Ted Danson in Jerry and Tom.unburiableJuly 18 2003, 20:45:11 UTC
First thing in the morning I got a call from Ally Sheedy's assistant Gabriel asking where the fuck Ally was. That man's voice is rather whiny, in a very singular manner that I can hardly place my finger on but for the middle finger I raise blandly while quesioning it's purtorted relevance to me. He's built like a conjugal dragon, this guy, and he's not all that whiny in person, but son of a bitch if he doesn't sound like a little girl when I put him on speakerphone. Before I could get a few dozen words out he'd already asked two questions alone about the Remedy Lounge and another about what sort of drinks I let Ally have. But you know, if I wanted to play babysitter to an already established patron of a very visited bar in a crucial section of the New York district proper, I'd have instead brought the Olsen Twins.
So I answered this "assistant" guy's questions by curtly switching over to my secretary Belinda and asking her why she'd patch this worthless commoner-who-struck-it-lucky-getting-hired-by-a-star over to me when my eyes were barely even open. She apologized immediately and took care of the rest of the calls for me until ten, after my late breakfast with Killian LeNouve, from Pill's Haberdashery, about fitting myself with a new suit for the Oscar races next year.
My office felt pretty lonely today, but that's not because I didn't have a ton of goddamned vistors, all of whom were useless to me even though some of them were big names and big wallets. I just haven't been feeling quite like I need this building anymore. The Twin Towers were once the landmark I could point to when people gave me the raised eyebrow. I could point to it and I could say, "You know what that means to me?"
And did they?
"It means there's always another fucking office to climb higher than. From my point of view, sir, you're not quite as tall as that set of buildings out there, and so in my great efforts to effortlessly become grained out of the primitive collective that people like you always seem to want to bundle me into just so you can have my name on your end credits so you'll likely receive a handjob or two at the premiere, why am I not out there pushing those buildings down to make way for my office instead of standing here giving you more moments of my time than I can possibly stomach to afford? Can't you see my face growing green?"
In 1979 I covered up an automobile accident with money. I covered up dichotomy with a check. And do you know who signed it?
Not me. I didn't have the time. I had my secretary Belinda do it because that's what I pay her to do.
So I answered this "assistant" guy's questions by curtly switching over to my secretary Belinda and asking her why she'd patch this worthless commoner-who-struck-it-lucky-getting-hired-by-a-star over to me when my eyes were barely even open. She apologized immediately and took care of the rest of the calls for me until ten, after my late breakfast with Killian LeNouve, from Pill's Haberdashery, about fitting myself with a new suit for the Oscar races next year.
My office felt pretty lonely today, but that's not because I didn't have a ton of goddamned vistors, all of whom were useless to me even though some of them were big names and big wallets. I just haven't been feeling quite like I need this building anymore. The Twin Towers were once the landmark I could point to when people gave me the raised eyebrow. I could point to it and I could say, "You know what that means to me?"
And did they?
"It means there's always another fucking office to climb higher than. From my point of view, sir, you're not quite as tall as that set of buildings out there, and so in my great efforts to effortlessly become grained out of the primitive collective that people like you always seem to want to bundle me into just so you can have my name on your end credits so you'll likely receive a handjob or two at the premiere, why am I not out there pushing those buildings down to make way for my office instead of standing here giving you more moments of my time than I can possibly stomach to afford? Can't you see my face growing green?"
In 1979 I covered up an automobile accident with money. I covered up dichotomy with a check. And do you know who signed it?
Not me. I didn't have the time. I had my secretary Belinda do it because that's what I pay her to do.
That's who I am.
Regards,
Neil Garriscond.
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