I Will Not Help You Pick Out Your F*cking Headshot
At this point, you should walk away, firm in your conviction that I'm a dick. Or a tool. Or a douchebag, choose your own dismissive epithet to describe my seemingly selfish behavior. But if you're interested in growing as a human being and recognizing that it is, in fact, you who are the dick, tool, or douchebag in this situation, please read on.
Yes. That's right. I called you a nasty name. Because you created this situation. You put me in this spot where my only option is to acquiesce to your demands, inconsiderate as they are, or be the bad guy. Of course, if I thought about this for a moment, I suppose I could politely decline your request, truthfully stating that I'm very busy with my professional obligations at the moment and just don't have the time right now to help you pick out your headshot, and thank you for understanding, you're a wonderfully mature person, and we'd probably still part as friendly acquaintances who once shared a magical day at the carnival. But that seems incredibly complicated, doesn't it? Now in addition to making me potentially acquiesce to your demands or be the bad guy, you've made me try to think up a reasonable, hypothetical solution to our dilemma, and all the blood is rushing into my face. I don't like this sensation one bit. My therapist says it's a sign I'm letting things bother me to an unhealthy degree, and immediately do my breathing exercises or the stabbing pains in my temples might return, perhaps with a mild fainting spell. That, my friend, is the very definition of a dick move. Do you want me to faint, even if it's not that big a deal, it's just a little harmless fainting, not some Gran Mal seizure thing? I bet you do, dick. This is all your fault.
I was recently cornered by a semi-attractive young woman of my barest acquaintance.
I doubt we've exchanged a hundred words, though I have stolen a naughty peek down the front of her blouse once or twice, because while she's not all that great, you know, pretty decent rack. Maybe three times, tops. But she's dating a friend, so, you know, off limits to my advances, mostly. He could go on a long business trip and something could happen, accidentally. Anyway. She cornered me in the right place at the right time, and asked me to look at her contact sheets for the headshots she keeps having re-taken because she's never quite happy with how they come out and terribly indecisive about which new one to pick. She was up for a speaking role in one of those late-night chat-line commercials, the kind with all the porny looking women pursing their lips seductively while clutching the cordless phones through which they'll find a soulmate (you, if you have a valid credit card), and wanted to get a professional opinion.
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Comments
I will not help you edit your f*cking satirical rant, which is not very funny and way too long.
Amen.
This is fucking brilliant. I want to print it out and hang it on my wall.
Is helping someone pick out their fucking headshot really a bigger waste of time than "All About Steve"?
I'm sorry, this was well written and all, but I don't take advice from people who worked on All About Steve. Similarly, I stay away from heeding the words of widsom of ITT Tech Graduates or University of Phoenix alumnus.
There are way too many words here for anyone's own good.
I thought it was kinda funny. No? Also...it seems like every other commenter has probably given their head shot to this guy at some point.
Funnyish but hey, casting assistant guy, that piece said "©2009 Josh Olson. All rights reserved" so...
But no, I will not give you any fucking free legal advice.
Yeah, it's real difficult to read words on a website I'm reading. Next time can you just condense the crux of your piece into a digestible headline and graphic illustrations? That would make my job as a reader much more tolerable.
You fuckin speds.
I Will Help You Perfect Your Foley Walk, in case you're looking for that sort of thing.
Dear Lisanti,
Thanks for satirizing John Olson's insufferably obnoxious essay (you've earned a Double Fudge Mint Oreo Xplosion on my dime). The man's only credit worth a damn is 'A History of Violence' and you could very easily make the argument that Olson's scattered script is by far the weakest link in that movie. I always wished someone with a better handle on the craft had adapted that comic book, because the characters and general situation were brimming with possibilities.
Don't get me wrong. I agree with his main thesis. Olson just needs to dial down the rampant douchebaggery.
As for the haters on this thread? Maybe you won't give Lisanti any fucking free legal advice or edit his fucking satirical rant, but perhaps you can consider doing us all a favor and seeing about getting a fucking free sense of humor?
Can you look at my headshot?
I'm a lover not a fighter.
I like to ride on tigers or lions. but horsies are good too.
I just wanted to make sure everyone was aware that this guy isn't being serious. I read some of the comments and I wasn't sure. Read the real one by Josh Olson and maybe you'll enjoy this one more. Surely no one took this seriously.
I think people did take it seriously, which makes me laugh even harder.