Tag: Star Wars

BLOG: Shoebox Syndrome

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Sunday morning.

Back at the coffee shop writing. I came yesterday and today. They were happy to see me again. I have not been coming here in favor of quiet mornings with yoga and instant coffee. I’ve learned the hard way that yes, it actually is important to have my daily coffee shop routine. It sets me up for success by forcing me to sit down and write for the hour or so it takes to drink the coffee. Plus, the added bonus of being around HK-era on a mission to be productive. Soaking up that energy really helps a lot. I need to do more of that, in general.

Unfortunately, I am sad to report I have not done anything with my time this weekend. I stayed at home, ate spicy noodles from 7/11, and re-watched the Star Wars Prequels and Obi-Wan Kenobi. I decided to forget my attempt to turn my neighbor into my Muse by consulting my OG Muse: Ewan McGregor.

Needless to say, the problem is officially solved. 🙂

As the Buddha would say, “Just let that shit go, fam!”

I let it go for my own sake. I used to exhibit a lot of unhealthy behaviors around guys like this. I would obsess, stalk, fantasize. I was young and stupid. It wasn’t until I finally hit my mid-20’s that I realized men are stupid and never worth suffering for.

This guy especially. Nope. No way. For whatever reason, the fact that I live right next door to this man strongly motivates me to take as much space from him as possible. I cannot be physically trapped with him in such a small space. It’s driving me crazy.

I’m really not kidding when I say there’s no mystery there, like at all. None. I can go weeks without seeing or speaking to him. Yet, I can hear when he comes and goes. I can see his trash piled up in the hallway. I can smell his cologne floating down the hallway and permeating the elevator.

Oh, yeah, get this! THIS is the biggest issue I have with him: He thinks I’m so annoying because I’m loud. Well, he’s annoying because he smells! Whether it’s cologne or cigarette smoke or his cooking or post-workout mansweat or whatever, I can always smell him in that building. It drives me INSANE and I don’t know why. I’ve never had this experience before in my life.

THERE IS NO MYSTERY AT ALL!

He actually told me once which bar he goes to in our neighborhood. I don’t go there. Ever. Specifically because I know he is there. Instead I walk 10 minutes up two gigantic sets of stone steps carved into steep hills, then over towards the escalator, and then take it all the way up to the Mid-Levels to go to a bar up there, all to avoid him. Mostly to get stories, of course, but also to avoid him.

I’m sure a wiser person than myself would read this and comprehend what’s actually going on here from a biological perspective. Don’t really care. Let nature work this situation out in whatever way it’s intended. I’m not actively involved.

Anyway.

Hmm, okay, well, enough with these random thought dumps. We all know I can’t handle living next door to a hot sexy beefcake. It just doesn’t compute for me. Like, “Is this Human or Object? Neighbor is Human but Hot Beefcake is Object. Cannot compute. System Overload. Weeeeoooooweeeeeoooooooweeeeoooo. System Meltdown!”

I am ridiculous, I know.

Okay, I have a book to write. But first, I need to go to 7/11 and buy a new pack of cigarettes. Then I have to go to the market and pick up some basic supplies. Then I will sit back down at my desk and actually try to work on my manuscript, which I am once again putting off because addressing the trauma around my father’s death is really fucking difficult for me!

Off now. Have a good day!

BLOG: The Darjeeling Limited

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Fri-yay!

I am currently hungover AF, which is a shame because I had big plans for today. In addition to the two interviews and dozens of rejections, I had three follow-ups that I definitely planned to follow up on today. Naturally, I self-sabotaged by getting way too drunk while I was at home alone.

Welcome to my life. And here I wonder why no one will ever love me, haha. Hey Betsey, here’s a brilliant idea: why don’t you stop looking at men and look at yourself for a change? Learn to love you and the mess that you are instead of waiting for some hot beefcake to rescue you from your bullshit.

Wow, brilliant, so many lessons learned today. I feel so enlightened now!

Yes, yes, yes, learn to love yourself, blah blah blah, become a strong, empowered woman, and all that jazz!

That being said, I would still very much like to end my days by falling into the arms of a hot, sexy beefcake (preferably with an even sexier accent) who just rescued me from a cockroach. That’s the real dream right there.

Listen, Ewan McGregor divorced his wife, married a woman 20 years younger, got her a job playing a Twi’lek in a Star War. It could still happen for me. I could be Wife #3, you know what I’m saying? There’s still time for me to see what’s really underneath the kilt, ya know what I’m saying?

Lol

Hahaha

Yeah I’m definitely still “off my tits” as they say in… Ireland? Scotland? England? Wales? The UK? I don’t even know anymore. They’re all so different. Is this a colonizer phrase? Who even knows anymore?

Breaking News from the Thai-US Embassy: Your passport will be revoked if you’re not making your child support payments on time.

I love this for all Thai women everywhere. Now let’s do the Philippeans! Stop letting these gross Passport Bros get away with shit! If I’m not allowed to go back to Thailand because I pissed off the local branch of the Irish Mafia, then they definitely shouldn’t be allowed back.

I’m totally kidding, of course. I’m not banned from Thailand. They’re would never ban me. All I do there is spend ridiculous amounts of money, and I don’t even talk to Bar Girls! I just blow it all on staying in a ridiculously overpriced loft with a bad pool just so I can be 5ft from the bar I’m obsessed with and all of the beautiful, wonderful, amazing people who frequent it. Love that for me!

Anyway, so that’s why I had to come back to Hong Kong. Now I blow all my money on a tiny little shoebox apartment where I somehow magically lose things like hair clips and my phone, which makes absolutely no sense. It must be the faeries. When in doubt, always blame the faeries, or the “little people,” as we say in South Dakota. Well, I don’t know if that’s what “they” say, but it’s definitely what Mad Dog used to say!

So yeah, I was definitely supposed to do real, actual, productive things today. Not sure that’s going to happen, which is unfortunate because I have things I really need to get done.

Instead I am sitting here at my favourite brunch place, right on the patio, in the heat, away from the air on like a crazy person, sweating it all out as I watch the world pass me by. I love it.

So many hot beefcakes walking by on their way to and from the gym on their lunch break. I love it. Obsessed with the beefcakes. Gimme gimme gimme a man after midnight! Won’t somebody take the shadows away!

Everyone here thinks I’m so crazy for sitting in the heat instead of the aircon. Like, I get it, the weather is insane, but I really need to sweat it out. I keep telling them I used to live in a very, very, very cold place and now all I want to do is be out in the sun and sweat all my shitty feelings out. They don’t understand me. It is what it is.

Here is my real question: how do I get paid to sit in a restaurant and just watch people on the street? This is the only job I know how to do. Everything else is just, like, so stressful, you guys.

I literally do not know how people exist in the full-time corporate job world. They are all so fucking weird. They have no personal lives, no hobbies, no personalities, nothing. They just work, work, work, and then maybe go to the gym, and then they wonder why they’re all so unhappy, and then they make the rest of us feel bad about not being obsessed with work like that are.

Like, listen, I get it. I hate my family too. Honestly, the majority of them are terrible, narcissistic people who treat other people like shit and literally cannot handle being talked to in the same way. All I’ve ever wanted to do is get the fuck away from them. But I don’t throw myself into a job just to escape from that. That’s how you end up dying in a pile of your own shit, just like my dad. It is what it is.

I still remember the last thing my dad said to me before we all went to bed and I found him almost dead the next day. His last words to me were: “Can you pick me up a chocolate mocha frappachino?”

And then we found him half-dead in bed the next morning and then he was in a coma for two weeks and I had to be the one who called in the medicine man to read him his last rights because my stupid, evil mother was too drunk to literally do anything except be mean to me, and then I had to watch him die in the hospital bed right in front of me.

And then literally everyone in that stupid fucking shithole town was a giant fucking asshole about it, because that’s who they are and that’s what they do. Thanks again for ruining my life, Dad! So grateful for everything??????

Lol, yeah, whatever, at least I get to live in Asia now. Just like I always dreamed. Literally. My life only got better because my dad died. How fucking fucked up and shitty is that? It is what it is.

And this is why I have no idea how to have fun.

This is why men are a problem. They think it’s MY job to provide “fun” for them and then they get mad when they have to do actual emotional labor in the middle of the fucking blackout they put me in by plying me with booze nonstop.

So fucking stupid. Clean up your own mess, bro. I can’t do that for you. I will never do that for you. I am not your fucking mommy, okay? I’m not picking up your dirty underwear off the floor or doing your laundry or cleaning your house or cooking you food. Your job is to stand there looking sexy while fanning me with a giant palm leaf, then carry me away on my solid gold throne. Okay? Okay.

This is why I’m not married. My spirit did not reincarnate multiple times just to serve some stupid fucking man who won’t even wash his own dirty asshole. Fuck you and your fucking patriarchy. I am the motherfucking Queen!

“You don’t have to love me. You don’t even have to like me. But you will respect me. Why? Because I’m a Boss!” -Kelis

SO I had some things to do today. Instead I’m sitting here on the patio writing crazy, unhinged things and having notions. This is exactly why my Irish ancestors got on that fucking boat and came to America. Their dream was for the 7th generation ahead of them to sit on a patio and write and make art and look fabulous while doing fucking NOTHING! No work down by the docks or in the factories or on the farm. No having 18 children, half of which died somewhere along the way. No nothing. I don’t have to do shit now, just like my ancestors dreamed. Yet somehow, I still feel so unfulfilled…

I have definitely sat in the heat for too long. It’s starting to make me sick. I need to go inside and sit by the aircon.

Okay, okay, okay, done done done.

Now inside. The sound of the construction on the Temple is very loud. I like this spot because it’s close to the historic Man Mo Temple. Man Mo is the god of “literature.” I always stop at the gates on my way home to say a prayer. I love the “Under Construction” vibe right now. It makes me feel better about myself. Like, yes, we have stood the test of time and survived, for better or for worse. That being said, sometimes we need to take some time to fix ourselves up for the sake of future preservation. It is what it is. I love it. I’m so here for it.

I should get a job as a bar cat. Like the meme. I don’t work. I don’t care. I just sit in the wrong spot and somehow run the entire place. Like Andrew did at Bloody Mary’s. Is my dream to actually be Andrew? Is that why I was so obsessed with him for like, what, ten years? Who even knows anymore!

That’s the second time this week I’ve thought about Andrew. I haven’t thought about Andrew in a long time. I mean, how could I? Between the Hot Beef Stew and The Russian, my heart, mind, and va-jay-jay has been extremely occupied. There’s very little space for a fictional character these days. I just meet so many attractive men. Sometimes I still look at Andrew’s old pictures and think to myself, “Wow, I really thought this guy was hot.” Goes to show how slim the pickins really are out there on the lone prairie. His catchphrase should be, “Yikes on Bikes!”

I will always remember this chapter as that time I was so desperate to get railed by a hot sexy beefcake that I wrote two whole books about the bartender I thought was really hot from far away, but only in a dark room.

Just kidding. I just thought of him now sitting in the doorway with his mountain man beard, looking mean and old and cranky AF, wearing some ancient fucking t-shirt from some concert he went to in the 90’s, taking off his baseball cap and wiping his forehead in exhaustion, as if he had actually done something productive today. Like maybe he mowed the lawn without the t-shirt and hat on, and then walk down to fetch the mail while I was riding by on my white horse, and that’s why he’s tired, or something? IDK!

Sorry, wow, wait, did it just get hotter in here? Because I’m literally sitting under the aircon right now and I just started sweating again.

I mean… he might not be the Pabst Blue Ribbon winner of the Magic Mike Live contest, but something about that really did it for me. I mean, you don’t see me sitting here writing two novels about The Russian. It is what it is.

I know I love him because I have lived my whole life being screamed at and called crazy, and he’s the only person who ever did that in a way that actually turned me on. I was so into it. I was like, “Please, yell at me more. I don’t know why I like this but I do.”

I don’t like it coming from anyone else, but when you do it, it’s like… somehow the hottest thing ever? No one knows.

Awww, my Andrew. I loved my Andrew. I really did. At least, I thought I did. Let’s be real here. I have never been in an actual, meaningful long-term relationship. I just stare at hot guys from far away and fantasize about what it would be like to have them fan me with a giant palm leaf. I don’t know jack shit about love.

But if you asked me if I’ve ever been in love with anyone… I would tell you it was Andrew, every single time. I loved him. I really did. I don’t know what real love is… but… whatever I felt was pretty close to that. I hope he’s happy now, wherever he is. Maybe Seattle? Who even knows these days? I don’t know. I don’t look for him or check in on him or ask about him. I don’t have to. He just visits me in my dreams…

*sigh*

Anyways, yes, what the fuck was I talking about again? My dad dying? The fact that I moved to the other side of the planet just to be this fucked up all the time? Maybe something about paying child support so your passport doesn’t get revoked? Who even knows anymore!

I really need to eat something. All I had for a dinner was a plastic cup full of olives and feta cheese to go with the two bottles of wine I drank after eating nothing all day.

I think sometimes I act this way because I just want to die and I lack the courage to just jump off the rooftop when the void calls to me. So I just kill myself slowly with alcohol and cigarettes and men instead. It is what it is.

Anyway, I can’t kill myself. I’ve already tried multiple times. It never works. Someone up there wants me to live, to survive, to give something back to this world. I don’t understand. If I’m still alive after all of this, I must have some kind of purpose. I just don’t know what that purpose is. I just know when I look at worksheets about teaching grammar to children, I feel absolutely nothing at all. It means nothing to me. I’m just here for the job, the visa, the paycheck. I can’t make a difference in this world. I’m just a woman, standing here in front of a white board, asking for a steady paycheck without the cost of being bullied at work.

It is what it is.

I really need to eat something. I haven’t eaten anything substantial in like… at least two days. At least.

It is what is.

I like that scene in the Darjeeling Limited at the end when they all leave their baggage behind and board the train, waving it all goodbye. That’s the vibe right now. I just want to leave my impossibly heavy suitcases behind and hop that train to the next shitty little village in India, and do yoga with a giant snake, and just have fun and live life and have a good time.

I wish I was fun. I just want to have fun. Someone, please, teach me how to have fun. I just want to have some fun!

Okay, I’m done now. I really do need to eat something or I will actually pass out in this “brunch concept” of a restaurant right now.

The End!

BLOG: I Think We Lost The Plot

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Thursday. Where did the week go? Oh yes, I know. I spent all day yesterday sucked into Netflix while actively avoiding reality. Nothing like a good true crime docu trio to wake you up to all of the different ways life could go wrong.

I’m not really partial to the murders myself. I like the documentaries about cults and cult psychology. I have watched ALL of the cult documentaries. Unemployment Level 100. I am also fascinated by cult psychology because, as an American, I recognize that my country has been taken over by a very dangerous cult.

This particular documentary was about the FLDS in Utah. It is absolutely terrifying to watch as a woman. I have nothing but respect for Dr. Christine Marie. She is definitely one of my new role models. That documentary was harrowing.

Then I watched the one about the pro cyclist who was murdered by the jealous girlfriend of some loser guy. The girlfriend took off to Costa Rica, where she was hiding out at various yoga retreats. That one definitely made me think a lot. I just looked back at some of the people I met in India and Bali and was like, “WTF were they running from?”

Some of them were really strange and off. As I’ve said before, I’m not sure I would go back to Bali again after what I experienced there. Bangkok, yes. Bali, no.

I found people in Bangkok were generally more open about the fact that they are running away from something. Maybe they won’t tell you what it is, but it’s kinda just the general vibe of the expat community in Thailand. It’s like walking into the Mos Eisley Cantina in Star Wars. You know everyone in there has come from somewhere else to do some kind of shady business. It’s just better not to ask too many questions about it.

In Bali, people are presenting themselves to be something they are not, and what that something is generally involves grifting off of people struggling with mental health, grief, spiritual questions, and a lack of meaning/purpose. I definitely saw some cult-adjacent shit while I was there. I also met people who were just… way, way, way off. Like “maybe they should be in the Hotel California and not running a yoga studio in Bali” kinds of off. Ya know what I’m saying?

It did feel validating in that way. I think sometimes I can be sensitive and take other people’s weird behavior super personally when in reality it has nothing to do with me at all. Like, maybe that lady wasn’t mean to me because I’m a bad person who deserves it. Maybe she killed her husband’s affair partner and went on the run and now she’s hiding out in Bali and she’s worried some writer is going to go snooping around and find out the truth.

Maybe.

Or maybe she was just having a bad day. Either way, this isn’t about me. Don’t take it personally. I’m perfectly grand just the way I am.

Right now I am sitting outside the coffee shop, watching people on the street. I just love Hong Kong. I really do. Every day I wake up and think, “Wow, I can’t believe I get to live here. This is the most incredible opportunity of my entire life. I am overwhelmed with gratitude for it every single day.”

I was meditating last night before bed and the spirit of my Irish grandmother showed up to talk to me. She said, “Do you know what the Irish Dream is? Not the American Dream. The Irish Dream. The Irish Dream is for our children to be free to become writers, poets, artists, musicians, filmmakers. It’s to give them the gift of free time so they can create. You don’t have to slave away at the docks or in the factories or give up your education to take care of a dozen children. We did all of this so you can sit outside on the rooftop and write your book and enjoy life in Hong Kong. Stop feeling guilty about it. Enjoy it. We did it all for you.”

Okay, okay, okay. I get it. My sole purpose on this earth is to Create. I must honor my ancestors by finding a way to become a serious, professional writer. Well, we all know the first two steps: money and a room of one’s own. I have that right now, yes, but how to maintain it over time is a problem.

I don’t know. Somehow I keep making it work. Failing upward, as they say. Perhaps a reminder to focus on manifesting simple things like a fabulous apartment that someone else is paying for so I can just sit there and write all day. Hahaha.

I’m not joking. That’s a real thing. It’s called “patronage.” It’s where rich people give you money and a room of your own so you can create art all day. I’ve actually had several patrons in my life, including my father, my uncle, my aunt, and The Publisher. It really is the best way to go. At least, for now.

That’s what I have to manifest: a patron! Ah, yes, so simple. Why did I not think of it before? Patron, patron, patron.

Brilliant.

Haha, aww, the song “I’ll Be Missing You” just came on the street stereo the delivery guy always plays around this time of day. Definitely a message from my ancestors. My dad always does that. Communicate through music, I mean. Sometimes I’ll just be sitting somewhere random and a playlist comes on that only he would make and I just know he’s there.

Oh yeah, they’re definitely there right now. It just switched to “Empire State of Mind.” Big New York City energy coming in right now. It’s a whole thing.

Now I am sitting here thinking about my book/Netflix show, lol. I’ve been going through my manuscript I made in January and I just hate it. The first half is such a slog. I just want to delete it all, speed up the timeline, and just have the first 10 pages/minutes be a montage of my dad’s funeral, getting fired from Starbucks, car breaking down, losing the house, getting a giant check in the mail, and buying a one-way ticket to India. That’s it. Fuck South Dakota. This is the terrible Prequel series no one asked for. Everything since India is like… my actual real life as I have always wanted to live it finally began. That’s the real story here!

I think we’ve kind of lost the plot a little bit here. Yes, I have meaning. I have purpose. I am a writer. It’s my dream to become a professional writer. That is why I am here. I got on that plane to have a crazy adventure and write it all down. Take whatever comes at me along the way. I did that. I’ve done it. I am actively doing it, even when it comes at a cost, like my little adventure up to the Mid-Levels.

So now we have to figure out how to steer the career into professional mode. I have no idea how to do that. I have no talent for business whatsoever. I need an agent/editor type to guide me in the right direction. Someone who has that eye for business in the way that I don’t and all of the connections I need but don’t have. Again, a patron type.

Okay, I feel like I’m back to normal now after my date with the Russian. Wow, what was that? Hmm. Wild. I don’t actually have anything else I want to say about him here. I just wanted him to know… I could have easily ripped you apart, but I didn’t. But I could. So just… know that.

Honestly, couldn’t even tell ya what he does for a living. You could be water boarding me old school Soviet style and I’d be like, “I swear to you, I don’t know! It sounded so boring. I checked out halfway through his explanation and started examining the crystal chandelier and hanging gardens at the Four Seasons. I can list off every plant and flower in the terrarium. Couldn’t tell ya what he does for work. Something with Finance, maybe? I thought he said he owned his own business. I honestly have no idea.”

The world will never know. Furthermore, the world does not care. The world cares about the part where two Scorpios went on a date to a bar that looks like an old-timey opium den/brothel and it was the most on-brand thing ever for both of them. Show us those terrible red leather couches from the 80’s! That’s what the world really wants to see!

Netflix execs will be like, “How is this even relevant to the plot?”

It’s not, it’s just an excuse to film at the Mandarin Oriental in Hong Kong. Since when do we need a plot for sex? Spoiler alert: there is no plot. This is just a random, gratuitous sex scene with no purpose or relevance whatsoever. Since when do you have a problem including that in your shows?!

They’ll be like, “You’re right. Let’s make sure we get a top-notch intimacy coordinator on board with this production.”

IDK, I think that might be too “woke” for the Russian. I can just imagine the look of outrage on his face right now…

Ha ha ha!

I think I’m hilarious.

Off now. To do what, we don’t know. We know we’re not going back to the Mid-Levels anytime soon!

The battle of Hong Kong Island neighborhoods continues. So far I’ve eliminated Causeway Bay (too busy), Wan Chai (too wild), Central (too expensive), Happy Valley (too far), and the Mid-Levels (too bougie). I’m actually quite happy in Sheung Wan. It’s very… French. Close to everything, but easy to escape from the chaos of the city with a quick trip up to my rooftop.

I think I’ll go do that right now, actually. Then I have to clean my apartment because it’s a mess. All of my clothes are piled onto “the chair” instead of hanging in my closet, where they should be. Alas, I am not fancy enough to have a “helper” or live in an upscale “serviced apartment.” I am confined to my tiny little coffin box with the rats and the cockroaches, living off snacks and instant noodles from 7-11.

It is what it is.

SCRIPT: The Island of Lost Guys

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On today’s episode of Island Hunters…

BETSEY: Hi! My name is Betsey! I’m a Writer Extraordinaire from Washington D.C. I’m looking to purchase an island in Belize where all of my Lost Guys can live.

REAL ESTATE AGENT: What are you looking for in an Island Paradise?

BETSEY: When I think of the Island of Lost Guys, I think of space. Lots of space. I want them to be comfortable, you know? I see a nice big beach house with a pool and a dock for a boat. I definitely want trees so they can hang up their hammocks, and a huge dining room/chef’s kitchen so they have somewhere to eat. I won’t be cooking for them, of course. I plan to hire somebody for that.

As far as bedrooms goes, they’re boys so they can bunk up if necessary. I’m thinking maybe 10 bedrooms, 15 at the most. As many bathrooms as possible, because they are men, and men are just… disgusting. I fully plan on providing 24-hour on-site staff to clean up after them. I really want to make them to feel at home.

Budget wise, I’m looking to spend about $13 million. I know it’s Belize and the exchange rate is cheaper, so I’m willing to take on a fixer-upper. I have a feeling it’s going to take some time to get all of them together anyway.

REAL ESTATE AGENT: Well, that’s all very reasonable. After some searching, I’ve found the perfect Island Paradise for you! It has everything you’re looking for, and it’s only $1 million. It’s a bit of a fixer-upper, but it’s got everything you need. Doesn’t it feel good to take advantage of third world tax havens?

BETSEY: It sure does! I love Capitalism! Now let’s update this mansion! I’ll paint it some bright colors, get some nice furniture, hang up some hammocks, install a home theatre with surround sound and all the latest video game systems. Servants to cater to their every whim, a chef to cook them whatever they want, a maid to clean up after their mess. Whatever these guys want! Their wish is my command!

REAL ESTATE AGENT: Say, just what are you planning to do with your Island Paradise anyway?

BETSEY: Now that I have this Island Paradise, I’m going to invite all of my ex-boyfriends, muses, and former love interests to stay here. There’s only one catch… none of them have any idea they’re secretly being filmed for America’s Next Great Reality TV Show™. Let’s tune in and see what happens next…

The opening credits roll. A private jet lands on a remote island somewhere off the coast of Belize. Off step a bunch of wildly different but equally attractive men. Area Codes by Ludacris plays in the background.

THE LOST GUYS, in order of appearance:

  • THE GENERAL, a sexy former Jedi Knight, played by Ewan McGregor
  • THE PERSIAN, a greasy used car salesman
  • HENRY WILLIAMS, a handsome young French teacher
  • MERRICK, a seductive, gothic vampire
  • BEAR, Merrick’s First Best Friend
  • RYAN, Merrick’s Second Best Friend
  • TEA, an alcoholic
  • DOUBLE D, a drug addict
  • TOM, an actor specializing in villainous roles
  • THE FRENCHMAN, a suave rando picked up on the streets of Paris
  • THE PRINCE, a scoundrel and a cad
  • DUKE, Tom’s cranky older brother
  • LEO, a washed-up, old actor
  • ANDREW, the sexy Owner of Bloody Mary’s Bar

THE LOST GUYS arrive on the Island and get settled into their rooms. They break into the open bar by the pool and begin their ceremonial rituals of fraternal bonding.

After a round of Halo gets a little too heated, THE PERSIAN gets voted off the Island. After an intense, rum-fueled argument escalates into a fight in the backyard, THE PRINCE gets escorted off the Island by the police. TEA and DOUBLE D choose to leave in order to make better lifestyle choices. BEAR and RYAN follow MERRICK around everywhere he goes. THE FRENCHMAN and HENRY WILLIAMS were just here on vacation. DUKE is only here for the food. LEO couldn’t make it due to scheduling conflicts.

That leaves THE GENERAL, MERRICK, TOM, and ANDREW. They all get along harmoniously, until the subject of BETSEY comes up. That’s when the real contest begins.

TOM: I’m her favourite! She loved me so much, she was stalking me!

MERRICK: Oh, please. She was “stalking” all of us. That doesn’t count. It’s part of her job.

ANDREW: I think we can all agree that I’m her favourite. Just look at the way she writes about me. It’s so obvious she wants me the most out of anybody.

MERRICK: Woah there, pretty boy. You’re not her favourite. I’m her favourite.

ANDREW: Yeah? You think so? She comes into my bar almost every single day.

MERRICK: Just because she likes your bar doesn’t mean she likes you.

ANDREW: You think just because you sparkle in the sun you’re some kind of hot shit?

MERRICK: I am hot shit. You wouldn’t even believe how much money I make.

ANDREW: You wouldn’t even believe how much money I make.

MERRICK: You think you’re a big deal just because you own some bar in Small Town, South Dakota? Who are you, anyway?

ANDREW: I’m a bigger fucking deal than you are. I own my own business, mother fucker. I oversee a historic property. Meanwhile, you’re up to some kind of shady shit doing military contract work. Your job only exists because my hard-earned tax dollars are paying for it.

MERRICK: Sounds like the joke’s on you, asshole.

ANDREW: Yeah? You wanna dance, douchebag? I can take on some East Coast pussy like you.

MERRICK: You think so, Pretty Boy? One punch in the face and you’re straight outta the game!

ANDREW: Not if I rip your dick off first! What have you got left after that? Your charming personality?

MERRICK and ANDREW get into the Classic Alpha Male Struggle for Dominance.

Meanwhile, BETSEY and 20 of her closest friends are watching the scene unfold from her home theatre on the island next door.

BETSEY: This was the best investment I’ve ever made. Worth every penny. 10/10, would buy again.

ALL 20 OF BETSEY’S CLOSEST FRIENDS: Agreed.

Cut back to MERRICK and ANDREW fighting.

MERRICK: You don’t even know her that well! You’re too busy talking to everyone else in the room!

ANDREW: I know her plenty well! You wouldn’t even believe how drunk I’ve seen her get before! That’s when her real personality comes out!

MERRICK: That may be, but you don’t know her the way I know her. I’m The Best She’s Ever Had. I got two words for you, bro: Vampire Sex. You don’t even know what that means.

ANDREW: I don’t want to know what that means. I’m sure I can show her plenty of things she’s never seen before. She doesn’t even know anything about South Dakota. I could show that bitch The World.

MERRICK: Sounds like a whole lot of Talk and not a whole lot of Action. Pretty typical for a Politician if you ask me. You don’t even know what you’re missing, bro.

ANDREW: Just looks like I’m missing a bunch of Crazy.

MERRICK: You don’t even know. She is tame around you. All she does when she’s around you is sit down, shut up, and write in her fucking notebook. I’ve never seen her act like that around a man before. You should’ve seen what she did to me. She lay waste to the small town in Maryland where I’m from. She dated both of my best friends. And on top of it all, she was the best sex I’ve ever had. That bitch is fucking crazy, but if I could fuck her again, I totally would. She’s just that good.

ANDREW: [raises one eyebrow with intrigue] Really?

MERRICK: Really.

TOM: Hey now, don’t talk about her that way.

EVERYONE: Shut the fuck up, Tom!

MERRICK: Don’t even get me started on you, Farm Boy. I could kill you after what you did to her. You’re lucky she asked me to spare your life, or you wouldn’t even be standing here right now. You’re not even worth my time. At least Pretty Boy here would put up a decent fight.

ANDREW: I’ll show you what a real man looks like, you little vampire bitch.

BETSEY: Okay, everybody, that’s enough fighting over me for now. My ego has been stroked enough. It’s time for everyone to cast their vote for the winner of Last Muse Standing.

Everyone casts their vote. The results are placed into an envelope and delivered to BETSEY. She flies to the island next door and makes a spectacular entrance in a stunning evening gown. MERRICK and ANDREW look at her with sparkling eyes. Both are equally confident they are going to win.

BETSEY: Gentlemen, thank you for coming to my island. This has truly been one of the most entertaining stories I’ve ever dared to write. I want to thank both of you for continuing to inspire me every day. Merrick, thanks for the hot sex! Andrew, thanks for letting me back into your bar. But there can only be one.

The tribal drum music grows louder and more intense. MERRICK and ANDREW look at each other tensely. BETSEY enjoys watching them fight over her a little too much. Finally, after a painfully long commercial break from our corporate sponsors, the suspense is over.

BETSEY: And the winner of Last Muse Standing is… THE GENERAL!

ANDREW and MERRICK are equally shocked. THE GENERAL smirks and struts to the front in black leather pants. BETSEY fawns over him for awhile before presenting him with a pair of golden panties.

BETSEY: Congratulations, sir. You really are my ultimate inspiration.

MERRICK: I don’t understand! Why the hell did this guy win? He’s not even real!

THE GENERAL: Fool! She’s been writing my screenplay since she was 13 years old. She’s gone through at least 20 drafts. It’s only now just getting good. You think she’s not using every minute of her limited spare time to plot ways to use her family Hollywood connection to J.J. Abrams? She’s writing it for Ewan McGregor. There’s no way he’s gonna say no.

ANDREW: Now that’s Crazy.

THE GENERAL: We’ll see who’s got the last laugh, Pretty Boy.

THE GENERAL takes BETSEY by the arm and leads her back to the helicopter. They take off and fly away into the sunset, together at last.

The End.