In my previous post, I repurposed some older Crusty Pie/Past Imperfect photos. There was some mildly heated debate on the veracity of said photos. In a bit of pique (translation: I really didn’t have anything prepped for my next post) I decided to yank the original Crusty Pie stories out of the archives and share them once again. This doesn’t really prove anything, nor does it ensure that I will actually follow through with re-posting all of them. But as of this moment I am on a mission and intend to stay on it forever. At least until I fall in the bed in a few minutes. Enjoy.
Clark: “Okay, are you ready to do this scene?”
Jean: “I think so. But can I say that you really look a lot hotter here than you will in that Gone with the Wind mess you’ll make in a few years?”
Clark: “Of course you can say that. I love myself. Why would I not want to hear about my hotness?”
Jean: “I love myself, too! Isn’t it swell?”
Clark: “It’s the greatest. I’m my own best friend.”
Jean: “Well, peroxide is my best friend. But my ego is right behind it.”
Victor Fleming: “Okay, folks. We’re trying to shoot a love scene here, not a session with your therapist. We get it. You both make Narcissus look like an amateur. Now, can we have a little whoopee?”
Clark: “Is somebody else talking? I thought it was only you and I on the call list for today.”
Jean, sighing: “It’s that wretched man standing over there. The one with the megaphone and the attitude. I don’t know why he keeps showing up all the time.”
Victor: “I keep showing up because I’m the director on this movie.”
Clark: “The director? What the hell is that?”
Jean: “I’m not sure. I see that word a lot in the credits for my movies, but it’s in the boring part where you’re just wanting the words to quit showing up so you can watch the damn movie.”
Victor: “You can’t make a picture without a director. I’m the one that tells everyone what to do so we have a decent film and not a home movie.”
Clark: “I think he’s lying.”
Jean: “Of course he is. Everyone knows that the stars make the movie. People don’t buy tickets to a movie because of the director. That absurdity won’t happen until the French get all snooty about movie-making and start calling directors ‘auteurs’ and calling actors ‘cattle’.”
Clark: “God, the French. They are so annoying. I’m about to make a movie with someone called Claudette Colby Cheese. I’m sure she’ll be insufferable. It Happened with Spite will probably be the worst movie, ever.”
Victor: “Actually, it will be Alfred Hitchcock who will say that actors are cattle. And right now, I fully understand that point of view.”
Clark: “Alfred who?”
Jean: “He’s lying again. It’s the fake media!”
Clark: “We don’t have to listen to him.”
Jean: “I never have.”
Louis B. Mayer, head of MGM, the production company trying to make this movie, suddenly stormed on the set in a fit of colic rage, which is how he approached life in general.
Clark: “Louis, my man! How’s it going, buddy?”
Jean: “Don’t you look sharp today!”
Louis: “Oh, knock it off with the ass-kissing. Here’s the deal. We’re behind schedule, over budget, and I have an ulcer that is preventing me from swilling the Scotch that I so desperately wish was in my blood system right now. You are going to listen to this man over there… what’s his name?… Victor something. You are going to listen to Victor and do everything he says or I am going to make it my life goal to cast you in Shirley Temple movies for the rest of your lives. Got it?”
Clark: “Couldn’t be more clear.”
Jean: “You look sharp today!”
Louis then turned and stomped off the sound stage, firing everyone he encountered on the way back to his office, including several people who didn’t even work for the studio and a child starlet then known as Frances Ethel Gumm. Frances paused for a moment of reflection after this unexpected outburst, and she decided that perhaps it was time she changed her name to something more soothing to people with ulcers and unfocused anger.
Victor: “Well, then. Do we understand the situation now?”
Clark: “Apparently we don’t have a choice in the matter.”
Jean: “Whatever Big Daddy wants, Big Daddy gets.”
Victor: “Good. Now, let’s start the scene over. This is still a pre-code movie, so we can get away with racy. And… action!”
Clark: “My neon-headed lover, I want to spin you round, right round, like a gramophone, baby.”
Jean: “Is that a script I feel in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”
Originally published in “Crusty Pie” on 04/24/15 and “Bonnywood Manor” on 07/14/17. No changes made since the last revision. But I’m sure that I will jack with this thing eventually, because I always do.
Categories: Past Imperfect
Bonnywood Manor 
I love the “I’m my own best friend” line.
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Truth is sometimes stranger than fiction… 😉
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🙂
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Sometimes the muses speak to me and I can cobble together a decent line… 😉
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I’m excited (well as excited as an old woman gets) to see the Joan Crawford one. I BET that was a pip!! Anyway back to the POINT which is this here slice o’ pie and not some other one, which is filled with currants and tastes rather bitter… Um.? Sorry cold medicine, even over the counter stuff which is only effective long enough for one to get a bit comfortable, and then you have to start the whole process all over again..is to blame for my unfocused attitude today. I would have thought 70 hours of sleep in the past three days was plenty, but well there you are.
Neon headed vamp
Unshaven and rather rumpled looking Gable..okay now.
And I have nothing. Damned the gods of thera-flu and Alka-seltzer… wait! No. It’s merely a burble from my usually overflowing stream of verbage…something about let rumpled man eat pie.
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First, please send me the exact medications you are taking, because it sounds like a lot of trippy fun.
Second, I don’t actually have a Crusty Pie story for this particular Joan photo. (I merely plucked it out of my ever-growing “possible inspirations” folder.) I was originally only going to re-post the Pies for the photos that already have stories, of which there are only four. But you may have nudged me into a mission that I cannot deny, so we shall see.
Third, why haven’t I received the medications yet. Step to it!
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First (and this is the unpleasant part) you have to contract a bug of annoying proportion. It has to incubate for two weeks and then it is ready to spring, unbridled, on your physical being. It will, if properly ‘baked’, make you wish you were dead and there will be a lot of moaning and bitching and wondering why God doesn’t just take you now and save time. You’ll feel vaguely like some large man with a big club beat you repeatedly, because everything aches and breathing is a waste of time.
After you have this horrible thing in place, then you apply (along with diabetic meds and these are important as I shall explain present) vast quantities of English Breakfast tea, 7-UP (or Sprite), water, orange juice…and a concotion of my own which involves hot boiling water, a LOT of honey, lemon juice and vinegar. This stuff is supposed to boost your body’s defenses and it actually works, but I digress. Suffice it to say ANY liquid is preferable to the sandpaper quality of your throat and that hacking cough has quelled lesser beings I’m betting. The f*cker HURTS.
Then you add mass quantities of Alka-Seltzer. I take Nighttime Extra Strength for my cold ills, it’s the only thing that knocks me out enough so I can rest. They make a Daytime version (non-drowsy) which added, for me anyway, enough nausea to make sleeping a very dangerous proposition. I don’t get up easily nor fluidly, and when one needs the facilities, it’s usual urgent. One does NOT need to be weaving, stepping on the dog (or cats), apologizing to the wall and door after you run into them repeatedly and in general feeling like you are in that sadistic spinning tube of death they used to have at Lagoon in the “Fun” House. Yeah.
Diabetics, apparently are NEVER to take such remedies as Alka-Seltzer, Thera-Flu, Day Quil (NyQyil is permanently off the menu. I never threw up as much and I never took NyQuil again either. Bleah). Add a generous dollop of Vicks Vap-O-Rub to your person and voila! You have the party mix from hell.
Personally? I don’t recommend it.
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Um, apologies. A victim of that long ass explanation of why those cold meds are ‘interesting’ excluded, oddLY, the ‘LY” from several words that needed it. I’m not sure why. Mea culpa.
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Um, I think I’ll just quietly withdraw my requisition. Thank you for your consideration on this matter. 🙂
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Oh my goodness, I’d love to enter a scene in ‘a fit of colic rage’.
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I know, it’s an odd phrase, but it spoke to me… 😉
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Okay, I confess: I right-clicked, proceeded to Search-Google-for-“Frances-Ethyl-Gumm” and then — God forgive me — I wrote a comment where I pretended I knew all along who Frances Ethyl Gumm was.
It was a fine comment. Humorous even. Poignant, some might say. But alas, it was a sham. I repented of said comment, backspaced it into the dark void where all insincere and fraudulent comments belong, and decided to come clean.
“Gosh, I had no idea who Frances Ethyl Gumm was! You sure know your movie trivia, yes-sirree Bob! I mean Brian!”
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See, doesn’t it feel good to wash yourself clean of potential indiscretions? Actually, I’ve never done that, so you’ll have to let me know how that works out.
Now, as you were violating the internet with your tainted fingers, did you happen to discover the shocking revelation that Frances was once in a variety act with her sisters? They were known as (brace yourself for the creativity) “The Gumm Sisters”. Seriously? That family needed a good PR publicist. Luckily, Frances got wise at some point and Judy eventually made her way to Oz…
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Arriving in a fit of colic rage? Isn’t that Trump’s favourite mode of transportation also? 😉
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One and the same… 😉
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It’s like that fake media. Lmfao
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All lies! All the time! 😉
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I was going to get all clever and start a comment with ‘Judy, Judy, Judy’ and then I remembered that was Cary, not Clark …. On a side note, I wonder if a rehash of The Wiz titled ‘The Prez’ in capable paws might be rather a brilliant and sardonic pastiche ….
Speaking of pastiche – I think I’ll get my Man to knock me up a little light aniseed-based cocktail despite the early hour (shaken, not stirred, you’ll understand 😉)
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Perhaps we could throw in a bit of prophesy and title it “The Priz”, as so many of his little friends seem to be headed that way…
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That’s a peach of an idea (let’s hope it precursors impeach ‘im 😉 🍑)
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