Hello, My Name Is…
Open on the set of a gay porno film. We see some hot action as the star, a mustachioed young fellow with a gold chain around his neck, throws it to a willowy blond stud. He reaches a climax and the director cuts the action, giving the two a chance to rest. The lead actor is none other than “hot property” Butt Reamers, the former steelworker who broke into porn as one of the most sought-after stars on the spew-soaked screen. The actors sip on coffee and have some donuts before getting back on the set.
FLUNKY: Okay, places, everyone. The Pudmaker, scene 12, take 3. Continuity, aaaaand…action!
As the flunky swings down the clapper, Butt bends over and exposes his waiting asshole to the blond actor. We then cut to a small hallway where the two of them, now in street clothes, stand alongside some other actors in front of a sliding window marked PAYROLL. A surly middle-aged ex-porn star is dispensing their paychecks. Butt’s number is up, and he walks to the window.
MS. PEAKS: Who should I make this out to, hotshot?
BUTT: Butt Reamers.
MS. PEAKS: Very funny. I’m laughin’. Now really, who should I make this out to?
BUTT: Really Butt Reamers! Jesus.
Sniggers come from the other actors.
BUTT: What the hell’s so funny? Jerks.
Later, we see Butt in his modest apartment talking on a cellular phone. He is on the line with the Home Shopping Network.
BUTT: Yes, I’d like to order the “Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs” commemorative plate set. On Visa, please. Sure. 4424-7210-8119-0140. Expires April 2015. Sure. The name on the card is Butt Reamers. Sure, it’s B-U-T-T…what are you talking about? That is my real name. What? What the fuck are you laughing at?
Later that night, Butt is standing in like outside of a hip, swanky nightclub waiting to be let in. He faces the bouncer.
FAT LOU: That’ll be six dollars cover, and I need to see some I.D., sport.
BUTT: Sheesh. Okay, here you go.
FAT LOU: Butt Reamers, huh? Give me a break. Do you want me to confiscate this?
BUTT: What? What are you, some kind of a wiseass?
One the way home, Butt’s Firebird is pulled over by a traffic cop.
PIG: You were going 63 in a 45-mile-per-hour zone. Can I see your license and registration, please, sir?
BUTT: Er, sure thing, officer. Sorry about that.
PIG: What is this, some kind of a joke? Okay, pal, out of the car and spread ’em. I’m taking you in.
BUTT: What the fuck is going on here?!?