Pale Liar, Liar

So, you're not supposed to begin any sentence with the word "so." Nor. Neither. Am I really writing? If I could put a footnote somewhere, I wouldn't. No. I refuse to write with an eye toward the intertextual. Since I've been cursing a shitload in other writing assignments that I've given myself lately out of supreme and utter and magnificent and here I am wasting my time am I. Am I. 

After the first paragraph. I don't read on after the thesis usually. When I read other people's shit. Therefore, imagine you're me for a second. You sit down to edit someone's manuscript - i.e. Nabokov or Fitzgerald (your choice I don't really give a shit actually I do ( give a shit) what? Nabokov it is. So, I'm sitting in my New York Penthouse Apartment with three hookers and three butlers and three eyes because you can buy those two on the street get it cuz i'm cyclopean dude. I'm gonna go all cummings over this shit...just like a whole essayistic thing kept within the confines of parenthetical means and weighs like a ball of Godard's spit.)

I sit down with the rough, rough, rough, rough (to give you an idea of how rough this draft is, I'll tell you a little anecdote from my days on the moon, well, I never lived on the moooooooon, so scrap that. Let's talk about something more simplistic) draft of Nabokov's Pale Tire. No, it's Pale Wire? Pale Mire? Pale Sire? YES. It's Pale Sire. NO. Pale Liar, Liar. That's it. Starring Jim Carrey. 

I read this atrocious screenplay by Nabokov. Pale Liar, Liar. A kafkaesque reconfiguration of Liar, Liar. Neither a sequel nor a prequel. It's a new genre. Nabokov had to die and resurrect himself with his bare teeth in order to spark this explosion of a genre. It's only an idea though. Didn't think this shit through much. Dumbass Nabokov. The fucking thing was in the form of index cards. Like three of them. With dialogue, int, ext shit. Whatever. I'll include a snippet for you. 

INT DAY HELL

Jim Carrey's Character: Hey, aren't you Vladimir Nabokov?

Vlad: Don't think so. Do I have his chin or something?

Jim Carrey's Character: Yes, yes. You also have his entire face.

Vlad: Oh, I didn't know that. On earth, some jackass named orpheus banished all of the mirrors. I suppose that a mirror could have solved this problem. 

Jim Carrey's Character: I suppose. Anyway. I best be on my way. I have a little boy to lie to.

Vlad: Wait. Wait. I can't let you do that. 

Jim Carrey's Character: What? Fuck you. Who do think you are?

Vlad: Well, I know who you think I am. I'm world-renowned famous big shot writer guy Vladimir Nabokov, author of This Side of Paradise and The Great Gatsby.

Jim Carrey's Character: Fitzgerald wrote those. You wrote Pale Fire, Lolita, and Pale Liar, Liar, this movie, which we are currently acting in.

Vlad: So, let me get this straight. I'm the writer of this movie?

Jim Carrey's Character: Yes. 

Vlad: So, I can't let you go lie to that little boy of yours. You're not allowed to lie. I put a spell on you. Poof. Tada. Ladeeda.

Jim Carrey's Character: Fuck you, Vladimir Nabokov. Will you sign my first edition copy of Pale Fire?

Vlad: Who should I make it out to? 

Jim Carrey's Character: Jim Carrey's Character.

Vlad: Oh, okay. Anything special you want me to say to him?

Jim Carrey's Character: I, world-renowned famous big shot writer guy, Vladimir Nabokov, hereby allow Jim Carrey's Character to lie again.

Vlad: Sorry, can't do that. The script won't let me. 

Jim Carrey's Character: What the hell are you talking about? You wrote the script. 

Vlad: No, I didn't write the script. Vladimir Nabokov, the real person, wrote the script. I'm just Vladimir Nabokov's Character.

Jim Carrey's Character: Oh, that's not fair.

Vlad: Of course it's not. I made the rules. I mean, the real version of me made the rules?

Anyway, that piece of shit of a script plopped onto my desk the other day. Nabokov wanted me to make the damn thing, get a script doctor on it, get 1000 monkeys in a room with typewriters and finish the thing. And you know what I said to Mr. Nabokov?

Brian Sherwin's Character: I'll do whatever you say Mr. Nabokov. Just don't write me into one of your shitty scripts.

Vlad: I just did. Ahahahahahahahaahahahaahaha. 

Yeah, so Nabokov is omnipotent. Who knew. Now, I'm in his shitty kafkaesque reconfiguration of Liar, Liar. Guess who's playing me. Mac Krumpak.