Monday, February 16, 2009

Mission Five: Some Unfinished Show Business

Bringing a movie's production to an end. If Lindsey Lohan can do it, surely I can.

I decided I should dress appropriately. The movie industry is a tough business.

I was ready to take anything The Biz had to throw at me.

"Frankly, your screenplay sucks. It's convoluted and highly impractical. And where you're trying to be funny...well, you're not."

I left Soderbergh's office with a stoic expression on my face, which quickly melted into one of despair in the elevator. "Why?" I sobbed.

Now there was nothing left to do but destroy Nick Fury's movie. And I was looking forward to it. Hollywood has taken so much from me, and I plan on taking something from it!

I arrived on set in full costume.

"Great, it's about time. Go over there," a strange little Jew commanded.

I walked onto the platform where he pointed. With a wave of his hand, he signaled to an operator who made the platform fall out from under me. I plummeted to the ground and rolled down a fake dirt hill.

"Great!" the guy cried. "Cut!"

I dusted myself off and got back to my feet.

"Okay, that's the only stunt we need for Stark today."

"I'm not a stunt double," I said pushing some random buttons on the suit. Suddenly a ball of light blasted from my palms and disintegrated the little Jew.

"Oh, bloody hell!" one of the actors screamed. "This is the fifth director we've lost. I knew I should have never put my own money into a film."

"It's okay, Mr. Crowe. The public doesn't care about the directors, and the truth is, they don't really do anything. We'll just finish up shooting and we can give you the director credit."

"Good," Russell Crowe replied, "I want a muffin."

"Yes, sir," the assistant ran off quickly.

"You!" the foreign actor exclaimed. "Weren't you the bouncer at Studio of Doom 54?"

"Didn't I mostly decapitate you?" I retorted.

"Yeah," he replied in a dreamy accent. "I got better."

We starred in silence for several minutes. The tension was thick. Two masterful combatants looking deep into each others souls, neither flinching at the thought of the horrific bloodshed to come.

"Here's your muffin," a lanky lad said extending a blueberry muffin into the actors face.

Without losing eye contact with me, he took a large bite from the muffin. He chewed slowly, methodologically, and after a hard swallow said, "You're going to die."

"Try not to lose your head," I replied.

He threw his cell phone at me. It hit my chest plate and then fell to the floor, breaking.

"M-my god!" he stumbled, "Y-you're...invincible in that thing!"

"And I can do this!" I hit some random buttons and palm-blasted Russell Crowe into pieces.

The rest of the crew fled in panic.

Now, assuming that Nottingham was the fake working title for the Nick Fury movie, that was a job well-done.

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