On wannabe actors.

Why is it that when someone tells you they want to be an actor, you practically scoff at them? Yeah, there are tons of wannabe’s out there, but every actor started out that way. What do you do for a living that allows you to lead such a fun and fabulous life, yet still put yourself on such a high horse that you feel it’s okay laugh at the ambitions of others?

What do I do for a living? Your dad’s dick, motherfucker, and it isn’t big enough to be called a high horse.

If you don’t fundamentally understand that I’m doing wannabe punks a favor by punching them in the gut every time they utter the phrase “I want to be an actor,” then you aren’t ready to step foot into this town.

Cry about it all you want. Better yet, save those tears for the workshop instructor on the Boulevard you’re paying five hundred bucks to stroke your ego. (Just so you know, when he says you’ve got a delicate emotional instrument, all that really means is you’re a pussy.)

Listen, I love actors — all artists, actually — with every square inch of my soul. Thing is, I’ve been around. I’ve seen some shit, and I know how fucked up the celebrity machine really is.

You may think my reaction is cruel, but it’s not. Come on, this kind of thing is a staple cliche in every war movie. When the wet-behind-the-ears recruit asks a dumb question in front of the battle weary veteran with the thousand yard stare, it becomes that grizzled bastard’s patriotic duty to fuck with the kid unmercifully until he toughens up. Otherwise, the new guy ends up as a pair of smoking boots.

Not to overextend the metaphor, but at the end of the day, who the fuck do you think is the one lighting their shaky cigarettes and wiping the blood off their pretty little faces? Bullet-proof bitches like me.

Don’t you get it? If a wannabe actor can’t take getting spanked on my blog, he’d better stay the fuck out of Hollywood.


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