Ed. Note: If you were hoping for an entry about a recently concluded TV drama, sorry. We refuse to discuss things that don’t even attempt to make any sense. We call it the Courtney Love rule (and sometimes the BCS rule).
This story, about Robert De Niro being ripped off by a New York art dealer who was selling paintings by the actor’s deceased father without permission, broke almost one year ago. As fast as news is churned out and digested on the Internet, it might as well have happened in the Paleozoic era (take a minute to imagine a world containing both dinos and De Niro — epic, isn’t it?). For reasons know only to Mennonites and the inventors of Silly Putty (those two groups are not, as previously thought, one and the same), this post, originally titled, No Tengo De Niro, was never published. It’s true that good things come to those who wait — or at least so-so things that help waste about 15 minutes while you’re bored at work trying to devise the most painful method of killing the 5 Hour Energy drink guy (you’ve already planned the time of death: 2:30 in the afternoon). But enough of your violent fantasies, it’s time to examine a celebrity’s murderous thoughts. What follows are the heated words the actor had with the scammer.
Where to start? I’m so angry, I’m pacing and seeing red. I’m like a raging bull. You’re not a good fella, that’s for sure. You like paintings so much, let me paint a picture for you: my first, your face. It’s pop art. As in, I pop you in the jaw until you return my money. You may deal in fine art, but to me, there’s no finer art than a well-crafted beat-down. Funny how you can’t spell “painting” without ‘pain.’ Analyze that, you bastard.
Maybe it’s all in the perspective. I’m no art critic, but I know what I like: vengeance. On velvet, if possible. I’m not too picky. You can replace Elvis with Sinatra. The dogs don’t have to be playing poker. Just some kind of card game. Gin rummy is good. Not Uno. I play that with my nieces. They’re ruthless. Seriously, if I have to draw four one more time, I’m gonna go nuts.
Steal art from De Niro and you might have a brush with death.
Don’t even think about talking to the cops. I’ve played more police than you’ve taken leaks, capiche? You speak to the law and that’ll be a big mistake. Bigger than my decision to appear in Stardust. A gay captain named “Shakespeare?” Christ, I must’ve eaten some week-old marinara when I agreed to that role. Johnny Depp, I ain’t.
I’ll rearrange your face so bad you’ll look like a Picasso. Think I can’t hit hard? I was in Rocky. No, not the one about the pugnacious boxer. The one with the squirrel. Rocky and Bullwinkle. Don’t laugh. That rodent was tough. Took on the Russians with just his dumb moose pal. He could fly. Had aviator goggles and everything. What was I talking about? Oh yeah, the pummeling.
I’ll send you on a trip. First to Cape Fear, then to meet your parents. Provided that they’re six feet under. Here’s the good news: it’ll only take 15 Minutes. Whew, I’m tired. Incorporating all those titles of my movies surreptitiously while flapping my gums ain’t no picnic. Plus, I’ve been trying to exercise more. I went on a midnight run before our encounter. See what I did there?
You’re probably asking yourself, “What just happened?” It’s your lucky day, pal. I’m letting you off with a warning: Don’t steal from me. ‘Cause I can make you disappear faster than Pacino’s career in the 2000s. A made-for-TV movie about Kevorkian, can you believe it? I know it was premium cable, but still. Poor son of a bitch is on a path to Celebrity Apprentice. I’m upset just thinking about Al’s fall…now go on, get out of here before I change my mind.
