I love, love, love, love, adore and love that Jack Dangerson. When he tilts his hat in Hey! Sandiego, I could scream. When he smiles at the end of Nearly the Last Tomorrow, I could rip my pillow in half. When he pulls out his gun in The Nursery Murders and says, “Not today, babies,” I could simply die of love.

My apartment has no wallpaper, but do you hear me complaining? For I’ve covered the walls with Jack. From his first flick, Afternoon Sex Romp, even if it wasn’t a proper Jack Dangerson pic, to his latest epic, Cactus in the Wind, I’ve got all the posters, overlapping, on the ceiling, rolled up in corners, my rabbit chews on them, so what, I buy new ones.

Anyway, I heard on Screen Scream that Jack is shooting a sequel to Old Yeller called New Yeller, which will hit theatres next summer. I couldn’t be more jazzed. I just have this feeling, in my heart, in my gut, I know, know, know this is going to be the ultimate Jack Dangerson flick. It’s got everything going for it. The director’s the guy who did The End II, which is generally regarded as the best film in the End trilogy. The writer’s the guy who does those hilariously sad antidepressant ads. The dog’s the dog that was shot to bits at the end of that stupid Hellhound movie. Awful, awful movie. But one seriously talented pooch.

I must’ve written ten thousand love letters to Jack over the years. I always sign them “Hugs, Peggy.” It’s my trademark. So what if he doesn’t write back, he’s gorgeous, he’s a Very Important Star! One time, his secretary faxed me a head shot with a blurry-looking signature on it. And what did I think of that? It was the biggest thrill of my life.

Alright. I read last week that they’re shooting a scene for New Yeller just a few blocks from where I live. The street’s already cordoned off, the trailers are lining up, I can see it all from my bathroom window. I am peeing my pants in the bathroom every day. As soon as they start shooting, I’ll be there. I’ll get as close as I can. I’ll get on the set, if I can. I have souvenirs from the last three Jack Dangerson flicks. The cigar knife from Bloodlips and Company. The blue parrot from his 3D remake of Casablanca. And my crown jewel, his wax double from Dream Museum. That one was worth the scar.

I love LA. I love, love, love LA. All this amazing, amazing stuff happening all around you. It’s like you’re a part of it. Even if you’re a total nobody, you’re a part of it. I wear my sunglasses every day.

Jack. Dangerson. What a name. What a tan. He is so, so handsome. So cute you could just … stab him in the neck with a screwdriver.

I can’t wait for New Yeller. I can’t wait another second. I have to, but I can’t.

I hope the dog can talk.


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