You Don't Understand My Work. And So I Must Leave You

Time to hit the shitbricks, buddy. We shared some time, but now it's time to say goodbye. I do like you, but this isn't not meant to be. I've got plans. I'm an artist, and I have a plan to be the 21st century's pre-eminent filmmaker. You giggle when I discuss Balzac, fer crissake.

No, I'm not joking. I'm not. Like Bob Dylan sang, don't think twice it's time to grab your shit and roll the fuck out. Really.

No, I don't want to talk about what I'm feeling. Look: I've been planning to dump you since the day I met you. My friends don't even know your name.

They know you as "Naif #2", because that's what you are. You fit into a romantic plan I've had -- and, yes, one I've been discussing with my friends -- since I was 6 months old. I'm going to have an interesting romantic life before settling down, assuming I dump you know..

Oh, will you stop with the look. Here. Here is the list. These are the people (or basic archetypes) I plan to date, in order. And I've stuck to the plan like white on your unremarkable, untanned ass so far:

1. scion
   
2. delinquent
   
3. scion
4. naif #1
5. ethnic
6. class president
   
7. a member of the Dead Poets Society
   
8. southern gentleman
   
9. ethnic
10. you
11. failed musician
12. One of those psychopaths from the e-harmony commercial who has time to run a small business and go to three kickboxing classes a week and taught himself to read Virgil in the original Latin and basically has life by the Utz but is apparently going to leave the most important decision be decided by a few algorithmic bleeps and bloops. That guy. The one with the fucking hair and the sweater. He's going to be insufferable.
    
13. dude
    
14. roommate (AKA naif #3)
    
15. childhood acquaintance
    
16. rich fiance
17. Professor X
18. artist
19. artist
20. the mythical Deschanel brother
21. childhood acquaintance #2
    
22. Magneto
    
23. artist
24. fuck it, whoever, this is a rebound
    
25. Jebediah Springfield-type alpha male
    

"Jebediah" will appreciate my streetsmart understanding of humanity (evidenced in my films and in my ability to identify enemies in his office/charitable organization/family).

He will not groan and say, "Aw jeez, not another movie about your big old Flintstone feet." Yes, it's another film about my feet.

Take a long last look, sucko. This one's my ticket to out of her and into three weeks with a musician who's passed out in an ironically-named bar right now. I'm on my way to where the air is sweet. Can ya tell me how to get, how to get out of this awkward conversation with you?


(This film was shot by Bug and is unedited.)