Contributed by Marcus Brown
creating a bunch of little fictional stories from photos of people I find on the web.
So, George said " get the fuck out of my face". What the hell was the matter with this man? "Get the fuck out of my face", that's pretty much all he said to me before leaving the room, to catch a taxi, to catch a plane, to catch some meeting somewhere under, leaving me to pick up the pieces of all the shit he's left undone. For all I know though, he's probably just wondering around the block having another one of his "creative crisis moments".
Jesus.
He catches cabs, and planes and meetings and I catch the shit, the flack and all the whining from the fucking casting agencies. And when I tell him that he's fucked the budget, and pissed of Vogue he just tells me to "get the fuck out of my face".
So, I'm picking up the pieces of this massive fuck-up. That's right, I'm the piece-picker and George's very own fuck-up manager.