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Pop quiz, hotshot: It's 11 a.m., you have a righteous hangover, and you're on the set of a hardcore pornographic film that you're about to star in. The director hands you a t-shirt that says "Canada" on it, mumbles something about garter snakes, and then gets a page on his beeper and storms off to go return the call on his "car phone." If time were on your side you'd be at home right now, doing lines of blow and leisurely shaving your balls, but the schedule says you need to actively fucking by 12 o'clock sharp, and not only have you not seen a script yet, but you haven't even eaten BREAKFAST, and everyone on the set knows it'll be a cold day in the San Fernando Valley before your dick's gonna get hard without a plateful of scrambled eggs and some black coffee to charge the ol' meat battery. But you don't have time to worry about that, because now the camera is rolling and some Hungarian girl who barely speaks English is staring at you, waiting for you to say something. You welcome her to America, then remember that your shirt says "Canada" on it, but justify it to yourself by thinking, "I meant 'America' like 'North America.' You know... like... the continent." Next thing you know she's smelling some leaves because, hey, that's what you do when you're trying to get your bearings in a strange new country, but then all of the sudden she's screaming and you're wrestling a giant rubber snake on the ground, thinking to yourself, "Whatever - beats the 10 p.m. - 5 a.m. shift at The Nutbush." Then the snake slithers away, the cameraman yells "CUT!" and you have just enough time to chew some aspirin before you have to start having sexual intercourse with a Hungarian girl who has jewelry stashed inside of vagina. Moments later you remember why you got into this business in the first place. Then you go home, do a few lines of cocaine, shave your balls and think to yourself, "It's a living."
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