You know who I am.
I see it in your face.
Yes, I shop at the grocery store
just like “regular folk,”
and I’ll fill my own gas tank, too,
if you want to watch.
Bring your camera.
Did I attend Cannes?
No, but, I sent a cast of my ass,
which is the only part of me
that makes it into most of my movies.
Yes, my. If a woman with a six-figure salary can claim
my ass is hers,
then I can claim her star vehicle is my movie.
Did we get along?
What is this?
I never met the, excuse me, talent.
I was usually ushered in to film
the scene her contract stipulated
she wouldn’t do.
Fame or no,
I got to stipulate
that inessential crew were barred
during my body cameo.
Pissed her off, I heard.
I make a good living, thank you.
That torso in the Tom Ford promo?
You bet it’s not Miss-The-World-Loves-Me.
If you’ll excuse me,
I’ve got a yoga cycle class.