Saturday, January 31, 2009

Painting A Pretty Portrait


       Rob's mom visited the living space of Rob, also known as her basement.  "What are you doing there, son?"
     "Painting a pretty portrait."
     "Really?  And who is the portrait of?"
     "God!"
     "Oh my, that is quite a task I must say.  Good to finally see you setting goals."
     "I know it's hard but somebody's got to do it or we're all gonna die."
     "Never thought of it that way, but Rob honey, isn't that a mirror you're using for God's portrait?"
     "I know.  I want God to look like me."
     "That's fine, honey, but do you really think God has a zit right there?"
     "Yes!  And if I get another fucking zit, God's getting one too! Oh, hey - can you hand me that candy bar there?"
     "Oh Rob, you know better than this!  Why do you have to paint a picture of God that looks just like you?"
     "Because it suits me!  I'm not stupid, OK?  I'm not going to paint a God that hates me.  Jesus, Mom, what kind of idiot loser does that?"
     "Well, I just don't understand how you can be so sure God is just like you."
    "I got laid, didn't I?  How much more proof do I need God loves me?"
     "But that's like saying everyone should paint God in their own likeness!"
     "If they have a brain in their head they will."
     "But what if the objective truth is God is nothing like you at all?"
     "There's no such thing as objective truth!  Grow up, Mom, will you please?  I don't do pie-in-the-sky, made-up philosophy - I do what makes me feel good.  You should too!  What do you want me to do?  Feel bad??"
     "Of course not, dear, I want to you to feel only wonderful things! But it strikes me that anyone who paints God in his own image is a fucking moron and setting himself up for an irrevocable disaster.  I know if I were God I'd think you were a self-serving loser punk without a future - and the price of that would be to lose all your nooky!"
     "Shut up, Mom!  You're a traitor!  You're trying to get me killed!  Don't listen to her, God, she's just making things up to suit herself!"
     "Rob, dear boy, I can't save you from yourself.  If you want to see the true traitor, look in the mirror."
     Rob's mother left the room, leaving Rob vexed and outraged by her betrayal.  With arms crossed and lips pouted, he sulked and stared into the mirror.  Until suddenly, a smile came across his face.  "Oh, I get it!  God is the traitor!"

Epilogue: Rob died and went to Heaven only to find God was a large black woman with no teeth. Rob was appalled. "You're not God! God hates black people! You're not anything at all like me. Get me outta here!" "Suit yourself," replied God, who pulled the lever to oblige him downwards. And thus poor Rob - self-serving to the end - disinherited himself.

Rob's mom:


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DVD extras!!!

The Critics Rave!:

Peter Travers, Rolling Stone: "I'm a media whore! I loved it!"

Kurosawa: "It's the new Rashomon!"

Godard: "I liked it but it needed more pretension and an uninterrupted 15 minute tracking shot of a traffic jam."

Fellini: "Films are recorded dreams.  He dreams well but does not live well."

PRODUCTION NOTES:

The producer states this film was inspired by an Open Salon comment made to him. "This guy tells me that if I tell him not to meddle in my life, then that is meddling in his life! I'd never heard of anything so convoluted and self-serving before. So I decided to get in this guy's head and see where it led me: to his mother's basement. I mean, come on, how does someone like that expect to have a future in reality? Also, it was a classic example of the Peter Principle."

The following is an exclusive interview with the director, the esteemed Mr. Harry Homeless:

"Tell me, sir, how does it feel to be officially named an auteur?"

"It's fucking awesome, dude! About time you buttmunches recognized my greatness. Michael Phelps is coming over later for a bong party to celebrate."

"Did you have many problems getting your fellow homeless colleagues agreeing to cooperate in this venture?"

"Oh, fuck no. It's that or stay in a cardboard box all day. What would you do?"

"Indeed. Also, in your previous twenty-four films, those too had the setting of a basement. Is there some reason behind this or does the breath of genius simply guide you there each time?"

"I'm fucking homeless, you moron! What am I gonna do, rent out Paramount?"

"Can you tell us about any of your upcoming releases?"

"I dunno. I'll probably whack off again before the end of the day. Why do you care?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of a film release."

"Dude, I'm not gonna film that! Unless...you think I'd make money off it?"

"Let me put it this way, are you making any more films?"

"Fucking A, I am! I got this idea about a homeless guy, see, who shits in a park, and then flies land it. I'm thinking people are really gonna eat that up."

"Truly, you are an auteur, sir, a visionary. I thank you for this most illuminating interview and wish you all the luck on your upcoming film."

"No problem, man. Oh hey, in the sequel, the dude shits indoors. Blockbuster, baby!"

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