Outside Of Los Angeles: Shitbird
What do I like to do? I like to write. Is writing free? You bet your sweet ass. I wrote some more. Is that part of the goal of setting aside next year’s tuition? Is that part of spending less? Is that part of earning more? Is that part of saving more? Is that part of staying physical? Is that part of setting goals and working towards them? Is that part of educating myself and investing in an appropriate vehicle based on age, goals, and risk? Yes. It keeps me sane and that gets all the other parts moving right in the machine. I am continuing to write more for my online (for now) piece that I call “Outside Of Los Angeles“. Maybe some day it will make me a couple of bucks? We’ll see. Enjoy:
“Anybody asks you for money to produce a film, brother, save yourself some grief- take them out back behind the dumpster and kick their teeth in. I rode that fuck-bus through Shit Town once, won’t ever do it again. I’ve known degenerate gamblers with more integrity than this breed of shitbird. Working in alternative finance has its pitfalls. Odds are that you’re gonna have to break a sweat more often than not collecting your weekly, that’s why the juice on the paper going out is higher than at your local credit union. These film guys don’t have the same understanding about how out-of-market paper works as your regular clientele does. The gamblers, restauranteurs, pimps, masseuses, and strip club managers all understand that being late is a costly misunderstanding that only happens once. Not the film shitbirds. They think that since they are making a movie that I’m gonna be starstruck and wag my tail like a mutt staring at a bone. Their mistake is thinking that Los Angeles lives and breathes because of the shitty film they’re trying to triple their money on. LA was a slaughterhouse long before it was a movie town. The Spaniards wiped out the indigenous population as they set up Jesus on the west coast. White America ran like hell at the Pacific and stomped the guts out of anyone in their way. Military and industry were king out here until they discovered oil. Yeah, this whole fucking town was an oil field, oil derricks pumping up and down as far as the eye could see. All that money from war, the railroad, shipping, oil, booze, drugs, whores, and murder has been regulated in the alternative market for a few hundred years before that shitbird took out paper with me. I should have known he was gonna be a hassle when he wanted me to read the script and meet the actors- all I care about is the weekly juice. I’m a business man, fame is for the weak and desperate. He had this young girl, a production assistant, come by with half of the first due. Shep broke her nose. Most people look down on hitting a woman. It serves a purpose in this industry. It sends a very clear message that fucking around is not accepted. But not to that shitbird. He ran. I put three guys on the trail. Took about a month to locate him in Ojai. They sat on him for ten days. Pulled two toenails off with a pair of pliers and he gave up his ATM pin. It took a frozen Coke bottle being jammed up his ass before he signed over his car. Shep found the little production assistant out in Burbank and drove her up to Ojai so she could break the shitbird’s nose- sort of Shep’s way of making things right with the girl. Shep and the girl went out for a little fine dining at The Ranch House while the three hitters went all out on the shitbird. They burned his balls with cigarettes and butane lighters until he cashed out his IRA’s online. They finally popped a few Cialis, bent him over the ottoman, and pounded away on him for three hours before he gave up where he had jewelry and cash stashed in a breaker switch box in a townhouse in Woodland Hills. When it was all said and done they had squeezed everything out of this shitbird. There was nothing left. He was ruined financially, physically, and mentally. I got my paper back, I got my juice, and I made sure that the word on the street was that you don’t fuck with me.”
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