Location: The Suck, California

Me. Stars. Effers.

Wednesday, December 07, 2005

Love getting Stoned

Today's post has no pretenses. It does not aspire to journalistic heights. It attempts no fancy footwork. Today's post is all about getting STONED.

Or more precisely, Oliver Stoned.

Let me set the scene. A few years ago I was in attendance at the New Line Cinema Holiday party. This was back in the glory days of New Line, the rebel years before Faggy Frodo and Friends set up shop. These were the halcyon days when company founder Bob Shaye fended off multiple sexual harassment suits, Executive VP of Production Richard Sapperstein was accused of both bigamy AND fraud, and President of Production Mike DeLuca famously got thrown out of an Oscar party for getting a very public blowjob from the sister of actor Cary Elwes - the same party, incidentally, where Farrah Fawcett was seen "pooping" on the lawn.

These were good times people. Good times. And there was no way in hell I was skipping this "Holiday" party. So, after assuring my then-girlfriend (yes, the Beaver one) that there would be mischief and mayhem in spades, we rolled up on the scene.

Much to our dismay, it was a bit slow. No bigamy or fraud within sight. No public BJs either. Snap. We did see Cary Elwes - the cinematic equivalent of "pooping" on a lawn - but I wasn't drunk enough to do my Dread Pirate Roberts routine on him yet (this consists of slapping him on the ass and whispering "As you wish, Buttercup" breathily into his ear).

It was getting boring. Wesley Snipes walked in. YAWN. Quentin Tarantino strolled in wearing all-white Kanga gear, lapping up sycophantic praise and pretending to be Black...again. Fucking twat.

Then, around 10:30, it happened. "Hey Effer! Effer! C'mere!" It was M.E.B., my industrious industry friend. She's what Wonder Woman would be like if the Amazon princess took mad bong rips and was obsessed with Springsteen. "Get the fuck over here Effer, you don't want to miss this!"

When we approached M.E.B. she held up her hand and showed us a beautifully rolled joint. Then, with a sly grin, she added "Wanna get high... with Oliver Fucking Stone?"

Um... fuck YES.

Thirty seconds later it was me, my girlfriend, M.E.B., Oliver Fucking Stone, and Courtney Fucking Love all huddled together in a circle at the crowded bar, passing this beautiful, beautiful joint. Me and my girlfriend kept sneaking smiles at each other, as if to say "Is this really happening?" M.E.B. was right in the thick of it, injecting herself into the Love-Stone conversation at every opportunity.

And though M.E.B. was doing a mighty fine job getting Stone's attention, Courtney Love was steamrolling right over her. What we quickly learned was that Courtney was desperately trying to convince Oliver to cast her as "The Sister" in who-knows-what script. Sloppy is the only word to describe her demeanor. Already way too fucked up on something before the weed and alcohol, she was rapidly approaching the point where vertical was not an option. But that didn't stop her from pimping herself out like a seasoned pro. Propping one arm on my girlfriend and the other on Oliver's shoulder, she leaned into his ear and spewed hot propaganda on why she deserved to play "The Sister" and how she could guarantee him an Oscar nomination. It went on like this forever. Most people in her state would've been taken to the ER, but she was too busy muscling Oliver Stone for a movie role to collapse from an overdose.

On the surface it may have looked like I was listening to all this, but in my mind I was begging her to do something completely crazy. Maybe it was the weed taking hold of my senses, but the whole time she was huckstering I was secretly praying that she would give me some cuckoo. I wanted a story, and not just one I could write about on some stupid fucking blog. I wanted something I could sell to the papers. "Come on Courtney, he's not listening to you. Make him listen! Don't let Farrah Fawcett get all the glory. She's just a Charlie's Angel - you're a Post Feminist Punk Rock star! You're Mrs. Cobain for fuck's sake! Do something nucking futs!!"

And what was Oliver Stone doing this whole time?

Surprisingly, the whole time Courtney Love was yammering on about "The Sister" role all he did was stare at tits. He'd stare for a while at my girlfriend's tits, then over at M.E.B.'s rack, then down into Love's junkie cleavage, then start the cycle all over again. For variation, he'd change up the ogle order, but that's all the man did: stare at tits.

Having just come off a long flight from Malaysia, his eyes reduced to red, swollen slits, he looked more stoned than all of us put together (well, except Courtney, but that doesn't count since she prays to the Devil). Apparently he had taken "some stuff to relax" on the plane and had yet to come down off of it. So, all he could do was just stand there looking at tits until the joint came around. Then he'd bogart that J for ages, getting it good and moist with his Doors-digging-drool - all the way to the fucking cherry - before finally passing it on again.

At one point I leaned in to tell him my anecdote about Ron Kovic, the Vietnam vet whose life served as the basis for the film "Born on the Fourth of July," but Oliver just swayed over at me, looked down to see that I had no tits, then summarily turned his attention elsewhere. He could give a rat's ass about Vietnam at this moment, he was balls-deep in choice titty and I wasn't going to distract him.

My admiration for the man was at an all-time high. And so was I apparently because I didn't even blink when that sopping wet joint made its way back over to me. I was convinced that smoking a doobie coated in Oliver Stone's drool was somehow going to help my writing career. The Pope of Pop Subversion was anointing me with his Holy Water. I crossed myself upon exhalation and passed the joint to M.E.B.

As the pot smoke wafted throughout the room and the presence of Oliver and Courtney got people's attention, we found ourselves getting invaded by other star fuckers. They were pushing in all around us and Ollie was starting to get cagey. He tore his eyes away from the breast buffet long enough to spot the exit. Our ten minute huddle was soon to be over.

I tried one last attempt at conversation with Oliver, but Courtney was too overpowering. Satan juice was coursing through her veins and "The Sister" role would be hers at all costs.

The joint was smoked down to a tiny wet roach. Oliver was pulling away. Courtney was sticking like succubus glue.

Moments later it was all over, just the three of us again. We ordered a round of drinks and toasted M.E.B. and her amazing Star Effing powers.

God Bless the dirty years of New Line Cinema. God Bless Love and Stone.


Blogger pylorns said...

I think I would have kept saying "back and to the left.."

5:58 AM  
Blogger writebrother said...

Getting stoned with Oliver Stone is classic. Apparently once when my friend and I were completely blazed I told him that if I could go back in time I'd smoke out with Humphrey Bogart, just to tell him "hey don't bogart the joint." Stupidest shit ever, yet apparently it cracked us up at the time.

Your blog is the shit.

10:22 AM  
Blogger Odd Gyrl said...

Evidently getting annointed with Stone's oral holy water HAS helped make you an especially good writer--dare I say great? The stories you have and the way you tell them just effing rock!

Couldn't count how many times I laughed while reading this one, dude. I think I'll get stoned and read it again... I agree with writebrother: your blog IS the shit!

11:37 AM  
Blogger Paul said...

Man, I remember that party too!

But while you were getting this story to happen, I was standing and doing tequila shots with the head of New Line (Bob Shaye) and then drunkenly going up to Jenna Elfman to tell her she should know who I am because I went to college with her cousin.

Oh well. No tits in my story.

1:47 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Succubus Glue - - I love those guys; they rock.

2:11 PM  
Blogger Rina said...

Dude, the comments you get for your "fucking blogs" are almost as funny as the pieces you post!

Solve the following analogy:

Female Rack:Ogle Magnet=

Effer's blog:
a) other really effing funny writers
b) Beavers
c) Succubus Glue
d) The Suck
e) Hot writing
f) all of the effing crap above.

2:50 PM  
Blogger Sizzle said...

What I wouldn't give to see someone slap Cary Elwes ass and whisper breathily "as you wish" in his ear.

Seriously, next time, you better do it.

:) sizz

5:24 PM  
Blogger HighMaintenanceHussy said...

hehehehe...I swear, you've led an amazing life so far. And I, for one, am delighted that you write on a "stupid fucking blog."

somehow, i KNEW that oliver stone would be one to bogart. Next time I'm in Amsterdam, I'll make sure to crotch it before he gets near.

5:36 AM  
Blogger LisaBinDaCity said...

Reading your blog brings back LOTS of LA moments. You are a riot!

And the idea of Courtney Love slobbering all over ANYONE is just downright scary.

7:40 AM  
Blogger Melissa said...

Awesome story. You never fail to deliver.

7:52 AM  

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