“Someone get that cigarette out of his mouth!” A black-garbed grip grabs for Arnold’s cig, but Arnold’s quick lip action shifts the stick to the other side of his gob as he blows a fragrant cloud of pig-lung scented tobacco smoke right in that guy’s face.
Fixing the grip with a stare that would curl a Jedi’s toes, Arnold sucks the smoke down to the filter, exhales and spits the but onto the floor.
The director, with his Don Johnson 3-day stubble and black watch cap rolls his eyes. “Are you ready to act now?”
“Show me the money.”
“We signed the contract.”
“Who do I look like, Snoopy? This is porn. I wanna see the cash.”
The director shrugs with that special “see what I have to put up with?” motion. He pulls out some greenbacks and waves them at the pig.
“Now we’re getting somewhere. Next, tape them to the camera.”
“Hey, lookit Akira Kurosawa here. Listen Otto Preminger, this pig’s a method actor. I need to see my motivation.”
Sigh. The director motions to another stagehand who hands him some grip tape. He rips off a length, fastening the tip to the bottom of the camera lens and pastes on each $100 bill, one under the other so Arnold can see all five at once. “Better?”
“That’s more like it. Let ‘er roll, Laughing Boy!” Arnold settles back into the overstuffed armchair bracketed by smiling buxom blonde twins in red bikinis.
“Arnold Ziffel here, TV star and all-around Lady’s Pig. When a pig, or a man, needs to get off, he knows where to put his pork.”
“Neon Nights Productions VHS tapes home delivery!” Chime in the twins.
“That’s right ladies, it’s the best thing since chocolate covered porn stars.”