After witnessing a bear disembowel my stepfather after he tried to tickle the bear for a photo op that he could use in a Christmas card, I decided to dedicate myself to acting as a profession. This was not my first thought after the son-of-a-bitch bear killed my dad, but that image of my father flailing his arms around, screaming for some assistance as the bear clawed his chest was always with me, and I couldn’t get rid of it, so I just kept on thinking about it, and it always made me look forlorn. That forlornness got me a lot of action in high school.
“You’re always pouting, James. What you pouting about?” asked a freshman brunette with sexy lips. I would’ve loved her if it weren’t for that slight unibrow she had. I’m quite shallow sometimes, but I told her, “You wouldn’t understand, Jenny,” then started unzipping my jeans. It was the first time I done it, and it made me feel like a man – all strong, confident, and like an important leader. The ladies loved Titanic James – that’s what they called me because I was a Titanic of a man.
I started kind of liking how my stepfather was killed by a bear, but I felt guilty for having such thoughts, which made me look even more forlorn, and that of course, got me even more action. Mrs. Walsh, my attractive-for-a-teacher Spanish teacher, gave me some real good action behind her desk during lunch. She said, “Stay, James. I want to go over your exam.”
I immediately understood what was going on. I gazed at her momentarily with my forlorn eyes then closed the door, brushed my hair back, and proceeded to sit on her desk. “They call me Titanic James around here. I think you should do the same, Mrs. Walsh.” That’s when the good action happened. After the sex, she actually went over the exam I failed. I only answered one question. I wrote: forget this god damn exam. What’s the point? let’s just have sex, Mrs. Walsh. I’m James Franco. Mrs. Walsh wanted me to retake the test, but I told her I couldn’t. I was going off to Los Angeles where I intended to capture the hearts of dreamers.
Shit. Please forgive me for not explaining why I actually decided to become an actor. Basically, I grew up exceedingly handsome largely due to my forlornness, and an old friend wanted to use me in a short movie he was making. I witnessed myself on his television after he finished the film, and I was so impressed by the sheer misery in my face. I thought to myself, this – what you are witnessing is profound. Only a man who experienced the horror of watching his stepfather being gutted alive by a bear could have such strong masculine facial expressions. I watched the film the day before meeting Mrs. Walsh. The next morning, Titanic James was in Hollywood, and it was tough.
I took the bus from Tarzana to the city where I was going to my first audition. It was a commercial for skin care. I went inside, and I saw the dreamers. They looked handsome, but they looked artificial, lacking the appearance of someone with a truly profound personality; they had no substance faces. I was sure to get the part.
“Can you be less… expressive?” asked the casting director.
I look less expressive.
“Um, how about– Uh, you’re not supposed to pout. This is for skin care.”
I decided that their product did not suit me properly, so I kicked their casting table, and said, “You made the wrong man sad today.”
I went to a nearby park, sat there, and thought about my future in acting. They didn’t like me. But then again, they didn’t understand me – what I had to go through as a four year old boy. I started looking at some pigeons eating pieces of bread on the ground, and wondered if there was a pigeon out there wanting to take a chance and be an actor, but then I thought that was kind of ridiculous to think about since all pigeons have the same moronic expression. They could never be actors.
“Why do you look so sad?” asked the young attractive man feeding the pigeons.
“Why don’t you go on feeding them birds, big fella?” I told him.
The man stopped, lowered his sunglasses, and said, “Do you know who you’re talking to, buddy?”
“Some real wise guy who doesn’t know any better. Now, why don’t you buzz off?”
The man laughed and continued to feed the birds. “You look like a real actor, you ever hear that?”
“I’m not looking to get any action from a male. James Franco is strictly for the ladies.”
“I know that. You got some balls, kid.”
“I don’t want any action from a fella! Now, buzz off before I get upset.”
“Jesus, man. You need to relax.”
“I’m just trying to sit here, wonder if pigeons act, and you go on bothering me!”
The man stood up and walked away. I looked at him sign some girls’ napkins, and I wondered if he was a celebrity. On the bus ride back home, I thought some more about my father, and all the action I received. There are people who receive all that action and still have stepfathers. There are people who don’t have any parents and don’t receive action at all. I personally think they should be actors, but they’re probably ugly since they get no action. How can actors who get action and have parents act so well? Practice? Luck? Maybe I should watch more movies. Or maybe people should just start watching me.
