Previously on the Entourage movie, Vince was doing the movie, then Vince was doing the movie, then Vince was doing the movie, then we did the movie, then life did the movie, then Vince wasn't doing the movie, then Vince was doing the movie, then Vince might not be doing the movie.
On today's episode: OH YEAHHHHH.
It is a world where Jerry Ferrara is easily the WORST LOOKING. Every street corner is patrolled by a cop that is also a LINGERIE MODEL. Everything is SWEET, like starring in a Martin Scorsese movie or TOKING UP before taking the Escalade to the VIP club.
The gang sits around a conference table in an office where everything is made of glass, so you know that IMPORTANT SHIT gets done here. Poor people, like maybe the janitors, sometimes TRIP and cut their HEADS on the edges of the glass desks, and the sight of their BLOOD makes the employees of this very powerful talent agency FEEL ALIVE. It’s where they MAKE SHIT HAPPEN. It’s where the deals GO DOWN, like a person you’re trying to intimidate by insinuating they SUCK COCK.
VINCE is in the corner, INSTAGRAMMING his new henley. It gets LIKES.
Gentlemen, I stand before you today with a hard-on, and an offer. I will give you two guesses which one is bigger.
Don’t fuck around with us, Ari. You’ve been saying for a year that this movie was on. I mean, I gave up Johnny Bananas to do this. And we all tacitly agreed to pretend that an angry monkey cartoon from a burned-out indie director sounds like a very popular show.
SMASH CUT TO
INT. BILLY WALSH’S APARTMENT
A bearded, naked Billy Walsh MASHES a BANANA into the wall. We pull back to reveal that the wall is ALL BANANA MASH.
SMASH CUT TO
INT. GLASS FORTRESS OF FUCKING GETTING IT DONE
Yeah, Ari. What’s the deal? All we’ve been hearing is that Vince is doing the movie, then Vince isn’t doing the movie, then Vince is doing the movie, every hour for every day, for as long as I can remember… Nothing else… I think I had a mother once. I… I think she loved me.
Turtle pulls off one of his RIDICULOUSLY HUGE SNEAKERS. He NUZZLES it like a BABY BIRD.
Vince Instagrams this. A girl with a HOT USER NAME comments “KEWT.”
Guys, we already know what the hold-up is. It’s Ari! He’s been holding this movie hostage, trying to get a bigger percentage of the back end. And the studio is concerned about getting any ROI at all, what with the limited audience quadrant for this kind of young male-targeted property. Meanwhile, there’s no marquee name, next to no overseas presence to drive the foreign market, and I know stuff about movies now because I’m also an agent. I’m with the Murphy Group.
Eric stands up. He is wearing a TINY SUIT that PROVES it.
Trust me, E, everyone knows how much you want a big piece of the back end…
Through the glass of the conference room, LLOYD rolls his eyes. He is gay, so everything is ALL COOL.
But let’s come to an understanding on this. I want to do the movie. Vince wants to do the movie.
VINCE laughs a guileless baby’s laugh, like he just heard a FUNNY NOISE.
And Warner Bros.—who will sink endless millions into sending the motherfucking Hangover cast to Bangkok to suck lady-boy dick, but who will barely give us $30 mil to go down the street to the Beverly Center—wants to do this movie. So we take what we can get, boys. And then I take a little more, because I am the one with the little diatribes where I shout things that sound like punchlines at the end while you all ENGAGE IN FILLER SUBPLOTS ABOUT YOUR SKETCHILY REALIZED LIVES!
ARI does that thing where he SPREADS HIS ARMS like a majestic EAGLE THAT IS NOT BALD AT ALL.
Hey, I’d do it for free. I just need to do it now, ya feel me? I lost all my baked clam millions investing in my new business, where I send swimsuit models to clean industrial HVAC systems. I call it Hot-And-Cold Girls…
A lot of women died.
TURTLE sadly pulls out a BLUNT the size of a TOBLERONE bar. It CRUMBLES in his hand because it is SOGGY with TEARS.
VINCE puts on sunglasses for no reason.
And I’ll do it so long as there’s a part in it for me and baby bro. And Andrew Dice Clay. And Johnny Bananas. And all my Vikings fans. And my eggs, because I cook the eggs around here… Hey, is anyone listening to me? Hello? Anyone? Maybe if I just say some celebrity names out loud. Ahem. TORI SPELLING. COREY FELDMAN. RICHARD GRIECO. Can anyone hear me?
They CAN. Those are people that were famous in the EARLY NINETIES, so everyone LAUGHS INSTINCTIVELY.
Guys, TMZ has been dogging us for months now for some completely insane reason that makes sense only within the internal logic of the show that is now our reality, apparently. And the only reason the studio is even going forward with this is they figure sinking $30 million into adapting a rapidly dated property with a niche premium cable audience is somehow a less risky investment than the continued negative publicity around a project that's falling apart over greed. Hang on, I gotta take this.
(he answers his cell phone)
Hey, Sloan! I’m right in the middle of saying talent agent stuff. Can I call you back? No? Okay, let’s quietly argue about our relationship for 20 minutes while I emit vaguely accented wheezes.
Everyone can’t believe he is such a PUSSY. They make mental notes to tell him later, like friends do.
SUDDENLY, the conference room door OPENS. All of the attractive but still not even close to being famous background extras have been CLEARED from the hall so a CELEBRITY CAMEO can happen.
Hey boys. What’s happening, boys?
Everyone LAUGHS INSTINCTIVELY, even E. Over the phone, SLOAN divorces him.
I have come to see my handiwork in action—for you see, we are at the culmination of a nine-year performance, unprecedented in scope and size, unequaled in its cunning. Listen carefully: Everything you know—everything you are—is part of a master thesis, an opus delving into the many layers of emptiness within the artifice, exposing the hollowness of Hollywood and fame itself. You have all been true and loyal servants of this master scribe, who has writ large his greatest work upon the world—the story of a vapid, clearly untalented actor lifted to lofty heights, simply because Hollywood ordained it that way, and his nattering chorus of fools, their lives inexplicably yoked to his by similar contrivance, their entire existences revolving around whether that actor was “doing a movie.” You played the part for years on television, never realizing that you were no longer acting. You had become the part, and the world had become the show. And now you—along with the extras that make up the rest of the world—find yourselves living the same plotline that was spewed forth with such peristaltic regularity, wondering whether “Vince is gonna do the movie,” and whether everything will work out… It is a genius design and I, Mark Wahlberg, its architect!
Birds SCREECH and CRASH into each other in a flurry of BLOOD and FEATHERS. A squirrel suddenly DROPS and EXPLODES outward with writhing MAGGOTS. A babbling river turns RUSTY RED. The eyes of a BEAR drinking from it turn ALL BLACK. Foaming, he runs toward Downtown Los Angeles to feed.
INT. JOHNNY BANANAS RECORDING STUDIO
It’s revealed to be just a CARDBOARD BOX with a monkey DRAWN on it.
INT. MANDY MOORE’S house
(screams hysterically as though just awaking from a long nightmare)
INT. AVION TEQUILA BOTTLE
A worm in a miniature STARTER CAP pitches his worm friends on a business where swimsuit models come live in your INTESTINES. They don’t see it as FEASIBLE.
GOD watches Dream On: The Complete First Season on DVD. It was a pretty good HBO show and also had TITS. Hell, He thinks, it might have even been made into a movie had it aired within the last 10 years. God lifts a finger and briefly considers using His powers to FLUCTUATE TIME so that Dream On was made within the era where any TV show with even a moderately sized following was milked of every last possible franchising OPPORTUNITY. Then maybe Dream On would be considered for its own movie adaptation despite the relatively low cultural impact it had, and all of Mark Wahlberg’s diabolical plans would UNRAVEL.
A funny scene involving WENDY MALICK comes on and God forgets about that other thing.
INT. GLASS PALACE OF MAKING THAT MONEY, SON
Lightning CRASHES. A new mother goes to the CLUB.
DRAMA begins beating his chest angrily, like a cartoon monkey. Bits of tank top begin to FLAY AWAY.
A dazed TURTLE puts on a sweet FEDORA. It is made of FIRE.
VINCE begins to eat his phone. He SMILES vaguely through the blood.
(eyes roll back in his head)
(on cell phone)
It deepens into a guttural, inhuman GROWL.
What do you say, bitch?! Hug it out?!
He HUGS himself. The cracking in his ribs is AUDIBLE.
Mark Wahlberg laughs maniacally. He FLIES away on a private jet where there are SEXY LADIES and also a RAPPER OF MODERATE FAME who wasn’t able to fit anything beyond this scene into his schedule. They drink AWESOME BEERS that are even more awesome because they are CELEBRITIES.
Everything works out for them, because everything is ENTOURAGE now.
FADE TO ETERNAL BLACK.