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View My Stats, bitch.
Oh, don't get me wrong -- I've got ideas, all right. Just not the kind that I get paid to have. I think someone should pay me for my ideas, but I just don't have the right connections. You know, in show business, it's all about who you know. And I don't know anyone, although I did once see Rob Lowe walking around the Chataqua Institute in upstate New York. It was while he was dating Melissa Gilbert (did too happen - look it up!) and she was in a play and Rob Lowe petted my dog but then looked disgusted when he got a closer look at my dog. The dog in question was an ancient Chihuahua who had been at the animal shelter where I worked for weeks and he was too old to be adopted and too sweet to kill. His teeth had fallen out years before and his lower jaw, understanding that it no longer had a purpose since Wheezer had no teeth, began to decalcify. This left the old man's tongue hanging out all of the time because his lower jaw was just a fleshy flap instead of having a bone in it. So I don't think Rob Lowe counts as my Hollywood connection. Another time I saw Patrick Duffy in a restaurant but he ignored me because I didn't have a freakishly cute dog with me.
Then this other time I saw Madeleine Stowe and Brian Benben in a restaurant but I ignored them because I had run a marathon that morning and had some drinking and eating to do. But I did enjoy standing near them because it made me feel like a Colossus.
So I have no entree into Hollywood, making my ideas less marketable than they should be.
For example, although it's a clone of a copy, I know that CSI San Antonio would have a huge following. It could star Lorenzo Lamas and Lynda Carter as a plucky pair of detectives who love to hate each other but underneath you sense this tone of smoldering passion. Lorenzo could use his laser pointer to point out Lynda's enormous cleaveage and plastic surgery scars. She could use her magic bracelets to deflect the beam back into his eyes, rendering his eyeballs into hard-boiled eyeballs. Their first case: How did a tablecloth become trapped in a dog door of a house on the white trash block of a decent neighborhood? Hmmmmm. Tablecloth half in and half out of the dog door... If you remove the tablecloth from the dog door, you notice a small loop of brightly colored woven nylon stuck to the cloth by means of a small metal circle. Black and red houndstooth check on the woven nylon and a circular metal tag with the phone number of the house engraved on it.
How could any of this have happened? Did an enraged interior decorator stumble accidentally into the house, see the crappy tablecloth and stuff it through the dog door? Possible. The nylon loop could be a bracelet! But why would it have the phone number of the offending house if it's the designer's bracelet? Did the dogs decide to have a picnic outdoors and try to do it up nice? Did they want a tablecloth to set plates of cat poop on? Then they got distracted because a bug flew by?
So Lynda and Lorenzo would go question a bunch of people and stuff and there would be technicians and stuff.
Then someone would realize that the following scenario had occurred:
A small black kitten had been sleeping on a pile of laundry that included the tablecloth. See? Lots of kitten hair to support this contention. When the kitten awoke, its collar (the nylon loop) had become entangled in the loose weave of the tablecloth. The kitten, not knowing why the tablecloth was yanking on its neck, panicked and began to run. The tablecloth followed along behind the kitten. The kitten attempted to escape the tablecloth's clutches by running outside. The tablecloth got stuck in the dog door as it swung shut, forcing the kitten to back out of its collar and run for its life.
This, dear reader (I'm pretty sure that the singular is correct here), is money in someone's pocket.
I have another one. There's this lady who walks her dogs every day (twice a day) and one day her dogs find a human corpse! In the woods! And the lady had to solve the murder after prying her dogs' jaws off the body, because when you're a Trash Hound, meat is meat. Of course, the police have to meddle in all of the cases, but the lady is the one who always really solves the crime. And another time the dogs find a whole bunch of heroin, and the lady keeps a little bit of it to slow that one dog down a little because sometimes you just can't take that much BUSY and you need a break. But she solves that crime, too. I'm clearly in the wrong business.
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