"What's up, Kick?" we asked him. His arms were bruised, his skin yellow; crispy with chapped lips and the smell of stale urine. We offered him a huff.

"Remember that Pop.com original-content contract you guys were telling me about?" he asked. We told him we did. "Yeah, well, Pop.com is gone. They just cut out. The whole fucking thing just exploded. It's over. I can't even pay rent this month." He began pacing around the office, holding his ball head in both hands.

"So?" I said. "Pop was a joke the whole time. All of these stupid companies were jokes, and the fact that they blew millions of dollars is no reason to get down. Laugh a little. Just because someone else fails miserably doesn't mean your life is over. Drunky's still raging, he's thinking about going to Tokyo on our next trip. What's your problem?"

"Oh, yeah, you and Drunky can laugh. You guys can do whatever you want. You just run around like a bunch of jackasses, taking pictures of yourselves drinking in Japan, like anyone cares. Lots of people lost their jobs in this! This was going to be my career, my future. I even wrote a screenplay: "Kickball Man goes to Detroit." You said you could get it to Spike Jonze! You said Johnny Knoxville was going to play Splotchy, my bed-ridden sidekick. You said Pop was a sure thing!"

Paul laughed. Kickball Man believed anything.

"Pop was just another self-absorbed wank job," I said. "There is tremendous conceit in this town, the conceit that comes from being a delusional, self-appointed international crap-broadcaster. That they didn't understand the nature of the internet just shows their foolishness and arrogance. You don't see us 9 million in the hole. All we ever hoped to do was finance the dream. Hollywood's an easy target. The second you take that shit seriously, your soul is gone."

"The mistake", I continued, "is to care. Too many people have forgotten what life is all about: entertaining yourself, not having someone else entertain you. The entire world is paying too much attention to fictional characters and people they will never know. No wonder everyone is so disenfranchised and disappointed: they don't even know themselves, much less their friends and family. How many people cry and laugh every day, watching tv and movies, when real people are in pain and feeling joy around the world? It's all fake. Fake. Fakeness has it's place, but it does not pump blood through your veins; fakeness will never kill you, and fakeness will never make you alive."

"Unless you are genuinely oppressed, there is no reason to be upset. You are real. Have fun, live honorably, and teach by example. Streaming entertainment, usually in the form of potty jokes and juvenile racism, across the greatest system of information distribution ever created, is depressing enough. I've never watched an internet cartoon in my life. I don't even like watching movies anymore, because they suck too bad. I'd rather go skating or jump on a trampoline. If someone wants to pay us to laugh a lot, of course we'll do it, but you won't see us crying when it falls through. There is real suffering in this world, and it deserves compassion. But out-of-work actors and dot com rejects seal their own fate. Talent rarely triumphs in this town, social and spiritual development come second to celebrity worship and fake tits, so why even care? Let it burn. Warm your balls on the fire. We do."

Kickball Man looked distraught. "Thanks for the motivational speech, you cheesy fucker, but I'm serious here: what should I do? Talent or not, I don't have the connections to make it in Hollywood, my band kind of sucks, I'm getting fat. Do you think maybe you could get me a job in Television?"

"Nope."

"Well, we're friends. What's your advice? You're still doing movie sites, that's Hollywood. Where do you get off?"

"We get off wherever we want to get off. That's the point. Hell, if someone offered retirement money for a feature-length Burt Cocaine and Krappy the Monkey movie, please believe it's on. But if not, it's still on. We live in Los Angeles. We work with people we like, so it doesn't really matter. You are not what you own, you are not what you sell. Who looks at movie websites anyway? It's all ridiculous, but that doesn't mean life is ridiculous. Keep your self respect, and never look beyond yourself for happiness. Do your own thing, do it well, and you will have a good time, all of the time. That's all that matters. If you aren't laughing, your life is already over. If you can't figure that out, I'd either get a real job, construction or maybe in a restaurant, or I'd just kill myself."

There was a long pause. A tear rolled down the rubber, red face of Kickball Man. He walked into our office, grabbed the Sig Sauer, and put it to his head. "If I can't hang out with Bignardo Brocaprio, I don't want to be alive."

He pulled the trigger, spraying latex and skull fragments all over the stereo, and collapsed in a bloody heap. Paul shook his head, and tipped the glue for our old friend. We threw his body over our back balcony to rest with the dead kittens, and went out for a round of drinks in his memory. Hollywood never loved Kickball man.

Fuck Hollywood. Sakebomb for life.

-original content 5.23.00