"I Didn’t Get Laid and I Didn’t Get High” by Charles Rosin I just spent six (checking his watch) SEVEN fucking hours at the W Hotel – and I didn’t get laid, and I didn’t get high, and I don’t know whether to call my lawyer, or buy a gun – (He laughs. He’s not buying a gun.) I do know one thing: This time next week I take client list, my rolodex, and my fucking self… and I cross the street and set up shop at CAA like they’ve been begging me to do -- cause I am so done with the scumbags at my agency. Not really. Come on. I’m intense, but I’m not homicidal…yet. I mean, why give me a desk, make me a player – and then do everything in your power to fuck with my business – and criticize the way I do business -- even though they know that since the strike I have brought more money into the Reality Division than any of them. And since Reality TV is the only division that’s making any money right now they hate me for it. They hate that I’m 23. And that I go to clubs. And I make the contacts. And am out there bringing in new blood and signing people they’ve never even heard of. Fuck, I am this close to closing a HUGE fucking package with Viacom on that MTV spin-off with my good buddy Jackson…. (He pauses) That kid is a fucking piece of work... I’ve been busting my ass to get his reality show off the ground, not cause he’s gonna be god’s gift to television or anything, but because he’s my boy and the ladies like and him and I know he’s gonna tap into The Hills audience perfectly… so he calls me last night about ten o’clock and says he wants to stage an intervention for the show. I say, “really, you sure?” Cause Jackson likes to party. I mean, we hung out last summer during his hiatus, at his place in Venice, with those girls from the Ukraine. Yeah. It was wild shit, so I told him I don’t know why he would want to open a can of worms, but it’s his show, his vision, just make it real. And he tells me that’s what he wants to do, and he wants me to come to his suite at The “W” to help him conceptualize and strategize cause creatively I usually keep my distance. It’s not what I do – but it’s something that appeals to me, so yeah I head over there, and he’s got the cameras going cause he always got the cameras going – like he’s Andy Warhol except with Jackson it’s not 15 minutes, it’s like 45 seconds cause that’s all he can handle. I love Jackson, but he’s fucking a-d-d – and he mumbles, so when I walk in I don’t what he’s saying – And then Elliott and that squirmy little fuck Mankiewitz step out of the bathroom – and I think ‘oh, god, are these fucks here to steal my commission”, but I’m cool, and I say like, “Gentleman, dudes, a little past your bedtime – what up?” And they say they are here for the intervention. And I turn, and there’s Livia, and that cuse from Australia I was banging at NAPTE. Turns out they’re here for the intervention. They’re just waiting on one more person – and then they’ll get started. Minute later the doorbell rings. Jackson asks me to get it, so I get it – and there is my grandmother, standing with Uncle Bill – and I go “bubbee, what the fuck?” And she starts crying and I look over to Jackson – and he’s standing there with fucking Dr. Drew – and I realize that everyone’s there to stage an intervention – for me! As if I have a drug problem?!!! Do I look like shit?