Today was a day like any other day. I spent most of the day in the car. I had to dress up like a frog for a commercial audition. After that proud moment, on my way back to my car, I walked by another car filled with young girls and when they got a good look at me one of them said in an extremely audible fashion, “Hell, no!” (I wasn’t making an overtures. But she really wanted me to know, anyway.)

On my lunch break, I once again had to file for unemployment to make ends meet. I can’t pay my taxes, which most likely means I’ll be sharing a cell with Wesley Snipes within a few months, and while back in the nineties I would have gladly been his bitch, that desire has left me completely after seeing Blade: Trinity. My night life is nothing to look forward to since I can’t afford good scotch anymore, which means drinking has become essentially pointless since it only results in a bad headache and a biting desire to curl up in a ball and weep. What’s more, I still have immense difficulty sleeping which means I’m tired all the time, and that makes it extra hard for a scrapper actor like me to get it up for my daily humiliations which my agents insist on calling “auditions.” And as if that’s not enought, the thing on my balls has grown four times its original size and has started leaking a viscous, greenish substance which has an acidic quality and eats through my clothing.

So why the hell am I so happy? And when I say I’m happy, I mean I’m walking on sunshine. It’s like the first time I fell in love. It’s like the first orgasm I had in the company of a woman, and it’s as if that orgasm is going to go on forever. I feel that good.

And for most of today, I had no idea why. Then it dawned on me: despite spending the entire day driving around every god-forsaken part of Los Angeles in my unending quest for the next job, not once did I see a poster or billboard for Leatherheads. I am making no judgement on the movie itself, here, just the poster. But every time I saw George Clooney’s mugging “funny face” begging for me to accept him as not just a gorgeous leading man but also a comedic actor, along with Jon Krasinski’s deadpan expression that he wears throughout every episode of The Office anyway, I got filled with sadness not just for the state of the studio comedy, but also for humanity in general. I also found it aggravating that everyone surrounding them in their little leather football helmets was clearly a “funny fat guy.” (Apparently only fat guys get to play supporting roles in studio comedies anymore, because according to corporate marketing research fat automatically equals hilarious.) Don’t get me wrong, I like Clooney and Krasinsky quite a bit, I just hate the desperate, cloying nature of what they’re doing in that fucking picture.

But all day long, I didn’t see it.

And I am so very happy.

I am a simple man.

Yours forever, Todd