Now I spend my days awash in a cologne of cold memory. It stinks of regret like a diaper in a hot car.
Catalog
Jerry Wallach
Leave it to Julie Andrews' little minion to [bleep] me over.
I needed to get smart, wisen up, kick the stupid out of my brain and rev the Corvette.
The future looked as good as a blonde with long, flat buttocks.
A bondage-themed, improvised movie with borderline-unattractive no-name actors. The anticipation for our masterpiece kept growing and growing.
Mary Poppins screwed me.
It was at that low moment that my indigenous friends introduced me to the cocaine leaf. Ten times more potent than the stepped-on powder sold in L.A. For the rest of the 70s, I lived like a jacked-up koala.
We were determined to make the coke-iest movie ever.
I felt great. And a little violent all day.
Wipe that spaghetti sauce off your mouth, because I've got another project for you.
It was an open secret in Hollywood. Like how Kevin Costner is three different people.
She was like whipped cream and whiskey. Fluffy, and God damn dangerous. She had just the right va-va-voom to play a Holocaust survivor.