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“Seal, Heidi, you both look great. Enjoy yourselves tonight, OK?” That is the type of thing James Cameron should be saying tonight, instead of standing on a step ladder pulling down strips of twisted blue crepe paper. He had sent the ice sculptor home hours ago, and now a glistening half-finished Na’vi plugging its ponytail into a Terminator on the deck of the Titanic stood melting in the darkness on the back lawn beneath a massive, partially dismantled white tent. A pile of metal rods and clean canvas lay in disarray where James Cameron had angrily thrown them, desperate to tear down this meaningless edifice. But the rigging was more complicated than he had anticipated, and he quickly gave up. Sweat ran in thin, mean rivulets down his sides, collecting in his cummerbund.
What was that sound? The splash of topless party goers jumping giddily into the heated pool (filled tonight with fake ice floes and rubber bodies) as they enjoyed the thrill of being at an A-list party of Hollywood elite? No. It was a neighbor’s sprinkler system turning on. The pool was empty. There were no casually tossed-off bikini tops lying in the grass. No half-drunk martini glasses slowly filling with cigarette butts. James Cameron paused and watched as a giant silver bowl filled to the brim with cocaine bobbed in the middle of the pool on a floating tray and he thought to himself that it might just be the saddest thing he had ever seen.
On a long buffet table, 7,000 shrimp slowly congealed on a shining bed of ice. James Cameron placed lids back on the giant tins of Russian caviar and carried them inside to the refrigerator. It looked like someone was going to be having caviar omelets and caviar sandwiches and caviar chili and caviar soup and caviar pasta salad for the next few months. He made room for the tins amidst the unopened bottles of champagne, the tranches of foie gras, and the whole pig, of course. He had planned to have people dressed in nothing but loin clothes and shells roasting the pig on a giant spit over a bonfire down next to the western gazebo, but that was of course beside the point. He shoved the pig’s limp, clammy body this way and that, but could not find a way to fit all the caviar into the refrigerator. And so he took the pig out and carried it around with him, pretending that it was Jamie Foxx.
“HAHAHAHHA, good one, Jamie,” James Cameron said to the pig. They were both sitting with their legs dangling into the hot tub. James Cameron had his tuxedo pants rolled up to his knees. The pig was not wearing pants.
“Well, I guess it just wasn’t Kathryn’s year, you know, but she really is a fantastic director. I wish it had gone her way, I really do.” James Cameron looked thoughtful, just the way he knew he would look when the question about The Hurt Locker losing to Avatar for Best Picture was inevitably raised. “It will happen for her, though, Jamie. Mark my words. Excuse me for just one moment.”
James Cameron walked across the lawn to the Brigman Guest House, his warm, wet feet leaving ghost tracks through the manicured grass. He nodded to his guests as he went along, thanking them for their kind words of congratulation, doing his best to seem humble. Inside the guest house, he closed the door behind him and leaned against it. Finally, a moment to himself. It really was overwhelming, but it was little price to pay. The guest house, of course, included a walk-in humidor, which is what James Cameron was here for. He found a Cohiba, and was about to leave the guest house for good, when he pretended for a a second that he had just caught David Duchovny fucking Lara Flynn Boyle. He winked at them. “I won’t tell,” he said to the room. “What a night!”
He walked back across the lawn, lighting his celebratory cigar. When he got back to the hot tub, he found that the pig had fallen in, and was sloshing around, turning pink. James Cameron shrugged and put his feet back in the hot tub. Occasionally, the pig would bump against his ankles.
“Careful, Jamie,” he would say, and then he would laugh as if to say, I’m just kidding, Jamie Foxx, you go ahead and bump against my ankles if you want. It’s Oscar night after all, and this is a party. “You know, I think I’m going to keep my Oscar in the bathroom,” James Cameron said to the pig, which had become waterlogged and was no longer visible from the surface. “As a conversation piece.”
A single tear rolled down James Cameron’s cheek.
There was a clattering of glass as ice melted and bottles shifted in one of the massive “Home Coolers” placed around the property. Tiki torches ran out of fuel and flickered out. A truck would arrive tomorrow to cart everything away. Maybe the truck could take him with it. He wouldn’t mind that so much, he thought. Being stored away in a cool, dark warehouse somewhere, like some kind of chocolate fountain. Which reminded him, and James Cameron walked over to the three-story high chocolate fountain, the largest chocolate fountain in the world, constructed especially for the occasion, and he turned it off.
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“Brigman Guest House” – yes.
Well Let’s FXXKin Facelift Bar
Brilliant.
Needs more pouty Jason Retiman, though.
More like ZING of the world, amirite?
Caviar omelette, nom nom
T14TT idea? I think so.
yes! seconded. I assume Gabe can afford caviar, right?
I was assuming Cameron would donate.
Caviar chili, not so much. Ewww amiright?
He always did have an imagination.
This is the best “You Can Make It Up” ever Gabe. I book marked it so one day when scrolling though my bookmarks, I’ll come across this and read it again, and what a magical time it will be.
I think the pig playing Jamie Foxx made too much sense
It’s the disgusting, food-related details that do it for me: the “congealing” shrimp, pig Jamie Foxx’s “limp clammy body,” pig Jamie Foxx “sloshing around” the hot tub; really, all of pig Jamie Foxx’s adjectives are so well chosen, the whole scene is horribly vivid.
Yes, too vivid. I’m actually bummed out now, in addition to my being bummed out that Avatar didn’t win [YEAH I SAID IT. I FUCKING LOVE THAT MOVIE. SUE ME.]
(I liked it too)
Sad millionaires need the MOST love.
See: Jerry Seinfeld
Nothing makes losing an Oscar to your ex-wife feel better. Except having all the money. Nothing else, though.
“James Cameron paused and watched as a giant silver bowl filled to the brim with cocaine bobbed in the middle of the pool on a floating tray and he thought to himself that it might just be the saddest thing he had ever seen.”
I want to tattoo this sentence on the inside of my eyeballs.
And then James Cameron turns around and Ben Linus is there. Ooohhhh.
LA monsters? pizza party without pizza tonight?
I will be there.
9pm-ish, kids. http://www.yelp.com/biz/whitehorse-inn-cocktail-lounge-los-angeles
Looks like they sell beer at this place. Huh.
y… yes?
Um… I live in Hollywood, and the White Horse Inn…? The last time I went there we walked 2 blocks and passed: a man wearing only a hospital/mental ward gown (i.e., half naked), with his ID bracelet still attached, and he was conversing with a wrought iron fence, then a junkie passed out or dead on the sidewalk, then a used (or “spent”) condom, and finally a couple of bangers.
I am not making any of this up. Can we just go to Chuck E Cheese’s, please?
“Bangers” is supposed to mean “gang bangers” and not “sausages.” I apologize for the confusion.
This might just have eclipsed the Glenn Beck you can make it up. Fantastic stuff.
Topher Grace was there?
“And then James reached behind the couch in the gazebo behind the pool and pulled Diplo up by his lapels”
And I was Wrong – THAT Seems like a bitchin MutherFxxxer of a party. FXCK.
I wish at the end James Cameron would’ve gone inside and started working on Avatar: The Novel so we could get another exclusive sneak peak at that future literary masterpiece… I just can’t wait to know what all the characters were thinking!!!1!
image courtesy of
and to a lesser extent Glee….both are awesome.This made me feel sad for James Cameron but only in the same way that when I was stuck on a plane one time and the in-flight movie was “Monster in Law” toward the end of the movie, I thought, “You know, I sort of feel sorry for that ol’ Monster in Law.”
I’m just so tired of all these Monsters in Law…
Wait, the hurt locker chick is EX-Mrs. Cameron? Far out! I mean, technically she should have won years ago for Point Break, but it’s nice to see her finally get her dues.
…..Far out!
“The pig was not wearing pants.”
It’s details like these that really make these great. Kahdooz.
that was my favorite line as well. It was like the cherry on the top of a bowl full of cherries.
The real star of this YCMIU is the cummerbund. At long last, it gets to play the role it was born to play.
I swear these YCMIUs contain some of the finely-craftedest final sentences I’ve ever read. Congratulations, Gabe. I give this two Kudoses.