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THE BIG TIME NOBODY
Creativity is in all of us... You just have.. to... DIG IT OUT! Dig deeper, pull the roots out, don't stop until the painting is finished and the pain thing diminishes... Some say creativity cures depression, let's ask Wayne Smart-Nipple. "Wayne, simple question for ya bud, does creativity cure depression?" -- "Well Nietz.. sure, why not." -- "Thank you Wayne for your frank and extremely well explained answer."
Wayne Smart-Nipple went on to become a mega star, through his own dedication, persistence and motivation, he was able to work his way to the top of the pile. The pile of dung-beetles that is, after spending 45 years stuck in the misery of having his kneecaps broken by Kathy Bates and his ear severed off by Michael Madsen.
Wayne was surrounded by death, decay and poverty. And that was only the good things! But Wayne wasn't one to whine, he'd rather turn water into wine, or commit some random crime to make ends meet. But the problem was that Ends did not want to meet, but eventually they were coerced down an alleyway, and came face-to-face for the very first time. Ends didn't like this meeting. George and Donald Ends, two twin brothers that had fallen out years ago were now confronting each other in the dark guinel.
Wayne was stuck in the middle, eerily singing the song Stuck in the Middle. He was laughing, but the two Ends brothers were not even flinching, not even one flickr of a smile on their shitty faec... I mean faces.
It ends here and now said George. I'll say when it ends said Donald. Who cares how the story of the Ends twins ended? The readers of this blog for one. They are emotionally invested, and have read four gigantic paragraphs of mind-blowing, descriptive storytelling to reach this point, to hear this twist. To hear how the story Ends. But I have news for the readers, nobody knows how the story Ends. Not even the writer of the story, who is sat here drinking Pepsi sweating, a gun held to his head by Chris Ends, which only escalated the Crescendo. Everybody was now sweating, especially those with Hyperhidrosis of the Brain... Maybe it came about from reading this dross about the two End BROS fighting in an alleyway.
If just one of the Ends brothers were to nearly die, he could be sold as Ends Meat. Packaged, vacuum sealed, left in a freezer to squirm and die. But that was what life in the fast lane was like, extremely slow and painful when you met your demise. Meeting Demise wasn't a pretty experience. Martin Demise was not a pleasant person, he was a Godfather, but now he hadn't got a father... Because he had killed him himself. Now that is a sick bastard who would sacrifice his own father like a sacrifical lamb in order to be able to afford to buy a Lamborghini. He didn't want to be Lumbered with his father Lambert Ghini who kept telling him how to spend his money. So Ghini had to wear the ol' Concrete Shoes.
He died with no dignity, unlike his Mother who died wearing Concrete Choos.
He had no choices, he couldn't choose. Although when they fitted his concrete shoes, they also fitted him with a snorkel, so that he could stand on the bottom of the river bed and contemplate his doom and watch the sharks circling for a few hours.
You. Don't. Fuck. With. Martin. Demise... Well unless you're a cheap hooker looking for thrills and spills.
It's a lonely world. But fuck it. Being disconnected from your fellow man is the new norm. You tell strangers more secrets than your best friends.
Does a Lamborghini keep you warm at night? Yeah it does if you sleep in it with the heating on. Ah, but does a Lamborghini talk to you at night? Yeah it does if you turn the satelite navigation system on... Not sexually of course, unless that's your thing. Getting turned on left right and centre.
After sex with the satelite navigation system, they'd sit and light cigarettes in the night, then sit there talking about the moon and the stars and how Martin Demise cut off a man's hearing, not by cutting off his ears, but by using a cutoff filter. Which filtered down to all the small time gangsters like Philip who wasn't deterred, it only stirred up the imagination. He wasn't scared of Martin Demise. That was, until he met his demise.
Poor Phil, shouldn't have been so stupid. Too cocky for his own good. Running his mouth like a tap, now the only thing coming out the faucet is blood. So on that note, we will take the story book of his life and close it up. Just another statistic killed by a sadistic gangster for business. Pointless deaths, pointless like the tip of my pencil, pointless like a film called Runner Runner. The film that was invented by a movie director with a stammer. I'd rather make hammer horror films that are so hammy they should be called Hammy Horror Films. How much to cast Vincent? Just name your Price. I couldn't cast Vincent, he was above and beyond my budget, but I was able to acquire Uwe Boll to...... clear up the litter from the movie set when we had finished shooting for the day. Shooting Pots of Jism that Spiderman kept trying to catch in his hand. Life on a movie set is not always a bed of roses, no beds at all unless you are filming a porn scene. We weren't.
All these crime capers about the Ends brothers and Martin Demise, these evil psychotic twisted souls, yet when the cameras stopped rolling, they were all lovely people. In fact, one of them was gay. His wrist was limp and he said, "ooh, can't believe I'm playing a right hard bastard.. not hard like that if you know what I mean! Wink Wink" Then he walked off laughing. Different animals these actors, some might say, eccentric, especially Rick who spoke with a dodgy accent and had just filmed a Centric episode called Breaking Bad.. News. His character in the episode just had to walk around the neighbourhood knocking on doors and giving bad news to people, but only if those people had suffered bad karma. "I'm sorry pal, I've just found your dead dog." He couldn't knock on doors and fake bad things just to make people cry. That would have been too sick. Much sickr than the puking up scene. Too sick to feature in a Nietzlander beheading scene like on Highlander.
Being a movie director is not all fun and games. Its all funk and gunge and garage music, the actors are stoned and listen to extreme Drum & Bass and are usually so high off their respective faces they can't say their lines for slurring. Some scenes took 404 takes before we got it right. By that point some of the actors could not be found. So we had them replaced with tidy serious actors who wouldn't know what a smile were even if they had it stapled on their face with a stapler. But at least these actors were much stabler, didn't waste time laughing and corpsing between lines. Actors would sing while pretending to be dead, but how the fuck can a corpse sing for fuck sake 404? GET OFF MY SET! I had a rant which was much akin to Christian Bale. "WHY ARE YOU TRASHING MY SCENE!" Fair enough, all my scenes were trashy anyway, but that doesn't give poor actors an excuse to pour gasoline on my highly-flammable ego.
Anyways, so as I was saying, Martin Demise, lovely guy, but a bit of a cunt in the movies. Perfect. He gets it. Understands my vision. I didn't come into this fucking movie industry as a director to work with fucking amateurs man! AMATEURS TRASHING MY SCENES!! YOU KNOW WHAT, YOU'RE SO UNPROFESSIONAL! GET HIM OFF MY SET MIKE, OR I'M GONNA FUCKING PUNCH HIS LIGHTS OUT!! Little did I know that my rant was secretly being filmed for an upcoming scene on a little 24-hour film called CNN news.
Directing is a hard grind, forget your 15 hour shifts in backbreaking factories and construction sites. Being a director is fucking difficult, my co-workers can't even make my hot chocolate less than scolding, so my lips get burnt and my tongue gets blistered. YOU'RE ALL FUCKING FIRED! I'LL TEACH YOU TO TRASH MY HOT CHOCOLATE!! After about 2 hours I received a hot chocolate drink that was in perfect condition, the perfect temperatur, the perfect size. But I had to make it myself. From now on I'm going to do everything for myself, instead of having my ass wiped by these ass wipes. Different than having my ass whipped in Monaliza's Uncle S&M Dungeon. But that's another story for another day which wont get told, but Monaliza might talk about it in her new autobiography. FUCKING BITCH! TRASH TALKING ME!!
Right I'm calm again. These heart pills work wonders. Got these other pills too, but who needs viagra when ya got Sofia Vergara on your set, making ya sweat. Such a cock tease. She's already fucked up three scenes, but its okay I can't be mad at her. I'll blame Jeff.. yeah Jeff. I'M TALKING TO YOU! YOU'RE RUINING THIS SCENE WITH SOFIA! STOP FUCKING MAKING SOFIA NERVOUS! I'M TELLING YOU JEFF, KEEP TRASHING MY SCENES AND I'LL HAUL YOU OFF THIS SET WITH MY FOOT!!
Ow my heart hurts. Being a movie director ages a man quickly. Seriously its like I've got progeria or something. I'll probably die before this film gets finished if these actors don't get their act together. "Did I do the scene wrong Nietz?" -- "No Sofia, you did great. Perfect delivery as always. I'm so sorry Sofia, I can't see you. I'm going to have to push your boobs downwards to see your face." -- "No problem." -- "How did you manage to project your lines past those things?" -- "I didn't, Nietz. I simply projected my lines 'through' these things." -- "Clever lady. Smart and beautiful." *long pause* "JEFF YOU F@C**NG IDIOT! YOU BROKE A CAMERA!!"
This job is going to kill me if I don't retire soon. But I need to make a couple more movies so I can get a luxurious retirement package to keep me in brandy and swimming pools. And these swimming pools don't fill themselves, I'll have to hire a pool boy. A stereotypically handsome but slightly underage looking and exploited pool boy. Or I could be a total maverick and hire the complete opposite. A 99 year old pool woman with boobs that look more deflated than a punctured bicycle tire who doesn't even have the physical energy to bring me a Pina Colada without reaching for her walking stick and asthma inhaler. Perfect. A Poorly woman, not a pool woman.
Now all I need to do is turn this piece of shit film into 40 million dollars, top the Box Office Charts by having mindless people going to the cinema to watch it, then I can walk off into the sunset with Sofia and enjoy my retirement. But how can you enjoy pondering your retirement.. when you HAVE FUCKING AMATEURS MAKING MISTAKES ON THE FUCKING SET! WHY ARE YOU HOLDING THE CAMERA SHOT IN THE WRONG PLACE CLIVE! GET THEM BOTH IN THE FUCKING PICTURE!! HAVE YOU EVER EVEN USED A FUCKING CAMERA?! GIVE IT TO MIKE, GET OUT OF HERE, YOU'RE FUCKING FIRED CLIVE. YOU HEAR THAT? FIRED! F.I.R.E.D.! GET. OFF. MY. SET. BYE. BYE!"
Alright guys carry on. I want this thing wrapping up by the end of today. We can't keep fucking delaying this movie. People are getting impatient. The guys in the Board Room, they're squeezing me.. not in that way. They are saying, Nietz, we want this fucking thing done and rubber stamped by tonight. If its not, then they are gonna fucking rubber stamp me. You know what I'm saying. I'm not happy we're being rushed, but we got no choice. Just say your fucking lines and move on, don't worry about putting emotion into your performance, we're running on a tight schedule here.
Making a big budget movie is not all sweet chin music. Unless Shawn Michaels comes on your set and kicks you in the face. And if its one thing I can't work with, its unconscious actors. Unconscious actors are no good to me, unless we're filming death scenes, but we're not. This is supposed to be a fucking comedy. A fucking gangsterish horroresque, romantic fucking comedy. But so far, you could say its going to go in the genre of FUCKING DISASTER FILM!! ARGHHH!! "Hey, its not my fault Nietz, the studio light was brok..." -- "HEY HEY! FUCKFACE, JOHN! DON'T FUCKING TALK BACK TO ME, I'M THE DIRECTOR! GET OFF MY SET YOU'RE FUCKING FIRED! YOU'VE OPERATED YOUR LAST STUDIO LIGHT MY FRIEND, I'LL MAKE SURE YOU NEVER FUCKING WORK IN HOLLYWOOD AGAIN!!"
These heart palpitations are getting faster. "Any idea why boss?" -- "No, but they seemed to accelerate when Sofia came and had a chat with me. I mean she's a darling man. With boobs the size of hers, you'd think she break every studio light in here, by accident might I add, but she's been perfect, a true professional actress. Not like these other fucking amateurs trashing my scenes!" -- "Should I fire a couple more actors for you?" -- "No. If you do that, we're gonna have nobody left in this fucking room to finish the damn film. No wait! You see Michael there in the corner, fucking up again. FIRE HIM!" -- "Yes boss, no problem."
"How many people we got left working on this film Steve?" -- "Um, seven." -- "Is that including the extras?" -- "Er.. yeah." -- "Fuck. I'd better stop firing people, otherwise people are gonna start thinking that 'I'm' unprofessional. ME, unprofessional? How dare they accuse me of unprofessionalism?" -- "I don't know boss."
"Er, yes boss."