“DJ AND CC TAKE HOLLYWOOD”
Wait, CC—you're a sex addict?!
I'm an everything addict! You know this!
—Except pills; I hate pills.
What? I've seen you take pills before.
Why didn't you just tell me?
It doesn't exactly come up organically in conversation, Dillon.
What?! We talk about sex all the time.
Like, in general—but not fórreal! What the fuck!
What the fuck?! Whats the difference?!
If you have to ask, I feel like you're really not gonna like the answer, dog.
Remember your dad's friend Tom?
Oh my God. You fucked Tom?!
I sucked his dick while I pretended to mow the lawn!
This is the worst conversation ever.
The crazy thing about this story is—
There's a lot of crazy things about this story, actually.
EXT. BASKETBALL COURT. DAY.
Alright— shirts and skins —Shirt—Skin Shirt,Skin—
Uhh! Nah. I wanna be “shirts”
Why dude?! Your girl's mad hot!
So I know you got it goin on! Look at you!
Yeah—but girls always cheat on flabby rich dudes! With hotter dudes.
My girlfriend might be cheating on me!
Yeah. Take your shirt off.
No—uh! How do you know she's just not into you!
[ANDRE is tall (about 6'9 dark, and handsome]
[ANDRE shrugs nonchalantly]
Oh really—from all the way up there?!
Face it, man! You're fuckin hot!
I don't like the way that sounds coming from you—
Were you this aggressive with my girl?!
You're holding up the game getting mad over nothing. It's Hollywood!
You're new here—you'll catch on.
I'm shirts—you're skins—Game on.
[SUNNI BLU goes beast mode and plays the dirtiest, most whoopass game in history—out of spite and anger of the toxic masculinity; this of course earns SUNNI BLU even more respect as a “man's man”]
Later: as the owner of the clippers, sunni BLU trades “Andre” to the worst basketball team in history.
SUPACREE buys DIPLO a glass house to replace the one he burned down in a crime of passion.]
There, now, you'll stop throwing stones—
AND. Everyone can see when you ugly cry.
Sunni Blu is pretending to be a dude.
We've gotta consult The Big Book of Dillon Francis.
Don't say that like it's some kind of guide book.
Didn't I waste my time writing the great big book of Dillon Francis!?
Might as well do something with it.
THIS IS ENVIRONMENTALLY IRRESPONSIBLE.
You're gonna hurt someone's feelings.
Now I'm “that girl who fell in love with Skrillex”
Hum. The one who wrote a novel about it.
No, just straight up—you know what? How much is the bottle?
[SUPACREE pours the remains of the bottle into a red solo cup.]
What! At least you're not “The Black Yoko Ono”
How did you even find out about that one.
Now the world's getting mad again,
I wrote something damaging;
Doors just start slamming at random,
Sounds of motorists passing,
Just scrambling my brain,
I'm insane, but at least I have plainly created
What may be historical, one day—
I've made a whole masterpiece, a symphony that easily outlives me, infinity—
Rush a cop just got get off this awful planet;
I don't want what comes with poverty and fat,
I don't compete with Instagram models,
I'm not a catfish, facts are facts
I use my camera just to document the interesting phenomena I happen to walk past;
Saw Dillon Francis on a wall, and had to grant the wish he asked—
But don't know what it is exactly,
I'm just happening, actually—
I probably need nap but now Insomniac's been tracking me;
I happily allow it; I program myself with beats,
So when I finally sleep, I dream in music sequences, or something—
I might delete it upon listening to rampant white supremacy or privelege on repeat,
Forgetting I'm the one in trouble,
On the run, without a family
So perception is reality, and mine is badly damaged—
Damn Pasquale again, I had to re-decipher all the messages transmitted from imaginary friends,
Collecting images in infrared
I can't! I have to wear a mask!
It's mandatory—so is being black,
I have to! But I'm not a rapper!
Maybe I should talk to Chance,
They might have to answer
To the questions that I can't afford to ask
This automatic writing might just be the most
Goddamned advanced evidence of intelligent inhabitants in other dimensions, or other planets
Or maybe just of Dillon Francis using magic,
Fuck this. Fuck this mother—FAWN.
Are we out of F*cks, then?
...welll, what do you want?
that's how you know mom's angry this time]
Betcha his photographer's in love with him.
Which one has the VooDoo Doll?
There's a Skrillex VooDoo Doll?
You'd be surprised at the shit these girls will—
I thought we were out of FUCKS.
Awww: I see what you did there.
What does Dillon Francis want?!
So. I shifted a consciousness into this rock.
This is not fun. This is not fun. This is not fun.
So, that's it--? You really want to ride this Sinking Ship?
If that's what this is, then I guess that says it.
Says “I just bought a ticket to Titanic at Bass Canyon.”
Is that where you bought it?
Why would you give yourself in, for him?
Comin in hot, like a chicken wing
This ain't Toy Story—got no friend in me,
Cold as Minnesota, I'm the ice queen
Hollywood should buy this bitch a wedding ring
Whole Foods market, gotta own me
No mink coat, I'm a vegan,
Hocus Pocus, I'm three witches
This is Hollywood calling;
We want the festival project
We just wrote up the contract
You're nominated for an Oscar
Your Star On The Walk looks Awesome
I'm rep in the festival project
Ya'll like “what's that?”
I'll tel you all about it,—that's
Welcome to your Hollywood life
Welcome to the Hollywood life
Welcome to your Hollywood life
Welcome to the Hollywood life
They call me young Hollywood,
They robbed me good in Santa Monica
And I so I got no address yet;
But I'm coming up like one direction
I just checked my reflection like:
Mirror mirror on the wall
And I don't do this often
Only when o bless the red carpet
Comin in hot, like a chicken wing
On the big screen livin out my dreams,
I wrote my scenes, the Hollywood life: I neee
Hollywood should buy this bitch a wedding ring
Whole Foods market, gotta own me
No mink coat, I'm a vegan,
Hocus Pocus, I'm three witches
It's just some Hollywood shit
This is some Hollywood shiy
Comin in hot, like a chicken wing
This ain't Toy Story—got no friend in me,
Cold as Minnesota, I'm the ice queen
Hollywood should buy this bitch a wedding ring
Whole Foods market, gotta own me
No mink coat, I'm a vegan,
Hocus Pocus, I'm three witches
One door close. Then another door opens
So sick flow, go home with a cold then
Woah, Hoe—cold like some snow boots
Pants so big, I can parachute
Hoes look fake, like a blow up doll
Harlem shake, i'm bout to blow up ya'll
SAM ASH. HOLLYWOOD, CALIFORNIA. DAY.
Do you have any Jog Wheels?
Yeah, you know, like (imitates DJ scratching)
Oh, you mean these? (Entire room of DJ controllers)
Yeah, but just–this (points to Jog Wheel)
[Leaving store with frustrated infuriation]
Oh my God! We've been robbed!
Have you tried Guitar Center?
And you know I like it rough
But I'm acting like a hood rat
Cause I'm pointed where the moss at
I got all these fans and stuff
I be at PINK buying bras n stuff
I still shop at hollister
The Bronx ain't got no Rosses
To drop it like a thot n stuff
And you know I like it rough
In the booth I'm eating waffles.
Had to force quit my serato
It's such a wonderful feeling–
COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023
