Inside Doug's Head

I am not a number, I am… What's that stuff they make glue out of? I'm that. Forever swirling, forwards and upwards, but always sticky. Sometimes, a little sad.

There used to be a time when you had to be reasonably attractive to be an actor. These days, it would seem that the film actor’s guild is accepting all sorts of victims from highspeed train wrecks and late term miscarriages. You don’t even have to have the right number of arms and legs anymore. I don’t want to name names, we all know who they are, but I don’t know what dark force in the universe imbued these balls of flesh putty with the self confidence to stand up and say to the world, “I know I look like the inside of a leprechaun’s reproductive junk, but I’m going to Hollywood to be an actor. Not just a porn actor, but a mainstream actor for the Chinese film and propaganda industry.”

Look at you, all covered in moles and freckles. With all those pock marks and scars, Dude, I gotta tell you, you look like a burn patient, and not just a mild second degree fell asleep while smoking burn, either. No, more like you were cleaning the inside of a chimney with gasoline, and then someone lit a match to help with the darkness problem. Are you really sure it’s a good idea to be in a movie that isn’t a cautionary tale?

Compare yourself to Brad Pitt. What we need is more actors who look like Brad Pitt, not five legged creatures crawling out of radioactive lagoons reminding us of how unpleasant and unfair life can be. I can look upon the likes of you for free at the grocery store anytime I feel like making myself a little sad, pretty much whenever I want to. Why would I waste entertainment dollars deliberately to hear you chew your way through your lines while I avert my eyes in terror? Think about it, and then go home, preferably in shame. Leave acting to the brainless doofs who are pleasant to look at, yet so utterly clueless.


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