Me and my disciples.
For visual purposes you can think of the Friar Tuck of Tinseltown as something of a 2.0 version of the Scarfist Monk, this time with not just a pie in one hand but a stein in the other. And boy, does Hollywood ever need a good party down parson lately! Everywhere you look you find Prince Johns, Sheriffs of Nottingham and lots of cynicism. King Richard is off on crusades in the Holy Land and even Robin Hood is in rehab in Reseda. Poor guy has been hitting the bottle too much lately. After all, he’s used to robbing from the rich and giving to the poor, not the other way around.
Thus I came here to offer my spiritual services to the merry men and women of Tinseltown, a wild and untamed bunch no doubt. The Hollywoodians are in fact true heathens and a breed apart—don’t even try to understand them. Worse yet they have sub-tribes here too such as the Pasadenians (a truly cruel lot), the Burbankians (totally clueless) and the Sado-Monicans, ruled over as they are by the wicked Randites. I’m downright lucky none of them have cooked and eaten me, at least not yet.
Welcome to Sado-Monica!
Oooo, they brought money!
Local hieroglyphics.
Hill people of Beverly.
Headhunter of the “Bu” village.
Rare shrunken headed studio exec.
“DP” with security detail.
Casting couchers and lawyers at audition.
Traditional dance, something about “just inking” something.
Thus to offset such a lamentable fate I decided to do as all the natives do here and hyphenate. This has led to my latest irritation…I mean, iteration.