Hollywood executives held a blowjob party in Beverly Hills this week, where bowls of cocaine and a ton of high-dollar prostitutes were in attendance. The reason? REVENUE. This has been a banner year for sequels, prequels, reboots, reimaginings, redos, and other movie business fuckery that has the heads of all the major studios literally shitting gold.
"We have just been a fucking roll with these things," remarked one exec, in between handjobs from several young production assistants. "I mean, it's as easy as going through our back catalog of projects and randomly pointing to shit and saying, 'Yeah, fuck it, let's do this one again.' God-DAMN life is good."
When asked about original ideas, or possibly taking on scripts from new writers, he laughs. "Oh, that's good. That's really good. Why in the fucktoast would we want to risk all this on something interesting and entertaining when we can just serve the people reheated scrambled eggs for breakfast? Fuck 'em. They're filling our pockets and we don't have to do shit except pull off some cheap, half-assed rehash of something that already bought us several mansions and a yacht. Living the dream, baby. Living it."
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