Dear Bob,
We’ve never corresponded before but you probably know me from the security camera tapes at your apartment building. But there’s no need to get into all that now. I’m near rabid with more serious problems -- and I need your help. Believe me, RD, I don’t take the time to write to all the superstars in the movie game, I’m a busy man. However, this is a matter of great urgency and exceptional … exceptionality.
You see, I’m worried, Bob. Worried sick that the new LasVegasWeekly.com won’t overhaul Google for Web traffic in the next couple of weeks. And I mean, c’mon, Google? It’s like a bloody white page with a logo that they cutesy up at Christmas and Valentine’s Day. I don’t see the attraction. Anyway …
The point is that I was thinking about how I could promote the site on a, you know, grand scale, as they say. Then I remembered that you got blown up by a car bomb in that movie that was set in Vegas. The one where you were, like, a gambler or something. Not sure if you remember it. I think it was called “Pacino” or something like that. So then the bells go off in my head: Robert De Niro … blown up by a car bomb in a movie about Vegas … LasVegasWeekly.com.Are you seeing the connection?
The way I see it, if you could just take a little time here and there to drop a word or two about the revamped site, I figure we might start a snowball effect. Like, if you were on Letterman or “The View” or something, you could drop a line like: “By the way, you know, if you want to get the real lowdown on the place from my movie where I got blown up in a car, just go to LasVegasWeekly.com.”
We could keep it subtle but catchy.
You could maybe add stuff like: “I’m f****** tellin’ you, and don’t make me f****** tell you again or I’ll crack your f****** head open with a f****** pipe.” How’s that sound? Only try not to mumble too much. I’ve noticed you do that sometimes. Like in that movie where you played a crazy guy who drove a taxi. I think it was called “Cab Man” or something like that. (Guess you skipped class the day Mr. Strasberg lectured on articulation! Just kidding.)
And maybe you could throw in a real engaging kinda psycho closer, like: “I’m talkin’ to you. I don’t see anybody else here. I know I gotta be talkin’ to you…” I know how you hate it when people ask you to do that line, “You talkin’ to me,” so I’ve done a sort of variation on it. It came to me when I was vacuuming the lint out of my suit pockets last night. Voila!
Don’t worry, this could work for both of us. We could review your movies and DVDs, maybe even the crappy ones like the ones you made with Billy Crystal where he was a shrink and you were, like, a crazy bad guy. Remember? I think they were called “Paralyze This 1 & 2” or something. Anyway, you scratch our back and we’ll clean our fingernails too. See what I’m saying?
And maybe you could have a word with Mr. Skawsayzee. (I’m not sure if I got the spelling exactly right, but it’s pretty close.) He’s kind of weird and not very promo-friendly, but I guess he’s got some clout. But his problem, as opposed to yours, is he talks so damn fast. Like a coked-up squirrel. If I’d been in that scene in “Cab Man” where he keeps telling you to “Pull the f****** meter lever down,” I wouldn’t have just looked in the rearview mirror like you did. I would’ve said, like, you know, “Hey, beard boy. Slow the f*** down! You sound like you swallowed a beer jug of crickets or somethin’.” Don’t you think that would’ve been more realistic? Not to criticize you or anything. Guess you know what you’re doing.
While you’re on the job with all this, you oughta get Pesci doing his bit. Of course the problem we’re facing here is that he’d get on Letterman and it’d come out like: “Every-f******-body out there better f****** go to f****** LasVegasWeekly.com right f****** now or I’ll come to your f****** house and f*** you up, you f****** f*****s!” So that wouldn’t work. Or maybe it would. Seemed to for Madonna that time. And maybe he could, you know, take a baseball bat with him for emphasis. I’m always thinkin’.
Anyway, Bob, you can see my dilemma and desperation. So whadya say? Help me get some eyeballs on this site, eh? I don’t wanna end up drivin’ a freakin’ cab or something. Heh heh. Or, you know, hanging out with 12-year-old hookers and shooting guys’ fingers off and stuff. And I certainly don’t wanna get blown up in my car. It’s a 1999 Sentra and those things don’t grow on trees. You do this for me, and I’ll see what I can do about not continually busting the lock on your letterbox. Just kidding. But seriously, what am I left with if you don’t take this on? Ashton Kutcher? That little punk? Restraining order my ass!
Anyway, I think I’ve made my point and I’m sure you’ll be a goodfella and help a buddy out. Oh, and by the way, I seriously recommend that you never again entertain the notion of working with Billy Crystal. He’s supposed to be a funnyman? I’ll tell you how funny he is: He hasn’t got enough of a sense of humor to know that when someone FedEx’s the odd dead pigeon to him, you know, it’s a freakin’ joke! Geez.
Look, I gotta run. I think I hear sirens. Do what you can and I’ll see you at the front door some time.
Your friend,
AZ
PS: Don’t tell Pesci what I said about him, okay? The guy’s obviously mentally disturbed and the last thing I need in my life is some nut harassing me.
Keep an eye out for copious Robert De Niro coverage at LasVegasWeekly.com. And go ahead and e-mail Web Content Editor Adrian Zupp at [email protected]. Somebody needs to.