Day 2: Actually on it...in the butt

Yes, my official page count is still zero. But I am getting off of work to go write at home tonight. Just putting in the blog post before I get stuck without Internet...

No funny quips today. I'm all business. So I'll let someone else entertain you:

inthebutt.tumblr.com

Been seeing these around NYC. Honestly, I wish I didn't find them funny. But I do. So now I have the mind of a 2 year old.


---

April 30, 11:59:59 PM ET 2009

Above lies the looming deadline I have set for myself to complete my second ever attempt at bringing a cohesive movie idea onto paper. Well, word document.

Script Frenzy left me lame and impotent from last year, as I pitifully jerked out a measly 13 pages. If there is a word for the opposite of logorrhoea, I had it. Logstipation, if you will.

But a few things have changed from last year:

1. I moved to New York. No more writing in Orange County.
2. my aging but trusty A20m IBM ThinkPad from the year 2000 is still around, except it is seriously dying, and nowadays its only real purpose is for me to hook up an old hard drive to it and allow me to watch porn.
3. my copy of How To Write A Movie In 21 Days: The Inner Movie Method by Viki King, is still on my bookshelf. It's a completely useless piece of crap, as decided by my experience from last year.
4. I definitely have refrained from using "pumping out" and "manhood" in the same sentence, as promised.
   

This year, my documentation of my screenplay writing within 30dayscreenplay shall depict a process of a budding masterpiece. No more embarrassment at the end of the year.

But wait, you say. Isn't writing in this blog what largely contributed to your inability to complete your screenplay last year? And its 10:55 PM today, April 1, and all you have to show for it is another "introductory post"?

And to that, I say...

Shut up¹.

---

¹and on that note, without further ado, herein begins my documentary of my experience. 2009 style.

Day 25: Hiatus

No new posts?

It's because life currently calls for me to focus on interviews.

Needless to say, I have lost Script Frenzy. I have lost my own challenge. However, I am not giving up, as I still need to complete the screenplay. No job goes unfinished.

Give me some time to catch up, and I promise hilarity will once again ensue with the adventure that is the 30 day screenplay.

Day 23: Humility Plates

Question.

Why do ugly women insist on getting vanity plates like SEXYKO¹?

Do hot girls get vanity plates that say BTTRFCE² or FUGLY³?

I never get pissed off when someone cuts me off. I never get road rage from seeing dumb drivers, tailgaters, or 40mph-on-the-highway-drivers. I get road rage after following SEXYKO around the parking lot, only to see her step out and look like she was hit in the face with a bag of hot nickels.

I want my 10 minutes back.

---
¹For you slow ones, that's "sexy knockout."
²For you slow ones, that's "butterface."
³For you slow ones, that's still "fugly."

Day 22: GPS + PMS = Why men don't live as long

Materials Needed:
1) GPS
2) A woman who thinks she's better than the GPS¹

Instructions:
Put materials inside a car and drive it.

Observe:
How long did it take before you lost your fucking mind?

---

¹Which is to say, any woman will do.

Day 21: The countdown begins

Page Count: 10

Which is also the number of days I have left to reach my goal.

If there existed steroids for writers, I'd be injecting ten needles into my ass right now.

Oh, wait.

Coke.

Day 20: What are you up to, Trent?

John walks into the room and sees an old friend surprising him with a spontaneous visit.

"Hey! Trent, how've you been?"

"Good, good."

"What have you been up to?"

"Waiting for Miley Cyrus to turn 18."

Day 19: Traveling Day

Went on a flight today...and I had to laugh a little at this.

It's almost Fight Club like. Sure, the people aren't freaking out, but hey, they're fashionably updated!

Except not, since nobody's worn a trucker hat since Britney stopped being innocent. Which was a decade ago. When Joan Rivers was 354 years old.

At least the politically correct brown woman is wearing a shirt that reveals a black bra. Sucks that her Mile-High Club adventure was interrupted by the cabin depressurizing, causing those yellow masks to be dropped from the compartment above her. Unfortunately, she forgot to put it over herself first before helping the child next to her, and passed out during the crash in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.

Damn, I've been on too many planes.

Day 18: The Last Minute Race Shall Begin

...on Day 21. I shall change the name of the game to: How to write a movie in 9 days.

On the other hand, this is probably the best job post I have ever seen, and probably why people should stay away from job board posts.

---
Location: US - California (Southern)
City: Where the beautiful people are
Salary: ONE MILLION DOLLARS
Job Terms: Permanent
Start Date: 03/18/2008
Consider Relocation:No
Job Description:So you are a hot shot Flash Developer-uh?
Okay...we will give you that.
But do you have a hot shot job?

We have a pretty kick @## job!

A global Ad agency which Entertainment, Media, Gaming, Luxury Hotels, Automotive, and staple CPG clients depend on to make there products look as cool as you are is looking for a Flash Developer who can make sites win awards!

BUILD YOUR PORTFOLIO.
WORK WITH WORLD FAMOUS BRANDS.
BE A BIG TIME AD AGENCY FANCY PANTS.

If you really do rock AS 2.0 and have the sites to prove it apply now! Other Requirements: This person needs to be someone with the most amazing and MAD AS SKILLS in Actionscript 2.0.
A Portfolio that will blow our mind! And nice and humble about how much of a hot shot you are...okay...so just settle down!
---

Seriously, who the hell wrote that? Now, I want HIS job. Screw the one million dollars. I want the job where I say ridiculous things and apparently not need to have any writing ability to pay my freakin' rent. Like a town drunk with a steady cashflow.

Day 17: Pikachu sure is happy

For those of you who don't get it, what the hell are you doing reading my blog? You should be outside, drawing shitty pictures on the pavement with that chalk. They're washable for a reason.

Day 16: Series 1 of "Questions that sound really stupid but might actually be really philosophical, but are really just kind of stupid"

"What if your best guy friend turned into a hot chick and he made out with you, would that be gay?"

The idiot says, "Hell yeah that's gay, queer!"

The thinker says, "Well, not so fast. I think it depends on for who? Maybe more so for the friend who turned into a hot chick. I mean, the guy who is making out with a girl on the outside is visually still making out with a girl. It's the girl who still has a guy's mind, so it'd be gay for him. I mean, would it be gay for a guy to make out with a lesbian? I don't think so. But then I beg to question, what if the guy who turned into a hot chick was gay to begin with - a woman trapped inside a man's body. Now he's a woman with a new woman's body! If they made out, would that still be gay?"

The idiot says, "Um...what?"

The thinker says, "Nevermind. What if he turned into a girl who was REAALLY hot? And I mean really, REALLY hot."

The idiot says, "Well, I guess."

The thinker yells, "FAG!" and runs away.

Day 15: Script Frenzy...will really be a damn frenzy

So it's the midpoint spot, and wow...





I'm fucked.

Day 14: What's in a name?

Naming characters is difficult, as I constantly think they have to epitomize a personality or mean something significant. As a result, I've temporarily inserted friend's names and my own. Which lead me to my next topic...

I can't really blame them, but seriously, Asian parents had no idea how to name their first-generation American kids.

Our generation is forever stuck with knowing an abundant amount of James' and Jeff's. I can meet an Asian girl, call her Jessica, and there's a 47% chance that she'd reply with, "Oh my god, how did you know?"

Because our parents sucked at naming us, that's how.

If you know a Eugene, he's Asian. If you say I'm wrong, then he's Russian. If you say I'm wrong again, you're lying.

True, our parents wanted to be able to say our names easily, and most wanted us to be able to fit in. Well, it has made us fit in so well that I have had to distinguish different Jeff Cheng's based on height, intelligence, and - if all else fails - different medical ailments. The most ironic part is that our American names are so standard, that Americans don't even name their kids those names. Just look at this chart below¹.

Worse are the parents who didn't really care and chose names based off of celebrities, or out of textbooks they used to learn English. Thank God I wasn't born in this generation of Harry Potter. Ten years from now, you'll be wondering why there are so many fuckin' Harry Asians filling up high schools around the nation.

As a side note...Propecia²? You serious?

Screw it. My first born is going to be named Rogaine.

---

¹I dragged it off the Internet. The Internets does not lie.
²Yo, images dragged off forums are legit, son?

Day 13: Pop culture is like your wife. It doesn't make sense.

Rock of Love is such an evil show, and you didn't even know. I'm convinced it was created by a woman who's man once cheated on her for a prostitute.

First off, the show's premise is basically, "Let's dangle a string in front of a group of hookers. This string is their only hope out of their miserable lives. Oh, right, and Bret Michaels is the embodiment of this string."

As such, Rock of Love also needs a new tagline: "Makin' bitches cry since 2007"

At first, I thought, "Man, this woman is a genius! She's getting rich because as long as she chooses women like Daisy to be on the show, Bret Michaels will be doomed to be searching for his Rock of Love forever!" Unfortunately, as of last night, the plan backfired as Bret Michaels chose Ambre over Donkey¹ - I mean, Daisy. So now, instead of waiting for "Rock of Love 3: You actually thought Daisy was going to work out?", we should probably expect "Love me, Love me not with Daisy DeLaHoya²."



On the other hand, I think I just figured out how anybody can know how they are actually in love, after seeing the ending of Rock of Love 2. Love is when you can say, "Let's go have hot monkey sex." and the response will be a nod, smile, and, "Yes, let's."

How cute.

---

¹Okay, I make fun of her for looking like a donkey, but I guess she's still the hottest donkey I've ever seen.
²Seriously, if Bret Michaels took a large shit, there'd be a show about it on VH1.

Day 12: There is hope for all of us

Mild depression sucks, and writing has pretty much stopped for me. I assume there is going to be some major last minute rush to make the deadline.

On the other hand, Puck, from Real World SF, is apparently married.

Day 11: Neurotic New York

Looking for some character inspiration, I came across this map by creative class group.


I guess I find neurosis to be sexy. Makes it emotionally easier to get rid of them after a mutual "open to experience" experience.

Day 10: What are you ridin'?

As I should be 33% done with my screenplay (I'm not), I hear "Low" for the billionth time of my life and I want to shoot myself.

Flo Rida raps of a woman - who we shall deem "Shawty" - with "Apple bottom jeans and the boots with the fur." Or maybe he raps of two women, with another one having, "them baggy sweat pants and the Reeboks with the straps."

Now, apparently the whole club was lookin' at her/them. Cool. I probably would too. Except, I realized Flo Rida seems to be attracted to them.

And this whole time I thought we were looking at her for having horrible taste.


He looks confused. I guess it makes sense. Anything makes sense when you name yourself after a state and convince people it's cool. Flo Rida. He rides flows. Yeah. Makes sense.

Day 9: I gasm, you gasm, Wii all gasm!

“Mommy, can I go play video games now?”

Ummm. No.

At least not if WiiSex makes anymore buzz. Although the scent of “April Fool’s joke” is as strong as pickle in a pickle factory for this fresh tidbit of “fake intimacy” news, the fact that such an idea could easily exist makes it real enough. (Ha! Real enough. How appropriate). Three Stanford alumni who attended the Stanford Institute of Design developed WiiSex along with a “fully interactive” controller (cue in milky white humanoid with freakishly pink nipples - that you can press). The object of WiiSex? Make Ms. White wii-gasm.

What happens when you can’t? Does the animated girl on screen snicker and say, “It’s okay,” with a hinted air of disappointment? I suppose there is less pressure with the knowledge that you can always just press restart and try again. Just don’t try it in real life. I did, and she never called me again.

So how real can all of this get? First, imagine a game programmed into a Real Doll. Then, Stanford designers can make WiiSex Real Dolls say stuff like, “Ai, papi!” Goodness, they can have opinions and make fun of how small they think your Wii looks. I’m just waiting for the day a doll can roll over and go, “Sorry honey, I’m tired.” Now that would be so real I’d jolt out of my quarterlife crisis, become a full-fledged Republican, and buy an arsenal of shotguns to protect myself in the impending invasion of robots.

In the meantime, I’ll think about how ironic it is that the more we humans create artificial intelligence to mimic us accurately, the more inevitable it is that we will feel lonelier once we realize our best friend is nothing more than a complex set of algorithms. No wonder Anakin Skywalker was so messed up. Hell, if I realized that the only real human friend I ever had (Natalie Portman as Queen Amidala) was going to die and leave me stuck on the light side of the Force with freaking R2D2 and C3PO, I’d become Darth Vader too.

---
NOTE: Yes, this is a bonus post I wrote to entertain you because I forgot to post yesterday.

Day 8: MTV

I definitely need to get some dialogue from MTV's Parental Control, which may be the most entertaining trash on television. For those of you who aren't familiar with Parental Control, it's a dating show. Parents of daughters dating douchebags get to choose two new guys as potential boyfriend material (or parents of sons dating bitches). 40% the entertainment comes from the jerk arguing with the parents. Another 50% is usually from being able to stare on screen at relatively attractive-in-that-slutty-way type girls I would never want to meet¹. This is why MTV shows with ugly people are boring.

The final 10% comes from the potentially ridiculous dates, and what gets said on those dates. For example:

"If...if I had...a nickel for. everytime. I saw a girl as beautiful as you......I. would have five cents."

That's not bad grammar. That's everytime the guy had a pause because he was the most awkward thing I've ever seen on two legs. Fortunately, girls love sweet guys, right?

Apparently not as much as they love douchebags, because when she didn't pick him, her line was:

"I'm afraid you aren't enough of a bad-ass for me."

---
¹Unless I became immune to STDs, remained nameless, and was guaranteed a "one thing lead to another" story to tell.

Day 7: Why Hillary Clinton exists

It's pretty amazing how characters take on a life of their own once you start writing. One acts, another reacts. One jokes, another laughs. Soon enough, there is an entire dynamic world in your hands to develop and manage.

What has been most intriguing about creating characters is it has me analyzing all the personalities I already know. One of the first lessons of screenwriting states that characters are defined by what they do, not what they say. This is a straightforward rule that remains one dimensional until my character design process begins to flow. At this point, I began to see the relationships between what they say and what they do or don't do, which is much more telling of character than just dialogue and action alone.

Common sense, right?

Then why is it that people in the real world still judge others mainly by what they say? Are people disintelligent?

Yes.

Because more than half of the people who read this didn't even flinch when I typed "disintelligent." Because even with all the feminists in the world, there still isn't a catchy word for "manwhore." Because smart¹ women think men who say they "hate stupid women" must have very refined taste.

Seriously? Men call women stupid for not putting out.

But women don't know that. As a result, we have "smart girls" waking up every morning across the nation, wondering how they ended up with the douchebag next to them. Some never figure it out. Some figure it out and become feminists. Feminists who flinched when they saw "disintelligent" become Hillary Clinton².

Let's not kid ourselves. If identifying the relationships between what people say and what they do was that easy and "common sensical," we wouldn't have this problem.


---
¹In this case, smart = sad, desperate, and unattractive.
²You never even saw that coming.

Day 6: Spooning Julia Nunes*

A lot of you have asked me what my story is going to be about. Therefore, a lot of you have received nondescript answers. Quite simply, the idea still is nondescript in my head. However, today, I have found a better way to describe it. I found the soundtrack to my writing.

Julia Nunes came to my attention today when I YouTubed "Spoon." She had done a cover of Underdog with a ukulele and the slight snarkiness of it kept my attention, which lead me to discover a load of other covers (Survivor by Destiny's Child is pretty funny) and surprisingly good originals on her profile. I posted my favorites - Into the Sunshine (top) and Regrets (bottom).

I'm not one for being into YouTube "phenoms," but this Nunes girl has actually won me over. Probably because I like her wit. I'll even be willing to jump the gun and say I will not be surprised if she made an Ingrid Michaelson-like run within the year. With a little refinement, she's definitely got something.

In short, my screenplay will be like Julia Nunes. It will have a sense of humor, look 13, play a ukulele, and get its nose pierced.

Glad to know this post didn't help you at all.

---
*Hot damn, my title's witty.

Day 5: Pooh has sociopathic tendencies

Writing the first ten pages has never been so hard. Partially because screenplay form takes some getting used to.

Regardless, the writing is coming along, and it's great to know that I'm not missing out on any fun. Waking up today with Pooh chewing Eeyore's ear on my chest -

- is as satisfying an experience as any.

Day 4: Wedded Bliss is simpler than you may think

I once dated a girl who didn't like food.

No, she wasn't anorexic - she just only ate hamburgers and chicken. So I stopped seeing her, concluding that she had to be an alien.

Proud to have saved myself from a probing experiment, I was okay. Deep down though, it hurt to know that I had flushed another chance at true love, alien or not. How was I ever going to find marital bliss?

Well, flash forward to the present, and voila! The editors at OCHealth - one of those free, local magazines you can pick up pretty much anywhere in Orange County - have certainly figured it out. I grabbed a copy the second I saw "Wedded Bliss: 89 Ways to Healthy Matrimony!" (Plus, with the words, "Beauty. Fitness. Food. Wellness." on the cover, I thought that I discovered the new guide to the universe. Based on my calculations¹, these topics are relevant to 99.99% of the world's people.)

So, you really ready to know the secret to wedded bliss?

I'll tell you if you promise to read the answer in your head with the voice of that guy who announces at sports games. Promise?

Plastic surgery! (See, wasn't that more fun?)

What? You've got to be kidding me. You're a hack!

No, no. I'm quite sure I'm right. I just double checked OCHealth again and I'm pretty sure it's plastic surgery that is the secret to wedded bliss. Don't worry, I shall proceed to enlighten:

• 20 ads for plastic surgery. 60 pages of magazine, meaning 30 spreads. That's 2 ads every 3 spreads telling you to get breast augmentation, liposuction, lip augmentation, ear surgery, Brazilian buttock lifts, face lifts, and more.
• That doesn't include the number of articles like, "Planning Plastic Surgery...around your wedding" and "Timeless Beauty: Your 3-Month Beauty Guide for the Big Event," that proceed to explain the recovery times and costs of different surgeries.
  

Hmmm..."89 Ways to Healthy Matrimony" is starting to look a lot like "89 Things You Can Fix About Your Body So Your Husband Will Still Want To Have Sex With You After A C-Section." Is that really the path to the stated, "wedded bliss?"

Maybe, maybe not². But have no fear, because if your husband still leaves you after all those surgeries for another woman, there's an ad for brain surgeon Christopher Duma. You can call him to remove the tumor you must have that caused you to be such a mindless idiot³. Wait, in fact, OCHealth already has a whole support group of ads set up for the likes of you!

• Insurance: "You're an individual. Shouldn't your insurance plan treat you like one?"
• No, not since you started looking like all the other hookers I know.
• Breast cancer screening: "Please call to schedule your HALO⁴"
• Yeah, you better, since breast implants make it harder to detect breast cancer. So pick up the phone, schedule some appointments...
  
• ...and give Dr. Jonathan H. Wheeler another reason to be smiling so widely in his picture. Lucky bastard⁵.
  

Oh, and guess what? There's a punch line. I scoured the magazine front to back numerous times. "Wedded Bliss: 89 Ways to Healthy Matrimony!" isn't even in there. Either this magazine is run by complete imbeciles, or the most genius-est people I have never met.

...

Damn it, I guess I'll just have to settle for an alien.

(No progress on screenplay today. Don't worry, I got a big day planned tomorrow.)
---
¹I took the number of people in the world, subtracted it by the alien I dated who didn't like food, and divided that number by the number of people in the world.
²Not.
³Which is the real reason why your husband left you. It wasn't the surgeries. It's what caused the surgeries. Which, once again - in case you got lost within these couple of sentences - was your stupidity.
⁴HALO is a Breast Pap Test. I learned something new today.
⁵He sees tits for a living!

Day 3: No wonder people in LA are fit.

The people at gyms down here are actually attractive.

I mean, take this scenario. You're sitting there, tired from your reps of rippin' up some iron, about to move to lighter weights, when you see the embodiment of hotness start doing lunges near you¹ (very nice lunges may I add). Suddenly, the whole gym turns dark and stormy, while Mufasa appears from the clouds and declares, "Remember who you are..."

Well, shit, you remember who you are, and who you are ain't no wimp. Especially not in front of her.

What's worse is that the gym is in on it. It's a damn conspiracy. They position all the treadmills so they're facing the free weights, so all the girls "doin' their thang" can snicker as you fail to finish your girly pushups² and turn their longing gazes toward Mr. Icouldbeinaporno,oratleastmakeyoufeellikeyouwereinone.

Don't worry, you ladies don't get off that easy (Ha! Pun not intended. Until I realized it. Then I intended it). The treadmills are always in the most accessible part of the gym, and get tons of foot traffic. Women know full well that all the fellas are checking them out every time they walk by. Every single time. In fact, we guys sometimes walk more than we have to in order to take another glance at that smokin' package of shag-nificent³. Depending on the type of woman, this makes you work out more in different ways:

1. You get an ego boost from the attention. You work out more.
2. You think these guys are disgusting. You work out more so you won't make eye contact with them as they walk by.

Not all aspects of the gym are so one-sided. There is one part that I deem to be quite a mutalistic relationship, and that's where the crunch machines are placed in front of the aerobic studios, mostly filled with women. [SIDE NOTE:I find it so intentionally cruel that the back of aerobic studios are glass. I'm convinced this is a ploy by the gym Gods so that shitty, fat, and uncoordinated people have nowhere to hide. Unless they're smart, which you can tell if they realize that the best place to hide is actually in the front left or right corner.] The men on crunch machines do more crunches so they can see the women stretch everytime they come up. The women on crunch machines - well, depends on the type of woman:

1. You realize what the guy next to you is doing. You are disgusted and go run a treadmill.
2. You realize what the guy next to you is doing. You also look, and suddenly feel your lesbian urges surfacing.
3. You realize what the guy next to you is doing. You get horny and ask him for sex⁴.

This concludes the breakdown of my gym analysis, to which may prompt you to ask, "So did you even start writing your damn screenplay yet?" I then look at you coolly, whip out my 8-inch. Cigar. Cut it. Smoke it. And announce, "Yes, I just did an 8 minute writing exercise to put down the general storyline." Oh, snap.

---
¹Okay, so when I say "you," I mean me.
²So when I say "your girly pushups," I mean my girly pushups.
³This could very well just be me.
⁴Never in my years of going to the gym, have I met such a woman. Guys, please feel free to let me know if you have met such a woman. Gals, please feel free to let me know if you are such a woman.

Day 2: Starting

So, today I spent some time making the banner you see up top.

...

Hey, I decided that I want to write a life comedy, okay? Baby steps.

===

UPDATE: So this is pretty cool. I just found out that Chris Baty - the guy behind NaNoWriMo is also involved with Script Frenzy - an international script writing event. The coincidental part is that I am doing the exact same thing they are doing, except they have real rules. Long story short - I signed up, and will try to get in on some group writing at local SoCal cafes. The people I meet will at least provide some good material.

The 5 Basic Rules of Script Frenzy

1) To be crowned an official Script Frenzy winner, you must write a script (or multiple scripts) of at least 100 total pages and verify this tally on ScriptFrenzy.org.

• Multiple scripts? Who the hell writes multiple scripts in one series of Script Frenzy? Whoever writes multiple scripts is an asshole. You're the kid in kindergarten who tried to trade me a celery stick for my pack of Gushers. Fuck you.
• does not equal. fucker.
  
• By the way, I don't recommend image Googling "gushers" while your SafeSearch is off.
  

2) You may write individually or in teams of two. Writer teams will have a 100-page total goal for their co-written script or scripts.

• Teams of two? I bet they're the ones writing multiple scripts. Assholes.
  

3) Script writing may begin no earlier than 12:00:01 AM on April 1 and must cease no later than 11:59:59 PM on April 30, local time.

• Yeah, so I don't really need to worry about starting early. In half an hour I'm about to be on Day 3 and I still haven't started. Technically.
  

4) You may write screenplays, stage plays, TV shows, short films, comic book and graphic novel scripts, adaptations of novels, or any other type of script your heart desires.

• Well...so far, I've pretty much only written in this blog...
  

5) You must, at some point, have ridiculous amounts of fun.

• Masturbation is cool. In fact, I just found this porn where they do it on an overpass somewhere in LA in broad daylight. Lichelle Marie, I love you.

April 30, 11:59:59 PM PST

Above lies the looming deadline I have set for myself to complete my first ever attempt at bringing a cohesive movie idea onto paper. Well, word document.

Armed with (1) my aging but trusty A20m IBM ThinkPad from the year 2000 and (2) my copy of How To Write A Movie In 21 Days: The Inner Movie Method by Viki King, I embark on the challenging journey of pumping out a screenplay and proving my manhood in the world of movie-writing. (I shall also refrain from using "pumping out" and "manhood" in the same sentence from this point on).

And before you ask, "Why do you need 30 days to write a movie when the book clearly says 21 days? Are you a pussy?" I will claim my obsessive compulsive need to think of 30 days as a perfect, cookie-cutter, comfortable number that fits snuggly inside a single month. I mean, who ends on day 21? Or starts on day 9?

Now that I have so soundly pushed aside your pesky questions, let's get to a few rules of the game:

1) I must finish my first draft of a screenplay by the stated April 30, 11:59:59 PM PST. Yes, in 2008. Don't question my integrity, jerk.
2) I must post an update at least once a day to ensure my progress...and sanity by being able to rant about how ridiculous this might be. How can you know if I'm lying? You can't. Don't question my integrity, jerk.

To make this fun for you, feel free to help fuel my motivation in different ways:
1) Harrass me and make fun of my "stupid" venture.
2) Talk about how you think I will fail.
3) Tell me I need to get laid.
4) But most importantly - subscribe, and wish me luck.

Without further ado, herein begins my documentary of my experience.