... and watched part-goers storm through the front door in a mass exodus.

They found the person, eventually, who stole the beans, and -- from what I heard -- I missed one helluva cat fight.

The moral of all this? A gun can always break-up a party. And that not everybody is as they appear (judging the book by the cover, etc.).

As screenwriters, we can, either, incorporate our life experiences into our works... or... we can take the characters and themes from from said experiences, and incorporate them into our screenplays.

A Belated Happy New Year

2006-01-05T15:10:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year to all! Hope everybody had a good Festivus, Christmas, Hanukkah, or whatever you wish to call the event of "spending three to five days with family members you regularly try to avoid."

Yeah, you all know what I'm talking about; the family clichés are true. We hang around with family members and other people we barely know and attempt an air of civility and false modesty.

Everybody has that one family member who finds solace in misery. They grab the proverbial megaphone and wax philosophic -- to a crowded, uncomfortable dinner table -- their pains, issues, wants, dislikes, and ailments. All you can do is sit there, smile, and act like you're listening...

The positives were sprawling, though. It was decent to spend a little time with my immediate family -- the folks, brother, and daughter. I haven't spent Christmas with my four-year-old since 2001/2, so this time of year was easier with her around.

Everybody asks me about my New Year's Resolution. I say fuck it; why make one? Why not many? Here's a sample of a few I've already broken.

1) Cut down my daily intake of a fifth of Jack Daniels to a pint.

2) Lose weight. Lose weight. Lose weight.

3) Quit being a wuss and send out a script to one of them Prodco's in Hollywood.

4) Write more. Write more. Write more.

5) Quit dropping currency on bad habits.

6) Quit smoking cigarettes. (Read #5)

7) Finally quit my filthy crack cocaine habit. (Read #5)

8) Keep on top of the spec market: what sells, what doesn’t sell, who's buying what, etc.

9) Actually talk to the cute Russian girl working the counter at the local gas station.

10) Create better themes for my screenplays.

11) Read more screenplays.

12) Blog more.

The First Writer vs. The Re-writer

2005-12-20T14:53:00.000-08:00

If you have some time, check out this debate over at The Artful Writer.

Pretty intersting stuff re: which is more difficult: being the original writer on a script, or having somebody come in and rewrite a project.

SLACKERS!

2005-12-17T13:57:00.000-08:00

Facing the blank page? Stuck on that second act? Ready to give up on that script, altogether?

Take time off. Relax. Chill. Slack off.

Here's just one of many ways to procrastinate :

http://www.tripletsandus.com/80s/80s_games/galaga.htm

Writing Rituals

2005-12-17T00:22:00.000-08:00

After perusing the Scribosphere, it looks like everybody has their own set of unique writing rituals. Besides shackling myself to my computer, snorting geeker lines of pureed coffee beans, and popping Vivarin like Skittles, I enjoy listening to music. Regardless of genre, it gets me into the writing mood.

So, if you enjoy taking the music trip, what's on your playlist, rotation, etc?

My current playlist for the Horror spec I'm working on:

Pink Floyd - Dark Side of The Moon and The Wall
System of A Down - (All Albums)
Bach - (for the darker moments, and, besides, Bach rocks!)

Choose Your Own Genre

2005-12-09T17:04:00.000-08:00

Not too long ago, when I first started learning about screenwriting, I heard various opinions regarding choosing a genre. Some said to show range, while others said to find a genre you enjoy and hone it. From everything I'd read, sticking to one genre won the battle.

But, is it important to -- dare I say -- pigeonhole one's self within one genre? I enjoy writing horror and action, with comedic bits thrown in, when necessary. I can write both horror and action independently of each other, but I could never write an all-out comedy.

(As an aside, I have great respect for comedy writers. Creating humor on the page -- for 110 pages -- seems like it would be a challenge.)

So, fellow space travelers, here's the big question: When trying to break into Hollywood, is it better to stick to one genre, or is showing your range in various genres something to capitalize upon?

Nomi, the Tiger Part I

2005-11-26T02:36:00.000-08:00

I’ve been asked, by parties higher on the blogging pecking pole than I, to submit a disclaimer, allowing you, the reader, a chance to go here -- or here, or, if the following is not risqué enough: here -- due to the questionable content and lacking moral fiber within this post.

In addition to the above, and after reading this post, anybody referring to me as a misogynistic pig might seem like they're taking an appropriate leap, but such a reference would prove to be false. I, whole-heartedly, have the utmost respect for women and (almost) everything they represent.

Now, keep in mind, I am only a “victim” of a (fucking wonderful) life-evolving experience, which entails a see-saw of various positive and negative ramifications, of course.

What’s that old chestnut? With the good comes the bad…? Seems appropriate, for this story.

Okay, you’ve been warned…

Every man has their particular type of woman. Sometimes, we lean more towards the ideal, unobtainable women, which -- thanks to various media outlets -- take ownership over our inane, maniacal, sex-obscured minds. Now, I’ve always been partial to blondes, with the occasional redhead dropped in, for good measure. But…

There’s always been something about Latin women that motivates me to commit endless acts of stupidity.

Yes, we have our J-Los and our Jessica Albas. While, in my eyes, these women embody the virtually endless characteristics of natural beauty, the reality is, we’ll never have them. Unless, of course, your last name is Affleck, Pitt, or (insert A-list male actor here).

But, we can always dream, and wait for a miracle to step into our lives.

Back in mid-2000, she walked into my apartment, like a movie-starlet straight off the set of a Russ Meyer opus.

Her name was Nomi…

Me and four buddies were hanging out at my apartment, doing what we did best: drowning out and chasing away reality with various legal and illegal substances. My best friend at the time, I’ll call this cat Lead Singer, came over with his Ex-Girl and Nomi.

Now, being average guys looking to lay upon any lady with a heartbeat and a functioning cerebellum, we sized up the situation: intuition snuck in quick that Lead Singer was looking to hook-up with Ex-Girl – okay, that rules out Ex-Girl – and that left Nomi…

My buddies and I had a gauge; a “you my mutha fucka” meter… If you gained “access” to a lady, you got a point… if you slacked off -- when the opportunity was there -- you lost a point...

Tonight, all of us were looking to gain that point with Nomi, whose beauty – lest to say – soared beyond the phrase “easy on the eyes.”

Now, the question here: which one of us was going to go for Nomi? Hmmmmm……

I’ll be the first one to tell you, me trying to pick up, much less talk to, a girl is as pointless as a quadriplegic attempting masturbation…(I apologize for that mental picture, and, if you’re offended, I apologize to all of those who’ve gone blind while attempting to "take care of" one’s self).

All-in-all, I had my eyes on Nomi, and any attempt to just speak with this girl would be a feat in, and of, itself.

But, I’m not exactly the best–looking guy in the room. One of my buddies, let’s call him Jeff, is a good-looking guy, who has no problems getting the ladies… And he has something I, and my other buddies, don’t: a silver tongue. Very silver, and beyond witty.

Now, me, the witless wonder, offered Nomi a drink. She accepted, and the guys and I continued our game of Three Man (a cool dice game; many drunken nights spent on this one)…

Nomi joined in, and – not sure why, but I can guess why – Lead Singer and Ex-Girl left the apartment, as Ex-Girl lived a few buildings down from mine…

And she left one hot, sexy Latina lady with five tigers on the prowl… Planned? Or just a bad fucking idea on Ex-Girl’s part?

Time marches on, and Nomi lets it be known that she gets horny when she’s drunk.

So, I offer her another beer…

And she, happily, obliges…

The competition for Nomi’s attention grew between us guys, as more Three Man games passed, and bottles of beer disappeared faster than blonde chicks in Aruba.

I turn and chat with a couple of my buddies, calling ‘dibs’ on Nomi.
“Nu-uh,” say the others. “We saw her first.”

Just then, I turn around, and…

(yes, you can stop reading right about here, if you feel threatened, or perturbed, by any form of nudity, that being said...)

… I was face-to-ass with a beautiful, heart-shaped backside. Yes, it belonged to Nomi… She claimed – and was correct in said claim – that she had the most beautiful ass in the world. And, at this point, to all of us guys, it was akin to a work of pure Divinci-borne perfection.

And she wanted us to test its strength, by smacking it….

Oh, dear God… did I just hear that? Was this a part of my imagination? Did some schizophrenic personality emerge from the depths of my perverted brain, and actually say “Smack this girl’s ass?”

Just then, I look at the back of her neck, and see the word BITCH tattooed below the hair line… And that song, from the band FIRESTARTER, began to play on repeat in my mind. Just that one line… You know that tune, right?

And, then, Jeff smacked her in the rear… Everybody else, quickly, took a number for the smacking session.

(Please, keep in mind, we were all young guys, and here was this beautiful girl offering us something only envisioned in daydreams).

And, I was the last… sloppy fifth’s… but I got my slap… and she took it like a champ, oh, yes, she did…

Moments later, I go to grab another beer (I take my time, taking in the magnificent event which had just occurred) and go back into the living room.

But, something’s wrong… I scanned the room, and noticed that two people were missing: Jeff and Nomi.

MY BUDDIES: They went into your room…

Now, I wouldn’t just let any dude bring a lady into my room, but Jeff was a damn good friend, and his hospitality would’ve been reciprocal.

Of course, though, they went into my room, and I had to take a piss… And the only way to the bathroom was through my room.

So, not really giving a shit what was going on in there, I opened my bedroom door.

Now, I expected to view a wild, crazy, porno-esuqe sex excursion being embarked upon within my room, yet all I found were Nomi and Jeff ------ talking ------- on my bed….

My “you my mutha fucka” meter, for Jeff, lost a few points.

But, I had to give Jeff credit. His honest to goodness reasoning behind his abstinence from crazy Latina love was relevant: he had a girlfriend, whom he, honestly, loved, and didn’t want to impair said relationship in any form or fashion.

Okay, I can respect that… Half a point goes to Jeff on the “you my mutha fucka” meter.

I go to the bathroom, come out, and catch Jeff asking Nomi who her “second choice” would be.

Second choice? What the hell? It took me a sobering second to paint the bigger picture of what the connotation behind “second choice” held.

Did this girl think she was in an all-male brothel, thinking she could choose any man she wished?

Yes, yes, this was her night, and tonight me and the boys were the street walkers… Except, of course, reception of payment, on our part, was a futile notion, compared to the gift which one of us was about to receive…

Her second choice -- whether it be a factor of vicinity, or that I’m such a good- looking guy (…hehe…right) -- was me.

Victory was mine. I was cresting the hill of "ain't gettin' laid tonight" and the valley of "she's all yours, boss" was in my sights. And, in the valley, at the finish line, I could see all my buddies holding paper versions of "you my mutha fucka
points" in the air.

This was it...

ME (to Jeff): Get the fuck out of the room.
NOMI: Wait a minute. I have only one request.

And here was the request, the caveat, the wrench in my drunken plan: she wanted Jeff to watch us, me and her… doing, well… Yeah.

Damn...

Now, Jeff and I had cracked endless jokes about being with the same woman, at the same time, and giving each other the (now) cliché high-five, whilst the other was being… taken care of.

But, the reality of this situation was slowly seeping in… and them good times were all talk, as BS as they came...

Yet, drunk as we were, all inhibitions seemed to drop to the floor, and the real excursion began…

For better, or for worse.

To be continued…

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2005-11-25T16:53:00.000-08:00

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