Rob Zombie’s Tyrannosaurus Rex one-sheet
(ring-ring…. ring-ring… )
“QT here.”
“Hey, Quentin. It’s me, Rob.”
“You’re gonna have to be more specific than that, because I know like a zillion guys named Rob.”
“Zombie. Rob Zombie. You know, the be-dreadlocked alternative rocker turned director who puts his wife –- who was hot, ten years ago — in every movie he makes?”
“Oh. Hey, dude. Uh, so how did you get my… ”
“I’m just about done my half of Grindhouse 2. You’re really gonna love it, man. Think I really nailed the tone.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Grindhouse 2?”
“Yeah, man. I’m finishing up post-production as we speak. So who are we getting to do the fake trailers this time around? I’m thinking Neil Marshall, maybe even that stripper chick, whatsername, Dildo Coyote…”
“Dude. What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Come on, man. Don’t play around.”
Do I sound like I’m fucking playing around? Grindhouse TANKED. It made 20 bucks at the box office. Harvey’s still threatening to eat my firstborn child because of it, and believe me, Harvey will do it. I’ve seen him do it. Dude’s got a basket of babies next to his desk, just for eating. So who the fuck put the idea in your LSD-addled skull that I’d be making Grindhouse 2?”
“You did. At the Halloween premiere. You even asked me to do it with you. So I told you my idea about a pro wrestler who’s on the run from a Satanic biker gang, and there’s this outlaw trucker… it’s called Tyrannosaurus Rex. We talked about it for like 3 hours. You said you loved it. ”
“Dude, I said a lot of shit at that premiere. I’d just shot a fucking gram of coke into my cock. What did you expect?”
“But… I’m almost done.”
Dude, if I had to go through with every movie I TALKED about making when I was coked out of my mind, all I’d ever be doing is making movies! Fuck, I’d be working on Vega Brothers right now, or Inglorious Bastards, not fucking Grindhouse 2. What the fuck were you thinking?”
“I just… I just thought–”
“Did you call this number thinking it was the dumb motherfucker hotline? Because you are one dumb motherfucker.”
“Well will you at least look at the one-sheet?”
“Christ, you’ve even got a fucking one-sheet for this stupid thing?”
“Yeah, man. It’s great. Will you at least check it out?”
“Okay, fine. I’ll check it out.”
“I’m sending you the jpeg as we speak. You’re Q Tarantino at gmail, right?”
“Uh, just send it to my Yahoo account. That’s ‘QTSPAM at yahoo dot com.’ Oh, hey dude, I’ve got a call coming in that I have to take. But we’ll talk. Soon. Really.”
(click)
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