Suck My Hollywood: Shove Your Pen Up Your Ass

So, the Writers Guild of America has called for strike action by its 12,000 members this Monday, all because they think writers should get more money or some such shit.

Fucking writers.

I've had nothing but fucking trouble with these pencil-dicked pen-pushers. I remember back in 1993, having a really rough fucking time trying to get a writer to stick to my vision for a movie I had greenlit called Tank vs Tank. It was an idea put to me by my good friend and fellow producer LeonHeimlich, about a crazed Soviet agent trashing downtown New York with a big, fuckin' tank. The only guy who could stop this crazy Commie was a US tank commander called Karl Tank, a bad-ass with a dark past and an addiction to crack cocaine. Cue lots of spectacular tank chases, shit blowin' up and Karl Tank fuckin' some chick on the roof of his tank. It was a license to print money, as far as I was concerned.

So, I sent the synopsis to this fresh, new writer called Teddy Lunge, who had just written an Oscar-nominated screenplay for a film called I Dream of Lenin for the Wankblast Brothers. I had heard good things about this kid.

I had been badly misled. The next day, I get a phone call from Lunge, who's going out of his mind. He moans at me for a good half an hour, saying he thinks that Karl Tank is "underwritten" and has no real depth to him.

"Depth?" I snorted down the phone. "If I wanted depth, I'd stick my dick in your mom's pussy! 'Depth?' I mean, what the fuck is wrong with you? It's a fucking popcorn flick, man."

"But I don't get the whole deal with the Soviet agent," this little shit wails on. "Why is he going on this rampage? He seems to be a simple stereotype, a cypher. He's nothing more than a blank screen for you to project some anti-Russian rhetoric."

"For fuck's sake, kid, did you shove a fuckin' dictionary up your ass or somethin'? Listen, I don't know what you're whinin' on about, but I will tell you this - all I want is a shit-load of explosions, some fucking kick-ass quips and maybe a comedy Irish cop. You'll fuckin' write what I fuckin' want, kid, if you wanna stay in the business."

Lunge hangs up and then a couple of days later I get a fucking gay-ass letter saying that he's bowing out of the project, citing 'creative differences.'

Yeah. Creative differences. The difference being, I'm a white-hot volcano of liquid creativity, and he's a fucking dick.

Anyway, I passed the project on to one of my regular guys, who turns in a fan-fucking-tastic script, (man, the line "Tanks for nothing!" still makes me piss my pants), and the film goes on to do stellar business at the Box Office. And where's Ted Lunge? Probably dead or something, I'd guess.

So fuck writers. If they wanna get a bigger slice of the profit, they gotta stop fuckin' whining all the goddamn time and do some actual fucking writin' for once.

And they gotta stop doubting my fucking genius.

- Vic Gallium.