Background

A Pool Hustler's Daughter grows up in subterranean America. She dreams big, hustles daily and loves her Daddy. With empathy, fascination and grace she navigates and inhabits every tier of society; sees beauty and hope and magic in all things; respects and lives by the "mitzvah."
A Pool Hustler's Daughter calculates the trifecta payout at the racetrack, hides money on three parts of her body, has an arsenal of "Uncles," and keeps a baseball bat by the front door. She values friendship, loyalty and experiences over "things." Like her father, she seeks to learn "The secrets of the universe" and believes "Life ain't on the square." She applauds the self-made and those who learn to "overcome" their circumstances. Her door is always open for a sofa to sleep on, a hot meal, or an eager listener for a life story.
























Friday, May 15, 2015

Mad Men Season Finale! SHHH!

Wow, I just left Matt Weiner's screening room where I was fortunate enough to have seen the last episode of AMC's "Mad Men!" Yes, that's right - the last episode! Prepare yourself for some spoilers!

So, Don Draper has returned to McCann(no, not the band McKenzie Phillips, silly!) and is again sitting in that large Board Room(it's called Bored room for a reason!) refusing to take any notes on Coca Cola while twelve other Creative Directors, all male, in similar suits, and pomade hair and stale cigarette smoke, compete to see who can ask the copy writers and art staff the most provocative and knowledgeable questions. It's a contest that takes place in this Board room nearly every single day and Don Draper will have none of it. Roger Sterling is pretending to listen to this bullshit while secretly admiring a Playboy magazine under the table, on his lap, trying not to piss himself. Pete Campbell is smiling and trying to get along with everyone while thinking, "my family is the oldest one in this room" and, "I can't stomach this new money" and, "I wonder if anyone knows that Au Pair is buried below the swing set in Gramercy Square Park, ha! I am one of the few who have access to a key..." Media bastard Harry Crane is also sitting at the table, passing Lobster Thermador and scotch gas every ninety seconds, so bloated with a pasty and pimpled belly layered with butter fat rolls that he cannot button his jacket, scheming to blackmail more women to sleep with him in return for professional favors. Ted is leering at Peggy lasciviously just to screw with her head, as he is prone to do, because he is a sentimental sell out who pretends to be real. Peggy, on the other hand, has been relegated to sitting at the "kiddie table" with the small wooden school chairs and the remaining black secretary who is taking notes and trying to cross her legs in such a way so that no one will be able to look up her short skirt. Don's devoted secretary Meredith is under the table, giving Joan's throw away Ferg a blow job, as we all know she is willing to do anything to please.

Suddenly, the head of McCann, Jim Hobart, enters with blood stained Bergdorf Goodman pants. There is a machine gun pointing to the back of his head being held by none other than Joan who is an army green jump suit beside Patty Hearst, who is also in a jumpsuit and brandishing a weapon. Ben, having recently been broken out of the nut ward at Bellevue, is holding McCann's scrotum in his hands.

"What can I say, he likes to cut things?" Joan giggles.

"The ghost of Hemingway, who is now a Martian, that speaks to me through computers, told me to do it!" hollers Ben, "I'm going to die a virgin, aren't I?"

"Joan? What are you doing? Stop this!" cries Roger, "Stop this, immediately! You're going to give me a bad trip!"

"Oh, shut up, Roger! You could have forced McCann to pay me all my money and you didn't. You keep bragging about your time in the Navy, but all you keep showing us is what a limp dick pussy you really are. You couldn't stand up to a midget. By the way, do you even know that women are capable of orgasms??? Peggy and I used to give them to one another all the time in the coffee room while your drunken asses were taking naps!"

"How do you think we could get through the day surrounded by you assholes?" Peggy laughs.

"NOOOO!' the remaining Admen in the office scream, in what appears to be camera induced slow motion, as the men reach for their hearts that have now been staked repeatedly, Alfred Hitchcock-shower-in-Psycho-style, after imagining such an erotic, girl on girl scene taking place right under their noses, after all those years...it is an emotional pain so severe that causes at least one Ad Man to just drop dead at the table those goddamn selfish bitches his final thoughts...

"Wait, wait. Seriously, this is awful" Peggy begs, "You know I have nothing else in my life except this job! And my rat infested New York City apartment building that will one day be worth twenty million dollars!"

"Wake up, Peggy. You've got Stan Rizzo! He might be the only real man in this entire hell hole and he wears suede fringe vests!" Joan screams.

"Joan, seriously, you're going to hurt someone!" Peggy argues.

"I'm going to hurt someone?" Joan asks and then fires five rounds into phony Ferg without batting an eye.

The blonde bouffant from Don's secretary Meredith is covered in blood.

"Get the fuck out of here, dipshit," Joan orders as Don's secretary runs out screaming, "Stop justifying misogyny!"

"Please!" the head of McCann yells, "I'll give you the other half of your money!"

"Please, what? I thought you said you were going to hire less women? Give them less power? Don't you want women to be "fun"? This, this, to me, is having fun!" Joan cackles.

"Joanie, you don't want to do this! Think of Kevin, your son!" Don argues in his smooth talking, take your panties off voice.

"I am thinking of him. I want him to know his mother has BALLS. His mother died for something. I want him to grow up in a world where his daughter gets paid just as much as a man. I don't want to wait another fifty years for this to happen! My God, can we get a woman president of the United Fucking States already? Israel is less than thirty years old and they've got Golda Meir!"

"You're right, Joan. You're goddam right." Peggy agrees.

"It's time to say, Sayonara boys!" Joan orders, swinging her machine gun around the room, taking out Creative Directors like Bunnies in a Carnival shooting game.

"Please," the head of McCann orders weakly.

"Here's your fifty percent, cocksucker!" Joan yells as she shoots fifty rounds into the head of McCann and then throws his bloody scrotum back in his face.

"You're mad!" Pete Campbell yells, "At the very least, get rid of Harry Crane. You know we all can't stand him! He's from Wisconsin for Crissake!"

"Gladly!" Joan yells and shoots Harry down, and the room immediately starts to smell better.

"Thank you!" Pete answers, "I told you all that Joan would be a great Partner!"

"Roger, you can live, but only because Caroline, your secretary, would be out of a job," Joan concedes, "and I don't think you can even wipe your own ass without her around."

"What about Kevin?" Peggy asks.

"You're going to raise him for me, Peggy. I'm going to provide you the redemption you deserve for giving up your kid. Just make sure that Kevin knows what a hot piece of ass his mother was," Joan requests.

"I will" Peggy agrees, "and she was."

"One of the upsides to being Office Manager is that I was able to reconstruct all of your life insurance policies to be payable to the National Organization of Women, The ACLU and the NAACP. And Peggy, you are now sole beneficiary of Burt Cooper's estate and can start your own goddamn advertising company. It's the best thing I ever got in return for sleeping with an aesthetically inferior, bald, middle aged man."

"What about me?" Don asks.

"What about you? This whole fucking show has been about you! I'm sick of you! We all are! You pretend to care about people but you really never did a goddamn thing for anybody but yourself. You could have been the moral conscious of this show and you weren't. You could have stood up for so many of us and you didn't. You don't need to jump out that window, because I'm going to push you!" Joan yells, and with that last remark pushes Don out the window. Joan unzips her jump suit and flashes the remaining men and women in the room her million dollar breasts. "You'll never see the likes of these sweet titties ever again! Long live Betty Freidan!" her last words, and with a giant, peace-with-God smile, jumps out of the window onto Madison Avenue.

Cue music.

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