16 Comments

Once again, you nailed it.⚡️

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Please tell me that you have a dog-eared manila folder lurking in a box of miscellany that contains tattered scripts in Selectric font with your boss' editorial comments in the margins: "Too many Oh! Oh!s" "The spanking is good- more spanking!".

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NoNoNoNo NOOOOOO. I threw all that stuff away. It wasn't art, it was merely smut.

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The phone sex outfit where I worked sold "soiled" panties: wisps of cheap nylon lace with a squirt of hand lotion smeared into the crotch. We shipped them with little handwritten notes (yes, a heart instead of a dot over each "i") drenched in cheap perfume, just in case the scent of the lotion raised suspicions.

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Also: 1) thanks for settling my Foley room questions—lo-fi finger-lips etc. And: 2) does getting a massive bill for someone else’s enjoyment of *your* original, underpaid creative content…remind you of anything?

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Besides the New York Times?

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I meant to say: Bingo! NYT and so many others.

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“…my mother naturally opened and read it, assuming it was for her, even though I was several hundred shades lighter blonde than she was), my mother blamed me for ‘pulling in that kind of energy.’” Sedaris-t in the best way.

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Damn, thank you Brother!

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Misty, water colored, lovely. Oh, and my daughter just discovered “Winter Steele” online; her whole being lit up in a way that I imagine only you can inspire, and yes, you’re gonna be responsible for.

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Thanks J.D.! Always a thrill to see you're reading these things.

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I love this period of life. I remember wanting to work in an adult bakery - quasi sexy employ that fell somewhere safely between the attractions of candy and sleaze. And days of roommates whose phone bills wiped out your summer earnings and every poster covered a punched-through wall…

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Those were the Dayyyyyys.

Goils were goils and men were men.

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Good one Bitzy. I remember when you and some of our creative gal pals were making those splooge scripts. Also your Jäegermeister career... One of my first jobs when I moved to LA was working for one of Roger Corman’s spin off, adult soft core film companies, doing the voice over sex grunts, moans and orgasms. Evidently, the actors just weren’t convincing enough.

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That's a scream!! Thank you Father Furillo.

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I worshipped a cardboard cut out of Captain Morgan.

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