Thoughts On The Dead

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Tag: harvey weinstein (page 1 of 2)

An Exclusive Sneak Peak At David Mamet’s New Play

(CURTAIN UP on a DINGY OFFICE WHERE BUSINESS IS DONE AND MEN WORK. A fan is blowing back and forth. HARVEY WEINSTEIN (played by Rebecca Pidgeon) is reclining on the couch in a bathrobe. His secretary, GIRL (also played by Rebecca Pidgeon) enters with a box of donuts.

“Did you get–”

“The ones you…yeah, I–”

“They had ’em? Cuz sometimes–”

“I got ’em.”

“No reason they shouldn’t have ’em all the time.”

“Things run out, Harv.”

“Fuck that.”

“I got ’em. Triple-chocolate. I got ’em. You don’t gotta worry about that.”

“What do I gotta worry about?”


“You just said–”

“Are you in a mood now?”

“–that I don’t…don’t worry about my fucking mood…that I don’t got anything–”

“Jesus, Harvey.”

“–to worry about as far as the donut situation goes.”

“You don’t!”

“But what do I?”

“What do you–”


“–what? I don’t understand–”

“You don’t understand a lot. You don’t understand SHITFUCK about DICK.”

“You’re yelling.”

“A MAN YELLS. This is what MEN DO. We work and we yell and by that you shall know our works. Now COME OVER HERE and LET ME SQUEEZE YOUR TITTYBALLS.”

“What? No.”


I’m going to stop this right here before it gets even dumber.

What? I’m a playwright.

You’re a playwrong.

I see what you did there. It was dreadful, but I see it.

Just move on. Next topic.

I have a short story idea about Te-Nahisi Coates living on a planet where Black Panther only gets shown once every seven years, but the other kids lock him in a closet that day.

Not that topic.



(It’s true.)

James Toback Gets Shown Around The Problem Attic

“What the fuck? Where am I? What is this?”

“Jimmy! Over here, buddy!”

“Harvey? Harvey Weinstein? What is this? Am I dead?”

“Only metaphorically.”

“I don’t understand, even though I went to Harvard. Am I in heaven? Hell?”

“No. You’re in the Problem Attic.”

“The what?”

“The Problem Attic. It’s where society hides all the stuff it’s embarrassed about. Lemme show you around. You hungry?”

“Yes. Is there anything to eat?”

“Just veal, foie gras, and ortolan. Oh, and whale. You want some bowhead?”

“I’ll pass. Harvey, I don’t belong here. That LA Times article was bullshit. You’re gonna tell me there’s something wrong with making a woman pinch your nipples while you hump her leg for a part in a movie? That’s why I got into the movie business!”

“Preaching to the choir, buddy. Oh, hey! Bill!”

“Is that–”

“Fleezum flozzum bwaaaaaaa.”

“–the Coz?”

“Yeah, he’s a great guy. You’re ever having trouble sleeping? Ask him for a dozey-daisey.”


“It’s what he calls his rape pills. Great guy.”

“Great guy. Is that the theory of eugenics?”

“It is. Good eye, Jimmy.”

“I went to Harvard.”

“Weird thing about the theory of eugenics is that it hasn’t been up here as long as you’d think. You want some candy?”

“Sure. What do they have up here?”

“M&M’s with the red dye that gives you cancer, or Ayds.”

“M&M’s that give you cancer or AIDS?”

“No, the diet candy Ayds.”

“Ah. Y’know, gimme both and I’ll let ’em fight it out.”

“Smart move.”


“Hey, Harvey. Is that Jimmy Saville?”

“Talking to Woodrow Wilson? Yeah.”

“Highly varied cast of characters. Is my good friend Mike Tyson up here?”

“For some reason, no.”

“That’s weird.”

“It is. Tell me if you want something to read. They’ve got every Orson Scott Card novel up here. Wonderful stuff.”

“The man has such an imagination. Are there any chicks up here?”

“Camille Paglia.”


“Yeah. Slim pickings. I’ve been making Ted Kennedy watch me jerk off into plants. Not as fun.”

“All of this sounds very depressing, Harv.”

“Here. Try one of these. Little pick-me-up.”

“What is it?”


“Eh. It’s not like I’m having any babies.”


“What’s there to do here?”

“Tons! There’s a bullfight every night, and the comedy club is just the best.”

“Comedy club?”

“Yeah. There’s a rumor that Louis C.K. is going to be headlining soon.”

“He’s a great guy.”

“Great guy.”



“You wanna sexually harass each other?”

“Sure. Me, first.”

One Of These Men Is Dead, And Yet We Are Informed That There Is A God

Psst. Hey. Garcia. Psst.

“Don’t psst at me, man.”

You gotta do me a favor.

“I really don’t.”

Please do me a favor?

“What, man?”

Keep that chick away from Harvey.

“I was planning on it. You see this look she’s giving me?”

That’s the look.

“That’s the look of love.”

Wasn’t that fun?



Garcia wore the fuck out of that turtleneck in late ’73.

Rock And Troll

Rock Scully’s face brought to you by Cocaine©. Cocaine©: Bringing People Who Hate Each Other Together To Rant About Bullshit!


The guy who’s not a rapist or a dead Garcia-enabler is Corky Burger, who was Harvey’s partner in Buffalo. Ten seconds of research suggests that Harvey did to Corky what he did to so many others.


For a second, I thought Rock was wearing a shirt with his own face on it.


I just broke the internet.

Harvey Weinstein Meets The Godchauxes

If I have taught you but one thing, let it be this: There is always a Dead connection.


Harvey got fat, but he was always ugly. Fucker looks like Chuck Wepner having an allergic reaction to shellfish.


Holy shit, Keith can smile.


“Keith, darlin’, you gonna stand in between me an’ that Jewish fella, all right now?”

“Okay. Why?”

“Hush up an’ do what momma says.”



From the Sabres sign behind them, we can assume that this is War Memorial Stadium in Buffalo; this is either ’73 or ’77. I’m going with ’73. What do you think?

A Statement From Ben Affleck

“Good morning, everyone. Go Sox. I’m glad you’re all here. I have a prepared statement to read, and then I won’t be taking any questions.

“I am saddened and angry that a man who I worked with used his position of power to intimidate, sexually harass and manipulate many women over decades. The additional allegations of assault that I read this morning made me sick. This is completely unacceptable, and I find myself asking what I can do to make sure this doesn’t happen to others. We need to do better at protecting our sisters, friends, co-workers and daughters. We must support those who come forward, condemn this type of behavior when we see it and help ensure there are more women in positions of power.

“Thank you. That was my statem–”


“Ah. Right. I would, uh, also like to apologize to the reporter on MTV whose tit I grabbed, We all need to do better at protecting our sisters, friends, co-workers, and daughters from people like me. It was a shameful action, but may I add that I did not have any knowledge of Harvey Weinstein’s many, many crimes while I was grabbing that chick’s tit.


“Huh. Further, I would like to extend my deepest apologies to the reporter on Telemundo. It was wrong of me to spend the entire interview discussing your breasts. That was sexist, and I can do better. Also, referring to them as “caliente cha-chas” was at least a little bit racist, and so I apologize for that, too.”


“Goddammit, I forgot about that one. I sincerely regret making that waitress at The Ivy play ‘Tune In, Tokyo’ with me. I mean: that chick was totally into me, but I regret it and we need to promote women into positions of power.

“Let’s note, though, that Harvey Weinstein was not present at that meal, and–again–I had no knowledge of his terrible deeds.”


“Well, look at that. There is apparently video of me asking Harvey to tell me some of his funny rape stories. Was not expecting that. This alleged video makes me sick. Daughter daughter daughter.

“Anyway, folks: we all good? I have made my statement and now I’m gonna go back to being Batman.”


“I have been informed my brother is in the back of the room masturbating at interns.”


“Goddamn it.”


“Go Sox.”

Buffalo Gal

Are you caressing Stu Allen?

“It’s his hand, jackass.”

Ah. I see it.

“Good for you.”

Hey, wasn’t Harvey Weinstein a concert promoter back in the day? You guys ever run into him?

“A bunch. Him and that asshole brother of his ran Buffalo in the 70’s. Always something funny with the receipts with those two. Christ, I can still see his face. Like a fat pineapple. Looked like a Jewish Noriega.”

Not an attractive man.

“One of those strategic temper tantrum guys. Would scream at the top of his lungs about nothing, then get real quiet and charming. Well, you know. ‘Charming.’ Jackass.”

How’d you deal with it?

“Laughed at him. He was no Bill Graham.”

He was awful big, though.

“So was our crew. I’ll tell you a story. He tried that massage shit on Mrs. Donna Jean in ’77.”

That motherFUCKer!

“Yeah. She would get her own little room so she could get dressed. Keith was in there, but he had passed out.”


“So, big boy charges in there and starts demanding a massage. And, you know, Mrs. Donna Jean’s a Southern girl, and they’re real polite up to a point.”

Up to a point.

“And that point was him taking his dick out.”

Bro, I’m steaming mad here.

“Story gets better.”

Does she say something clever and hurt his feelings?

“Fuck, no. Grabbed his cock and sunk her nails into the shaft real hard.”


“Then she pulls him into the dressing room where we’re all hanging out and announces, ‘Boys, this venue got itself a cockroach problem!'”

I love Mrs. Donna Jean.

“She had her moments.”

Are you sure you’re not caressing Stu Allen?

“Go away.”


Shitbag Of The Week!

Sure, it’s only Tuesday, but I think that we’ve got enough candidates for a good old-fashioned shitbag roundup. I don’t know if you know this, Enthusiasts, but everyone in the country except Rose MacGowan is a monster. You, me, the dracula hiding under your bed, all of us: assholes to the core. (Except Rose MacGowan.) Let’s work our way up to the obvious choices, shall we?

Cyrus Vance

Another in the long line of useless sons of powerful men, Cyrus Vance is actually Cyrus Vance, Jr. His daddy was Carter’s Secretary of State, which means failure is in the bloodline. He’s been the DA in Manhattan since 2010. Remember a while ago when the banks got clever with mortgages and nearly collapsed the entire world’s economy? Despite libraries worth of evidence that all the big players were involved in high-level fuckery, Cyrus brought criminal charges against precisely one institution. Abacus bank. You’ve never heard of it? Shocker. It was a family-owned savings bank in Chinatown where the average employee earned fifty grand a year.

They were acquitted.

But he doesn’t take bribes, at least. Cyrus has that going for him. Sure, sometimes he’ll have a personal meeting with someone about to be charged with a crime, and then that person won’t be charged. And, yeah, a week later the person invariably makes a large donation to Cyrus’ reelection fund, but that’s not a bribe. It’s just how the game is played.

Oh, speaking of that reelection fund: Cyrus generally runs unopposed.

Anyone who had anything at all to do with that Szechuan Sauce bullshit

Stop it. Just stop it.

Jerry Jones

If a skeleton fucked a possum, you’d get Jerry Jones. If a piece of jerky couldn’t shut the fuck up, you’d get Jerry Jones. If a corpse was pickled in not formaldehyde but Blue Label, you’d get Jerry Jones. If it were 1854 and you walked up the Big House and asked for the Massa, you’d get Jerry Jones.

Donna Karan

Yay, a noxious woman! This week has been by and large distasteful men (so unusual, I know) but Donna sneaks into the list. True, her inclusion is predicated on a distasteful man’s actions, but DK could have just STFU or played CYA like everyone else who’s known that Harvey Weinstein’s been a rapeydoodle all these years.

By the way, Enthusiasts: if a dog breeder tries to sell you a rapeydoodle, SAY NO. You do not want that dog. It will not be a good pet to you or your family.

Are you going to veer off into weirdoville now?

No, no. Gotta be disciplined.

Good boy.

Anyway, Donna felt the need to not only defend Harvey Weinstein, but also women (who are whores) for exposing their shoulders (their whorish shoulders) and thus practically demanding to be accosted. The internet wasted no time in pointing out, quite reasonably, two things:

  1. Shut the fuck up with that bullshit, Donna Karan.
  2. DKNY sells women’s clothing that, in Donna’s estimation, would cause the owner to become raped; her point is therefore a little bit self-indicting.

Steven Miller

I don’t know what it takes to make that guy cum, and holy shit do I not want to know.

Harvey Weinstein

Obviously. We’re well past “creepy behavior” and also have driven by “taking advantage of a power imbalance;” we are firmly in “holding women down and doing stuff to them” territory. Famous people, too. Asia Argento, the actress and director. She’s Dario’s kid; he made all those Italian horror movies like Suspira. She did a couple big-budget action movies in America, but she’s an international and arty sort. Makes international and arty movies. Miramax kind of movies.

They have a film festival in Cannes, which is in the South of France, every year. All sorts of deals are made. All the important people are there. Harvey was very important, and Asia was not. He held her legs open and rubbed his thick-lipped mouth all over her pussy. She was 22, and skinny. Harvey has large hands, and they most likely wrapped all the way around her calves. She pretended to like it. She thought it would be over quicker if she pretended to like it.

As has been reported in more reputable places, Harvey Weinstein was thanked from the podium by Oscar winners more than anyone except Seven Spielberg.


Yeah, you. Shitbag.

Stop that! Why are you calling the Enthusiasts shitbags? Some of them are remarkably kind to you.


Did writing about the bad people make you sad, buddy?


Go write something funny. Or, you know, your interpretation of “funny.”


I believe in you!

That’s cuz you’re a shitbag.

By Jove, I Think He’s Got It

“Lisa Bloom, you are the best thing that’s happened to me in weeks. Except for that danish I had this morning. Fucked if I know how they got so much cheese in it.”

“You’re welcome, Harvey, but we need to concentrate.”

“Great, great, awesome. I am listening. Okay, let’s fix me. What’s the first step?”

“Get your hand off my tit.”

“All the way off?”


“I’m already learning from you.”

“Now, Harvey, I thought we’d start off with a little role-playing.”


“Not that kind.”

“I’m open to anything.”

“I’m going to pretend I’m a young actress.

“And I’ll be the lusty bootblack.”

“I told you that it wasn’t that type of role-playing.”

“I forgot. Go on.”

“Okay. Now, I come into your office to discuss a role in a film.”

“I masturbate into a plant.”


“I masturbate onto my cheese danish?”

“You do not masturbate at all.”

“Lisa, you have to understand: I was raised in the culture of the 60’s and 70’s, when it was okay to corner women in hallways and masturbate into plants at them.”

“That was not okay in the 60’s or the 70’s.”

“You weren’t there. It was a wild time. There was freedom in the air and jism in the ficus.”

“Harvey, listen to me.”

“Why? Are you gonna talk dirty?”


“Call me a fat fuck. It speeds up the process.”

“Harvey! You need to realize that literally everything you’re doing is wrong. You may not behave this way.”

“It’s worked so far.”

“Well, it’s all caught up with you. You told me that you wanted to use this experience to become a better person. Were you lying when you said that?”

“No, I wasn’t lying. I do want to be better.”


“Like, if all this bullshit went away, that would be better. Much fucking better, honestly.”

“Right. Harvey?”


“Your hand’s on my tit again.”

“Sorry! Sorry about that. Just muscle memory at this point.”

“Try to keep it under control.”

“Great yabbos, by the way. Top-notch set of boobies.”


“What? It was a compliment. See, this is the problem: everyone’s so over-sensitive nowadays.”

“No. It’s not about that at all. I’m your colleague, Harvey.  We are in a business meeting. There are other people present. Like Ben Affleck.”

“Harv, you’re still my guy.”

“Love you, Flecky.”

“When this shit blows over, we hit Monaco?”

“That’s a date. You’re in the calendar.”

“Sweet. See ya later. Gotta go cheat on my wife.”

“Fuck her in the ass for me, Flecky!”

“You know it, Harv!”


“Why was he even here?”

“Lisa, let’s get back to the lessons. I have some questions.”


“What if I’m meeting with an actress and my robe accidentally falls open?”

“You should not be wearing a robe in a meeting.”

“Oh, I should just show up naked?”

“Clothes, Harvey. You must wear clothes in business meetings.”

“What if I’m taking a shower?”

“Why would you be taking a shower?”

“I’m a dirty boy.”

“No showers, either. Harvey, the main thrust of what I’m trying to teach you is about consent. No means no.”

“Really? I always thought ‘no’ meant ‘the negotiations have now begun’ or ‘please masturbate into a plant at me.'”

“It doesn’t.”

“I’ll be damned.”

“You will be. Harvey?”

“Is my hand on your tit again?”

“It is.”

“Did you ever consider acting?”

“I quit.”

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