I was thinking about Jaws IV today. And I know this had been made fun of and beaten to death a thousand times before. But Jaws IV – you know, "this time, it's personal!" Jaws IV… man, that just cracks me up! It's a SHARK. By it's very definition, a shark can't get personal about anything. Don't take it personally, but, man… it's a shark. I suppose it could get Sharkal, but what would that mean? I guess it would mean that, I dunno, the thing would bite into your flesh and grind you all up and shit. Yeah, this time it's sharkal.
So I'm picturing this family of great white sharks holding a family meeting, and Big Poppa Shark gets up in front of everyone and says, "Okay, listen. The Brodies are vacationing in some island down that-a-way. You remember the Brodies, don't you? They killed Grampy way up north ten years ago. Yeah. Then Uncle Toothy got all sharkal on one of ‘em, so they killed him too, the fuckers. Anyways… now they're on our turf, trying to have some fun… and we're gonna get ‘em. Aw, they're all down here, enjoying the sun… they'll be all relaxy-like and then WHAM! Hit ‘em with what your momma gave ya! Oh yeah! Because this time, it's PERSONAL."
There's an attack… but they only manage to eat a friend of a Brodie, not an actual Brodie. But now the Brodies are all aware of the sharks, and they know that this time, it's PERSONAL.
Then I picture a split-screen scene with the sharks getting' up and dancin' all gangsta-ballet like singing "The Sharks are gonna have their way… tonight!"
Cut to a family meeting at the Brodie Island House retreat… Young Michael Brodie, or whatever the hell is name is – you know, they guy from The Last Starfighter – leading the charges and answering back with "The Brodies are gonna have their way… tonight!"
Man, there is gonna be a rumble.
Ah… I was in West Side story once. Way back in the day, when I was a junior at that performing arts high school I went to. Holy crap-ass it was terrible. The school, they were all into colorblind casting. Which, you know, if that's the way you want to go, that's fine. But please have it make some sort of sense. First of all, they cast a Puerto Rican in the role of Riff. For those of you unfamiliar with the wonders of American musical theater and West Side Story in general, Riff HATES Puerto Ricans. Infact, he even sings at some point "Every Puerto Rican's a lousy chicken." Then he goes on to kill a Puerto Rican.
Second of all, I was cast as Tony – the Italian American studboy. Now, this is back when I was seventeen years old, and weighed less than 120 lbs – hardly the studly hunk of man-meat you all know me as today. And whoa-boy, there's this one love scene near the end, where I'm in bed with Maria and I have my shirt off… Oh yeah, lots of snickering in the audience through that scene. And I have to get all lovey-dovey with Maria and hold her all close and stuff… and we're wearing these body mics. (I forget what the mic was clipped to, seeing as I was shirtless at the time…) Well, lean in to snuggle with Maria, and our mics cross… so I'm trying to be all "Oh, Maria. I love you. We're gonna beat the odds and make it together and conquer the world and have lots of puppies! We'll make it to California someday", but I end up sounding like the teacher from all those old Charlie Brown cartoons.
Audience cracks up. Hell, I would have too, if I were in the audience. That was some funny shitz.
I had a stalker back in those days. We'll call her Katie. She was a freshman. I was a junior. Followed me everywhere. She'd sit in on all my classes. Follow me into the men's room. Show up at parties thrown by people she doesn't know. Left a lot of creepy letters in my locker. Scary stuff.
Well, she's in the show, too. And she's friends with this girl from Hartford, we'll call her Shallada. So, Shallada's boyfriend is in 20-Love, which was (still is?) a gang in Hartford. So it's intermission, and Shallada pulls me aside and says "Listen, if you don't go out with Katie, I'm gonna get my boyfriend in 20-Love to mess you up."
"Sorry," I tell her. "But I'm not going out with Katie."
So, lo and behold, Shallada's boyfriend comes up to me backstage after the show.
"Yeah, that's me."
"Listen. Shallada says you better go out with Katie. So, go out with Katie. Or I'll mess you up."
I mean, really. What the hell do they think they were trying to accomplish here? Relationships based on threats don't usually work out well for either party. What were they gonna do, have this gangster guy follow me around on dates? Make me have sex with her by gunpoint? And wouldn't that technically constitute rape? The nerve of some people!
Long story short, I didn't go out with Katie. No gangsters messed me up. And we all lived happily ever after.
A few years later, I bumped into Katie at an alumni function. I figured she had grown up a little by this point. So, me being the dumbass that I am, say "Hey, you know, if you're ever in New York, stop by for a visit."
Two months later, I come home to my apartment around 2:00 AM to find Katie and a friend of hers in my bed. (I asked my roommate how they got in and he said, "Well, two girls showed up looking for you and wanted to sleep in your bed. I thought you'd be happy to come home and find two girls in your bed.")
Tired and somewhat drunk, I greeted them with a less-than-cordial "what the hell are you people doing in my bed?" That got ‘em out.
They got up, showered together, and blew my roommate.