Tag Archives: junkies

ROOM SERVICE DURING AWARD SEASON

Well, it’s here, that self-congratulatory jerk-off fest and ass kissing extravaganza!

Film, music, and television award shows! Look I’m not trying to hate, I enjoy one or two shows here and there. But Jesus Christ it’s nonstop in this town! I would love if they gave an award for ‘biggest douche bag, biggest asshole, the biggest pain in the ass to work with, biggest ass, biggest man boobs…’

I don’t know, maybe if we get a little more creative, and a little more self-deprecatory maybe the general public wouldn’t take actors and celebrities so seriously. They seem to look at them as these monumental, incredibly important, amazing people. What’s worse though are the sycophants & minions that blog and report on said celebritards. And a lot of those people stay right here in the hotel. These are the flies buzzing around the secondary shit that is Hollywood. Based on the delusion that there’s any glamour in Hollywood, entertainment reporters would be the very lowest on that wrung. How do I know? Because I worked for an entertainment magazine (STAR) long enough to see what a load of stupid fucking tripe all that information and news is. But hey, I grew up in this town so I’m probably a little jaded.

Ok on with it.

Golden Globes Night.
I get a big order $860.00 rm. 412, knock knock.
‘Room service.’ The TV is LOUD; I hear audience laughter as well as heavy room chatter. A lot is going on in there. I sense douchery; I hope I’m wrong.
‘What? what? Who is that? Why are you bothering us! Come back later.’

I knock again and scream loudly over the noise, ‘ROOM SERVICE!’
‘Yes, Yes. Okay. Hold on.’ The door opens a Perez Hilton looking guy gives me a dismissive wave in. Fat dude in purple skinny jeans and deep v-neck with a wolf’s head print. I’m annoyed, right off the bat. Why do I have to be visually offended by your bad taste in fashion and your lack of physical exercise? I hate everything.

I go in, 10 or 12 people are huddled on a couch looking up at a wall mounted plasma screen. They’re consumed.
They’re desperate for a fix. They speak as if they know the celebrities intimately and personally. Using first names, or shortening the name or making child like names of the nominees.
‘Oh my god Patty (Patricia Arquette) is hot!’
‘Well Meryl is like that…’
‘Bobby D was up for that.’
‘And Well George (Clooney I suppose) is so blah blah…’
I’m totally ignored, and someone says ‘pause it.’ The poor man’s Perez replies, ‘Don’t you fucking dare, I need to see this in real time! Ok come in. Quickly please.’ At that point I move even slower. ‘Where would you like…’ I say slowly.
‘Oh god, just over there. Where ever.’

Then a chubby girl in skintight everything. ‘No no not there! Just leave it. Right by the window.’ She gets up with a grunt. ‘Nyuuhh, oh my this looks fan fucking tastic!’ Another rude chubby wubby on the Couch yells, ‘eat my quesadilla bitches and just see what fucking happens!’
‘Oh shut up Gavin!’ I back up towards the door, now I really want to get out of here. I feel my soul being sucked out of every orifice. The depth of this crowd resembles a dried out birdbath.

I leave the room. I look in the book, of course there’s no extra tip or gratuity. ‘Oh God you cheap assholes,’ I say under my breath as I round a corner. I bump into a bellman that’s bringing someone’s luggage to the lobby. ‘Yeah man,’ he says ‘this is the cheapest fucking crowd of the year prepare yourself.’ The next room, 516. Just tea. Small order smaller auto gratuity. I knock,
Room service before I can even finish the sentence a girl whips open the door,
‘Finally.’ she says. The room’s packed with wardrobe racks, and suitcases, and boxes, and shoes and high-end designer shopping bags, jewelry strewn all over the tables. I manage my way around the obstacle course of couture footwear and accessories. I give her the check.
‘Yes yes I’m here dressing and styling VIPs I’m sorry to be short, I just need things delivered very quickly.’
‘That’s nice.’ I say.
She grins at me.
I walk out.

Short & Sweet
The Grammys. In the great words of Chuck D of Public Enemy, ‘Who gives a fuck about a goddamn Grammy.’

More senseless awards for art. I will not be commenting on Kanye West, because I really don’t care. I haven’t heard the new Beck album either. I’ve never listened to music because it won an award. Seems like an Award just solidifies your self-worth as well as a future paycheck.
Most of the guests that I dealt with on Grammy night were too self obsessed to be dismissive or mean. Anybody that was of real importance was already at the show. At the end of any shift (regardless of the event that’s taking place) I usually laugh it off. And I realize that it’s not my career path and you wouldn’t get the entertainment of this lovely little blog, so I will be reporting more about this fantastic award season after the Academy Awards! And we’ll see you at the movies!

 

Vinnie The Guinea’s Rant

Fucking Joey exploded man! He flew into a rage after the Jets lost to New England. He fucking backhanded Maria, split her fucking lip! Supposedly Maria told him, ‘get a life, and your fucking emotional state of being when your teams lose is like a twelve-year-old girl.’

That was it, “BLAM!” Maria’s dad Sal, You know Sal, built like a brick shithouse, he was a wheelman for Fat Tommy, Sal Man! Ex-Marine fought in ‘Nam – killin’ zips in the wire. Had like a necklace of gook ears! Fucking Sal beat up 14 Puerto Ricans in the parking lot of Fucking Yankee stadium they tried to rob him. He found out about the back-hand Joey served up to Maria and like went over there after the game while Joey was watching 60 minutes, like some segment about that asshole who started Facebook that Zuckerjew fuck.

Anyway I mean he fucking rolled Joey out like cheap carpet! Maria had to beg, “Daddy Daddy, please!” He says, “Shut the fuck up, Maria! I’ll beat this Mother-less fuck within an inch of his shitty fucking life!” He laid into him, screaming things at him like at the same time “you wanna hit my baby you fucking bag of shit, HUH?! HIT ME, C’MON! You sorry fuck I’ll make you wish you was never fuckin’ borned!” Then threw him against a wall and fucked up all the wedding pics and family photos, and, to like make it even more fucked up and worser Joey went face first into Angela’s picture (you know Sal’s dead wife and Maria’s saint of a fucking mother, helped retarded kids and disabled old fuckers, you know dead by cancer.

But hey not for nuthin’ years ago they lived by the Fresh Kills Landfill dump on Staten Island, so…. But then like Sal was really like super pissed! “MY ANGELA!” He was like crying and screaming, “YOU FUCKING COCK SUCKER! LOOK WHAT YOU DID TO MY ANGELA!” He picked up that heavy leather footrest thing, ottomans, whatever the fuck, you know the one they bought from Roma D’Italia in Brooklyn and started like BLAM BLAM like beating him wit it! Like the bottom part of it, it has like these black marble legs, and those lil’ legs were kicking the shit outta Joey with every fucking hit.

The neighbors called the cops but they never come there on account of Joey’s dad was the like the desk commander of the 69th precinct and they know Joey’s a loser or some shit and why trouble Joey Sr. with Joey Jr’s. fucking bullshit he’s got hypertension and gout and had to pay off loan sharks and junk dealers on account of Joey Jr.’s degenerate gambling or his dope habit and not for nuthin’ but Joe sr was probably at one time or anotha’ taking payoffs and gifts from Sal as well as Fat Tommy at the Tommy T’s social club where Joey sr. had a espresso and a t-bone steak like clockwork every fuckin Tuesday at like noon.

I can tell you this it looked like The Shining in there, like blood all over the walls, shit all tore up, broken glass and frameless black n’ white photos on the floor and what not, I saw and heard the whole thing from my place next door and like they got like no fucking shame they got the drapes and windows wide open on a Sunday night and screaming and yelling like Sicilian banshees like it sounds like fucking Raging Bull in there with these motherfuckers.

I ain’t gonna say shit cause these scum bags like either one of ‘em will beat me senseless, plus when Joey was in AC Gambling me and Maria fooled around like, let’s just say my sausage fell between her buns and we fucked til the cows came home and she called it a mercy fuck on account of I got like one leg smaller then the other and I gotta wear these orthopedic shoes but I told her not for nuthin’ I don’t need no charity, fuck you Maria I can get laid, just last week Josephine who’s temping in the office of 18th avenue plumbing supply gave me a hand job behind a dumpster and plus I got other prospects, and she said “yeah but a handjob and getting laid are in like in to different galaxies so what the fuck Vinnie?”

She was right and it was amazing to having had fucked her and I’m thinking about her a lot and plus I called her dad about the back-hand thing because fuck Joey Jr anyway! He called me a “lame” and “wobble walk” and “Vinnie Stutter step” in school so fucking his wife was like revenge you only read about in books, or see on television. And plus even my Father who is kind of soft, and quiet compared to other tuff motherfuckers in the neighborhood was like “Jesus Stevie, you gotta get laid, I mean Christ you must be walking around sexually frustrated with a heavy sack or like you must beat off like your going to the electric chair.”

Which both things are true but like I don’t want my father saying that to me I’m thirty-seven and plus I still live at home, but a lot a guys live at home, even into there like 50’s and fuck it’s expensive to move and not for nothing I chip in for food and clean up but my mother insists on doing my underwears and shit ‘cuz I bleached out the a bunch of colors and turned the whites blue cuz I don’t pay attention to what colors go with what cleaning chemicals so anyway, I was having this idea that maybe Sal will beat Little Joey like into a comatose type deal, so like I can be with Maria or console her through her trials and tribulations and however you say that.

Like I think about how much I enjoyed bangin’ her out I actually can’t stop thinking about her and sometimes I mean like once in a while I peak in on her through da window when she’s taking a dump or showering or pissing. Like a coma type deal or even like I mean if he died to, that wouldn’t be the worse thing that ever happened on this block either, like not for nothing you know father Mc Murphy diddled little cocks and fiddled with boys and girlses assholes and he like got off free as a fucking bird and moved out west, the church is like the mafia they take care of there own, but one of those kids was Fat Tommy’s godson and he was fucking like super pissed and word has it he put 25k on the street to have Mc Murphys cook and balls put in a mason jar, and I guess he put a couple of his soldiers on the street and even one went out west supposedly allegedly.