June 30th, 2011
I never really understood the minor fascination over Jessica Cutler a few years back. Her stories seemed to be less than 100 percent legitimate. But more importantly, even if you took them as works of semi-fiction, they weren’t particularly good. Or rather, if she were going to make up sexcapades in the underbelly of DC, she should have done a better job.
This, on the other hand, is so golden that it doesn’t even matter if it’s true: The internet tale of a random hook-up with Quentin Tarantino. Everyone is focusing on the money-shot, but the real greatness lies in the details. Sample awesome:
Quentin: Wow so you really loved Reservoir Dogs, huh? Which of my other films do you like?
(this blatant arrogance is the type of douchebaggery that really gets my gourd about Hollywood, so now my film boner has turned to film hate fuck, and I feel the need to cheekily undermine Quentin.)
Me: Oh wow. You know, I really didn’t like Kill Bill…
Quentin: What? What do you mean? 1 or 2?
Me: Ehh, a little bit of both. I just didn’t care for them.
Quentin: Wow…I don’t think anyone has said that to my face about my seminal films.
Me: Perhaps it’s because you call them your seminal films. Shouldn’t you wait for someone else to say that?
And:
We get to the house, which is gorgeous, and Jamie Foxx takes off with his lady friend (I try to say bye to him and he doesn’t even look at me. Jamie Foxx could not have given 2 shits who I was. This is probably karma because I snuck into a screening of Ray in 2004 with my black boyfriend who worked at AMC at the time, instead of buying a ticket).
Who doesn’t want to read a novel from this gal?
Steve Sailer July 1, 2011 at 12:40 am
That would be an interesting comparison: amount of time Tarantino has spent working since Pulp Fiction came out versus the amount of time the Coen Bros. have spent working — would it reach 25%?