LEE MINORS WAS just a regular, midwestern guy anxious to make it big in Hollywood as a leading man. Happily surprised at his invitation, Lee was excited about the star-studded weekend party hosted by Ari Felchingag, Universal Studios executive VP in charge of network productions, at his beautiful six million dollar Bel Air mansion. Only last year Ari was awarded the prestigious “Hero of Israel” medal for financing a modern, condo-style “settlement” of righteous Hasidics on the West bank — thankfully uprooting several hundred FAKEastanian terrorist families in the process.
At the party, Lee met a beautiful young lady named Linda Lovelace, also doing her level best to get any kind of movie or TV work. Unfortunately, Linda was forced to do a few pornos in the Valley just to make ends meet, but said nothing about all that to the handsome Lee; she was only too happy to meet any nice man with her own small town, midwest background.
Lee asked Linda what she thought about the big gold-leafed “Hero of Israel” proclamation, expensively matted and framed, hanging conspicuously above Felchingag’s mahogany den mantel and signed by the great Bibi Netanyahu himself. “Sure is good to see what one upstanding man can do for the world with his kind of money. Our special little ally in the Mideast needs all the help it can get these days,” Lee quietly explained.
Linda agreed. “I really like you Lee, you believe everything a fine, patriotic American should believe,” she told him. She thought she meant every word, but really didn’t know. Lee sheepishly grinned. “Maybe we should go out for a latte, sometime.”
Lee did seem down-to-earth and friendly enough. After only a year living in sunny southern California, Linda was already plenty sick and tired of the legions of horny-as-hell, weaselly studio execs; all eager to get her high as a kite and drunk on her ass, just so they might get a chance to re-enact that one certain sex scene from the triple-X Vivid DVD they bought the other day.
Her actress roommate was always coming home in utter disarray: Blinding hangovers, makeup smeared every which way on her face and hair sticky with God-knows-what. The foolish woman would be lucky enough to find on strange floors whatever left of those overpriced cheap slut outfits she bought at that hip little store on Sunset, to make it home halfway dressed.
Right then, the beaky and cadaverous Moishe Joshua Grosschnoz, suddenly appeared out of nowhere next to the two. Out the corner of one eye, Lee could have sworn he saw a faint ribbon of smoke swirling over the outrageously expensive Macassar flooring, while a sickly sweet sulphurous smell invaded deep into his nostrils. Probably just somebody doing a big bong hit nearby.
Grosschnoz, who always insisted going by the friendly sounding “Josh,” was the top casting honcho for Universal and thought he was a real card. “Lee, I see you met the lovely Linda. You two should have lots in common, ha ha.” Snickering for no apparent reason, “Josh” nodded ever so slightly in the direction of the well-appointed wet bar, just for Lee to follow.
“Lee, old buddy, play your cards right and you just might tag that shit,” Josh whispered through his expensively whitened teeth. Lee barely knew the guy. The smiling Josh continued: “But that’s not what I want to talk about.” Lee couldn’t decide whether to smile or not about his little getting laid joke. Linda seemed like a pretty nice girl, maybe even a bit too good looking for a chumpster like himself.
“No, I called your agent, ‘Sharpie’ Shapiro, about the lead in a big juicy new pilot with a starting budget of six million dollars we’re getting ready to shoot. Interested? Of course, you are.” It wasn’t a movie, but Lee didn’t care. He was hungry, knew he had to get something going on out here, or have to go back to Bumfuck, Kansas and take a job selling used tractor tires.
Josh continued: “It’s set in Washington, DC. You play Steve Austein, top DOJ legal advisor for Eric Holder, mistakenly identified as a White slaver and beaten to the inch of death by a random ‘youth’ mob – whipped into a justifiable rage because of non-stop racism and now running amok after drinking too much ‘Lean’ and free shots at the ‘Food Stamp Fridays’ hip-hop concert hosted by MTV.”
“Instead of merely fixing you back to normal, they decide to declare you dead and turn you into a bio engineered action hero that jumps high as a motherfucker and runs fast as shit. Plus, they embed in your noggin the latest Intel microprocessor, WiFi, USB, 60 terabytes of memory and a slew of other high tech gadgetry guaranteed to get the nerd viewers all boned up.”
“Right now we’re calling him ‘Super Mensch’ among ourselves. I guess we’re going to have to change that in post production, ha ha.”
“The pilot is a real doozy. The Zombie Apocalypse has broken out and you’re working in the president’s own secret service security detail as the tough, no-nonsense leader. But Austein has another very big secret besides all his fancy pants bio engineering. Oh yeah, we already have Morgan Freeman reading the script for prez, of course.”
“So what’s the big secret?” Lee asked. Josh coyly smiled. “The guy’s transgender, or I should say, wants to go that route. It seems the bio engineer nerds crossed some wires during the operation and shorted out his shorts, ha ha.”
“Too bad,” Josh explained, “Austein still needs his bionic schlong to interface with mainframes and SCUZZY hard drives. He might dress like a man, but insists on sitting down while peeing to show solidarity with the sisters. Sluts do nothing for him anymore and the script subtly implies he might also be on the ‘down low’ with the prez. The writers are still trying to work the angle of the dangle right.”
“Wait… I know that’s not you. But there’s plenty of scenes where you do kick some serious Zombie ass with big, very high tech weaponry. Only much later does it come out — giving you lots of tear-jerking lines with your beautiful, yet so understanding person of color something wife (we haven’t decided which one yet). You’re both holed up at the White House fighting freaky Zombies alongside our ever-so-wise and possibly gay, black president!”
“That’s not all.” Josh went on. “The guy’s grandmother was a Hungarian Jew and gassed at Auschwitz. Somehow, all her precious yiddish memories are now encoded in your ROM chips and you suffer horrible flashbacks of what the Nazis did to her and her family. We already have a second unit shooting on location outside of Prague.”
“Everything is getting filmed in black and white, except for his grandmother’s threadbare, ghetto-tattered red coat. How cool is that for a visual? We even seriously considered calling your character ‘Shoah Man,’ ha ha.”
The by now overly excited Josh still wasn’t finished. “It turns out the vice president — a Dick Cheny look-alike natch – is really behind the Zombie Apocalypse to begin with. He also just happens to be the grandson of Alois Hitler — nephew of herr fuerher man — who moved here just before the Great Patriotic War, then toured America warning us about Hitler and his sinister SS henchmen.”
“The guy really was a money-grubbing jerk (aren’t we all?), but we’ll do him up as a long-misunderstood hero and frequent target of Nazi assassins, knowing full-well his evil uncle was out to holocaust six million innocent Jews.”
“The Cheny look-alike veepee is the head of a secret Nazi mega corporation called New Reich KKK Oil and Armaments, based deep in the Alabama backwoods. The guy smokes like a fiend and hates everyone. He’s blinded with rage about his traitor grandfather, closet homosexual father and a spooky-looking albino catholic priest who used to molest him at a put-put golf course. He also runs a group of mad scientists working at the CIA, who design a recombinant virus that turns Muslims into murderous Zombie terrorists — as if they need anything else.”
“The Zombie virus was first meant as a legitimate weapon of war to be used against the enemies of Israe… er… America, like Syria’s Assad and those freedom-hating Mullahs in Iran, but Cheney veepee steals it to get back at everybody over here. The Supremacist SOB wants to kick start a Zombie slash Nazi slash Jihadi holy war in the good old US of A!”
“So you see, my dear Lee, everything comes back around full circle at the very end. It’s got it all: Scary Zombies, evil Nazis and ties in neatly with the present day Muslim terrorist angle audiences sure had better love by now. What a trifecta! Just imagine the rest of the season’s episodes. It’s so great, we can’t understand why it hasn’t been done before.”
At this point, Josh was sweating profusely, so excited he was practically was foaming at the mouth. “Hell, we’ve already lined up third party contracts to sell tons of stupid crap to midwest yokels in flyover country: T-shirts, designer ball caps, posters, action hero toys, even retro lunch boxes — I shit you not.” I guess old Schnoz boy forgot where I was from, thought Lee. No matter. A gig is a gig, right?
“Now, get on back to your lovely Linda Lovelace and try not to say anything about it to her. We don’t want any Deep Throat business spoiling the show, ha ha. Sharpie will call you tomorrow, I’m sure. Need a little toot? That might help with her, you know. Here, take the keys to the spare Beamer Ari keeps out next to the guest house. We heard about that Pinto shit you drive, crapping out on the 405. Don’t worry about a thing, pal, us studio boys have your back. Ha ha.”
“Oh, and one more thing, Lee. You need to start going to the tanning salon every day for the next week. Your character is also an undocumented immigrant from Brazil. Gotta cut back on the white boy look. Ha HA.”
— Phillip Marlowe