Manhood and Criminals
Mom is pissed about this picture of her, which is on every video shelf in America this week. She dragged us out in flash flood warning conditions to go to the video store, where we watched a bunch of losers hanging around Blockbuster fingering the boxes with her picture on it. They read the box and then put it back on the shelf, like they didn't want to see the movie.
Mom and Dad were yelling all morning about it. I saw the movie when it came out and I fell asleep.
Dad: "Get them to send you the art work at least. They're obviously using you to sell this piece of shit. At least he could give you credit; he gives Tom Arnold credit, that lummox. He gives Jeanine Garofalo credit and you're more talented than her and he didn't use HER picture on the cover."
Mom: "It's like he hired a model for the cover, except he didn't hire her. It's no use. I can't get anything going in this town. I've given him the funniest moments in his cheap, sag waiver movies and this is how he thanks me. Not even a cast credit on the fucking box. The distributors knew they needed something to sell the damned movie; they can't use John Ritter's face for god's sake, he's dead! So they use my ass! I've HAD it!
I think Mom is over reacting. Nobody cares about her or this movie and none of it matters. What matters is that the cops came up here after we got home and told us to be on the lookout for a black felon, 29 years old, 5'9 and wearing braces. He's somewhere around here and he might try to come into the house, so we're supposed to keep everything locked up. The cop told Mom to keep the phone handy to call 911 if we see the criminal.
I've got work to do. I'm patrolling the entire house and listening for any kind of noise. I'll kill him.