My Day in the Life of Jason Statham
I’d wake up and gingerly reach for the tiny bell next to my ivory nightstand. Shaking the bell thrice, a buxom Polynesian woman would walk into the master bedroom and serve me breakfast. Nothing extravagant for today, simply a poached egg served in the top half of the world’s oldest humanoid fossil’s skull. After finishing my sparse meal, I’d clap and a matronly Portuguese woman would sponge bathes me. Once finished I’d jump out of the king size bed and have a decrypt Italian tailor fit me for a white suit made of polar bear fur. He’d accidently prick me with a pin as he took the measurements as his eye sight is starting to dwindle, but he makes the finest garments in all the continents and has a heart of gold. So, I don’t have the heart to fire him for a pin prick here or there.
The measurements complete, I’d send him away to create the finest suit I’ll ever wear. Then I’d proceed to search for the secret stash of nude photos that Jason Statham has collected of every female he has ever worked with. My mind is racing as I think about the quality of boner I’d get from looking at a pre-L Word, post-Jackie Brown Pam Grier. I can only hope that her left areola and nipple is still staring off into dead space. As I wander through the mansion, I start to feel like abandoning my quest when I spot an oft-color tile near the fireplace in the study. Careful not to ruin such a find by being overzealous, I methodically run a fingernail along the inseam of the tile. Getting a hold, I pop it out and a tiny cardboard box is firmly nestled in the space. With the box in my possession, I set it on the redwood rolltop desk and let its contents rest before I sully them with my lustful thoughts.
Before, I open the box; I lock the door to the study to make sure that the help doesn’t barge in on me during my academic endeavor. Sure of my privacy, I slide the cover off the box and take the stack of photos out and start to cycle through the hefty stack of ladies. Half way through, I find the Holy Grail. As I gaze upon my queen, I stop and put away the photos in the box. Then return the box to its hiding place and cover it back up with the false tile.
Sitting at the desk, I’m embarrassed by my stupidity. Here, I’ve been giving a crazy Freaky Friday type deal, and I foolishly planned to spend most of the day masturbating to naked pictures of movie stars. I can and do, do that at home. Today, I’m fucking Jason Statham, the world’s greatest action star ever. Star of the Crank series and In the Name of the King: a Dungeon Siege Tale. Literally, I’m for today at least able to live the life of a Pharaoh.
On the desk top is a tiny black leather book, I snatched it and opened the clasp. As it fell open in my hands, the first page of names caused my jaw to drop. On the pages long lists of e-mails, Blackberry numbers, Native Americans to contact for smoke signal communication of the most illustrious names in Hollywood. All of this at my dexterous finger tips. The only question is who do I call? Much like a genie, I imagine that I this magic only worked in three. What do I do?
Do I call Sylvester Stallone and have a staring contest to see who can have the most dead eyed expression? Or do I call Mickey Rourke over for Budweisers, then sniff his greasy blonde locks, and challenge him to a three way fight between me, him and a kangaroo hoped up on steroids? Perhaps, I call Ice Cube and Terry Crews and we can play extreme badminton. I could call Corey Feldman and ask if his band will play a private show for me. Then I can tell him after that they were horrible, that he dresses like what a colonoscopy feels like and that the wrong Corey died.
Of course, I could go in a different direction, and make all my starlet fantasies a reality. I could have a crazy ménage a trois with Charisma Carpenter and Amy Smart where I role-play as a tortured vampire with a soul. Or maybe I go for the ultimate and I call my queen, and fulfill a dream I’ve had since I was four years old. Her dressed like Coffy and me as a British action star. Presented with nothing but choices and the means to live like I’m that kid from Blank Check, I’m crippled by indecision.
I knew I should have went with the other option of spending a day as Nic Cage then I could just wear a bear costume and cold cock women. No, I had to choose the greatest man since Leonardo Da Vinci. The day was still young; I could simply ride out this day trying to beat my own personal record for self-pleasure while perusing the mother lode of naked Polaroids.
Don’t be such a fucking idiot, doing that would be like t-bagging an angel while putting out a cigar in its eye. Make a decision and live with the knowledge that no matter what option you chose, it will be infinitely better than the greatest day of your life. So, I do make a decision and make three calls.
My Day in the Life of Some Guy
By Jason Statham
I knew I shouldn’t have made that deal with the devil to let one random person switch places with me for a day every winter solstice in order to become the world’s greatest action star.
