run sweetheart run, don’t worry darling and a look into the life of an eyebrow actor

Run Sweetheart Run: a female takes a client out to dinner. He’s charming! She’s comely! He lives in a nice mansion! She lives with her baby in an apartment! They go skating! He hates dogs! He’s peachy skinned and rich as fuck! She has darker skin and is currently- um – well – hey – discharging blood from her uterus (this is a plot point and NOT something I made up). She decides to (I think) spend the night with him for some reason I forget and after she goes inside his rich as fuck mansion, he looks at the camera like the smug son of a bitch he is and follows her in. Then, we guess, he beats the fuck out of everything behind closed doors until she busts out and runs off bloody and screaming down the street. Rich white guy bullshit is afoot again I think we’re supposed to believe. I think.

Don’t Worry Darling: a bunch of peachy (or paler) skinned, rich people live in a cul de sac in what appears to be some sort of California valley geography! They have one set of darker skinned neighbors! The men all drive fancy 1950s sports coupes and go off to work to make experimental things! There’s a British guy in this for some reason! He’s incredibly horny! He also dances stupidly! He’s terrible stunt casting! His script wife watches her darker skinned neighbor slit her own throat and jump off a roof! Are rich, peach skinned people at it again?? Did Olivia Wilde really dump Jason Sudeikis for this guy? No offense but I think Chris Pine looks better with a beard! What’s going on in this movie?

In Run Sweetheart Run the woman is chased through Los Angeles- her rich, peach hunter driven after her by the scent of the blood coming from between her legs (for real) (and there’s a lot of it, it seems). What can be driving this? This peach man must be a werewolf? Vampire? Why does he care so much about her – uh – um – boy – her um state of menstruation? Sniff sniff, acts the Nose Actor and the stuntman jumps off a bridge to follow after some drops she flung on a car passing underneath. “You know, if we could get a shot of his forehead, we could really do something here…” thinks the Executive Producer . “But our lead just doesn’t have what we need.”

In Don’t Worry Darling our favorite current actress – the lady from Midsommer frumps and frowns even more and moans in joy as the trick actor performs mouth to – um – er – mouth to abdomen kissing and fondling, while Chris Pine’s character watches. “Boing boing boing” his Eyebrow Actor works direction from the script. “I’m really getting paid well for this eyebrow work” he thinks, wondering if, when this shoot ends, he’ll get that gig doing the shampoo ads and be able to afford that hatchback he’s been eyeballing at that used car lot in The Valley. The one over there by the Big Boy. Maybe he might even have enough to take his squeeze out to a nice dinner. Maybe they could even rub abdomens and see who makes discharge first. But he’s gotta keep working them eyebrows, baby. “Frumple frumple frumple emphatically arch!!”

Back on the “Run” set, this time some sort of John Wick style Sanctuary For Women Running From The Rich White Guy, our lead gets a bath, a story from the raspy lady from something I can’t remember and that tampon she’s so desperately needed for hours. “He’s not a man honey,” the lady who is kind of like Al Swearengen teaches, “he’s been there since the beginning and I pooped myself out of his ribs.” Or something. It might have been the other way around but either way I took it as he’s been rich and white for thousands of years and hunts women when they’re um – er – needing arrangements for things that happen to them. Or maybe they don’t. My first ever major girlfriend had this friend of hers who lived there in her parents house with them and she didn’t use anything for those times. I don’t remember the friend’s name but she looked like a young Sandra Bernhardt so there’s that. “If only we had a way for our villainous lead to look more ancient yet also terrifying,” mulls the executive producer.

Back in The San Fernando Valley, our man is really going after it. He’s got a gig working those eyebrows for a Scanners reboot pilot for Showtime. ZIP ZAP ZING KABLOOEY he kablooes. LEFT LEFT LEFT RIGHT STRAIGHTFORWARD UP!! He’s really working it good, working it hard. He can feel that fine Datsun leather in the palm of his hand. He can sense the musk of his girl promoting her abdomen in that passenger bucket seat. She’s squirmy, she’s writhy, she’s ready to go! He’s dying to put his face in there! But we must remember this is all in his mind as he reads the floor of the set he’s in. BLEW BLEW PEW PEW!! He can really feel it. He’s gonna get what he deserves. Goddammit!

That night, after the eyebrow shoot, the EP takes him out for some Mexican. I don’t actually remember the name of the restaurant but I was there in 2005. I don’t even know if it’s still there but that’s beside the point and just a reference for this piece. Anyway – the EP applauds his skills on the set today. “You’ve really got it kid,” he massages. “You can really make it in this town.” “Thank you sir” says our actor, eating a shredded beef enchilada. “I’m really hoping this gets picked up. I need some steady money. You see – I haven’t been laid in nine years and my gir-“

“You wanna make some real money?” Interrupts the producer like an asshole. “I mean REAL money?” He swallows a full, raw jalapeño for effect, emphasizing what a hard mother fucker he is. “Have you ever -“ and he stops, looking at the author of this story, waving his finger back and forth like I’m not invited to his fucking conversation. Then someone, probably a paid extra, a girl wearing some super short shorts emphasizing the theme of all of this today, walks in front of my field of vision and everything I can see goes dark. “Is this some sort of Hitchcock style segue?” you ask, perplexed, “or some way for this guy to try and get out of the corner he’s written himself into?”

Ok. Our last setting: a mansion in Southern California presumably built for some rich, light skinned asshole. Our characters: a rich, light skinned asshole, a comely darker skinned lady and a super horny guy with well groomed but strong and bushy eyebrows who has just eaten too much Spanish Fly drugged into a plate full of enchiladas and beans. Are we ready for the big finale??

“Don’t worry Darling,” says the rich light skinned guy, taking off her underwear, “people like me have been making zis appen for zouzands of yearz.” he continues, slipping in to some strange European accent “OUI OUI OUI CHARLES DE GAULLE!!” and he’s dancing and waving her cottons around in the air and he’s doing pirouettes and leaping and screaming and saying “je m’apelle!” and eating truffles and putting on perfume and he shoves her panties in eyebrow guy’s mouth and he thinks it’s delicious but he starts to gag because he can’t breathe “hnnnk hnnnk hnnnnk” he grunts, her scent creeping further into his brain and he’s really got it now, boy, he’s got it bad and the comely girl is pulling on her pants but she’s ‘free-balling’ so to speak so her internal fluids are secreting and making a mess which we presume is smelly and the guy with the eyebrows has one of those – what are they called – priapism erections and he’s growling and thrashing around the room because his penis needs to explode and the rich white guy is playing some sort of tucking harpsichord and throwing his head around and clapping his hands above his head and she zips up her fly and screams and slips and cuts her face and fumbles for the door and eyebrow guy is howling and tearing at his own pants and she opens the door and runs screaming out into the street with the horniest man in L A hot on her heels and the rich with asshole stops that goddammed music playing and looks at the camera and one of his teeth sparkles and he screams “RUN SWEETHEART RUN!!” and the camera does a slow pan away into the stars and someone shouts “Cut! That’s s fucking wrap!” and the curtains close and we all leave except for one person who sits in the very top row at the back and it’s none other than Chris Fucking Pine himself and he looks at the camera, wipes what could be some sort of male ejaculate off of his pants and says, “and that’s how you make a picture.”




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