If you engage a plainclothes clown in conversation they might expound on their “art,” which, legitimate as it may be to the mentally deficient practitioner of their “craft,” serves no purpose but to validate their most pathetic urges. That makes me sick. Clowns of the world, I hate your guts. I hate your parents for lacking the foresight to realize how pathetic their offspring would turn out. I hate your siblings for sharing any of your genetic traits. I hate your children because they represent your filthy genes have gone on another generation and might infect otherwise decent bloodstreams. I hate your Grandparents for not falling victim to violent crime. I hate anyone that treats you with anything less then outright hostility. You’re a clown and you want to amuse me? Light yourself on fire. (These feelings do not apply to Rodeo Clowns, which are both amusing and practical).
-Sometimes production companies will try to save money by giving the extras cheap boxed lunches while the crew eats gourmet spread from a lunch truck. Don’t plex, just pose as a gaffer. Even people who work on movies don’t really know what gaffers do, so just act like you belong and you know what you’re doing. And if anyone rats you out, just dummy up, give ‘em the red eye and roll it up back to extra holding.
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