Central Casting
Extra Work
est. 1925 – the LEADING Background Actor casting company in the United States…
Central Casting
220 S. Flower Street
Burbank, California 91502
ATTN: SEEKERS
Why do I call myself an actor?
I wanna know “when.” Everything I’m doing’s such a fuckin’ joke… workin’ on your sets.
The last Coppola weeks – God, father. I’m treated like a fuckin’ disease. Mutha fucka, I’m actin’ like a sucker and a prick cuz the center of a Tootsie role can make ya. Fuckin’ sick, yo!
You think I’m a dink… but I’m not. I think, “I’ll break your fuckin’ legs and stick my dick inside ya!” but… WHOA! I’m actin’! Like a squirrelly!
Fuckin’ nuttin’… I’m about to Blow smoke and molten lava pot.
Bro???
So now I’m on fire and I’m hot? Meet your Fight Club in a pub?
Beat cha.
(in a parkin’ lot, suckers…)
“Why do I call myself an actor?” is the mutha fuckin’ question…
It’s nothin’ but fuckin’ rejections.
Back when I was young, gettin’ the job done was nothin’. I must’ve thought the movies were glamorous, or somethin’. I got a job workin’ in a theatre earnin’ minimum wage: four and a quarter. Yeah… and I would float by. I’d look at all the posters hangin’ on The Wall$$$ – I’m hooked now. So Imma start studyin’ these!
I’m droppin’ outta school, I’m droppin’ LSD… Schlitz… a mushroom cap down the hatch, I’ll switch.
Hittin’ up my head so I can fuck with you.
Bitch, why do I call myself an “actor?” I’ll tell ya because I sold some old memorabilia. Every 3-sheet I’m rollin’, I’m rippin’ one for me – the whole collection was stolen.
Ownin’ ’em. Payin’ it back till I bleed.
Kick it on The Cape, smoke an ounce of weed a week with Dead (fuckin’) Presidents. I’m rippin’ off credits cards again and without a hesitation.
Man… “Why do I call myself an actor?” You ask me because my “act” is so mutha fuckin’ nasty.
Do this, do that…
In a minute…
In a sec…
In the meantime…
My soul is turnin’ black.
Cigarettes on the sets and my lungs need a rest. I want a marijuana break, fast.
So why not try and ‘act’ a part?
It’s like a Cuckoo’s Nest.
I’m flyin’ in the Darkness and they may never Catch Me…
Anyway, I’m not on lock-down, so:
Mutha fucka, stay away.
So. You think I’m gonna quit this biz? I’ll be DAM!
Man… shit.
I’m an actor for life.
Brothers: can you dig it?
Warriors come out and play.
“Knicka-nacka-paddy-wacka” givin’ Doug a bone…
Man: “I’m talkin’ on my cellular phone…”
When?
“Here I Go Again!”
(like an Old School song)
- What’s Wrong
- Get Along
- Little Doggie
- Hit the Bong
- Yum
- Makin’ the Bacon
and - 4-Watt
Fakin’ it like Sally did: OMG!
“Yes…?”
“Where’s the fuckin’ beef with this side of fries…!?!?!?”
Where’s the mutha fuckin’ snake tellin’ you those lies?
I’m not here to brag.
I’m not here to boast, but…
I’m a Caped Crusader from an Eastwood Coast and I’m reel with this. I gotta keep my shit.
Hard Puppet on a string, from the beach of Cape Cod.
Now get it?
(from an underground poet)
“I love it, I need it and I act it because it’s SHOW biz. And if you think I’m flushin’ a career… then I’ll see you in the sequel.”
Yeah? I’m in?
#ACTOR4LIFE
“Act” like this, “act” like that…
The actual fact is that I’m wack and never laid back, like, a Clone who’s attacking your dome with a laser and a mutha fuckin’ samurai sword into your navel.
Makin’ a mistake? And I’m labeled?
I’ll getcha on all fours, like a cigarette and coffee table… smokin’!
And chokin’ a broken slave.
Broke. And when I’m told…
“Yo, you need to fuckin’ shave.”
“Hey! They cut my fuckin’ hair and didn’t pay for it. I didn’t need the fuckin’ money, but…”
“Fuck that shit. They wanna fuck around with a punk-ass.”
“Bitch…”
“I’ll cut their tires and their throats and throw the bodies in a ditch.”
I call myself an actor cuz the shit that I deal in.
I call myself an actor cuz the shit that I’m feelin’.
Peelin’ my mutha fuckin’ skin off to the bone, see? You’d better…
![](https://dougmaguire.info/wp-content/uploads/2016/07/bring-it-on-torrance-carrie-cassette-tape-kirsten-dunst-1024x512.gif)
Gee.. and let me say another mutha fuckin’ thing: I’ll pound ya like a fuckin’ Berkheimer.
During the fuckin’ King, so…
Get Out?
My Ocean:
And get Out of (my) Sight, cuz I am.
DAM! – for the rest of my life,
Mother Focker
Central Casting CDs receive collectible one-of-a-kind CDs.
Need to mention:
“ACTOR4LIFE/EFIL4ROTCA” went flop, flop on face. The rap lyrics and vocals were nothing anyone had heard before or since. My only critique:
“Use less ‘fuck’ words.”
Yeah, okay. No problem. Be right back.
(less than 1 week later…)
SCAR WARS Thrill O.G. ~ Episode II: Attack of the Phone-E (special ed. edition) 2003
And to this day…
I wonder how many CDs survived the trash?
The single was not just some .mp3 file or a creepy burn with Sharpie nonsense. The single came limited edition. I’m totally serious. Old School Halloween terror. A pumpkin I personally carved is featured on the disc. Thirty-one copies, total: color cover with insert, jewel cases… real pressed CDs – as decked out as I could design and self-produce/distribute at the time.
Were the rap albums entertainment I’d create for Vincente? Or are they harmless garbage I wouldn’t mind my son being subjected to?
Not a chance. How about that? Honesty. Don’t get it twisted…
Creativity is never threatening.
The CDs were Halloween goodies. And for the record: extras (background artists) are forbidden to pass along bribes or kickbacks to Central Casting employees, so… okay, cool. No problem. Not a gift, just funny-ass music I made. What was I to do though? I wanted to give thirty-one Casting Directors something that year. I gave them something they’d never forget: something almost worthless on the surface.
More meaningful to me, no doubt.
I got what I wanted that Holiday. I really wanted Central Casting scared for Halloween! Like, spooked the fuck out… mainly because Central Casting has helped cast people in so many creepy-ass movies since 1925, they continue to lead all other businesses in casting people.
I continue returning the favor to Central… casting spells.
cc
MISSION: accomplished