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“Somebody’s having sex in there! Everybody come here!”

I kicked Clint out of the car and reached to close the door, but his friends had arrived and were trying to pry it back open. I felt like I was battling with a horde of undead zombies who wanted to eat my flesh instead of a horde of horny farmboys who wanted a glimpse of some. After a few seconds of struggling, they managed to fling open the door and suddenly there were two of them in the car.

“Where’s the girl?” asked another bumpkin, this one in a “Wine Me, Dine Me, 69 Me” trucker’s cap.

“There is no girl in here, just me, you idiot!”

Wine Me looked at Clint in amazement and said, “He’s jacking off!”

They cackled at the fact they’d caught a guy wanking himself on the floor of a limousine.

“I’m not jacking off!” I hollered as the two stooges climbed out of the car.

“Hey, there’s some guy in here pulling his pud!”

“I’m not pulling my pud!!” I yelled out the door, slamming it shut and locking it as the dopey driver returned and put his snacks in the car.

“Let’s go! Let’s get the fuck out of here!” I shouted.

“But I still need gas—”

“Forget the gas, let’s get out of here now!!”

As he drove away I saw another wave of pervert zombies shambling toward the car to get a glimpse of the parking lot peep show.

“I’m not pulling my pud!” I yelled out the open window.

I’d been cast in Android Apocalypse in the role of Tee-Dee (who coincidentally was an android), and the first scene of the day involved me and my costar Joseph Lawrence (Whoah!) getting into a firefight with sentinel robots who had been sent to kill us. The scene called for us to run through the canyon shooting our rifles at a red light, which would later become a CGI flying robot. I was given an actual rifle that shot dead rounds and we were coached on how to fire so the shells wouldn’t fly out and burn anybody.

I made the choice that Tee-Dee had been hit with shrapnel in a previous battle and walked with a slight limp. To make sure I didn’t forget my choice I put a rock in my shoe. I was a veritable De Niro in Raging Bull. The problem was the stupid rock made me take a bad step just as I fired my rifle. When the director yelled cut, one of the extras reached in her shirt and pulled a smoking cartridge out from between her boobskis.

“Not a bad shot,” I thought to myself.

Android Apocalypse was a great experience and I really turned some Hollywood heads with my three minutes of screen time. Hey, everyone has to start somewhere, right? I mean, Arnold Schwarzenegger’s first movie was Hercules Goes Bananas, and I know this was better than that one.

Absolutely.

After I wrapped Android, I hit the streets once again to take meetings. In Hollywood you don’t have meetings, you take them. And where you take them I have no idea. To dinner? To the carnival? To a Chumbawamba concert? I guess only Bronson Pinchot knows for sure.

I had just taken a meeting at Paramount, and when I walked out of the office I saw Matt Dillon a few feet behind me. I was stoked to be in the presence of Dallas Winston himself. Of course I was too froot to say anything, but I gave him a half-smile with a slight nod, and he reciprocated my greeting. We walked down a flight of stairs to the valet parking area, and as Matt approached the attendants, they halted their conversation and began nudging each other, obviously excited to see such a legendary performer. As he reached the bottom of the stairs the three valets were practically jumping up and down they were so excited. Dillon gave the first one his ticket and the guy broke out into a huge grin, not able to contain his excitement any longer.

“Oh my God! I can’t believe it! You’re my favorite!”

Matt smirked at the valet’s enthusiasm.

“I’ve been waiting for so long to meet you … Mr. Jericho!” the guy said, turning his attention directly to me.

Dally looked completely bewildered as the valet and his two comrades shook my hand and clapped me on the back. “We’re big fans, Y2J!”

Dillon gave me a look as if to say, “Who the fuck are you?” I gave him a look as if to say, “Well,