"Ok, you, blonde gal in the blue dress. Can you swing dance?"
I was about to answer in the negative, when Dave opened up his big fat pie hole and answered for me. "Yes, she can!"
SHUT UP! OH GOD SHUT THE FUCK UP!
"Great, you two, right here in front of the stage. When the music starts, just go into it. We're going to pan across you and the other couples dancing." First AD walked away, and I gave Dave a nice bruise on the shoulder.
"What the hell is wrong with you?"
"We're going to be on camera. It's all good!"
"Dave, you KNOW I can't dance!"
"Just follow my lead."
The band troops in, and I get my first good look at Mr. Setzer. The man is shorter than I am. He was wearing three inch heels and he was still shorter than I am. Although he had a really beautiful guitar, I'll give him that. But, overall, pretty silly looking. They did play live, though, so I give 'em mad props for that. Usually it's a tinny playback loop.
We do our first rehearsal, music full blast, and the director is watching us all dance.
Or, in my and Dave's case, flail about like idiots. Jesus. God. I hated him so much right then.
And I noticed that the camera start position is shifted ever so subtly to the right of us. Cropping us entirely out of the shot. Oh thank God. Dave, who was so self-centered you could use him as a pole star, didn't even notice.
After the dancing is over, we cut to a scene with Luke Perry and his flavor of the month at the bar. I wasn't placed in that scene, so I left the set for a bit to go smoke. When I came back, I noticed Dave was sitting at the bar, right next to Luke and the girl. (Brown hair, kinda exotic looking, don't remember her character name. Didn't care to remember it.) And just as I walk up, I hear this girl say to Dave, "Who are you? Do you even KNOW me? God, rude."
My eyes went wide. Dave had just made one of the principal leads very, very pissed. And it was no secret that the two of us were there together. Fucking hell. Just what I needed. To be blacklisted from a show I worked regularly because Dave couldn't keep his fucking mouth shut.
I walked away and pretended not to know him. Seemed safest.
About three minutes later, he came over to me looking like he'd just been slapped. "I'm being sent home. You want me to wait for you in the parking lot?"
"No. Go home. I'll be fine." I couldn't quite keep the grin off my face. He left without another word.
A few hours later, the AD walked up to me and said, "Hey, look, were you with that kid?"
"I was. I'm so sorry that he was so rude."
"No no, not your fault. I want you to know, he's not welcome back here again. But you are. So don't worry about it. Ok?"
"Thanks." Whew. Dodged that bullet. But Dave was never going to hear the end of this from me. Oh no.
A few weeks later, Phantom Menace opened. Dave, being the supreme geek that he was, insisted that we dress up for the premier. I went along with it, because, hey, I was pretty excited too.
Halfway through the movie, Dave realized I was more intent on paying attention to the movie than to him. So, to get my attention, he barfed into the popcorn. No, he wasn't drunk. He was just worked up. I flared my nostrils, ignored him, and continued watching the movie. I didn't even acknowledge him when he came back from the bathroom half an hour later.
And when the movie was over, I dumped his ass. Publicly. In front of the entire theater of nerds and geeks.
That is why I love Episode One as much as I do. Jar Jar ain't got nothing on Dave for annoyance factor.
That's it for this week's Goldmine. We'll see you next week to celebrate a wonderful subject for this beautiful feature - haiku about my penis. See you then!
If that boy isn't willing to shoot his laser and get you that carbon, he's not worth your time.
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The Comedy Goldmine examines the funniest and most creative threads from the Something Awful Forums. Although the Comedy Goldmine has changed authors many times over the years, its focus on the Something Awful Forums is still the same. Includes hilarious Photoshops, amusing work stories, parodies, and other types of oddball humor.