Wednesday, 15 June 2011

Let's hug it out, bitch

Today The Champion and I decided to indulge in a little light stalking and tripped and fell onto the set of Entourage on location at The Roosevelt.

This of course provided extensive comedy value not so much watching the filming itself, but watching every trust-fund-Z-Lister who had nothing better to do on a Wednesday afternoon (aka the extras) as they lolled around the pool hoping someone would notice them and make them famous.  Someone was watching them, but it just happened to be us, and we were grading people out of ten on shaggability rather than talent.  Maybe I should go into casting?

Lechery aside, here are some of our most poignant revelations:

1.  No men in Los Angeles have any hair on their chest.  Not one.  Where did all the real men go?
2.  Everybody has a tattoo.  (But could somebody please explain to me why you would get a map of NANTUCKET in orange, green and yellow tattooed onto your back?!?!? - here's a throwaway WTF to you sir)
3.  Still on tattoos, either the Tramp Stamp's making a comeback, the girls have GREAT plastic surgeons and they got them when they were in fashion circa the early 90's, or they are just dumb.  No, we wouldn't hit it.
4.  A well-defined six pack is like great gift-wrapping on a shit present, tell me the last time you read a book made out of paper and then we can talk. 
5.  You could tell I'm not from LA because, apart from the fact that my tits don't require scaffolding and are all my own, I was the only one that dived head first into the pool.  I know, your hair's the money shot...

Anyway, there is a grave risk that we might be coming to a television near you soon, so watch out.  To assist, you need to look for a delectable hairy chest next to an inverted blonde bucking the trend and lying the wrong way up the sun longer with her legs draped in the air.  You can tell it's me because I am the only person reading a book, in an Agent Provocateur one-piece, of course.

No comments:

Post a Comment