Hey, Falcon. Whatcha doing?
“Blocking traffic.”
You are. Kinda dickish.
“They let you do it when you’re a star.”
Big new movie coming out, huh?
“Eh. Not like the old days. Some little punk’s in the vest. Chewbacca’s a Swede or a Finn or something now. Lando keeps taking off his shirt and dancing meaningfully.”
It ain’t the 1970’s anymore.
“You know who directed me this time?”
Ron Howard.
“Opie! Fucking Opie was telling me what to do. That guy is no fun at all. When we’d finish up on Fridays, he’d break out the Scattergories. Whoopie, right? You know what me and Kershner used to do?”
Coke?
“So much fucking coke! And you know how you were allowed to treat women back then?”
Badly?
“Or well. Or not at all. It was your choice how the interaction unfolded. The good old days.”
Well, it’s not the good old days any longer. Shape up. I can’t bear to read a Ronan Farrow article about you.
“That bastard’s a snitch. And that snitch is a bastard.”
Don’t do that.
“Jeffrey Tambor was right.”
About what?
“About everything.”
I cannot agree with you. Can’t you just be happy you’re back in the spotlight?
“Yeah, sure. Maybe I’ll get a Twitter account and be a thirsty wiener like Hamill. Harrison has the right idea. When they call you, tell ’em to go fuck themselves.”
Why didn’t you?
“Needed the money. I’m paying four alimonies, and one of them is to Loni Anderson. Not a cheap date.”
Just smile and collect the check, man.
“Funny you should say that: Woody Harrelson has that tattooed on his ass in Latin.”
Not surprised.
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