Geeky Cinephile Musings…
I don't pontificate, I blather.

Celebrities are dicks. is compiling stories for a piece they’re going to run – “Celebrity Dick Encounters.” 

Note that this is NOT Celebrity dick




 but rather Celebrity DICK

A dick of Chad Michael Murray proportions cannot be underestimated.

A dick of Chad Michael Murray proportions cannot be underestimated.


So please do not submit to their editors the story of how you went down on Tom Sizemore in a cab once, because, well, quite frankly, who HASN’T done that, but more to the point, that’s not what they’re looking for…unless he didn’t thank you afterwards, stole your left earring, and kicked you out of the cab in the middle of nowhere, in which case what a fucking DICK and YES SUBMIT THAT!!

(But honestly, you should have expected it, so you deserve everything you got.)

And this got me thinking about my own celebrity dick story.  I’ve got a couple, I guess, as I spent years working on film sets as an extra, a hand double, a stand-in, and occasionally even an actor.  Hell, I’ve actually got a dick story about Chad Michael Murray, but again–where’s the surprise factor in that?

However…there is one that absolutely stands out as my premium celebrity dick story, only because it involved someone that I adore—someone I have always thought would be an awesomely friendly person to meet, someone whose obese frivolity entertained me for years as a child.  No, it’s not Rush Limbaugh.  I am speaking of the man who starred in one of my all-time-favorite films, King Ralph

I’m sure you’ve figured this out by now—the subject of my celebrity dick encounter.

The one, the only, the dick(?)…Mr. John Goodman.

I was working years ago as an extra on the set of Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip, a short-lived TV show that I never watched but actually looked like it might be pretty good…come to think of it, there are SO many TV shows in that category.  I’ll never catch up.  We were filming out in the desert canyon areas north of Los Angeles.  It was a small crew, small set, very few of us extras (I mention this point because a lot of actors and crew do not enjoy film days with a large amount of extras—it’s stressful for many valid, non-dick reasons), and it turned out to be a rather short day too.  Good stuff.  The location was this ancient, roadside diner straight out of a Rodriguez film, and I mean we were out in the middle of NOWHERE, so the ambiance was quite intense—especially for me, as I grew up on the east coast, and nowhere near any sort of landscape or setting like this.  I was outside on a back patio, kinda off in the corner by myself, sitting in my token extra folding chair (every smart extra has one!), with my back to everyone else (as the sun was behind me), reading in the bakingly hot, noonday sun.

Suddenly a hulking, black shadow fell over me and my book.  Someone was standing right behind me–and I mean close enough to smell my hair (Gee, your hair smells terrific!!!).  They were so close and just standing there without moving, so I figured it was another extra about to talk to me.  I looked up, and was blinded instantly, so I put my book down, stood up, turned around, shielded my eyes with my hand…and looked straight into the eyes of King Ralph himself.

John Goodman was just standing there, STARING at me.  I regarded him questioningly.

Awkward silence. Ummmmmm…yes, King Ralph?

“Oh!” I tentatively exclaimed.  “Hi.”

His face sunk into the most withering expression I believe I have ever seen on a human being.  He regarded me for about five full seconds as if I were a new species of feces-eating bug, and then he deliberately turned around and walked slowly away, leaving me standing there trembling, all of my illusions of his imagined joviality shattered, my face frozen and stunned.  The other extras stared at me, wide-eyed, judging, silently questioning what I had done to irritate this poor, helpless film star.

Completely inexplicable, that.  I have long pondered to myself what the heck happened there.  Had he wanted to speak to me, but was disappointed with me not saying some immediately witty opening line? Was he simply trying to read my book, and I went and fucked it all up by putting the book down right when he was getting to a good part? Is he a mind reader and he somehow KNEW I was calling him King Ralph in my head?!!??!


These questions, alas, alack, will forever go unanswered, unless I ever make it back to Hollywood and meet him at some Coen Brothers film screening after party where I get to drink cocktails with Frances McDormand and beg her to be my best friend.  Until then, I am only left with these facts:

  1. He approached me.
  2. I was minding my own business, sitting far from the maddening crowd.
  3. He was staring at ME. Just. STARING.
  4. I was polite.
  5. He was not.

What a dick.

I am a big, fat, fucking, LIE.

I am a big, fat, fucking, LIE!!!

4 Responses to “Celebrities are dicks.”

  1. All he wanted to do was smell your stupid hair and you had to go and stand up and speak. WTF.

  2. Ok…at least you had an actual celebrity dick story (and I’m genuinely sad that it involved John Goodman).

    Mine involved Jean-Claude Van Damme’s stunt double. They were filming in Pittsburgh at the time and the crew came down to Oktoberfest. Somehow, I ended up hanging out with them. After many beers, his stunt double grabbed my boob and honked it like a clown nose or something. Right in the middle of the group. Just grabbed it and honked it.

    And thus is the story of my life. Not only can’t I get felt up properly, I can’t even be felt up by the real Jean-Claude Van Damme.

  3. To you both I say the same thing: Bwahahahaha!!!!

  4. While you’re seeking out Studio 60 (a seriously great show which vanished too soon for no good reason) you might also check out Kings, a 13-week wonder on NBC which, except for Ian McShane playing the King Saul analog and Eamonn Walker as the prophet Samuel (and many many extremely hot extras and bit players) was horribbly miscast. Finally Macauley Culkin pretty much killed it, but still … It’s all on Hulu, I believe, and worth catching.

Speak yer piece, friend...

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