Straight outta the Big Orange, baby, it’s time for an all new, all the way live Pony Party, complete with a great big welcome hug (and when I say “hug,” I mean “hug,” okay — keep your mitts off the merchandise) because I been missing you ALL like crazy!
But last week, as you probably heard, there was biz-ness to tend to. As multi-talented, pony-tending partner nocatz explained, Hong Kong called with an offer to finance our newest project, the motion picture version of buhdy’s stunning essay, The Edge of Moistness. Well, okay, they didn’t actually offer, but they did call. Yeah, it was a wrong number – so what? It was like a blind date – I mean, you never know where it might lead, right? Plus, it was a chance to take the Docudharma corporate jet out for a spin, which took a little longer than flying commercial – but hey, it was on the house, so why not? It was actually kind of fun…I’m just not too sure where we are at the moment.
Before we move on, I have to say, nocatz set the bar pretty darn high with his pony-sitting treks the past few weeks. Who else could take us deep into the untamed wilds of the Arizona desert and then just casually throw in a starring role by a U. S. Supreme Court Chief Justice? Tough act to follow — and I’ll get even with him for that later. But being the responsible, totally grown up, gratification-delaying adult that I am, I did manage to steal a few minutes here and there from my busy jet-setting schedule to work on the much-anticipated screenplay for The Edge of Moistness.
So far, the credits are done:
Inspired by a title by buhdydharma.
Story by: kj, nocatz and undercovercalico.
Script by: yours truly.)
Casting is almost complete, too!
Jack Nicholson IS buhdydharma (Lance)
With Edward Norton as nocatz (The Dude)
Sharon Stone as undercovercalico (Samantha)
Lindsay Lohan as kj (Desiree)
Plus, a very special guest appearance by Paris Hilton as moneysmith
(Please feel free to add your own casting suggestions and don’t be shy! No ego too big – that’s our motto! But clearly we need input from some of the PP irregulars – do I need to name names here, people????)
All of which brings us to the topic du jour – the four-letter word: LOVE. Question: Have you ever fallen so crazy mad in love that all you could think about was the object of your affection and how incredibly incredible the person is and for like 24/7 your brain resembles a pork chop marinating in an emotional broth of hormones and endorphins that turns the rest of you into some kind of jelly that you’d really like to slather onto places that we aren’t even going to mention because it’s kind of early and some children might stop by? Nah, me neither. But apparently it happens. Just look at all the songs that have been written celebrating love found and lost, love tripped over, stepped on and squished like a bug. If love didn’t exist, what would musicians write about?? Think of it!!! We would be forced to listen to songs celebrating everyday stuff — the deal we just got on tires at Costco, our new Frosted Strawberry highlights, recipes for pineapple barbecue sauce. See what I’m saying? Everybody wants to wallow in the mud-pit of love, even if they’re wearing their good shoes – just because it’s there! But for some reason, writing about it is … oh, dare I say challenging?
For inspiration, I turned to our sponsor extraordinaire, a cherished website that I wouldn’t share with just anyone. But since you people are already known for discriminating taste, sophisticated and nuanced humor, and traffic-stopping good looks — in other words, since you’re just like me – here you go. Introducing the wonderful world of … Longmire! where romance isn’t just another two-syllable word!
But even Longmire hasn’t been helping when it comes to really nailing a pivotal scene. And according to the “experts,” we need more than just credits and character names. We need an actual script with scenes, preferably the kind that make people shell out 20 bucks – or whatever a movie ticket costs these days. So here’s what we’ve got thus far. To be honest, it might need just a teeny bit more work. But you all can be the judge:
Sunset at the trailer park. Water shimmers in a small blue plastic wading pool, which is good because that kind of hides the clumps of dog hair floating near the bottom.
A lone man, LANCE, stands next to the pool, staring toward the horizon. His clothes have seen better days. In fact, he’s seen better days, and apparently quite a few of them. But even time cannot diminish his chiseled features — or the fact that he still has the butt of a 20-year-old in jeans. (Note: may require 18-year-old body double here).
An attractive woman, DESIREE, looking incredibly provocative in a simple $4,000 designer Spandex mini-dress, steps out of the trailer and walks up behind him.
Desire: You’re leaving again, aren’t you, Lance?
With one eyebrow askance, Lance smiles down at the woman who is clearly putty just waiting to be shaped into something a little more exciting than dough-like cement.
Lance: Damn straight. What’s it to you, woman?
She turns away from him, trying bravely to hide her tears.
Desiree: Nothing! Go ahead, leave! But just remember this – I can’t forget you. I won’t – do you hear me? You’re exactly like those little tiny seeds on the Big Mac buns, the ones that get stuck in my teeth for days, and I can’t get them out without a toothpick. If I could find a toothpick for my heart, for my soul, Lance, I wouldn’t care if you left. But so far, I’m shit out of luck, toothpick-wise.
Lance snorts, derisively. (Or, if derisive is too hard, he can just snort.)
Lance: Oh, yeah. Well, you know what, Desi? I feel the same way about you. Ever since I met you, in the men’s room down at the pool hall, I’ve had the same feeling as that night I nailed your friend Samantha at the beach, when you went to get hot dogs, and we got sand …uhhhhh, in places where it’s not supposed to be.
Desiree: What???? What do you mean … where it’s not supposed to be?
Lance: You know …in my underpants.
Desiree: Underpants??? How old are you – six?
Lance: Okay, in my shorts – happy now? Geez!! You’re just like that sand in my shorts – and a toothpick won’t help.
Desiree looks confused.
Desiree: Wait … you slept with Samantha when I was at the concession stand????
Lance: You were gone a pretty long time.
Desiree: They ran out of sauerkraut for your Warsaw Dog, shithead!
Lance: Whatever! It’s old news. I’m just saying … I still have feely things for you … you’re just like that sand in my shorts.
Desiree: Did it ever occur to you that you could just take a shower and wash your clothes?
Now it’s Lance’s turn to look confused, which he does with ease.
Desiree: Oh, too complicated for you? Well, maybe Samantha could help out!
Lance: Well, uh, yeah — maybe she will. And by the way, you never told me what you were doing in pool hall men’s room at 2 in the morning.
Desiree: Oh – ummmm (she looks flustered) …. Really, I never told you??? Hahahahaha!! Funny story, actually – but you know, we can talk about it later. Anyway, this is no time for words. Kiss me, you big lug!
So anyway, that’s where we are so far. Obviously, it’s got a lot going for it, in terms of not too many big words and plenty of space between the lines. But if you see room for improvement, please feel free to share!! And contributions – ideas, dialogue, characters, cash, dog food, etc. – are welcome, too. Remember, The Edge of Moistness is a co-production, which means I’m not taking all the blame for this sucker.
By the way, you know those rumors – the ones that say Pony Parties are not only educational and informative, but also raise your IQ, whiten your teeth and stimulate new hair growth (but only in places where you want hair to grow)? Sorry, but they’re not true. Also, please understand one thing: if you rec this, you’re going to be flying on the corporate jet next and it’s going to be one bumpy ride, okay? If you’re dying to hit a Rec button, get your butt over to the esteemed Front Page and check out the Recent and Recommended Diaries. Then come back here and totally blow off the rest of your evening with a bunch of other people who apparently have nothing better to do either. It’ll be fun, in a pathetic kind of way.