Originally posted on the next youth hostel:
When I was a very little girl, I used to say I wanted to be a movie star, but by adolescence the idlest whiff of that desire had flown, never to return even while sitting with a drink and watching the Oscars. But this morning I found myself fantasizing about having reason to go up on stage last night, and in the scripted stupid banter which is part of why I have not the slightest interest in being a Hollywood person, I’d say, “Hey Seth, I saw your dick.” And then I’d proceed with some jokes about its small size—that I had had to part his pubic hair to get a look, although actually the last time I saw it he had been waxed, and was that to make his dick appear more prominent? Etcetera. Cut to a reaction shot from Seth. He’d be looking faux horrified and embarrassed. Ha ha ha ha.
What would make the jokes really hilarious is that Seth would know that in fact it was true—that I had seen his dick. That I and a group of other women—maybe a few guys in there too—had managed to convince him one to strip down—for his first feature role, for a role in the kind of film that earns award nominations, for the job of awards-show host, maybe for all three, and that we had seen his trajectory from bush to trim to wax, and that we knew that his dick was in fact exceptionally small. Nonetheless we had cajoled and encouraged and assured him that no, his dick did not look too small but yes, that prosthetic really was the way to go, and that no one would ever know (this based on the vehement claims of a male friend that Mark Walberg had used a prosthetic in Boogie Nights). And it was so important to the project, and he was so great. Wiggle it a little just like that. Oh fabulous. Thank you. Cut.