Chaz Blazer, elite Hollywood executive and proud Interracial Fight Club Member, glided silently into Geoff Chaserâs office. âChazzykins! What it do?â exclaimed Geoff, rising from his chair to greet his comrade. âWhatâs with the skates?â âOh these?â Chaz was impeccably dressed, as always. An impossibly expensive, stylishly cut black suit, hand-made to his order by mentally deficient Italian tailor-savants, hugged every inch of his frame. The effect was absolutely ruined by the bright, neon-green rollerblades he was also wearing. âThey're ironic. Get it?â âNo, Iâm not sure I do,â Geoff replied, making his way over to the bar which was, like everything in the office today, actually a Hispanic man being paid to serve as furniture.
Oh, this is a thing; I did not make this thing up.âYeah, me neither to be honest,â Chaz rolled the wheels back and forth against the carpet-Latino, âbut I honestly donât give a fuck about life enough to think these things through anymore. As long as it gets any sort of reaction, I feel validated. But enough about my desperate cries for attention: Whatâs this secret project youâve been on about?â âWhy, only the new, incredibly classified, buzz-worthy J.J. Abrams trailer!â Geoff cried out, kicking over the coffee table for emphasis. According to the pamphlets, he didnât have to pay the object-men if they broke their pre-determined âfurniture body-shape.â He was almost disheartened to see that the man firmly maintained the table posture. He lay perfectly still, like a frozen turtle tipped on its side. âFuck your lying whore mouth!â Chaz exclaimed, abruptly standing and skating over to take Geoff by the lapels â or rather, what would have been his lapels if those werenât sooo 2006. âNo way thatâs you! Youâre behind
A lot of people went to school for a long time just to learn how to say âpeople are retweeting it.ââI have no idea what any of that means,â Geoff calmly answered, separating himself from Chazâs grasp and stepping over to his desk (or rather, his carefully stacked desk-shaped mound of illegal immigrants). He removed a mirror and mound of powder from one of the drawers, a concept that still confused him, and offered it to Chaz. He daintily tucked into it with all the refinery of an English prostitute. âBut yes,â Geoff continued, âthat's all me, baby. I saw the inexplicable success of the
âYeah, youâd look great in our 'Cotton Breeze' boat-neck and OHMYGODISTHATAMONSTER!?ââHow do you like it?â Geoff gestured to the steadily diminishing powder in Chazâs lap. âWell I certainly donât mean to offend your hospitality, but uh... shit. How do I put this delicately? This is like trying to coax anal out of a nun: Iâm getting nothing here, and if I donât get what I want soon Iâm gonna lose my shit and start committing hate-crimes. What is this crap?â âJust ordinary olâ powdered white rhino, buddy. But about the project: You know how these âlack of informationâ teasers drive people crazy, right?â âOf course! Viral marketing campaigns based exclusively around tantalization and scarcity as opposed to the honest promotion of a quality product always have fantastic results.â âWell, that was a bit heavy-handed, Chaz. Is the inherent disassociation and bitterness of Hollywood finally eroding the foundations of your humanity? Iâve got a prescription for that here somewhere. Open up, Jorge,â Geoff snapped at the man doubling as his liquor cabinet. A single tear streaked down his face and across his naked body but, to Geoffâs consternation, he remained unquestioningly in a cabinet shape. He slowly creaked open.
Why would you think Iâd make something like this up? Youâve seen the Internet; itâs horrible.âThese guys are fucking pros,â spat Geoff, plucking a mason jar full of industrial-grade cocaine from the manâs distorted abdomen. âHere.â âOh Jesus my lord and fucking savior! I havenât had any in easily 15 feet,â Chaz, all refinement forgotten, buried his face in the jar and his entire body shook with the great, gasping inhalations. âFeet?â âI find itâs easier to measure my cocaine intake in distance rather than time, these days.â âBetter?â Geoff asked. âFucking shitfucks,â Chaz replied, bleeding from his ears. âIâll take that as a 'yes.' Where was I?â âSomething about âlack of informationâ teasers driving people crazy,â Chaz answered monotonously. âExcellent memory, Chaz!â Geoff exclaimed. âNo. I can temporarily see through time,â he replied dully, âyou die in four years. But matter can neither be created nor destroyed; what you mourn is not the loss of yourself, but the loss of your sense of self.â
âCell decay is merely the transient state of form. I could really go for some tapas after this. You guys down?ââHa ha! Fantastic. I hope I get to watch you die in my office today so I can keep an erection tonight. But I digress. Super 8! Keeping information private, I realized, is the single best way to make the public desire it. Literally all this trailer consists of is grainy old film footage of stupid kids fucking around, and then a bigfoot-style reveal of some weird creature. But the fact that I wonât show anybody has them all buzzing on this Twitter thing. I donât even fully understand what that is, but I know anybody under 20 gets wet when I mention it. It matters little if the product being advertised has a notorious reputation for being disappointing, a la
âI SEE THE INFINITY OF NOTHING. ITâS ALL RIGHT I GUESS.ââThe Segway is a punchline now,â Geoff continued, obviously disconcerted by the exchange, âbut people forget about how effective its âhidden informationâ campaign really was. Back when they refused to tell anybody what it was, the rumors said it would change personal transportation forever. A lot of people--good, intelligent people--seriously thought it was a flying car or a hoverboard. We gave them a scooter with the word âfagâ printed on the side, and they still bought it. All because we kept it a secret.â âIs there more rhino powder?â Chazâs infinite stare swiveled in the vague direction of Geoff, lounging extravagantly on a throne of desperate Costa Ricans. âSure thing,â Geoff pushed the mirror toward Chaz, and continued. âTomorrow when everybody sees
âOnly when Iâm really drunk, but Iâm too coy to admit I like it.ââBut man, about this rhino," he continued, "I think it just saved me from a furious deity. Itâs like it was the exact opposite of a sacred and religious experience. But why? Why do you even have it?â âWell, folklore has it that itâs a powerful aphrodisiac, but honestly? Itâs not even about the drugs anymore. Itâs about the sacrilege, and I think I understand why it saved you,â Geoff said, unzipping his pants and delighting in the terrified expression of his soon-to-be seat cushions. âClarify,â Chaz prompted. âWell you see, sweetheart, this is not just an endangered species here â I actually went out of my way to develop a personal connection with the beast. Four years ago I flew to Africa to scout out my own white rhino: Like picking a lobster from a tank. And I found one: A beautiful mare with sensitive eyes. I paid to have her inseminated, and fed her a handful of cocoa beans every day at sunset until she gave birth. I watched that calf being born. I named him after my firstborn son: Maddox,â as he set his bare ass-cheeks on the throne, Geoff thought he felt the first tell-tale squirm of defiance. He reveled in it. âI brought him back to my estate in the west hills,â Geoff continued, rotating his buttocks in a figure eight pattern, âwhere I raised him to adulthood, making sure to spend several hours a day stroking and reassuring him. Yesterday morning, I took him out to the parking lot of an abandoned Wal-Mart, tied him to a stake and then ran a first-run original 1950 Rolls-Royce Phantom IV into him at 60-miles an hour. Totaled the car. The doctors say I likely have extensive internal injuries from it. Maddox, of course, died on the spot.â
R.I.P. Maddox: A Bright and Shining Star in the Darkness.âGood lord! So thatâs what all that hemorrhaging was about! I thought you were just wearing make-up â you know, to counter the crushing nihilistic boredom.â âWhat is this, amateur hour? No, I'm purple because my lungs are bleeding and I am simply exulting in the newness of it. Regardless, I promptly had Maddox boiled in a solution of champagne and exotic oils, and then ground into dust. I believe it was the unholiest thing a human being could possibly inhale for fun, and thatâs what either saved you from a furious omnipotent being, or possibly cost you some theological ass sex. If itâs the former, youâre welcome; if itâs the latter, I owe you a latte. But more importantly: Whatâs that aftertaste, Chaz? Can you identify it?â âItâs likeâ¦ itâs not really a taste. Itâs likeâ¦ old blues records and Shakespeare. Itâsâ¦â "Yes?" Geoff was on the edge of his seat. The seat was choking back tears. â...sadness and betrayal,â Chaz finished. âMagnificent!â Geoff literally bounced up and down with excitement. At that, his throne of South American Furniture Performance Experts collapsed,Â at last breaking form. Two ran for the door, one took a wild swing at Geoff, and the third simply cried himself to death. âYou motherfuckers are crazy if you think Iâm paying you!â Geoff screamed at the traumatized backsides of the fleeing chair-men, his shriveled genitals swaying in arrogant victory. âFUCKING AMATEUR HOUR!â
How did these hyper-specific tropes spread so quickly?
Most rich kids just want to be pop stars.
The Hollywood rumor mill has been playing games with celebrity deaths for at least a century.
It's easy to work the system and win these awards even if you don't deserve them.