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James Brolin Gets A Role

By Ian Wolff

"I really didn't expect to get the role," said James Brolin, during an interview in the home he never paid a dime for. "Things have been a little dry for me lately," he continued. "So, needless to say, I didn't get my hopes up too high."

Liz Waters, of the Hollywood Roundtable Gazette, leaned forward in a chair that Barbra paid for, and asked, "Who first offered you the role?"

"James Brolin," answered James Brolin.

"You offered the role to yourself?" asked Waters.

"Yes," replied Brolin. "But that still didn't mean it was a sure thing. "I took myself to lunch and we tossed around a few ideas, but there was never any guarantee that I'd get the part. I was getting some fairly good vibes from myself, though, but I was never able to really pin myself down to anything concrete. Myself seemed fairly impressed, however, and promised to call
me as soon as he'd reached a decision."

Waters shifted somewhat uncomfortably in her chair, and began looking about for the nearest exit. "Is it true that Barbra produced this movie?" she asked.

"So," said Brolin.

"No offense, but didn't that make your getting the role just a little bit easier?" she asked.

"That's ridiculous," said Brolin. "Barbra had nothing whatsoever to do with my self's final decision."

"Did others audition for this role?" asked Waters.

Brolin grabbed both of his earlobes, pulled them outwards, and made several strange noises while keeping his eyes crossed.

Waters, fearing for her safety, chose not to address it. "Did anyone else audition?" she repeated.

"Of course," said Brolin. "There was me, myself, I, and Binky."

"Binky?"

"Yes, Binky," said Brolin. "He's the panda that lives in my muffler. I met him during the days when I was peddling mufflers for a living. Nobody would give me a role. Not one stinking role, not even a soap. I was drinking heavily and I was constantly wasted on exhaust fumes. I was sitting at that intersection one day, while waiting for the flipping director to queue me for the thirty-seventh take. It was incredibly hot, and I'd been sucking carbon monoxide for the past six straight hours. That's when Binky came up through the floorboards and sat beside me in the passenger seat. He likes figs."

"Can I use your phone?" asked Waters.

"Sorry, but It's not my phone," replied Brolin, "it's Barbra's, and I'm not allowed to loan out any of her stuff."

"Well," replied Waters, "if you don't tell her I certainly won't."

Brolin leaned forward and whispered in her ear, "She has cameras watching us right now, trust me, she'll know."

"What would she do?" whispered Waters.

Brolin began to tremble, a look of unspeakable horror filled his face. He began slightly rocking back and forth while humming a lullaby that Waters couldn't quite put her finger on. She hastened into the kitchen and began pouring him a glass of water.

"Don't touch Barbra's water!" screamed Brolin, causing Waters to drop the glass upon the kitchen floor with a crash.

Brolin dashed into the kitchen and gazed upon the broken glass. "I'm dead," he whispered.

"It's just a glass," said Waters, "I'll pay for it."

"She'll make me dress up like Yentl again," said Brolin. "And she'll do those things to me."

"What things?" asked Waters.

Brolin leaned over and whispered in her ear.

The blood drained from Water's face, nausea overwhelmed her, and she heaved violently into the kitchen sink.

"Oh, now I'm really dead," said Brolin. "She just had that sink refinished."

Waters washed quickly and took Brolin by the arm. "Come with me," she said, "we're both getting out of here."

"That's useless," said Brolin, pulling away. "There's a helicopter on the roof which follows me wherever I go. There's also a homing device implanted in my brain. Go on," he said, waving towards the door, "save yourself."

Water's raced for the door, flung it open and was confronted by The Barbra herself. The Diva fixed Waters with an icy stare. Waters edged passed her and scrambled into her car; she fumbled nervously in her purse for the keys. Suddenly her blood ran cold, as from inside the house she heard the bloodcurdling screams. "Yentl's been a bad girl again mommy! No,
please, not the spiked brass bagel!"

 

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1999-2000 Ian Wolff. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

Visit The Wolff Den - An online compilation of the humorous essays/columns of Irish humorist, Ian Patrick Wolff.

 


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