Comments | unburiable: Plane flights look unable to secure themselves without plague.

unburiable

Plane flights look unable to secure themselves without plague.

Feb 23, 2003 01:54

There was an amazing accident underway as I rolled up onto the ramp that headed Eastward. I think by the time my car finally stopped tumbling and pushing through the burning remains of countless other large twisted smudges of steel and rubber and wires and glass, by then all but indistinguishable as automobiles, I’d unintentionally gotten quite ( Read more... )

Comments 18

Robert Forster from Quentin Tarantino's dialogue driven masterpiece, Jackie Brown. foreignpetals February 23 2003, 00:12:59 UTC

Kyle. I trust you enjoyed those courtsides for the Magic last night. Bill Cartwright hooked me up big time. I'll make sure to thank him for you. Carly mentioned something about you wanting to get together for an afternoon pow-wow. I love it. You're creative. Make sure to bring some of your driftwood art. Carly always gets a kick out of that fucking shit. Give me a ring next week and I'll try to pencil you in. I gotta fly. I'm late for my 3 o'clock with Lenny goddamn Kravitz.

Ciao,

LY.

Knife blade to the hilt. foreignpetals February 23 2003, 20:29:04 UTC

But I could kill you. But I could kill you. But I could kill you. But I could kill you. But I could kill you. But I could kill you. But I could kill you. But I could kill you. But I could kill you. But I could kill you. But I could kill you. But I could kill you. But I could kill you. But I could kill you. But I could kill you. But I could kill you. But I could kill you. But I could kill you. But I could kill you. But I could kill you. But I could kill you. But I could kill you. But I could kill you. But I could kill you. But I could kill you. But I could kill you. But I could kill you. But I could kill you. But I could kill you. But I could kill you. But I could kill you. But I could kill you. But I could kill you. But I could kill you. But I could kill you. But I could kill you. But I could kill you. But I could kill you. But I could kill you. But I could kill you. But I could kill you. But I could kill you. But I could kill you. But I could kill you. But I could kill you. But I could kill you. But I could kill you. But I could kill ( ... )

Holding hands under a shower of debris from the explosion. unburiable February 28 2003, 12:03:34 UTC

Sweet something, in your ear.

Sending love to my attempted assasin. foreignpetals February 27 2003, 09:28:28 UTC

Elisabeth Shue and I went out for an evening in the city. We had both eaten prior, so we decided to get drinks at the Paradise Cafe. Word had it William Shatner was going to be performing his spoken word set. We discussed her latest work over some cappuccinos. I had tried convincing her not to do the Nicolas Cage tribute special last year, but she ended up hosting the god damn event. Something about Nicolas doing an acclaimed movie with some no-talent music director named Spike Jonze. Give it up Spike. If your videos suck, what makes you think you can pull a good feature film out of your ass. Hype Williams. That man played his cards right. Direct a Jay-Z video. Get DMX and Nas in your movie debut, Belly. Ca-Ching. He's making money, Spike. Shitty groups like the Beastie Boys aren't going to pay your studio apartment rent, asshole. And then there's that waste of space, Charlie Kaufman. Who the fuck does he think he is, Cher ( ... )

How distasteful. unburiable February 27 2003, 10:30:55 UTC

Somehow, Yorba, you manage to talk more shit than even Quentin did after Oliver Stone turned his shitty lackluster script into something a whole lot less shitty, which is what someone needs to do to you before you can ever make yourself exactly presentable for an audience of over 100+ guests, if you know what I mean.

Last night at The Good Life’s show, I was sharing a drink with Ted Stevens by the rum & fruit bar, during which we had the chance to discuss getting Lullaby For the Working class back together for a special occasion to open for this new band I recently discovered called A Blurred Painting. You see, the thing is, we get an already established band to open, so that way when the main event comes and the huge crowd finds out it’s actually just a note-by-note rip-off of the opener anyway, I’m guaranteed to see the record sales blast off like the Columbia, charting so high it never comes down again, because if you’re a fan of one band, then you must surely be a fan of the other. I win.

We sell records, Yorba. We don’t just ( ... )

Julia Roberts is waiting for me at the new Ethiopian restaurant off 7th and Broadway. foreignpetals February 28 2003, 09:09:01 UTC

Carly walks into my office, while I'm speaking with Martin Sheen about possibly doing a sequel to Terrence Malik's disturbingly somber 1973 film Badlands, and hands me a copy of this week's Star. Written on the front page was "Yorba. Pedophile?"

Carly insists I rationalize and not accuse you.

Carly, I assume is fucking you behind my back.

I'd like to congratulate Neil Garriscond personally on the push to shove tabloid war he has begun.

Robert Redford came by to thank me for the wonderful night I showed his niece, whom I fucked in the ass in the back of my Lincoln Navigator limousine while Carly had her hands covering her eyes. Mr. Redford apologized for your slanderous accusations and convinced me his men were watching your every move, waiting for you to fuck up.

The Enquirer has already called me to ask me about your personal life, Neil. I'll let you be surprised next week when you go buy your greek olives at Frank's at 7PM every tuesday (thank you Mr. Redford).

Good night you cheesy fuck,

Yorba.

Just a question... vaughnb February 28 2003, 07:40:55 UTC

Can't figure it out...Who are you?

They gave me train tickets and six hundred dollars. unburiable March 5 2003, 22:09:49 UTC

We made the Hit Parade, Vaughn. I want you to know that I will always be there for you. Let me know who I have to crush, I'll get on the horn to some Hollywood elite, and we'll make this shit happen in a big way.

Re: They gave me train tickets and six hundred dollars. vaughnb March 6 2003, 08:46:52 UTC

Always good to make those tinsel town connections work for you.

Cash moves the courts of law. unburiable March 8 2003, 08:13:17 UTC

Sometimes I can't always believe the half of it. But things have been going extremely well for the industry ever since those plane crashes in New York. Even Nicholas Cage can make an army suit look dignified, and as long as the nine figures keep sleeping in my bed every night, well then that's the way we like it.

Should I have a limo pick you up at The Northern or Embassy Suites? Because if you're even thinking about being late for the pre-production meeting tonight, Steven Spielberg is going to have you by the throat and eyes.

Thread 5

Hum De' Dum, I Know Where Your From . . . wordsliveinlies February 28 2003, 11:25:23 UTC

and by the way your photography rocks...

--> Summer

From a speeding pick-up. unburiable July 19 2003, 13:59:15 UTC

These three fuckin' goof-offs at the corner store who think they're pretty fast with the mouth; well we're all seeing just how fast they really are now that half their faces are spread out across the floor like burn stains from a spilled pot of soup. I walked up to the counter, right, and so the one with the long hair that he must have found crumpled up in his older brother's closet at the bottom of a box of old heavy metals records and bad rock t-shirts . . . well he looks at the torn pocket on my shirt and makes a Good Will crack that could only be funny to a fuckin' Christian, or possibly a couple of gas station attendants like these jerks were. Right after he managed to shut himself up about it I agreed with him that I oughtta try looking out for some charity handouts, and then with the baseball bat I knew they kept behind the counter--available by reaching over the packaged cigars and feeling right under the register--I swung so close to the skull of his face that the very tip of the bat cracked his nose all the way off. It hung ( ... )

This time I'm not impressed someatheiryoung March 3 2003, 11:36:09 UTC

Dear Neil,
Your new flood of groupies is making me fucking sick.
Sincerely,
Jeremy Talcott,
self employed

Jogging in place while waiting for Carly to read me my schedule of events for this week. foreignpetals March 5 2003, 08:40:05 UTC

CHICAGO, IL. The Smashing Pumpkins are scheduled for their last public appearance together. All the important people make it out to the show, including a then heroin addict, Neil Garriscond. Naturally, I was watching the performance from the side of the stage to avoid paparazzi.

Midway through the set, Billy signals for me to join him on the stage and hands me his guitar. He introduces me as the originator of the next song and, still in my Prada suit with corresponding mocassins, we bust out with Rhinoceros, from the 1991 release, Gish. During the song, I glanced through the stage lights at the skybox seats reserved for Garriscond's party. He stood with a pale face, which made him look like Robert Downey in the movie Less Than Zero, an attempted adaptation of the Bret Easton Ellis novel of the same name ( ... )

Not that it's any of your business. unburiable March 5 2003, 22:31:26 UTC

ROWLAND HEIGHTS, CA. I’m checking myself in the mirror, with a small pair of scissors in hand, snipping a bit here and a bit there until I look like a million dollars. You see, I look good, but nobody who looks good lets themselves go out not intentionally looking better ( ... )