If it wasn't for bad taste, I wouldn't have no taste at all
If Robert Evans worked at Abu Ghraib:
As I was shoving the third glowstick into the prisoner's butt, it hit me – this kid's the next Bobby DeNiro. I paused for a cup of coffee. I take it black, black like Warner Brothers' books were after I convinced them to make Love Story
. Mohammed was going to be a star: I could feel it in my bones. I unleashed the Dobermans to gnaw on him for a while, and then I called up Francis Ford Coppolla
"Hey kiddo, it's me," I said
"I got this guy. He's hot. I'm talking Jimmy Caan hot. I think he should be in your next movie. He's an Iraqi prisoner of war and he can do it all. Naked man pyramids, standing on chairs trying not to get electrocuted -– he's incredible!"
"I don't know, Bob. I've already got Lynndie England signed to a three-picture deal. I don't know if I can afford to take on any more new blood".
"Believe me, Francis, you pass on this guy, it'll be a mistake. An even bigger mistake than The Godfather
was before I told you to re-edit it."
"Bob, I gotta go. I got to get back to the vineyard".
He hung up. I was taken aback, even more so than when I watched John Belushi try to inject a syringe full of ham into his left butt cheek at the premier of 1941. I had failed with Francis. He had not taken my advice before; where do you think One from the Heart came from? But I was still feeling down. I resolved to try again. I was going to be back on top in no time. Could I make it happen, not only for me but for the young Iraqi on the floor with Hollywood dreams in his eyes and a dog's teeth wrapped around his testicles? You'd better believe it, baby.
I called up Roman Polanski. Would he be unwilling to work with me after I sullied the reputation of Chinatown with The Two Jakes? Not by a long shot.
"Roman, buddy, I got a kid who can act and doesn't mind wearing a leash. How about you put him in your next picture?"
"I am an artist," said Roman. "I can't just put someone in a movie just because he's willing to wear a leash""
"No! Walter Matthau loved wearing leashes and look what happened with Pirates. It won't work."
I decided to pull out my trump card, much like I pulled Warren Beatty's fat out of the fire for much of the 70s. But would it work? Would I be able to convince Roman to take my guy on? You bet your sweet ass I would.
"Roman, look we've got this guy in a dress. When you slick his hair back, he looks like a 14-year-old girl."
"And Roman, we've been making him touch other men's wee-wees for several hours a day for the past three months. The guy's a pro."
I had done it. In the crazy world of Tinseltown, I'd been up and I'd been down. And when I was down, I was really down. I mean I didn't have two nickels to rub together. But I always knew I'd be back on top in no time. And now I was back and ready to take the town by storm again.
"You hear that Mohammed? Your name's gonna be in lights."
Mohamed stirred. "Please give me some food. I am very hungry."
"Mohammed, you're going to have lots of food. And women. But first, it's time for your daily urine soaking."
It felt good peeing on Mohammed. I've urinated on a lot of people in my time -– Warren Beatty, Jack Nicholson, the incomparable Sharon Stone -– but it always felt best being able to shower a young up and comer with my golden spray. This kid was going to be hotter than a Kid Notorious DVD box set, and I was going to be there for the ride. Believe it, baby.