Dude!
Dude!
So the producer calls me in. Her office is perfect. Designed everything. Window overlooking the hills. I'm in the devil's lair. This is it. The desk. The chairs. The chick. She's fukking gorgeous. Like something out of a fukking movie. Brown hair. Perfect porcelain smile. Borderline inappropriate office casual. The devil in the flesh. I'm corporate so I've seen her before but this is different.
She looks at me up and down. And she starts gushing. Says she loves me. Loves my pics. Loves my laugh. Loves my smile. Loves my vibe.
The whole time I'm thinking: I'm so sexy right now. I've got abs, pecs, my ass looks great. I'm fukking bald. Perfect goatee. fukking perfectly tailored smedium vintage polyester polo. I'm money. I'm on fire. I'm money on fire. I'm 28 god damn it. I'm fukking sexy. JESUS CHRIST!
She's eating this all up. I can see it in her eyes. I can hear it in her voice. The way she tilts her head back and smiles to laugh at my jokes.
She's asking me what kind of women I like. Who my celebrity crush was. I said I don't crush on celebrities. "But I do listen to a lot of NPR on my daily commute. I guess I have a crush on Lauren Chooljian's voice. Yeah, she's a sweetheart."
And she fukking melted in her chair. fukkING RIGHT IM IN.
Then she's like "Did anyone tell you that you have the most AMAZING laugh?"
I swear my dikk was so hard. I'm thinking, dude, I'm nailing this. I'm a fukking natural. I'm sooo fukking TV. I'm like right there. Actually, I'm RIGHT HERE.
She's like, "You don't have any travel plans in the next 6 months. Do you?"
"Nope!"
I'm in brehs.
I'm going to be on a NETWORK TV SERIES. MULTIPLE EPISODES. THE REAL DEAL.
Then she's like "I'm going to need to see your social media pages."
Uh-oh. I'm thinking about how hard I've been going in on these white folks. All the slick shyt I've been saying about Cosby's accusers. And I'm like… you can have my LinkedIn.
Then she's like, we just gotta make sure there's no NUDE PHOTOS of you on the Internet.
I'm like "certainly not." Knowing damn well that's a fukking lie. And I'm fukking disqualified but fukk that no I'm not. Not yet. Not yet. Noooo. NOOOOO! I'm going to lie through my gigantic white teeth until this blows up in my fukking face.
"Nope, nothing like that about me on the Internet."
"Is there anything else interesting that we should know about you?"
"I'm great at Kareoke."
"Really? Well, what songs do you sing?" She leaned in. She was beaming.
"Well, my go-to is Drops of Jupiter by Train. Nobody ever picks it. But if the place is empty or if it's early I can bust out the Brittany Spears, Oops I Did It Again, or Hit Me Baby One More Time. If I'm getting into it, I can do some Cher, Believe. Now, if things are hot and I want to close on a girl I'll hit em with some Lou Bega, Mambo Number 5"
At this point she laughed and said "Oh my god you're PERFECT!"
I just flashed a smile. I KILLED IT!
"Good. Well, we'll send you some paperwork and be in touch. We think you're perfect. Welcome aboard."
I check my email, they sent me paperwork. fukk. IM IN.
But they're going to find out about me.
DAMN IT!
Why didn't this happen like two months ago!? fukk!
