Movie Bio ; The other Pitt and DiCaprio movie are unleashed a near genre and an all-date-flick of routine Star life that is more us, like the movies, bc one can’t make this stuff up, a story, of; Genre, Drama, Fiction, Thriller, Big Lebowski Comedy. It’s not a pal-movie! When royalty Stars are the real thing off camera, of, in part, ppl of all the many parts they have ever portrayed on camera a bit of a wascally-wabbit and totally WILPF and Film Director wanna-be posing as a real qualified P.I. to the Stars on-the-down-low and no one’s fool struggling forward to make ends-meet finagles filming everything even a murder inadvertently, but who’s, when they walked in Thatcher’s P.I. Office & Enterprises P.I. To The Stars… oh monkey-world Hollywood, does it ever end…the story begins…
1st Rough-draft screenplay and some typoes'; Thatcher received an anonymous limo service printed itinerary sheet with complete incident report, it looked totally legit, but why, and it did say 'Att: Thatcher' on the front fax coversheet. It was weird and even weirder still it was it seemed for DiCaprio and concerning a Mr. Peiwabbit. He didn’t think much of it at the time.
SCREENPLAY ‘The Other Pitt and DiCaprio Movie, The Thatcher Files -Mr. Peiwabbit case’
Tall, Thatcher was as slim as someone who could flip through a keyhole and as shapely as a fine hand blown smooth glass figure but not nearly as fragile. His name was Thatcher, a P.I., a former USAF SS soldier refusing a station at Whitehouse security refusing to carry a weapon any more and declassified Homeland against terrorists and hostage situations that Thatcher never mentioned nor spoke of; down and out he get's by ever-increasing like Us all and always wears a vest coat and tie and shiny shoes, it puts ppl at ease, he said, monkey-world fears any signs of higher intelligence.
Then they walked in. When an opening sentence begins, with, you see there was this girl, then you know it's a monkey-world full of unseen pitfalls for fall-guys, mostly. This was going to cost them. Stop, pls, Thatcher raises a polite few fingers, like, a tuned maestro conductor then lightly tapped on his attractive and mostly polished $125.00 desk, on sale at Staples office supply store, before one continues, Thatcher continued on, before one goes on, one needs $350.00 non-refundable and even then one cant promise, one never promises, that one is interested? Not a problem, Pitt put $400 on the desk with a smile. DiCaprio seemed to have held his breath for a moment in perfect face and form.
Oh God, Thatcher puffed a bit, thinking did one just say that out loud, Oh God? It didn't matter that it was Pitt and DiCaprio fame didn't phase Thatcher in the least, mostly, bc he'd died twice no injuries, and lil impressed him in monkey-world anymore but who the bloody H could the female be, or were there more than one, or would he really want to know?
Oh God, Thatcher puffed a bit, thinking did one just say that out loud, Oh God? It didn't matter that it was Pitt and DiCaprio fame didn't phase Thatcher in the least, mostly, bc he'd died twice no injuries, and lil impressed him in monkey-world anymore but who the bloody H could the female be, or were there more than one, or would he really want to know?
Pls gentlemen have a seat... If Thatcher knew now before what Thatcher didn't know then those words would never have left his mouth, ....Thatcher awoke opening his eyes, oddly he could see perfectly under a kitchen stove, wow they keep it really clean he thought popped into his blank mind, he wondered? He must be lying on someone's kitchen floor his brain flashed, and did he taste blood in his mouth? Hm, his quick mind dashed looking for logical variables of data to this immediate dilemma and Miss-tore-rie' unfolding.
Weird, his eyes seemed fixed, he thought, as if dead and all that ran through his mind, laying there semi-dazed, with his check cold on hard designer-tile flooring that smelt of sweet mint-scented ammonia, Mr. Clean, shared center-stage with hearing a ringing, of, 'wow that's really nice tile design and clean' in a flat Thatcher monotone automated repeating robot voice in his head overshadowed with a simultaneous repeating phrase "Pls, gentleman have a seat" in beautifully fluid believable inviting stage-voice mincing together like, a, Mozart symphony with soft underlining and overlays of echo choruses of Pitt, and Dicaprio voices on steroids, repeating in beat, tone and rhythm the supporting phrase, of, wow one is right that's really nice tile design and clean. But much shorter than a Mozart Symphony, if one remembers correctly, wondering what day it was? "...Is it a work-day, what day is it" hearing a Lebowski voice one-liner bouncing his brain, Thatcher ponders on. ...and the story begins.
Still, Thatcher couldn't move yet, and he'd never been knocked out before and didn't quite know what this was when coming-to. Frozen on the floor, he heard those words again, "Pls, gentlemen have a seat" and he saw the whole office scene on that days prior and there was one scene reversed intermittently where DiCaprio was Thatcher, all roles reversed, ...was he Dicaprio or Thatcher on the floor with no mirror to know for sure? Was he dead, his mind flashed…. He remembered that Pitt had leaned forward a bit, like he does, prior closing of the day in his office on the 3rd-floor, #3-F, and says, does one think that one can return one one's change before one forgets? Certainly, my good fellow, Thatcher smiles equally, politely tossing a neatly folded 50-dollar bill from his inner L-breast pocket of a nicely fitting designer sports-coat of noticeable fine design and unique off-brown baroque earth tone colour holding a demeanor as friendly as at a friendly poker-table of perfect brothers, while informatively stating in firm calm voice, should one take the case for 1st step investigation it's $1,000 to start $2000 if one wishes higher covert and stealth bc of cost.
Well, who wants to begin, Dicaprio looking at Pitt smiles an odd smile? Did one just bite one's lip, Pitt puffed at DiCaprio, briefly looking away then back at him, with a wee scrawl of the eyebrows and eyes to match straight at him? Why ask moi, Dorothy, Pitt said most defiantly. What, know it's The Hunger Games, one is the DIVERGENT good-guy here, DiCaprio followed-up? DIVERGENT, Pitt laughed a quick laugh, like he does, divergent to the gym maybe, you're too busy kissing A and dodging bullets, and showing up precisely time and date w/pen in hand when god-powers that be say to like the rest of us to be too defiant.
Dido! Dido back! Double-Dido! Well, double-dido back! It went on, as Thatcher's polite excuse me interjects went completely ignored. Besides, Pitt near snapped, this isn't marriage counseling divorce court and you ain't got knives Dicaprio and wouldn't know how to use them even if one did, Pitt went on. Oh yeah, DiCaprio larked and barked a bit, then why are you sitting in the exact same posture and stage demeanor as in cartoon super-hero Mr. and Mrs. Smith movie sitting in the counselor's office scene, Mr. Smith, lol? Child-like Pitt peeks a quick look, when DiCaprio looks away, down his shirt-front giving a bit of dbl-chin horse-face chin in the process of inspecting his at the P.I.'s desk scene stage-presence.
Sitting up even more pronounced he said, further more Mr. DiCaprio, and, uh, dont look at me. You started it, so there, you begin dear sir, he shuffled! One did NOT start this Pitt, HA! Did to! Did not! Did to! Did not! Why were you even in one's Audi limo entourage that evening, what whERE you thinking, giving his best Dr. Phill jig face? And in the security vehicle, how is that even possible Pitt, Dicaprio near screams inside eyes staining red but not popped, whispering a rapid 12-D mantra under his breath, like, a righteous puffing woman on steroids bout to give explosive birth to something soon, chanting this is not real, this is not real, this is not real and clicking his heels three times while leaning forward as if to puke, trying not to hyperventilate bc he was!?
Is this group having an Ironman in one's office, Thatcher flashed, a co-panic-attack? Thatcher continued nodding with empathy and politely, like, a pleasantly bored funeral-home Director handing out expensive shiny city-code approved containers filled with old bones of beloved ones to their surviving vulnerable grieving monkey-world people, ...at a price. But at least at Thatcher's funeral-home one's clients actually get the bones and not three crispy burnt cats in highly overpriced bottles, he pondered through it. Thatcher pondered in honor, they want the bones, they get the bones P.I., he imagined.
Meanwhile while Pitt rumbles through all his coat pockets trying to find a receipt that proved that DiCaprio was the moron not him. During the small lull, DiCaprio was sure that a lil spit flew through his OSCAR performance but said nothing, quickly glancing covertly around the immediate area, like, a spooked wild-eyed canary w/quick darting eyes, covering his spit on the floor with his foot, and wiping the showered armrest incognito with a sneaky coat sleeve while trying to hold character, and appropriate stage-face for said current stage-scene with some worthy on-stage performers in front of him? Bc you asked one too, one has the transmit somewhere on me! No, one did not ask one to come hop Mr. Peiwabbit's Malibu convoy to Cali? Why would one do that, what, is one star-struck on Pitt!? Oh look, see one's Audi limos they are all plastered inside with Pitt posters, let's all stop our lives and pick up Pitt giving him a free ride all the way to once upon a time in Hollywood-land trip for his fun and convenience, NEXT STOP MEXICO!!?
Pitt leans back in perfect form with a this guy has bad breath or bout ready to get a slap face. DiCaprio embellishes, are you a total complete bunch of overpaid morons in there, pointing at Pitts head but at a safe distance, a pack of 12-monkeys?! It was Mr. Peiwabbit that asked one to join one's crew on route to Malibu! One needed a ride Pitt defends, one's flight was cancelled, one was lucky to get there so quick for one's daughter's sweet-16-birthday party to very quickly not so lucky with you DiCaprio! Oh God, wait, did I say that out loud, guys, gentlemen, pls, allow moi. One will merely ask a few simple but pointed questions to start, K? They both seemed most willing nodding in sync, seeming relieved not to spill the beans. Oh God what am I getting myself into, Thatcher thought, wait did one say that out loud? Did one say what out loud DiCaprio asked with a curious face? Oh God, Thatcher repeated to himself again but louder, wait, did one say that out loud?
Thatcher’s mind kept flashing on, excuse me, Mr. DiCaprio, Thatcher interjected, ..did one say, Mr. Peiwabbit? YEAH, exactly, Pitt near jumps forward at a near excited start, waving a quick knife hand. Pitt! DiCaprio whipped will you plz not do that, answer for me? What, Pitt goes curious-face. Yes, DiCaprio replied firmly, Mr. Peiwabbit, it's a long story. Let me tell-it Pitt whips we'll be here all day. Some have a finer higher awareness filter Pitt try it some time, more listening less whatever that is? It's called commUNication Dicaprio, Pitt smirks as DiCaprio equals it in face and demeanor. These two were stressed.
Thatcher’s mind kept rolling scenes lil vignettes of time in his head as he tried to piece the pieces together flashing his head. ...Thatcher learnt over the years that a female-bod looks excitingly more naked when naked than male-bods. Here, put this on, Pitt throws Thatcher his shirt, ppl will start to think we're gay. What the fridge DiCaprio snaps we're at the beach! Well, look, Pitt near whispers tossing his head just a bit darting his eyes at Thatcher, he has a great female-bod w/out bewbs and ppl are gathering. They’re staring at him, gasped a wee gasp, not us and now looking at us, Pitt and DiCaprio with girl-bod guy! SO, puffs DiCaprio, just under normal speaking tones? I cant have that, jerked Pitt, puffing at bit heart rate up, thinking I am some trans-whatever! Shush! DOnt Shush me DiCaprio, this is serious. Guys, Thacher intervenes clothes are back on, see, no more female-bod, K? One get's it. One hates getting naked in gawking public but had confidently hoped that you two might detract or cock-block a bit more affectively being Pitt and DiCaprio and everything, hm, Thatcher went on. Yeah, me too, Pitt replies and goes ponder-face looking a lil concerned. DiCaprio glances Pitt’s expression and vexingly, quotes, OMQ!
Sorry El Capo but The Pitt has a tarnished enough rep w/out a LGBT tagged on after such a nasty divorce from H, you know how monkey-world thinks. Well, apparently not as well as one does, DiCaprio snickers. He feathered on, and well ole-boy, you know what they say Pitt, boys who sleep with girls who sleep with knives? ...pause, Pitt goes curious-face, wondering if there really is a saying for that and wishes that he knew what it was but refusing to give DiCaprio the satisfaction, though he wanted to ask what the saying was, he did not. But instead, Pitt responded, yup, with his best award winning Mr. Black believable face that was not believable in the least. DiCaprio warmly smiles into Pittt’s face like, a Bob Hope on steroids, as Pitt goes a lil curious face again. With a good twinkle in his eye, and a bit of a wascally-wabbit’, forget it Pitt, he cheered, let’s play-on shall we ole-boy, we have to figure out this Mr. Peiwabbit case soon, time waits for no one, yes, DiCaprio finagles?
We know who it is DiCaprio and we both know what they are capable of? Rolling over, careful to cover his nipples, Thatcher joined in, yes we all know what they are capable of. And the variables have to lay somewhere between DiCaprio's last Climate Religion visited location and the travel route to Malibu, involving oil, animal/drug trafficking, plastic, the famous Actress or Actresses that you two will not disclose at this time, a Mr. Peiwabbit; a Fed-X anonymous package filled w/particular federally sealed classified documents referencing second-hand cigaret smoke and the 60’s hit movie The Graduate; a mysterious suspect fax; and some type of altercation on an Audi limo trip to Cali, would that be correct, Thatcher probed?
You see Doc, I mean Thatcher, Pitt popped off, I don’t know this guy, I dont! I DONT know THIS GUY, DiCaprio responds equally in tone, not to be out bid in territorial rights! Both were giving their best last true confession on earth faces blaring right at Thatcher with such overwhelming vibie’-vibe in such a small space that Thatcher opened a window. You see, there was this movie, Pitt defends. Yes, said DiCaprio or we never would have met in NORMAL circles. No argument there barked Pitt. Yes, I know, soothed Thatcher, with girded empathy, one saw the movie. ..a pause, room goes immediately silent like prey on steroids not even a mouse nothing stirred, with faces frozen in query, of, did you like it or hate it, with Pitt and DiCaprio faces? Oh did one happen to see it, Pitt stealthily probed?
Yes, Thatcher slowly responded, of course, the Pitt and DiCaprio movie, one saw it. The room freezes, Thatcher then easily imagined hearing cold cracking popping hard God-like sounds of ice cracking amidst giant God-like ice glaciers within the sudden silence that fell upon a cold unforgiving room, rubbing his eyes a bit seeing frosty smoke come from their accelerated panther-like breathing, waining impatiently for Thatcher's slow reply. Then in the silence w/out notice, Pitt yelps a quick laugh! NO! Thatcher flinches a bit startled, and seeing DiCaprio smile and nod in agreement. Nope, yup, nope, Pitt slapped his shapely thigh, yep that one sucked too but the one after that my 48-hour friend! What, do tell, there’s another Pitt and DiCaprio movie, Thatcher gasps in shock? Let’s not talk about that rn, somewhat mostly moot, DiCaprio concludes with Pitt near closing his statement in agreement. Pitt smiles and makes eye-contact and winks at the camera patting Thatcher on the shoulder.
Yes, Thatcher slowly responded, of course, the Pitt and DiCaprio movie, one saw it. The room freezes, Thatcher then easily imagined hearing cold cracking popping hard God-like sounds of ice cracking amidst giant God-like ice glaciers within the sudden silence that fell upon a cold unforgiving room, rubbing his eyes a bit seeing frosty smoke come from their accelerated panther-like breathing, waining impatiently for Thatcher's slow reply. Then in the silence w/out notice, Pitt yelps a quick laugh! NO! Thatcher flinches a bit startled, and seeing DiCaprio smile and nod in agreement. Nope, yup, nope, Pitt slapped his shapely thigh, yep that one sucked too but the one after that my 48-hour friend! What, do tell, there’s another Pitt and DiCaprio movie, Thatcher gasps in shock? Let’s not talk about that rn, somewhat mostly moot, DiCaprio concludes with Pitt near closing his statement in agreement. Pitt smiles and makes eye-contact and winks at the camera patting Thatcher on the shoulder.
We both have someone or ppl up our tailpipe and breathing down our necks but it is on a strict need to know bc of certain parties, Dicaprio and Pitt went on. Yes, one doesnt have to tell one one’s profession, one is very familiar regarding sensitive clients in high places, Thatcher reassured. Very high places, Pitt belted! DiCaprio darts a quick glance over at him. Relax, Thatcher continues to sooth, one doesnt need to know and currently doesnt want to know said third parties but as lil as possible for plausible deniability. Me too, huffed Pitt. All this is making one hungry, DiCaprio said, sounding a lil Jacky in the mouth. What now, you’re doing Nicolson, Pitt hazed? MAybe, Dicaprio banters, does one want one to do Pitt? Shees’, jump-off, Pitt Rolls his eyes.
Pls gentlemen, Thatcher takes charge, if that’s even possible w/these two, wait did one say that out loud he thought, gentlemen time is a factor rn, may we focus pls? RN who for sure knows that you are here rn? Silence, they both look at each other for the longest time with different unusual faces, wondering if they were communicating at all. Then suddenly w/out notice their eyes locked, bugged and together shout, oh S, and the lights go out POOF, someone had just then cut the power-box on the outside of the building on the wall….continues.. OQ they’re here, sounded in the whispered dark silence. Shush! Dont shush me Dicaprio.
Thatcher didn’t have the heart nor inclination to let them know that his building often goes brown-out almost like clock-work everyday after normal business working-hours. Thatcher pondered that perhaps under stress they may disclose facts that he felt that they were w/holding potentially putting him and themselves at higher risk. Quickly Thatcher learnt that this P.I. technique fails these two bc before one suggested we all get a bit to eat and off the floor in the dark, resting chins on fists face to face, their ever-increasing bantering, of, oh yeah, Once Upon a Time In Mexico, eat your heart out! Oh yeah, Catch Me If You Can, bub! Oh yeah!? Yeah! Yeah?! Yeah’?!.. it continues…well, I dont know you. ..well, I dont know you either…. You’re just someone on another movie one was forced to show up with. …Dido. Dido back!… Bear oo grr owie! Shut-up. Ok, that was a bit low, Goodnight. Shut-up.
This is another fine mess we’ve gotten ourselves into, the two talented strapping lads agreed, at least on something. Yes, but what specifically, queried Thatcher, glancing DiCaprio’s face? His face spoke volumes, with Pitt’s trying to match DiCaprio’s same tone if not himself also 1/2 in the dark on a need to know bases. Thatcher a former USAF SS knew well the muscle ridding herd over media, like, a Goebbels ground-central Hollywood on steroids but worse, like, there is nazis up in those hills and how they treat, and thought Artists to be but lower than dirt , hostages, to be had, and abused in every way w/in the human-condition. DiCaprio seemingly, allegedly had gotten into something deadly serious way above his pay-grade and years of experience, bringing Pitt with him inadvertently to Pitts open dismay.
Thatcher pondered that the suspect ppl DiCaprio kept referring to as powers that be that it best that they not be known to Pitt and nor his P.I. for their safety, at least fcurrently. DiCaprio said, you don’t want to know. Yes, dear sir, you are right, one does not want to know, Thatcher flipped. Pitt went a lil curious face, well I wanna-know, he piped. No one doesn’t, Dicaprio and Thatcher said in sync! Pitt went silent to a ‘oh S’ face expression, matching the collective mood at hand, ..they would be coming, maybe even tracking them. I will say this gentlemen, DiCaprio spoke up firmly enough, one cant stop being who one is for every Tom DICK and Harry that comes along, it would never end. It has to stop somewhere, they all concurred.
Pitt leans forward, in the weird rental car with somewhat ambiguous unnamable character of presence transitioning from a pleasantly boring moment of silence, he says, in high places, …where whole ppl can merely disappear w/out any questions too deep, and no.1 controllers of all media on earth, guarded by so-called invincible Darth-Fader World Star-Ship’s digital-control center, …pause. DiCaprio picks up the handoff like a pro and immediately pipes in, …a notorious faceless conglomerate powers-that-be hand select Stars of the Arts showing them muted horrid truths on national and world secret levels ever-threatening that one now knows too much, …pause. Pitt picks up DiCaprio’s handoff with, …like one of their corp bad spy movie formulas lol, and remind one that one can be dealt with if necessary.
Thatcher joined in somewhat, stating, same-ole, same-ole old-school. That would have been more entertaining, not that it wasn’t, OSCAR for sure, truly, if it weren’t so true. Well, record it and call it a genre-documentary they joked. One is doing just that sirs, Thatcher bounced, the film is already finished in one's noodle, pointing to his head? What's the title Dorthy, wasting away the hours sitting by the flowers if one only had a brain, DiCaprio laughed as did they all and began burst out singing the song, like, a Dorthy on steroids down the road, legs and arms sticking out of every window of the unusual rent-car, that was said to be French but few knew for sure.
Civilians know how horrid and lifelong and deep paying off student loans can be, so much more so for Artists in the biz, Pitt and DiCaprio discuss. Correct my dear fellows, Thatcher solicited while unsolicited by said immediate involved crowd, that’s how Randy Quad suspect lost his house to Corp Hollywood, ouch! The ole-boy still hadn’t paid off his enormous student loans, I mean Hollywood starting-out loans, that were still owed and they were talking. And that’s just the tip, said DiCaprio. Pitt nods. Thatcher holds court, with, save the pro ballplayers salaries over high Artists salaries and we are all doomed sooner than later, as in, why suffer any longer than one has to, makes no sense and why do anything if not profitable? Oh monkey-world, Pitt chuckles and does a lil head arm work 12-monkeys lil move. DiCaprio laughs and concludes with all nodding, it’s high Artists my good fellows and gentlemen that are the banana not pro ballplayers lest one starve to death trying to eat rocks, still? Wanna another beer? Nauh, one’s stomach is all beer-ed out, how bout steak?
Thatcher knew about the break-ins at their places and the break-lines on their car on that night bc Pitt spilled the beans. And Thatcher was picking up more lil clues, he noted, that were dropped intermittently by his two new somewhat tight-lipped client’s rightly nervous yet wandering bantering at times state of fight or flight mode such as the weird txt message with secured user name Mr. Peiwabbit hacked; the mysterious 2-million-dollar funds deposited in both their accounts on the same day from an off-shore mysterious front company; and the crowbar stuck through their hired Audi limo; the mysterious and lethal food-poisoning of them both at a fine restaurant booked under fake name of Mr. Peiwabbit where Pitt nearly died 50-floors up in the posh hotel room that night if not nursed in secrecy by DiCaprio at his side all night and day for 48-grueling hours of H bc they both agreed no hospital wheres Pitt gasping slow last exhausted breath was so close to a dirt-nap when laughing only hours prior, that DiCaprio had phone in hand agonizing wether or not to make the need 911 call with Pitt whispering dont do it you cant or we’re all F; the spent shell casing located just out both their hotel room doors on the very exact same night; and most importantly and alarming the three (3) closed federal supreme-court sealed case files copies sent to DiCaprio via anonymous Federal-Express package of three extremely affluent ppl in high places suing for second hand cigarette smoke paid an out of court settlement. All the cases were the same lung-cancer but no second-hand smoke nor smokers.
There had been a hot-pink sticky note, that they snapped with their cell-cameras, that had been hand written in purple ink that had been attached to the stack of files and read, ‘…start here but be warned they will kill you, no not cigarettes morons. (hint) see movie The Graduate, scene starting of big graduation party paying close attention to idle small-talk in his ear, in YOUR ear. did you hear it? …and remember they WILL kill you. Yup, Thatcher pondered, these two Stars say a lot when saying lil sometimes, they must trust moi.
I like it here Pit proclaims raising his glass to Thatcher at their small tall standing table covered in red velvet tablecloth to the floor at a roof-top fine pub for the more have’s than have’s-not in a no middle-class waining society overlooking the water on a beautiful PNW evening be it misting mist-rain or not. A Killer-Whale bays in the near distance, fitting Pitt’s timely endorphins kick-off lil artistic table jig for gentlemen, a toast my good men all, cheers and cheerios he smiles a Pitt perfect smile never breaking character. The ppl dont come up and bother you in this city, very cool, he cheers on. Dicaprio matches his swig and manages a smile of photogenic-face enough then taps his index fingers on his wrist in applause moving a finger at his white-wine glass with perfection he taps at the glass with his manicured fingernail a perfect sweet crystal wine-glass ping, ping, ping in perfect synced timing sounding more perfectly automated than human, like, faint church bells barely heard yet while encompassing the whole affair with it’s sweet reminder, ping, ping, ping magically felt by all.
Yeah, well, that’s bc they are A-holes, Thatcher nearly smirks, they dont talk to anyone unless one pays them to. Good morning, nice day to you you socially acceptable looking passer-by, …oh yeah not unless you pay me face ppl, monkey-world. Thatcher continues on, they dont call it the Lil-NYC for no reason. DiCaprio though noticeably holding a somewhat hovering overly concerned eye for the occasion but like a trooper not to spoil hard-earned eating, drinking, and being merry moments he raised his glass, like, he'd done it a 1000-times before not missing a breath in sincerity, he followed suite with said affair, confident as stone rock stating, whatever it takes gentlemen, mostly, of Arts and Education, to preserve the inherent inalienable rights of the free good ppl, the right to peace in the good market places beside them, even for the famous so to dine among them as friends all the while may not they be as overstayed uninvited neighbors and mindless annoying houseguests.
Pitt standing at the table and leaning against the rail he spits out his drink right at the table, like, a pressure-holes blasting concrete, or in this case tables, and flying fine dinnerware, or flake, and breaking wine-glasses before hitting Thatcher square in his face .5-seconds after a direct hit to center-mass, a bulls-eye, as Pitt near professionally and with spot-on quick thinking swings his fit bod around as quick as any Mr. Smith spewing spray like a shot-gun mist blast in an arch to over the rail with few patrons noticing, as he chocked in laughter before Dicaprio could finish his table-jig.
DiCaprio held perfect character mostly, but cracked just a bit watching Pitt about to fall on the floor in public choking on his drink and not even drunk. A small tear and a slight giggle escaped DiCaprio’s character as Pitt glanced him for mercy but seeing him break a bit merely induced another knee-jerk Pitt laugh attack. Pitt holds up a waining Fight-Club hand STOP he barely chocks out the word from laughter, and the night goes on. Well, that was a pretty good save Mr. Pitt, Thatcher incognito wipes Pitt’s drink-spit off his face and shirtfront with a non-assuming long wipe of his napkin from head down, smiling his best one understands that you cant help it face. Gee-whiz Beaver, speaking directly at Pitt, ppl barely noticed at all, Thatcher said, except for and especially moi.
Pitt burst out again laughing, DiCaprio follows suite, while Pitt uncontrollably spits out another small mouthful out over the railing and a large olive pit, raising a hand. STOP he commands, one almost choked on a pit thank you very much, in normal calm tone though barely holding on to composed straight-face, refusing to look at either but looking away and down at the street 24-stories below. I’ll jump, Pitt choke-laughed and a lil laugh-snot dripped from his nose. Oh S he murmured wiping it with a quick accurate free sleeve and tries not to giggle uncontrollably like a lil happy boy of days gone by.
One's a rocketed-mess he quickly surmises, out-loud, shaking his head just a wee lil bit ever so slightly he burped, and one isn't even buzzed, ...yet, Thatcher noted? DiCaprio digs in a spur with Pitt over the rails nearly P-ing his pants hence DiCaprio unmercifully does a lil voice-over jig just loud enough for their party table to hear, ‘YOU ARE NOT YOUR KHAKIS’ doing a Fight-Club Pitt voiceover and that was it! Pitt goes down quicker than an old-granny w/a bad hip and collapses respectfully to the shiny decorative tile floor with white shinny teeth glowing from ear to ear on his hilarious down, disappearing somewhere under a tall red velvet tablecloth, bent in a fettle-position in muted machine-gun laughter that sounded more like someone’s head about to explode while trying to hold in a sneeze while being tickled unmercifully.
Quickly and intermittently an unmanned ghostly wine-glass would jerk a lil spill as the table bumped with movement matching the restrained laughter coming from under it at its root, its stem, its rod, like, a magic laughing tall table. DiCaprio noticed and pointed and too began to lol, oh look Thatch' it's a talking Pitt-table with olives, Pitts shaken not stirred, he gleefully chirped! Oh yes I see, Thatcher followed DiCaprio’s lead. Or someone is having unsafe relations with this table lord only knows where its legs have been and a bit wobbly, Thatcher carries on.
Oh Miss, is our table in heat, Thatcher mimics, may we have another ours seems to be behaving most unusually for this time of year ole-girl? The talking-table laughs and jerks a sizable squirt, or two, ...or three, of wine out of squirting wine-glasses blessing the floor and bouncing green olives across table, like, a wild herd of hopping bouncy live-thingies taking on a life of their own, like, a break-out at Sobibór extermination camp running for their puny green lives like it matters to anyone, jumping and hopping lively all about as quickly as possible away from being eaten like the rest of us, Thatcher imagined. The wild unmanned green one red eyed creatures continued to bounce delightfully, no matter how much he tried to stop them, before landing into his happy fit lap leaving large wet watermarks and bits of tiny red olive lips sprinkled about his junk at the front of his designer slack crouch.
The table began to giggle and shake, and laugh even louder, and harder as if a stiff big rabbit were dry-humping it, down there becoming even more pronounced in climax. Customers began to notice and smile in delighted curiosity. The talking-table groaned in muted laughter, stop, one’s gonna p-ss one’s pants, the table bumped a big bump, splashing water from a large water-glass that was at the table’s mercy. And you’ll have to deal with it rn, seriously, the talking-table groaned. The table party got deadly still 'all hands on deck’. No, we quit, Thatcher assured. Yes, Dicaprio quickly calmly followed suite, seriously, he said, while his face said that he may do another Pitt impression. Pls, Pitt, get up off the floor, DiCaprio concluded, one was hoping that one would sit down before one fell down but one does have that affect on some ppl. And the evening went on.
DiCaprio had a smell-meter, Thatcher was confident that DiCaprio was being blackmailed to silence by powers that can make whole ppl and houses POOF disappear. It’s far from uncommon in the biz with carousing billionaires bored out of their empty gourds, he reflected. Thatcher studied DiCaprio’s face throughout the evening in stop-frame foto-genic genius vignettes real-time playback. He wasn’t masking his concerns concerning their joined business affairs at hand though not rude, nor was he pushy, nor Pitt. Nor were either too awfully forthcoming via variables and facts but somebody is clearly targeting them both hardball professionally was clear enough, Thatcher pondered? Somebody was sending them a serious brazen and threatening message but what, exactly? And another stressed out spoiled, rich disappearing Star is an easy sell and life is cheap in them hills, as it were, Thatcher knew equally all too well.
Thatcher, like most, knew that DiCaprio was marketed since birth icon as just another brainless lap-dog teen soap-opera magazine pop no-talent pretty-boy waiting to be hand-tossed into the next generation’s Clooney hence few noticed it seriously when DiCaprio did masterpiece after masterpiece, OSCAR after OSCAR after OSCAR w/out receiving the award bc he was icon as just another brainless lap-dog teen soap-opera magazine pop no-talent pretty-boy. Thatcher pondered that corp Hollywood old-school were aware that they were signing a 2% of population or multitalented genius Artist savant at the start. That’s a Mozart start to finish, Thatcher’s knuckles clinched on purpose in good form. Thatcher’s P.I. mind swirled, dirty-hippies, these same but modern-day art museum gatekeepers are up one’s client’s tailpipe, OG, wait, did I say that out loud, he pondered? Who’s a dirty-hippie, DiCaprio asked a lil curious face? “Are you’s-talkin’ to-meAH”, Pitt does a funny and a lil intimidating Taxi Driver/De Niro quick jig? Oh nothing, Thatcher avoided.
At a meeting, Thatcher steps from behind his desk walks a few paces and does a perfect much practiced front-snap, then round-house, and then back-spin using only his feet and barely hitting the kicking bag but with an invisible solid jar and loud smack, pow! His tie stayed well in place and his shoes still shiny, as he said, gentleman there is time in everyone’s life when one reaches for the mature leaving the immature behind. Is that day today good sirs, Thatcher entertains in one take.
Well done, Pitt smiles, and giggles a bit while looking down, like he does, before swinging his head up high in glee, and does a lill clap in sincere enjoyment, like a Ruler of the land might or a Troy with muscles. He was enjoying himself somewhat under the pressure. DiCaprio, not so much, being much closer to the flame in this Mr. Peiwabbit case, thingy, and Dicaprio groans a lil groan under his breath.
Wait, did you just groan, Pitt points at DiCaprio putting his hand to his mouth with wide-raised eyebrows? You did, dont lie! He continues to point, DiCaprio just groaned, hah, haa, he actually groaned, laughing Pitt was having fun! DiCaprio’s got a heavy frozen bear on his back, BAM he boums just above normal tones while punching the air with a lightening-fast flat palm karate strike making the cuff of his sleeve snap, like, Bruce Lee on steroids and punctuated the move, with, DAMN THAT’S GOTTA HURT ..geez, or should one say freEze, as Pitt was still having fun in the moment, …frostbite for life on your junk, Pitt queries? Anyone, anyone, Pitt mimics querying his motley-audience, like, a Fight-Club waiter asking to refill one’s shorts with frost-bite at a Bear movie? Yep, Pitt was having a bit of a laugh at everyone’s expense but mostly` entertaining. He laughed. DiCaprio, not so much. But, with Pitt snickering his adorable inherent trying sincerely to hold back, soon DiCaprio began to laugh at himself and soon both were doing inherent adorable laughing in public, like playful friends when parents aren’t watching, and an orchestra of eye, and sound candy of ppl feasting delights in sounds of merry, echoed.
The scene transitions to a pub just down the street as they gathered their things and thoughts, and off they went as a walking conversation in progress ignoring the world, and it’s potential dangerous there in. It was Pitt and DiCaprio, and the tall-guy and ppl noticed but they didn’t seem to notice in the least nor care, conditioned in a glass-bowl life. There seemed to hang a sort of peace and type of contentment over the place in that moment as ppl ate, drank, laughed and mingled. It was odd.
That triggered Thatcher’s SS (special security) fight mode alarm, the peaceful part, as he casually looked over not one but both his wide shoulders and scanning mirrors in the room until meeting Dicaprio’s eyes in one of the mirrors, following suit. Both pausing to gaze a bit uneasily long into each other’s faces through a small Kaleidoscope of mirrors from around the room. If faces in mirrors could talk they would say in unisons, ‘What have you gotten us into, …I’m not sure but I think you know, ikes!😎😬’.
So, what were you hinting at with all the kicking and twirling and immature or not, specifically, Pitt managed to ask Thatcher, leaning forward a bit ducking his head slightly while smiling as if a cowed pet prepared to be whacked on the head with a big stick? That is a complicated Q and A, and the music, it’s loud, Thatcher retreated. DiCaprio glanced Pitt, then Thatcher? DiCaprio nodded a lil node at Thatcher to answer. Pit glanced DiCaprio, why did you nod at Thatcher, Pitt demanded?! Nod, what nod, there was no nod?
And it went on like a Friends TV episode rerun for another 20-minutes. Thatcher, was there a nod, both doing their best ‘better not lie face’, with tapping fingers and shoes demanding an answer rn to this latest crisis issue at hand, well, they demand, was there a nod? Thatcher was starting to respect the super-power of these two Stars especially in force, with their both barrels looking one straight in the face at only 3 to 5 feet away point blank, A-list performances at random. One’s man-jewels shrank back up to where they come with their grills all up in one’s own grill, like, a high-school principal pushing you in the chest bc you have long hair and calling one a dirty-hippie flashed Thatcher’s mind, saying nothing. Well, they exasperated, was there a nod? Thatcher shakes his head and does a weird kind of grunting and shaking of the head, like Actors do before starting a line. RIGHT, Pitt points at Thatcher grabbing his stomach and rolling over forward in burst out laughter, ..this guy, this guy points his finger, doing a De Niro impression, this guy is funny DiCaprio, were’d you find him!? In a two bit tin joint, buster so pipe down, see, DiCaprio does a tough guy bit and bumps the tabletop a lil with his palm as testimony to it.
Pitt still laughing and pointing, says, ole-Thatcher is doing DiCaprio doing Dalton doing Russell lol from our Pitt and DiCaprio movie. Laughing Pitt yelps this guy is good! How so DiCaprio retorted that didn’t represent moi in the least! EXACTLY, Pitt laughs even harder. How is that even funny Pitt, he quieted on? Pitt, laughing near unable to speak, exactly, it was Kirk Russell reincarnated cowboy. Ha ha, Dicaprio throws a napkin at him. One apologizes Mr. Dicaprio, one didn’t mean to offend, it was a bit out of bounds doing impressions of one’s clients, it was rude. I’m not the Performing Artist. Pitt tosses the napkin back at DiCaprio landing perfectly on his lap as if placed there by servants. Not missing a beat nor detracted, Dicaprio ignored the incoming napkin-bombing while smoothly replying to Thatcher, oh pls my good Thatcher think nothing of it.
What are good employees for but to forgive, yes? Then w/out warning DiCaprio slung w/a quick r-hand at the wrist flung a thinly sliced kiwi sliver like a playing-card through the air hitting and sticking on the side of Pitt’s face w/a startling lil splat juices flying like a kiwi squirt all over his Pitt face. The food fight was on!
DiCaprio darted up from his chair as if to jaunt quickly behind Thatcher’s chair before dropping like a stone out of sight, like a Houdini POOF and disappeared in a brilliant comical flash behind Thatcher’s chair pretending to fetch a napkin on the floor and as quickly as any gentleman might w/out ppl dashing for fire exits. Merely missed by Pitt’s deadly-aim and food slinging hands, dropping and hiding behind Thatcher saved his life. DiCaprio hears a SPLAT. And pieces of octopus slime squirt profusely above with sound force showering octopus-slime atop of his head. Poor solider, DiCaprio thought, Thatcher must have caught the whole brunt force of the thing with a direct hit right to the choppers’.
Sorry Thatcher, Pitt squealed softly, as they continued said incognito food-fight using Thatcher as shield for too long, according to Thatcher, covered with more food than either of them. They were good at it, thatcher thought, hardly anyone noticed in such a lively place until a sizable oyster, that DiCaprio nicknamed big-bertha and refused to eat, somehow inadvertently went SPLAT with noted splat-ness of sound, across the way, sicking firmly in the middle of a fat lady’s back near matching in colour and tone, and who was, unfortunately for everyone, wearing a backless dress. Seeing the slime snot-nugget before it slowly then quickly disappeared south dropping like a rock down her dress, was a sight, POOF down between rolls of whatever never ever to be found again only felt. Before the woman and tiny group had time to assimilate an oyster down her back and off to the washroom, a waiter was at their table with their tab paid in full and a bottle of fine whatever but it didn’t seem to matter much, they left near immediately w/out a word nor other, ever disgraced oyster slimed in public.
Thatcher was quickly brilliantly discovering that these two were soldier Artists. They were on in high awareness from the moment they opened their eyes and no slackers, probably conditioned since their nazi Hollywood forced indoctrination kid-camps boyhood of 15-hr days 6-day weeks, like, a Shirley Temple in the cooler’ on steroids. And both were always camera ready even when not, mostly.
Through on-the-down-low at times in somewhat exasperating travels to retrieve a no.1 objective in the Mr. Peiwabbit case, a simple misplaced flash-drive across city and state via helicopter or tiny sea-plane trips across a body of water at group discounts during off tourist season; rent-a-bikes on the street; buses; walking; and a very weird rent-car, it’s French they kept saying, it’s French but both through it all never shirked a task and pleasant through all weathers even when they weren’t, mostly. Both with inherent unstoppable drive to survive, well, leash-fancy-free. They not once disguised their appearance but Thatcher did take routes where ppl dont notice too much on purpose but maybe once, but not too loud if one wants to do the Spock thing, live long and prosper.
Thatcher was highly trained USAF SS (special security) soldier since young manhood declining a six figure promotion position at the Whitehouse, having his fill of men and guns, for Whitehouse Security. Thatcher was a WILPF kind of guy. And once SS always SS. Thatcher a part-time high Art struggling serious Artist and Filmmaker gone P.I. was an Official Honorable DIVERGENT SS Soldier declassified, Homeland, a club one never leaves alive. Perhaps that’s why DiCaprio found his lil $50,000 annual P.I. company interesting bc Pitt sure didn’t have the political clout to pull Thatcher’s Homeland classified declassification file; documented certified genius; artist type scholarships to France marked as shooter; court-martialed 4-times refusing unlawful orders, acquitted w/honors all 4-times; battlefield and city trained killer; driver; escort; admin; expert marksman all handheld; weapons of convenience; SS (special security) against terrorists and hostage situations and corruption w/in corp system; discharge type, Honorable DIVERGENT.
Perhaps, that’s one reason in part why DiCaprio found him, Thatcher pondered, knowing that he would not have to explain iron-fisted matters to Thatcher holding his hand but already an understood thing, in most part. Thatcher was much more familiar with the entities that he suspected are down his two client’s throats, emails, text, phones, reservation-hacking, and more, and up their tailpipes, more than his two new clients of the Mr. Peiwabbit case knew or could ever know.
Over course of time on the down-low slumming-it, a thug-life dropping off digital radar per Thatcher’s request, Thatcher quickly learnt not in total surprise however that these two Stars are Stars in life and genius in their own rights, acting, performing, imagining their way across time and space. Thatcher watched them with SS eyes stealth so much so Pitt would at times throw a wet towel, a piece of soft fruit or flip-flop at Thatcher, saying, bub wake up is this what one is paying for? One would like some clean food chips and dip, do pls and bring a drink Boi’, doing an entertaining jig ever delightful and ppl smile, a lot, when he does that, Thatcher pondered on. But in Pitt-code it meant, yeah you are SS trained we are paying you to watch our backs. I’m sorry, Thatcher would smoothly reply, moving nothing but a bottom jaw, I didn’t hear you. I wasn’t listening. I was asleep, and I’ll have a double pls.
Of course one was watching their backs Thatcher flashed, they were his clients, and always placed his bod in an exact spot in their presence even if he had to move heavy patio furniture to do so. Hearing Pitt whisper loud enough OG here we go with a puff and a Pitt toss of the hair on purpose was not that uncommon an event, following with sounds in the background of sounds of heavy concrete patio objects being slowly dragged across concrete that may block a certain vantage point or view, always taking high-ground, sun in their eyes, Thatcher goes to work stealthily rearranging furniture and objects for quick exits, and strong high-ground power-positions at restaurants, outdoor cafes, walking down a street especially at night, Thatcher goes SS on the brain.
This especially holds true after learning deeper as to what DiCaprio was suspect in facing. Thatcher, wondered would he take a bullet for either of this two gentlemen bc he thought that they were both in way too deep, way above anybody’s pay-grade if one wants to live? Thatcher swallowed hard. Thatcher began to enjoy their presence more than merely clients nor as artistic catalysts. Thatcher admired and respected them as ppl. They were ok in his book.
There is an old-saying, that, when one makes themselves the indispensable, they become very dispensable. In a short while one will find a way to gently let them know that one resigns,Thatcher near said out-loud. Thatcher kinda-loved these guys but had to break away. Thatcher knew better that if Pitt and DiCaprio stepped in quicksand squirming only makes it worse, either do nothing and remain as is or get all the way out quickly and smart. If indeed it was you-know-who, Thatcher analyzed, up his two Star client’s Star-pipes and digital everything, he gloomed inside his Thatcher-brain. He shudder a bit, few lesser and far lesser motive have had whole ppl totally disappear and Thatcher liked these guys, his Mr. Peiwabbbit case clients who were too young and talented to be ruined, permanently disabled for life in a wheelchair or worse, he whispered.
Would he die for these guys? Thatcher’s brain flashed when 9yo seeing the real Boogie-man in a neighbor’s garbage at evening’s ghost-light hour, …THATCHER, DiCaprio snatched him back and placing his hand on Thatcher’s shoulder, said, are you ok ole-boy did we lose you? Thatcher seemed a bit disorientated. Are you ok, DiCaprio asked? No, yup I’m fine Thatcher replied. Just a lil PTSD is all, it happens. I’m fine, really, solid, thank you.
Well thank you for serving DiCaprio smiled empathetically, he went on, I hear PTSD can be heavy at times, patting Thatcher on the back. Thatcher took it all in like a good battled SS solider, though knowing that DiCaprio had actually snapped him back from a Boogie-man PTSD moment just then that was just as real and more frightening. Thank you, Thatcher nodded graciously, you are too, too, kind, really, playing the rightly wounded solider bc that part was real, and manages to get at least most of the rest of the evening paid for by his two new soon to be ex-clients way above his allotted daily salary allowance. Better poor than a dirt-nap Thatcher flashed.
I’ll tell them soon, Thatcher practiced in the mirror: sorry I must resign, sorry, I quit, I must, one has no other choice, nope, sorry one doesnt do body sacrifices anymore.
Vexed with such a volatile and entrapping situation Thatcher faced off with a mirror w/heart thumping as if about to walk down a dusty street at high noon for a shoot-out with something very dangerous and takes a long breath, saying, …one’s auntie is sick broke her hip she’s fallen and can’t get up, as he squares off in the mirror with believable concerned empathy face and stage-presence demeanor, …pauses, holds up a few fingers and, says, excuse me …hold that thought I have to take this while holding up an invisible cell-phone to his face answering it’s invisible ring, …yes, Thatcher pretends …what, you’ve fallen and can’t get up… hold on auntie one’s coming, then he hangs up his invisible cell-phone and turns with just the right pinch of awe-and-shock persona all over to another mirror, saying, I apologize profusely gentlemen but unfortunately I must dash, a bit of a family emergency you see, one’s auntie has fallen and she cant get up and one is on the next flight to Siberia, she’s from the old country, I’ll call you next week, soon, I promise, let me know how the Mr. Peiwabbit thing is going, must dash, tah-tah, adios amigo, see-yUH wouldn’t want to be-yUH!
Thatcher’s sadness of heart drops him in that moment like a puppet-doll who’s strings were cut dropping like a limp long rag, collapsing on his bum onto the floor with a controlled thud, putting his head in his heads between his knees whispering, OQ they’re going to kill us all, “…there’s a lion in the street” he quoted then immediately did a lil chuckle, laughing at the fear in him that he knew was a snare for his feet and that of sluggards afraid of lions, he pauses, …I’ve gotta get out of this, he said to himself pushing hard on both sides of his head. Wait did he just say that out-loud he pondered?
Thatcher practiced reigning, like, a Pitt and DiCaprio movie in the mirror on steroids; …it’s merely too dangerous gentlemen…One must bid thee a good fair well gentlemen until we may meet again leaving you at your leisure in deep Great-White waters be warned a siren of the sea does whine, “You’re gonna-need a bigger boat” and Thatcher bids one fair well, as a Thatcher would not be if a Thatcher not be a Thatcher, not shark-bait.
The two Stars antics and ways of doing things flashed Thatcher’s mind, lil things, when Pitt saved an 80yo lady in the street from being killed by a bicyclist speeding doing at least 25-miles-per hour by not snatching the old-lady but bc closer he merely snatched the biker swinging him in a near perfect 180 sending him flying in the opposite direction smashing into a street standing mailbox. Being even close beside them was a high risk lifestyle if Thatcher was right about who was attacking these two Stars with no voice under siege.
There also was the time when the group was feeling our buzz-on and DiCaprio ended up defending one’s right to privacy and innocent until proven guilty techniques when too poor, afraid to use his bank account, too ole-gramma-broke in the temporal moment, like, A Prince And The Pauper, too broke to hire a body-guard, using his brain instead of his credit card, while initially hazing Pitt that started the whole sorted affair to follow unknowing, by doing a pretty good Dirk/Fight-Club impression, throwing his 1/2 smoked lite cigarette scene on the sidewalk prior entering our brief accommodations high-end-ish, all most posh but not hotel, Thatcher remembered. Sheee's not even close whipped Pitt with a grand smile, and 1/2 frown while lifting himself up in perfect form as did DiCaprio simultaneously in muscle-memory reflex.
She may not have been as broke as ole-grandma but she was way shorter and meaner than a pst-off-wasp w/a nail at the end of her walking-stick to stab other dogs that approach her old-as she was tortured soul of a purse-dog, swinging her cane at DiCaprio and yammering away at him! What is this midget-granny night, echoed somewhere in the area that sounded much like Dirk himself not the recent DiCaprio rendition of DiCaprio does Dirk does Pitt jig done merely seconds ago.
It paused the ole-bag for a second as she ached her head, like a malfunctioning old robotic creaking robot as if in stop-motion movements not fluid looking around with spent vision and coke-bottle glasses attempting to locate that fairly familiar ominous voice encompassing and echoing in that lil off-street hotel court-yard bouncing off walls ghost-like as in a overly brilliant polished floored church dark and mysteriously shadowy and empty on Tuesday night.
It seemed that a chill Dirk-ed down the ole-bag’s crooked spine as she flinched a lil flinch with near bent hunched-back shoulders that had never lifted anything heavier than a tea-cup in her whole entire waining silver-spoon-fed life, rotting and withering her shoulders head and neck like into a turtle shell of hump-ness. Pitts pointed backup watching DiCaprio’s back via echoes in the dark voiceover work, gave fellow partner in crime DiCaprio enough time to adjust to the new variables in this interesting impromptu forced street screenplay at hand, as Thatcher recorded everything SS P.I. style in his noodle.
Who said that, the lil granny barked looking blindly around waving her cane about intermittently, dirty-hippies!? Excuse me, DiCaprio touched his hand to his chest, like a Titanic swoon? Oh, we’re going Titanic, echoed softly out there in the background. Granny flinched and swung right, then left, swoosh, swoosh went her cane. Her debilitated as she was tiny nervous purse-dog, no longer recognizable as anything but a puh-dog got spooked w/all the seldom seen brilliant commotion not seen since 1967 and immediately P-ed and poo-ed w/out a near squat but more of a OOPS quick glance of a look, of, oh S expression as the lil old-bag stepped squaring in the muck, splat.
THERE! There it is again she managed to croak grabbing her breath with her clutching hand at her overcoat collar shaking the other hand with her cane all about in an arching manner as if fighting invisible ghost! Looking down, as the smell was immediately most horrendous and coming w/a noted audible SPLAT and ever-ending flatulence in nature exploding a burst of tiny dog bowl sewer-pipe with at the end releasing at least 2-inches worth of biohazard putrid smelling gaging dog-tuna-fecal gases.
It sheepishly peered about with its one partly good glassy eye with a tongue that no longer could stand test of time hanging to the ground with, a, did anyone notice face? Everyone noticed! The flies certainly noticed and bees already swarming its contents, tuna in a can, as a rat tarted under a near by bush not to be left out on the fresh hot meal at hand.
She half-bent and stabbed DiCaprio’s still smoking cigarette with precision with her nail-tipped cane and lifted it up towards him while incognito stomping dog-poo off of her shoes and ankles now buzzing with big biting green flies. What is this young man she demanded waving the smoke too near his face. Oh Sheee-IT, Pitt’s presence echoed in the air. There it is again, she swung round with her cane as the cigarette flew off hitting DiCaprio in the ear. DiCaprio sprung into action center-stage as his quick brilliant genius Art brain now had enough to work with for this impromptu moment and she was the perfect stand-in, Thatcher noticed.
DiCaprio immediately went into Dirk/Fight-Club 1st fight scene on the streets after some beers, doing the scene near perfect including voice-over. Oh God you hit me right in the F-ing ear, he yelp grabbing his ear in pain, F, that hurts! Oh crap, echoed in the yard that sounded more this time like a Pitt than anything else, he’s doing Dirk/Fight-Club 1st fight scene, …copycat, faintly set the scene as it echoed away. There it is again, swoosh, swoosh granny jumps right but this time DiCaprio ducks covering his head. Her mutt jumps in sync and nervously farted a quick squirt spent watery brown-tuna juice sh-art across the walk adding to the already unbreathable stench encompassing everything putting any skunk to shame in comparison, like, something had crawled up it’s bum and died, maybe a tuna.
Well, well, I, I, young man, uh, one does apologize, that was an accident however as one must surely know but there is NO excuse for that kind of language, she began to grow in growling tones, with the waving stick again. Her mutt hidden behind her w/a so glad not to be the one in her gun-sights this time face and demeanor, setting there, gloating perky licking its junk. How dare you types corrupt and litter our streets with your filth, shame on you, she holds court, clicking the nail at the tip of her cane on the concrete with sparks. Her mutt jumps and p-ss itself and pukes a lil yellowish-tuna-brown hairball of tuna in fright then licking it once before swallowing it with a delightful noted gulp.
Well, uh, how dare YOU, DiCaprio floundered a bit searching his next impromptu line, with 1/2-believable face. How dare me what she barked impatiently with curious face? Are you on dope young man, she leaned forward a bit and sniffed her face into a putrid uglier than she was horse-face?! How dare you reproach one’s resolve, DiCaprio soiled her! How dare you, just who does one think one is, misguided woman, he reproofed somewhat? What ‘type’ does one speak or to slander perhaps, DiCaprio went on? WELL, one doesn’t walk around in public smoking killing ppl with second-hand-smoke and themselves, shame, and littering the streets with your nasty, nasty habit cigaret, …who does that but dirty-hippies? You aren’t a dirty-hippie are you she demanded waving her stick? Why no, one is not, he replied pretending to princely adjust his coat sleeve in perfect form for the lighting and opportune moment at hand.
All the while Pitt and Thatcher are heard weaving in the faint background of voiceovers as if on a large movie-set going on about proper use of the word midget vs lil ppl, and how they outlawed lil-ppl tossing contests. Does that include lil old ladies? One doesnt know, you got 5-bucks and big drum barrel let’s find out and start the betting eh? Who one can toss the old-midget-bag into the barrel? Call Green-Peace where’s a DiCaprio when one needs one that’s dog tuna violation. Who buys that crap and serves it to anything they care about? Canned tuna, the most disgusting stuff on earth and one knows it’s gotta smell even worse coming out.
This made DiCaprio a bit uneasy until he noticed that her hearing was about as good as her eyes but worse and the red battery light was on, on both her two hearing-aids, tapping them from time to time not sure that what she was hearing was not merely picking up free TV air waves again.
Then why are you smoking and throwing down cigaret butts on the ground, tell me that she barked, sparking her stick on concrete? One has no idea what one is talking about, he replied with unemotional uninterested face and tone, yet princely enough. I saw you, it’s right there, smoke is still coming out of one’s nose, she barked again. Again he repeated his previous reply exactly, same tone, verbiage and demeanor. After his the 3rd one has no idea what one is talking about jig reply, attempting to make him confess, knowing that one can’t prove a negative, even in 3-D monkey-world thinking, she puffed and slumped her shoulders further, if that is even possible, and walked on by slowly in short, and dumpy round self, her mutt dragging its wet bum on the grass by the curb entrance closest to the building door where the grass is always greenest, with flies.
Dont forget to pick up your dog’s tuna-sui’ mess, dear lady, DiCaprio chuckled just loud enough with near a boyish giggle. One heard that young man, midget-granny groaned under her breath, almost in the door, one isn’t cleaning that up, you clean it, dirty-hippies. She groaned, echoed loud in the small last stand Jesus lil garden court-yard of whatever, as Pitt jumps from between two tall groomed bush-tress off of a 3ft garden-walling. Bravo clapped Thatcher appropriately loud unnoticed standing in half dark, half light shadow invisible until moving forward. DAMN, Pitt jumps, seeing him with his peripheral vision one didn’t see you Thatcher. Of course not dear sir, one is SS.
Still a bit hyped up from the performance DiCaprio turns and darted a comment towards the door, with flare, …it's not cigaret smoke morons, DiCaprio whipped a quick mumble. Why say that, Pitt pointedly quires? What, DiCaprio looks up and darts eyes at Thatcher's eyes. Why the darting, one saw darting, why the darting, Pitt whines, knowing they must be hiding a secret between them.
Stepping back into shadow/light not moving, Thatcher didn't say a word nor show anything but believable card-face while looking over his shoulder as DiCaprio follows suite, saying, I have no idea what you are talking about, DiCaprio offered? He also stepped smoothly back and disappeared to where light meets shadow w/out moving, looking over his shoulder.
Pitt looked around, he jumped a short stiff jump going a bit horse-stance ready, arms out a bit like ridding a surfboard or as if there were an earth equal about to happen, seeing that he was alone and the only one visible in the light. Wow, wow, wow, he went a bit Dirk right before being shot dead, in performance, muscles flexed looking like the real deal from every angel and moved like it. His head spent left to right in near complete 360-circles looking for his mates, and spinning in circles several times waving his arms out to his sides feeling the open empty space on him while the light blinded him looking into the darkness.
GUYS, GUYS Pitt yelps, feeling a lil alone here! Shush echoed across the way! Don’t shush me DiCaprio he whipped at the ghost-voice somewhere out there watching him. You guys are getting creepy he near pleads, looking for sniper laser beams on his shirtfront running to the shadows. Seconds later a loud BAM was heard in the dark, followed by a low muted ‘ssheeet', F, car’ as a mostly Pitt voice squeaked, …think one may have broken someone’s side-mirror with one’s package’, oo, lil-help here guys, echoed the shushed voice in the dark somewhere in the empty parking-lot flood-lamp glow. Guys, …guys?
Quickly regrouping as the Mr. Peiwabbit-squad in arms, Pitt immediately continued on about the darting eyes issue crisis at hand. Thatcher, there was a dart, you saw it, the eye darting he turned hopefully to Thatcher? I have no idea what you are talking about, Thatcher followed suite. Great, I have no idea what you are talking about, Pitt shrugs in vexation, that’s all there is?
EXACTLY, Thatcher and Dicaprio spouted, in delighted sync! It’s a splendid epiphany from the 12-D spills DiCaprio. A true enlightened moment indeed sir, Thatcher follows-up. One thinks he's got it ole-boy, pipes DiCaprio. Why, one thinks one may be entirely right about that dear sir, torts Thatcher. The evening plays on as a few ignored rough teens shout from a distance, what are you, a bunch of fags!? Pitt whips a quick athletic Troy-look in their immediate direction 75-yards away w/eagle-eye and then looks back at his comrades and says quite theatrically, boys I have no idea what they are talking about.
They all laughed, feeling and being their power in their group-ness, more powerful protecting wake, Thatcher reflected! They were Pitt and DiCaprio the other movie. Jokingly but no less A-list in action, they skipped across the open-air parking-lot parked away from the pack of cars, dancing a three-stooges dance singing, ‘one thinks he's got it ole-boy, yes one thinks he's got it, oh my he's got it ole-boy, we have no idea what you are talking about, we have no idea what you are talking about, I think he's got it’ and laughing all the way in top natural performances for free, mostly’! Faggits’, echoed some kid’s voice somewhere way away in the dark. We should have had a camera-guy on us on that one Pitt and DiCaprio laughed, and it was fun. One does, Thatcher said. What, they both went curious face? Never mind, Thatcher groaned? Wait did he groan? He groaned! Nauh, not out-loud at least, right Thatcher, DiCaprio teased?
The longer Thatcher did not resign the more information that was becoming less and less than plausible-deniability worthy. “Danger danger family Robinson danger danger” flashed Thatcher’s movie brain seeing robots across his mind lost in space, wait, did I say that out-loud he thought? What the F are you doing, with a perfect laugh was heard somewhere a few yards behind Thatcher’s back in the perfect evening easy to breath air, black-holing Thatcher back from 12-D back to this 3-D of time zone. It was a perfect Fight-Club voice believable in every way, behind Thatcher but Thatcher did not break character nor turn initially.
Pitt laughed a laugh and again in character, and that too was also as believable, partially in the dark full-moonlit patio garden smoking a cigarette with honeysuckle in the perfect soft breeze. Pitt wore a sharp looking well tailored suite of a perfect olive-green that blended well with the evening. Nope you never say anything out loud Thatcher, Pitt smoothed on, seemingly enjoying himself in the moment. He causally strolled down the few steps toward Thatcher as if he’d done it a 1000-times before and a scene he knew, stair descending on camera, and life it seems. He did it well. You’re doing TV series, Pitt admired, Lost In Space from the 60’s. Very good my good man you cease to amaze for a P.I. person Thatcher. Thanks, did DiCaprio share all the info gathered to date on this Mr. Peiwabbit case? Oo, all business and on a night like tonight not even a beer in hand, do tell sir, Pitt carried own pointedly.
Nice suite Thatcher glanced a small glance. Thanks, Oscar Del La Renta, Pitt replied, nice stitching and light weight, thin material, very comfortable and fits, and wears well over time or ‘rolling in the hay’. And you, he queries, nice jacket I like the colour, sort of a golden bronze brown and nice tweed weave?
Thanks, also Oscar, Thatcher confessed. Thrift Store 50% Off Day, Thatcher replied unemotionally nor shame, nor anything but comparing concepts. OG, Pitt steps back a lil 1/2-step, in inherent practiced perfect balance, leaning backward in good form from lower pecs backward, …dead-ppl clothes, Pitt jests, waving a lively hand in front of his nose, one knew one smelt formaldehyde, uncontrollably chuckling. One cracks one up Thatcher, Dead-ppl-clothes he laughs softly. Really, Thatcher goes curious to near duckface, one is wearing “I See Dead People” clothes, lowering his head sniffing his beautiful Oscar De La Renta fine sports-coat? Nope, yup, nope have it on good authority that most high-end designer threads at thrift stores, yup, Pitt extrapolated, dead-ppl clothes, of the Have’s vs da-Have’s-Not who died in them and their whole dead-man’s wardrobe. Sick uh, no full disclosure, ‘warning, ppl died in this clothes’, Pitt waves his hands.
So Emily Post of one to mention dead-ppl in ones clothes, thank you, Thatcher smiles warmly. Pitt chuckles to near laugh his impromptu humor cracked him up, Thatcher thought.
Pitt’s high-end beer-buzz-on was kicking in comparison to Thatcher’s sobriety thus far in the evening. One likes you Thatcher, one is smart, well knowledgable in the biz, polite, scary-sincere, and not a carouser and very funny in a dry way. Is one asking for one’s hand in marriage, Thatcher smiles firmly? One wishes, Pitt jokes, no, jussayin ole-fellow, seriously, mostly, he continues smiling one is ok in one’s book Thatcher. You are too, too kind, Thatcher responds, and only after 48hr one’s mother always said that one should get a job as a hired saint. Then why is one anywhere near Hollywood, Pitt laughed in a near whimper? Where else do we go, Thatcher asked? We who, Pitt responds, P.I.’s? No, high Artists, you bunch of overpaid morons, Thatcher scores.
Seriously, one seems a very smart non-schemer, honest, hard working, kind vs nice, mega Artistic and brave gentleman type fellow, and one dresses really well. One could use someone with your abilities, want a job, Pitt asked? One has a job, Thatcher flips, Mr. Peiwabbit case. Besides one is allergic to Hollywood’s main vine, quoting, Weinstein’s of Hollywood are only the Fall-guys so it is all ok and lil changes is why one can’t accept. One can’t handle that much evil all in one place. Sometimes one can’t quit, Pitt respond, and as former USAF SS against terrorists that can’t be new news, aren’t you declassified Homeland, also known as GOV tracked like a Mr. and Mrs. Smith till death do use part? Noted, Thatcher replied.
Pitt did a lil fit and very coordinated, thus sensual, moves involving hip and upper bod moves, and silent arm work that lively rocketed into the sky several times in silence. OH, OH, Thatcher knee-jerked pointed and said, ‘Burn After Reading’ as if about to win 1st place for answering correctly, and with excitement eyes! Pitt immediately smiled showing a few teeth and slapped his lower abs firm enough, then pecs with pointed laughing in normal tones, saying, ‘I like this guy, this guy, this guy he’s good, no, he’s good’, Pitt gives entertaining as any De Niro jig might A-list.
Pitt continues, one is a fine dresser Thatcher, I’ll give you that, the women do turn their heads, and men. Hm, one hadn’t noticed, Thatcher smoothed with confidence, like, he merely didn’t care bc he did not, he reverberated inside. This holds true, Thatcher thought, bc he did not copulate outside of marriage since boyhood, mostly, and wasn’t homosexual, thus a, mostly, moot issue though far from Thatcher an A-sexual. Thatcher posed a bit, free amidst the Stars in form and moving demeanor, and face.
Thatcher enlightened, as Pitt cocked his head a bit in response as if really and perhaps interested as his hair fell sightly begging for an A-list camera shot as Thatcher tried not to stare at it. Thatcher pondered, too often such things are socially misread by monkey-word as only fitting to notice if for female curiosity or for gay-guys, not merely patrons of living Art w/out sexual intent.
The Artist and Director part of Thatcher pulled in the moment as she often does at her timing and pulled again, and she won’t be denied, for long, he pondered. Thatcher’s aways alive or die ever-evolving restlessly relentless Ms. Muse, a blessing and curse through all things, on topic Thatcher’s mind whips, …oh well, one guesses that one has something of some charisma one images, Thatcher said to Pitt in the garden. Thatcher did a Judge Judy in persona confidence and trying not to have pinched-face, Thatcher only smiled and replied, confidently as usual, well, it sure isn’t bc of one’s blind fame nor high zip-code bank account, Thatcher humbles best one can as being anonymously renowned lifelong proven unFAMED so a ‘Perfect Tommy’ of, The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across the 8th Dimension and never bitter, mostly, he pondered and imagined.
Thanks, Pitt replied, one works hard maintaining this, giving hand and arm work up around his face, head and bod like displaying the goods of fine brand-new merchandize on TV series The Price Is Right gameshow filmed in LA, LIVE in the garden, melting mysterious into a professional easy vogue living look pose that was every bit believable in-person naturally. Sorry, Thatcher chirped, didn’t mean it that way though one hates one, making Us all look so bad and so easily. How do the rest of Us ever compete, Thatcher huffed, like as if he cared? Pitt pats Thatcher on his slim, fit, wide, girl-bod w/no bewbs’ bod swimmer’s-deltoid covered in wonderful to the touch Oscar De La Renta, that was like stone even when unexpectedly bumped, with a Pitt brotherly move having to reach a bit in order to do so, saying, one can only imagine my good fellow, Pitt enchanted, doing a believable empathy Pitt face, one can only image. Pitt smiles knowingly, like, a Prince who humbly knows too much by default, not by design.
DiCaprio seemed to merely appear POOF, his off-stage timing entrance is master level, Thatcher thought, civilians don’t stand a chance with these two’s presence, Houdini landing, on the landing were Pitt had been mere moments prior, also looking splendid in suite and tie, and shiny shoes in moonlight, neither wearing gray, black nor Air-Force-Blue.
Hence fittingly DiCaprio then leaned over, a bit, dragged in a quick healthy breathe, and immediately did an up-cough-loogie, and spit expertly with force a noted wad with never-miss USAF SS marksman like-precision thus snuffing the light of some poor annoying insect or uneatable-weed therein said garden foliage, historically, with a Movie Star’s and African-Power-Ranger’s power-blast diaphragm lungs into a manicured high garden by the steps, like, he damn-well earned that one, with a sharp attractive quick look but w/out bitterness, as if all cameras rolling, …they both did that, as if cameras rolling at all times, Thatcher √ thought, loving that about them as very high awareness People-Inherent-Artists or aliens in their own land.
Oo it’s stuffy in there, said DiCaprio gracefully with strong buck gentlemanly calm righteously deviant, like, DIVERGENT the movie on steroids young and fresh and strong, as many a bored Prince might behave on such a grand evening in a full-moon-zone he continues on in appropriate Emily Post loudness, and of pleasant enough tone, and demeanor stage-presence DiCaprio glowed; w/clean untarnished voice, grasping just an ample enough breath of said evening’s gorgeous air strolling down the flat semi-wide short in height steps toward the tiny group on a cement covered garden deep green shiny foliage incrusted, flat mingling area below with delicious moonlight, equaling Pitts princely entrance, DiCaprio joined the group. Wow, one washes-up pretty good, Pitt pipes! Damn he’s good, whipped Pitt w/a quick side-glance, said barely audible under Pitt breathe whisper. What are you girls gossiping about down here in Jesus Garden Whatever, DiCaprio greeted warmly with astuness, as if seeing BFFS after a very long time, but really meaning it with face and tone to match?
DiCaprio is a splendid Actor, Thatcher thought, wait did one say that out-loud he pondered? Thank you Thatcher, DiCaprio graciously replied, and one really does mean it. One missed one’s gentlemen guys it’s been all of 20-min. Yeah, Pitt underlined softly, Thatcher never says things out-loud. One is having mommy panic-acts in there alone, DiCaprio continues, where the fridge’ did one go? One was doing a real-time The Departed in there afraid to eat or drink anything hoping one’s wine glass wouldnt explode w/a passing bullet looking over one’s shoulder every 2.5-seconds exactly? What’s up DiCaprio concludes?
Clothes and fashion, Pitt offered. What now, is one Spokesperson for if one isn’t LGBT enthusiastic one must be Weinstein group or white-ish’ heterosexual skinheads roadblock? DiCaprio played and mingled among them in the garden as if on Hollywood set on holiday hardly feeling the stress in his upper shoulders, lats and pecs, he flexed hard both his arms under his suite in perfect form then twisting them a near 360 in one direction then 360 in the opposite direction, feeling his own strength. And all where fine with that, as if doing a big picture grand monolog in great films? He continued w/perfect pause of slight wink of mood too quick for most to catch but Pitt did a lil giggle while noticing.
OK, one will bite, DiCaprio smoothed on, retorting in would-be character, saying, oh so one is one of those types, DiCaprio pointedly hazes, mostly, and w/a brotherly bump of persona in the air. One of those types’, how dare you sour-sir, whatever do you mean, Pitt does gorgeous indignant face? Sorry, ole-Boi’, Pitt jumps-in on top the impromptu conversation in the garden. Pitt took control, turning to DiCaprio, like, a hot Paparazzo for a payday shot, turning with DiCaprio and stalking him with appropriate, princely-approved, distance all-the-while pleasantly entertains pointedly enough, Pitt continues in Fight-Club mannishly persona but cuter.
Thatcher P.I., Artist guy, continued incognito in observation his two new Actors, I mean Mr. Peiwabbit clients, did one just say that out-loud, he said wispy to himself w/curious regal face, like, a loyal shanghaied USAF SS soldier trained to escort and serve, and observe w/out seeing anything nor saying anything, ever. Pitt sparks, at DiCaprio’s coat-sleeve, as it were, ’Jack’s liver is toxic and must be removed’, Pitt opened the stage. Pitt was trailing DiCaprio who smiled and seemed splendidly perfect enjoying the evening, and not pretending this time.
Pitt continues, ‘Jack no longer has testicles bc of petroleum product gassing and Jack’s lung’s love gassing petroleum spores and now Jack’s penis has emotions of sadness, see Susan run, see Tom run, see Spot run’, Pitt said, in fine Fight-Club form controlling time and DiCaprio played straight-man, DiCaprio-man. Thatcher tried not to smile nor detract the unfolding scene at hand, like any good Director might. Pitt and DiCaprio continued to cast their individual inherent spell into the grand so-called nothing evening’s moment of pleasant boredom front-stage while crickets delighted, and wildflowers scents from miles around through perfect filtered fresh sea-breeze ocean air went unnoticed to them in their joined moment fury of life therein, Thatcher observed further. Thatcher thought to himself, seasoned orbs of higher enlightenment in high Arts and pondered if they knew it past their individual, what camps, enslaved golden-cage concentration-camps for A-list geniuses of talent, higher awareness and insight? Thatcher gazed on their talents as professional ppl, honing their skill only when breathing.
Seriously, Pit broke character, if that is even possible practicing to be himself a whole lifetime, the LGBT wrench comment was merely to playfully identify who was coming into camp, either a rule bearing nazi, of, either be LGBT or be dead or a Weinstein, or both one-liner probe. “Oh, I get it, how’s that working for you, being clever”, DiCaprio smiled in character, like, a Fight-Club discussing single serving meals and lil single serving servings.
We have known each other for about 48hrs and one speaks of Weinstein, not very Emily Post ole-boy, said DiCaprio. How so, my good man and best 48-hour friend, ever-ever, mostly he jest? Never discuss unpleasant especially not tawdry inappropriate topics of conversation in social arenas or excuse oneself from the monkey-world group, DiCaprio warmly informatively replied with matter of factly voice in ever-so an Emily Post tone of emotionless politeness of pleasant company and good-face in public face. An image of a discussing groping slobbering fat nasty-headed bulldog head with unkept grotesque barrel turd body white, hairy covered in pimples crying plz, plz look at me naked is not an image in one’s mind to be nurtured within civilized company, DiCaprio climaxed.
Stop, pls, Thatcher interjected, one can’t take it, waving his hand out at arms length tightly squinting his eyes shut directly in front of him waving a stop-palm left to right. One has a great imagination, one can’t take it that’s all too unpleasant to talk about, Thatcher insists. Maybe that’s the problem, Pitt offered, no one speaks socially of the injustices especially towards females in this biz? No argument there, but, what’s the point, powers that be have more power than God, who can stop them, DiCaprio shrugged, unless one wants their house to disappear, then jobless?
That certainly holds true enough, Thatcher whipped, in the beautiful moonlit garden, a cricket chirped as testimony to it, not much has changed other than one less of them is walking about mucking things up for everybody else and taken down as fall-guy with his bosses going fancy-free unscathed, the head is still alive, Weinstein was merely just the tip, of the tail. Yet, females are clearly rushing the gate to take 50% power to make things right, like, a tsunami on steroids beating down the gates and swarming over the walls like unstoppable army ants on a mission for sure and for certain Pitt and DiCaprio reassured. One must like that being raised WILPF, Pitt and DiCaprio turned to Thatcher. Indeed good sirs, indeed, Thatcher smiles in relieve. The most gifted, powerful, beautiful, higher awareness creatures on earth, Thatcher concluded. You aren’t a faggit are you, DiCaprio joked while Pitt spit some fine white-wine in knee-jerk surprised laughter?
There they mingled for a while pretending everything was ok speaking of various things, women, jobs, music, the biz and ppl, much like a scared bunch of chimpanzees might if knowing that they were completely surrounded by voracious chimpanzee-eating-lions on the prowl looking for anything to devour, bunching up tight together nervously patting one another, as if to say, we are all ok, we are not afraid, we wont be eaten? They tried to stay away from the immediate pressing topic at hand and stayed to off-topic topics of conversation. An escape from fake-reality in a healthy way by merely remembering the finer things in life other than faceless monsters trying to eat one 24-7 was the unspoken collective mood rendered on their faces and stage-personas on a beautiful moonlight evening where no troubles should exist.
DAMN! F! Screamed Pitt, then DiCaprio both jumping unexpectedly high for white guys, like 4th of July bottle-rockets with sparks flying, straight up in the air w/out notice nor warning, 1st Pitt then DiCaprio, like, human jumping-beans, of, Pit jumped, then DiCaprio jumped in near imperfect harmonized sync, looking more like a hilarious rehearsed Danny Kay movie-set scene take-one, eyes popped, mouths open pointing at the ground, jumping, jumping w/wild faces! !!
SNAKE DiCaprio manages to choke out while pointing vigorously like with an invisible sword fencing move! Pitt now on the three foot wall surrounding the large garden immediate area and green foliage, Pitt cracks up in laughter pointing at DiCaprio, tears! What’s THAT Pit proclaims, The Masked King whatever sword moves, Pitt mimics DiCaprio’s recent arm moves in danger to a fine-T while laughing tears?
DiCaprio now on the wall beside him retorts quick, with, ok Troy one didn’t exactly see one flying at the bloody thing to bash it but a po-dunk Hop-a-long-Cassidy biting one’s lip. One did NOT bite one’s lip, one is and never has been, and let it be known one will never be a bite liper, uh one means a lip biter, Pitt does Troy! And one is dyslexic too, one knew it! No wonder one screws up one’s lines a billion times a day, DiCaprio ribs friendly on with an audible, HA while still both laughing at themselves and at each other pointing fingers not to take blame for being the biggest chicken’ of slithering reptiles between them!
One is sure that that was a deadly black-mamba viper DiCaprio said exhaustingly, recovering his tarnished bravery witnessed. Nope, too far west advised Pitt professionally in tone, but a deadly black Water Moccasin, a rattle-snake w/out a rattler, did one see the size of that thing, Pitt said, also recovery his just witnessed tarnished bravado. As a spokesperson of the highest Tom Cruise order, President Climate Religion, one should bone up on one’s animal species, Pitt confirmed with authority as DiCaprio shows no expression in the least but not boring.
Thatcher didn’t have the heart nor inclination to inform his new Mr. Peiwabbit clients that it was merely a harmless large black grass-snake or lively play-toy for children world-wide globally. Thatcher was getting to know his 48-hour clients, they didn’t like snakes and neither did Thatcher, he shivered a lil down the neck. This goes on for quite some time while Thatcher gazed upon them, like a SS movie Director on steroids, recording everything in his genius foto-genic Art Director brain, from a distance in a semi-secluded location in the fine restaurant of Have’s lovely empty garden on a beautiful evening, as stars filled the sky to match the moon, smoking a joint and drinking a pint. HA, you’re own self, Pitt retorts, Troy is NOT afraid of snakes, not the Troy this Artist created! Created, DiCaprio puffs with a lil spit flying, Directors dont let Artists creATE anything, sir for whom does one thinks for whom one speaks!? Wha, they who speaks, is one speaking in Shakespeare now, Pitt balks? Who do you think one is talking too, paraphrased for L-brain low-awareness folk, Dicaprio repeats himself.
Tell me then, sir, Pitt switches modes to a Mr. Smith calmed smooth as ice, for whom IS one speaking dearest sir, is this bear-man on the line, hello bear-man got any fixed OSCARS laying around need polishing? DiCaprio quickly flips, no, it’s knock-knock, ..pause, but Pitt doesnt bite and says nothing giving DiCaprio an oh-right like one is going to bite face? DiCaprio shrugs his shoulders at Pitt and smiles a brotherly smile at him, saying, oh come-on it’s merely joke, in a low secret undertone, and then repeats himself. Knock-knock, DiCaprio quires, with raised expecting eyebrows and face? Pitt rolls his eyes a lil and, says slowly in monotone, who’s there? Go F yourself, DiCaprio replies gleefully, liking his index finger and making a motion in the air as if mimicking logging a scoreboard, DiCaprio 1; Pitt 0!
Pitt pauses, oh, sheee’s, Catch Me If You Can, he whispered hard to himself and hits his solid thigh, …ah, he got me, the wascally-bastard, Pitt puffed sportingly under his good-spirited breath! Un-detoured, Pitt whips, Bear Movie couldn’t catch a Fight-Club Pitt movie performance on it’s best filmed two hour snot-frozen-spit-and-groan-filled day OR night!
There was a pause, a quick silence w/out warning. There was a stillness of high, high wonderful awareness, like, a magic movie-wand passed over the entire scene, felt not seen in the night air as delightful tiny insects, and creatures swooned in the lovely soft refreshing moonlight easy to breath air evening losing it’s day with a whisper of faint glows of the passing day’s sun of hot-pink and purple in ghost-light in the evening at the setting horizon going to night.
Well, no huge argument there, DiCaprio mumbled matter of factly, lowering his head a bit as if a lil air had gone out of him. Pitt followed suite in stature and mood, like, brothers in arms knowing universal pain that cant be touched in the biz as Artists. Thatcher saw it all, ..annnd, CUT echoed in his Director’s-brain! I’m starving and my buzz has worn off, Pitt soothes, wanna-get a bit to eat, where’d that Thatcher go? Pitt puffed back up as DiCaprio followed suite, and the evening went on.
DiCaprio went back inside, saying one will hit the bar before seating, see everyone inside. Thatcher turned to Pitt in response toward Pitt’s early query about the serious nature of one’s mood about the Mr. Peiwaabit case. To answer your question that you posted earlier about the case, DiCaprio did share with you the would-be immediate risk levels involved at current, as in, rn, Thatcher queried gently, yes? Pitt tried his best 007 move card-face and moves away trying to quickly locate DiCaprio, looking over his L-shoulder into the main dinning room. Well, one will see you inside, he said, waved a lil wave and walked inside, we’ll talk later, yes?
All good things must come to an end gents, Thatcher did his best professional speaker P.I. impersonation bit trying to get through to Pitt who clearly wasn’t listening to a word he was saying out-loud, practicing his upcoming resignation speech. Pitt is stretched out on the tiny sailboat eating a large chicken breast, shirt unbuttoned while DiCaprio is heard bellowing somewhere below deck, where is the bloody beer FQS!? No never mind, one’s bad, found IT! F where’s a blasted bottle-opener?! F! No, wait one’s bad, found it! Sorry!
A few seconds pass in the calm sailing and fine quite soft water’s breeze, seagulls swooned to its testimony and and it’s ever-peaceful resolve, when a freshly opened glass pint full beer bottle is soon heard shattering the quiet calmness smashing to the floor echoed below with sounds of spewing exploding bear jerking off all over the deck below followed by the same colourful word, F! No, one’s cool, just dropped a pint, one’s bad, I’m coo’, sorry, DiCaprio concluded. Great, barked Pitt, a beer covered sticky floor and it better not be on one’s bag and shoes, he growls a lil clenched teeth, …one saw a mop by the bathroom door, Pitt pops-off lively!? Silence falls, then a DiCaprio voice is heard, one has no idea what one is talking about. One already confessed to the crime we heard one say it out-loud, moron, so clean it up mop-boi’, Pitt yelps friendly enough 1/2 vexed. Again silence followed, by, one has no idea what one is talking about.
This tiny boat is tiny, it’s no DiCaprio yacht but that’s not saying much, Pitt whiffed. It’s pretty cool but will it gets us through the bays and winding waterways? Yes, it’s pretty cool, one rented it from the park, you know the one’s advertised for $30 an hour for tourists. No but, Thatcher, wait doesnt one have to return it at closing at 6pm? Well, technically, Thatcher replied? They have to catch us if they can 1st as one has a buddy on the Coast Guard and know all their routes and shift time changes.
DiCaprio is feeling his hard-earned beer buzz-on away from monkey-world being somewhat freer on the-down-low for a bit. They are obviously tracking him, them both and wanted them to know it. And someone was sending a very hard message but what, exactly, but clearly they were professionals up their pipe and not playing around? DiCaprio popped up on deck pint in hand and swung around the sail mast with the other hand while taking a sip.
DiCaprio was doing a Catch Me If You Can bit and lil jigs, being most entertaining and even more believable with the only thing missing Tom Hank’s quaking-duck like voice. Pitt inherently laughed genially and DiCaprio seemed to appreciate the jester. Dont encourage him Mr. Pitt, plz, he may not stop and there are many miles under the stars still, dodging gawking buzzed tourists and off-duty Coast-Guard, Thatcher 1/2 laughed, and one might want to hide that pint until out of the main stream Mr. DiCaprio?
Finishing his chicken breast tossed overboard rubbing his greasy hands down his firm torso, mostly, Pitt does a perfect sit-up hands behind head, spits and jerks a laugh. We wont get caught he jests in all sincere smiles, guiding sparking DiCaprio below as night was coming. Let’s go do the Jaws’ drunk sing-along song below deck DiCaprio, chuckled Pitt, we’ll show-em a real male bonding JAWS scene eh mate? Beers on an empty stomach with all the waves on this tiny cork, sure sounds splendidly perfect my good fellow but one gets the lil trash-basket closet to moi just in case, agreed, DiCaprio proclaimed? Agreed, Pitt salutes DiCaprio. Carry on my good man DiCaprio says, following suite. Thatcher was above deck sailing the boat sweating bullets knowing the real would-be potential danger his two new clients and now him most likely were in. He’ll tell them tomorrow, Thatcher, he said to himself, sorry but one has to quit near immediately he imagined it.
Soon, friendly wholesome sounds of clanking kitchen utensils, intermittent brotherly man laughter, intermittent various movie script jigs, the smell of the hamburger patties frying on the lil grill and fresh cut onion, beer, and mustard mingled with the fresh evening’s clear open water’s, dancing in the fine air, as tiny lights glowed invitingly from the tiny windows below deck, just like in the real movie. Real movie, Thatcher chuckle almost out-loud? It gave Thatcher a lil cold chill down his spin, it looked so like the movie.
Thatcher quickly scanned the waters around the tiny semi-stolen sail-boat for sharks, feeling a lil silly and boyish small inside. The surreal-ness of the JAWS moment only intensified as both Actors did a better rendition of the scene than the originals and sounded spot on. One eavesdropped hearing the Star lads taking turns saying, no, no, let’s start over, like friendly girls playing with dolls, until they got it both just right in rhythm and tone. They were adorable at times, Thatcher smiled in thought, wishing that he were below deck filming it in incognito genre mode.
Soon, below the famous JAWS scene took birth alive on its own and spooky-real. Thatcher’s eyes subconsciously continued to dart about the waters, like a frightened toddler, on the look out for sharks, heart rate rising.
Thatcher was certain that he heard the boom-boom, boom-boom of that shark Jaws movie theme tune and certain that he heard a thumping-bumping at the sailboat’s side at the waterline. With every lil bump of a stiff wave sent images of giant sharks bursting in Thatcher’s creative and vivid Director’s visionary working mind.
The Jaws-song was ALIVE and moving and nothing could stop it as it rose ever higher from below deck “…I’m tired, I wanna go home and go to bed”, boom-boom fists on table, repeat, repeat louder and louder in perfect joyful heartfelt empathetic drunken rhythm towards the ever impeding famous climax BOUM, and that was no fists on table, that was JAWS! Thatcher sincerely enjoyed his new client’s company soon joining them below pondering if they knew that they were going to need a much bigger boat?
Thatcher breathed a deep breath, ok gents, all good things must come to an end, hence, therefore, respectively one has been trying to inform you that as soon as one assist one in pointing one in right direction towards retrieving said thumb-drive also one’s alibi and proof of inner corruption recorded during that Audi limo altercation involving a Mr. Peiwabbit with whomever said Actress or Actresses unknown, well, one must hand in one’s resignation ASAP. Pitt went curious face immediately, help one to understand dear Thatcher, P.I. do tell? DiCaprio on the other hand looked like one who already knew but who was fishing to see if Thatcher knew. Pitt glanced DiCaprio. A bead of sweat escaped and ran down the side of DiCaprio’s face, he turned looking over his shoulder towards her cabin-house and dock only yards away. This it DiCaprio, doesn’t look like she is home, are you sure Dicaprio that this is the one, Pitt tugged at DiCaprio's sleeve.
Well, one will tell you Mr. Pitt, Thatcher near whispered, if you two have crossed paths with what one thinks one has crossed then one is out bc Mr. DiCaprio can NOT take the front or full brunt of this thing coming at him, like, having MS a bus you know is coming right at one and nothing can be done to stop it. One’s current path in Climate Religion, if one’s perspective is accurate according to facts and money-trail, with ppl and their suspect intents, are untenable in one’s professional opinion.
DiCaprio and Pitt hurriedly and affectively tie off the boat as they all rush stealthily and quick to the cabin yards away. Are you listening, Thatcher leaned down to their ear level? Yes, Yes of course, they both soothed Thatcher’s last nerve but we’re here ole-boy and both slap Thatcher on the back almost in sync knocking him forward a bit while passing by him walking through the usual unlocked back door. The house was well kept with pleasant scents and quiet with dim lighting and 1/2-drawn shades, and curtains.
The floor squeaked a lil. Relax Thatcher there's beer in the fridge and the thumb-drive is just down the hall they’re cool, we’re home free. We have resources too Thatcher, millions in fact, we can buy a lil justice, in right places. They whispered walking silently in single file each doing their best SS soldier ready for action routines that were mostly real. Thatcher smelled something and saw a small puddle of water on the floor just in the shadows.
Did you hear that? Pitt threw up a knife hand as professionally done as any seen in combat as he silently points to the L-side of the ceiling above. Pitt, freezes then leans backward in perfect form towards DiCaprio’s R-ear, one didn’t know sir that this was a 2-story bc someone is definitely up there, one thinks? DiCaprio’s eyes went a lil dazed, it isn’t sir he gasped a whisper…
Thatcher hoarsely whispered, gentlemen one has a very bad cop-ly-vibe about this approach one suggest that we equip ourselves with weapons of convenience immediately.
DiCaprio instinctively and with much hast quickly turned to the 1st object he saw in dim lighting and grabbed at a vase, that later turned to be light plastic, but missed and whipped out a whole giant fistful full of long swinging in the air colourful delightful scent-filled natural flowers that weren’t very frightening in the least attempting to break the Hitchcock mood and JAWS drumroll, in Thatcher’s head, still in perfect arrangement lively bouncing about, like an electric automated high-tech Saks Fifth Avenue department store display window jousting about madly showering the place and group with spent flower-water while staring at them with a face of total and complete disbelieve face, of, what is this like a hypnotized cat watching bobbing flowers, head swaying and bobbing with it ever so slightly!?
Well, better than being splashed with 3-day-old-douche-water, Pitt moaned a whisper, wiping his shoulder and sniffing his fingers w/a pee-u face and quickly, and quietly commands DiCaprio snap out of it flower-boy, “concentrate goddamnit or I’ll get the ants myself’! OH, OH, Tom Selleck Quigley Down Under, Thatcher huffs while jumping up via a silent toed jump waving a silent finger and arm about widely, swoosh, swoosh, in the air as if winning on the TV series The Price Is Right, but w/out the Disneyland Walmart-ppl, and a smiling silent happy-face😁! Bingo, Pitt huffs back, snapping his fingers at Thatcher as if shooting a pistol, he's good, this one where’d you get this guy?
The group begin to quibble in nervousness, Thatcher noticed. Pitt immediately cocked his head bumping his ear with his palm attempting to drain the water out so that he could hear better. F, Pitt shouted in a whisper with a lil snarl, you got me RIGHT in the F-ing earR! F that hurts, then Pitt shot down bent over then rocketing straight up in ear pain holding his neck and ear! !!
DiCaprio immediately bent over bursting out a spontaneous explosive silent laugh slapping his hand to his mouth to muffle a humph-sound spraying a lil snot blown from his nose across the room. Pitt immediately seeing him blow snot loogies followed suit bending over till he silently and quickly melts to the floor, like, a green old Dorothy-witch doused with plain fluoride/chlorine everyday easy to use ordinary poison drinking tap water, and quietly rolled onto the floor holding one’s stomach giggling in quiet, pointing, saying, give DiCaprio an OSACR it’s Bear-man what talent snot-chunker, tears rolling with bet-red faced!
DiCapra hits Pitt on the shoe with flowers! Thatcher’s impromptu swat-team was losing form breaking apart and looking more like a rerun of the three stooges. Pitt bumps a table now across the room and says oops as he methodically picks up every object and setting it back down testing its bashing-worthiness as if at county-fair on Saturday, whispering occasional hm, hm, hm while cocking his head left, then right? DiCaprio was blindly feeling around in the kitchen searching for a knife coming away with only a small red Tabasco-sauce bottle about 4” long and a fried chicken drumstick after accidentally turning on the faucet by accident, oops he burped.
Clearly his two new clients felt at home here, a lady friends’ place in the woods they knew well enough it seemed, but Thatcher wasn’t at ease in the least wired SS. Thatcher looked at his chosen weapon of convenience in hand found on the main table, a nice high-end sturdy hairbrush with beautiful red hair stuck wonderfully in its natural bristles, boar most likely Thatcher thought, it shimmered brilliantly when a soft beam of dim sunlight glanced its form giving up its delightful hints of secrets of its owner in that odd moment. Thatcher inherently felt its texture with long disciplined strokes through his shapely long fingers and sniffed it slightly in male curiosity but no monkey-boy in monkey-world. Mm and he loved gingers.
Thatcher was feeling a bit naked but it was better than what DiCaprio had as a weapon of convenience but Pitt’s 12” long hard plastic shoehorn didn't fair much better. Gentlemen, Thatcher near whisper-screams waving his arms attempting to get their wandering attention, swoosh, swoosh, over here, over here! They both swing round pointing and say simultaneously as if winning a contest on the TV series 'Wheel Of Fortune', Steve Martin The Three Amigos, they huffed winningly with smiles ear to ear agreeing, he’s good! One got it 1st DiCaprio spit! Did not! Did to! No, Thatcher proclaimed. Then what movie Pitt went curious face then DiCaprio cocking their heads pondering. No, I mean yes, yes it’s the movie but no, one was merely attempting to get one’s attention, he aspirates in near but restrained inpatients! Oh, they both said, and waved as Pitt whispers, hi, for about .5-seconds lingered Pit and DiCaprio before immediately turning away then going right back to whatever it was that they were doing. Pitt was practicing bashing techniques in the air and sofa with his sword shoehorn and DiCaprio biting a drumstick cocking his head sideways reading a book title while contemplating using its heavy bookend as a weapon of convenience, nauh’ he mumbled smacking a bit, too cliche. The Black Falcon thing is not for one today.
They argue a bit about who will go down the hallway 1st in order to retrieve said thumb-drive. Welll’, someone has to go 1st! Does one have a coin? One doesnt trust one with coins! Why should one go 1st? Why should one? BC! Bc why? You 1st! You 1st! Plz, gentlemen all, Thacher exasperates, we need to fall in a triangle formation and back out of here this is very, very bad dear lads. They go curious face, a what triangle what? Our weapons of convenience are a bit lacking, Thatcher puffs w/serious face, like, bringing a hairbrush, bottle of Tabasco sauce and a shoehorn to a gangfight compared to what may be down that hall, he warns pointing. They both glance a quick examination look at their weapons w/concerning pondering faces as they both do a lil practice move in weak earnest and conviction, with their shoehorns and Tabasco sauce, faintly.
Thatcher hurriedly whipped, one should have asked sooner, have either of you ever been in a fight, a street-fight or combat? Pit and DiCaprio glanced one another and immediately jumped in, oh sure, yeah, yup, of course, many times, lots of times, they concurred nodding at each other and at Thatcher in almost believable faces and immediately doing tough guy faces, stances and lil gangster poses. When have you ever been in a fight DiCaprio, Pitt asked with raised eyebrow? Lots of times he explained in a whispering quick tone, The Departed, Blood Diamonds, and lets see there was... Thatcher butted-in, NO not that, Thatcher huffed, while being totally ignored. When were you ever in a fight or combat DiCaprio challenged Pitt? Uh, HELLO, Fight-Club and lets not forget Mr. and Mr. Smith!
Thatcher pointedly placed both his hands notedly on both their shoulders and said, what one meant was have you ever been in a fight, off camera. OH, they paused. Well, kinda not really Pitt said quietly but once one got in a pretty serious altercation, one can tell you, with a bully who stole one's Superman lucnbox in 5th grade, you know the Special Edition Superman lunchboxes, you know the one's with the... STOP Thatcher waved his hands! The Three Amigos, they both halted and pointed, as they said under their breaths, what's with the Three Amigos DiCaprio asked Pitt as Pitt shrugged, he likes Steve Martin I guess?
Besides, we know them Thatcher they are cool, they went on. It’s not them one is concerned about but the ppl tracking us. Their eyes met and both went a lil gray in the face, oops forgot about them kinda they defended. Thatcher asked, are the home surveillance cameras on? Of course every room to the CLOUD 24-7. One thinks we should evacuate ASAP and return later something isn’t right but grab the surveillance footage!
Thatcher hurriedly whipped, one should have asked sooner, have either of you ever been in a fight, a street-fight or combat? Pit and DiCaprio glanced one another and immediately jumped in, oh sure, yeah, yup, of course, many times, lots of times, they concurred nodding at each other and at Thatcher in almost believable faces and immediately doing tough guy faces, stances and lil gangster poses. When have you ever been in a fight DiCaprio, Pitt asked with raised eyebrow? Lots of times he explained in a whispering quick tone, The Departed, Blood Diamonds, and lets see there was... Thatcher butted-in, NO not that, Thatcher huffed, while being totally ignored. When were you ever in a fight or combat DiCaprio challenged Pitt? Uh, HELLO, Fight-Club and lets not forget Mr. and Mr. Smith!
Thatcher pointedly placed both his hands notedly on both their shoulders and said, what one meant was have you ever been in a fight, off camera. OH, they paused. Well, kinda not really Pitt said quietly but once one got in a pretty serious altercation, one can tell you, with a bully who stole one's Superman lucnbox in 5th grade, you know the Special Edition Superman lunchboxes, you know the one's with the... STOP Thatcher waved his hands! The Three Amigos, they both halted and pointed, as they said under their breaths, what's with the Three Amigos DiCaprio asked Pitt as Pitt shrugged, he likes Steve Martin I guess?
Besides, we know them Thatcher they are cool, they went on. It’s not them one is concerned about but the ppl tracking us. Their eyes met and both went a lil gray in the face, oops forgot about them kinda they defended. Thatcher asked, are the home surveillance cameras on? Of course every room to the CLOUD 24-7. One thinks we should evacuate ASAP and return later something isn’t right but grab the surveillance footage!
...less than 60-seconds later… ; Thatcher remembered what he knew from quantum physics time and space studies of 12-D including blackhole time-travel; one changes the past by changing the future as the past is right now, one only sees an after-image of what was as rn is too quick for the human eye and thinking to capture, seeing only the past as one must invent the future. Anything that one does from this moment changes or can change the past and a future that has already happened. Or is that reversed, wait did one say that out-loud, he pondered? The next thing that one does, thinking it is in the moment, is really in the past opening near endless opportunities in the 12-D, blackhole, walking on water, through walls, across the earth and back realm. Then the stage went black…POOF the beginning meets the middle or the end, “Pls gentlemen have a seat” one-liner said days prior repeated stuck in his head but If Thatcher knew now before what Thatcher didn't know then those words would never have left his mouth.
Thatcher awoke, opening his eyes in silence he could see clearly under a kitchen stove, wow that’s really clean and nice tile design popped into Thatchers blank mind. He must be lying on a kitchen floor his brain flashed, was that the taste of blood in his mouth? His eyes seemed fixed as if dead, he pondered, and all that ran through his mind laying there semi-dazed, his check cold on the hard tile floor, was, "Pls, gentleman have a seat” mixed with “wow that is really nice tile design and clean” ...and the story continues perhaps but Thatcher is dead and yes, Thatcher would die for these two and take a bullet for them and did bravely when dealing with said lone waiting perp no more as they both escaped with the thumb-drive. Pitt, leans over to DiCaprio as they escape in the famous Actresses car that was parked out front with keys on the visor. I liked that guy, Pitt spoke up, as he downloaded the file across the web.
Home free Pitt informs slapping the laptop shut we’re free DiCaprio! Pitt waits patiently for some response. DiCaprio glances the speed at about 80-miles-per-hour. Pitt squirms a bit in the uncomfortable silence w/no response from DiCaprio needing some kind of supportive in put.
After a while DiCaprio, said, I dont know you, you are merely another person I had to show with onset, he smirked a lil smirk in jest, mostly. I dont know YOU! Our paths would never have crossed if it weren’t for that Pitt and DiCaprio movie, and the camera lens cuts away to their semi-stolen car disappearing in the sunset, hearing their endless banter, still echoing in the highway wind, as the camera drifts high into the clouds down upon their speeding lone car on the road, ‘…did not’ sounded on the wind! Did too! Who won OSCAR! Wait, are you sure he was dead Pitt? Have one ever seen someone like that who wasn’t he choked? What, like this is a real Bear-man scenario, Pitt whipped? How does that even make any sense, Bear-man was real? Right, flying horses off cliffs, Pitt snickers. Pitt rambles, ole-Thatcher deserves Bear-man OSACR more than you do if the ole-boy can get up from what one just witnessed and crawl after us after that, good luck JACK. Who? Did one grab the surveillance footage?
Never mind, Bear movie still beats Fight Club! Ha! Ha back! Dido! Dido back! Inglourious Basterds! Ha, The Departed! Ha it was over casted, there was no one lead role! Dido! I liked him. Was it really one’s daughter's sweet-16-birthday party the reason one hitched a ride and got all messed up in this Pitt? Uh, what do you think? What a pure turd, wait, it wasn't even her birthday was it?! Uh nope! Unforgivable. I liked him. Yeah, me too, are you sure he was dead, …their car vanishes from sight on earth, …the end, mostly?
by Brook Brooks, bbCENTURIES 8.2019
’The Two-Lane Black Top of The Other Pitt and DiCaprio Movie, The Thatcher Files -Mr. Peiwabbit case’
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