Get ready for some clever satire.
Hollywood teaches: Hollywood is a land of mansions and drug addict hovels with nothing in between. Evil producers will manipulate impressionable young actresses, use them up, and then discard them like broken toys. Dreams will be shattered, big deals will be brokered, and there will probably be some exciting murder happening somewhere. If David Lynch was involved expect to see a cowboy, a swinging lightbulb, and something that isn't scary at all but has been made slightly scary because there is isolated sound or the lighting is weird.
The reality: Hollywood is absolutely terrible at making movies about itself. They exaggerate every failure and success to the point of cartoon. The movie industry doesn't revolve around mobsters and Shakespearean intrigue, it's a big, loud, slightly seedy version of an amusement park, as dumb and artless as that implies.
It's a fire truck on a FUCKING STREET, FUCKER.
Hollywood teaches: Hollywood holds Small Town, USA in utter contempt. It is either a thin facade of inoffensive pleasantness with ugliness and violence lurking beneath or the facade is gone and it's just an ugly poverty-wracked hell. Huffing gangs of perverted drug dealers and hateful dullards rule the streets and Bjork gets hanged mid-stanza. The one exception is when a nuclear holocaust is approaching, presumably because all actual centers of culture in America have been vaporized. In that case small-town Americans exhibit stoic survival instincts until their hair and teeth fall out and they shit blood while cradling a dead baby.
The reality: David Lynch was pretty much right. Small towns in America are terrorized by kidnappings of children, severed ears, and psychopaths that wear a fake mustache when conducting drug deals.
A thousand years ago, dudes were dying from splinters, but now the wizard potion that cleans our light wounds costs less than a Dr. Pepper in 1994. I love this medicinal 7up.
U2 and Apple have conspired to place a U2 album into your music in the year 2014. You own a U2 album. And you can't get rid of it.
Ron Paul spins in his chair, trying to grab his decorative antique musket but Freddy gets it first.
It is said the Lord did write upon the sky, "Only the Most Awful shall be cataloged herein." And a wind did come and blow away the words and turn them into a skull. And the writers did fall upon their knees and give thanks, for yea, the Most Awful was good. Thus the lists were born. Read them, sons and daughters, and be strong.