The Epic Life of a Glorious Madman

Yes, that is the title of my current novel, a mammoth biography coming soon to an internet book wholesaler near you. The Epic Life of a Glorious Madman. It is a book that will pierce the flesh between your eyes with every single paragraph. Finely crafted sentences give way to chapters like rough cut diamonds clawed out of the diatomaceous earth. 1,207 pages of single spaced, 10-point Arial font (with the occasional use of Jokerman font for effect).

Who is the glorious madman that has earned these 520,000 words of gorgeous prose? I think you know. A giant among actors, a king among men, a shining jewel among the cubic zirconia. A Tiffany Vase among the Indonesia-imported Hobby Lobby tureens. A veritable Disneyland among the county fairs. Are you following my metaphors?

Yes, I am talking about none other than Mark Northover, He Who Shall Never Be Forgotten. On the off chance that you never watch movies, never turn on the television and have never heard of a single actor in the entire history of the motion picture industry, let me give you a quick overview of the career highlights of Sir Mark Northover: 1988 - Willow (yes, the epic fantasy masterpiece by George Lucas, Francis Ford Coppola and Martin Scorsese), 1990 - Mack the Knife (a revisionist neo-noir thriller that won multiple awards, directed by the fabulous Menahem Golan), 1991 - The Doors (masterpiece, award winning, box office smash, history in the making, a film about Jim Morrison and his many odors). Need I go on?

You can understand why Mark Northover deserves the epic treatment of my doorstop-heavy biography. I mean, just look at the man. His very demeanor exudes legend.



So, to tantalize you with bite sized morsels, here are some of the sordid details that I cover in the course of my Longer-Than-A-Stephen-King-Novel novel:

1) Mark Northover's six month stint in Chino for knifing the corrupt son of a Los Angeles selectman during an attempted arson attack on a furniture factory. The conviction was later overturned when a jury realized that Mark Northover was saving the lives of fifty orphans who were trapped in the break room of the factory.

2) Mark Northover's legendary appearance at Carnegie Hall in 1977. Includes all the gory details about Bob Hope's rampage in the dressing room with a bottle of Boone's Farm wine, a young Tom Selleck rushing the stage to kiss Mark's face during the intermission, and the performing mule that broke loose of its chain and tried to trample the backup dancers.

3) 1991, the year Mark Northover hosted the Villie's (East Village's version of the Oscars). His touching monologue on the subject of diarrheabedis, and all those celebrities lost to this tragic disease, brought the usually reserved Danny Devito to tears.

Now, if those tasty bits are not enough to get you to buy the book, then let me add one further enticement. This book will be personally endorsed by Billy Barty. At least, I hope it will be. I am attempting to locate him as we speak. I am fairly certain he will endorse it. In fact, I have it from a reliable source that if I can locate him and make my pitch, he will be 100% percent behind it.

I hope you wait with baited breath. I know I do.

As Always,

Nuffy Noe

Return of the Original Best Thing Ever

Nuffy Noe here. Glad to re-make your acquaintance, all you internet lurkers. I have been gone for many a moon, trying to make it in Hollywood. It's a tough business, I tell you, tough as a plate of over-fried hog jowls. I did everything I could think to do to be noticed. You see, I wrote a screenplay, and, I have to be honest, it's the best screenplay you've ever heard about in your short, miserable life. I consider it The Great American Screenplay. If Mark Twain were alive, I don't doubt for two microseconds that he would personally endorse this screenplay and love me for it.

The trick is, I can't get anyone to read it. I put it in Danny Devito's mailbox, but he just marked it Return to Sender and dumped it in the gutter. I snuck it through a crack in David Hasselhoff's car window, but he deliberately poured coffee on it, ripped it up into little soggy pieces, put it in a plastic bag, and tossed it into the sedimentation tank at the Orange County Sewage Treatment Plant. It took a long session with a hair dryer and a whole lot of scotch tape to put the thing back together (yes, yes, I only have one copy. Kinko's is expensive when you work at the Fatburger). My final plan was to throw the script right into the big, pasty face of Bob Saget, and I hit him good, too. Blood and snot spewed in all directions like the Fountain of Styx. Unfortunately, it was only a Bob Saget impersonator working for tips on Hollywood Boulevard, and after I hit him, he chased me for five blocks, screaming, cursing and making these strange mewling noises. Fortunately, he had a gimp leg and couldn't catch me.

So where does that leave me? On the D-List, at least. Possibly the E-List. But I haven't given up. You, Dear Readers, are my next plan. I will post a delicious morsel of my screenplay right here on this blog in the hopes that one of you has "connections" to the people who can green light this Next Best Thing. Here is the Oscar Moment:

Dooter's Revelation -- Scene 23

EXT. FANCY NIGHTCLUB -- NIGHT

Dooter is straddling his bike, a cherry red Multistrada 1200, in the parking lot of Floppy's Night Sweat Club and Grill, smoking a Swisher Sweet cigarillo. He is complex, sweaty, turgid, with floppy hair dangling in vast curly stalks down in his face. Muncy, his fine example of a lady, stands nearby, one high heel shoe held in her hand.

MUNCY -- I wish you'd quit smokin' that murder stick and love me the way a real man is supposed to love a real woman.

DOOTER -- Cain't, Muncy. Gotta think 'bout killin' a man.

MUNCY -- You ain't gone kill my step-brother, is you? He never meant no harm, Dooter. Now, you know he needed that money. He's dyin' of rabies, and you never gave him no never mind.

DOOTER -- He burnt m'dog. I don't permit no man to burn m'dog and walk this earth. I'm gonna put him down the way Jonas Salk put down polio.

MUNCY -- How dare you talk about polio when you knowed it done ruint my mama.

Muncy throws the shoe at Dooter. It puts his eye out. He screams and collapses to the gravel.

DOOTER - Muncy! You took my good eye! I can't see the world no more. I'm falling.

MUNCY -- I've loved you since you first picked them scabs. I've loved you like the lightning loves the wet old earth.

DOOTER -- I ain't able to love, not after the surgery.

MUNCY steals his bike and leaves him forever. Dooter raises his hands to the sky as it starts to rain. The rain falls on his face and slicks his hair back against his skull like a burial cloth.

DOOTER -- Curse of the night! Oh, father, that you taught me the ways of hate! Oh, mother, that you never called me by name! I will never love again!

DOOTER dies.

End

I really don't know how a screenplay could be better than that. That one scene contains everything you'd want in a movie: pathos, drama, tension, dialogic reasoning, love, glory and human pain. Please make it a reality for me, People with Connections. I will never not be grateful! Never not.