From the diary of Trevor Engelson, Ex-Husband of the now Duchess of England
My ex-wife married the Prince of England.
I’m happy for her, but I’m also a little sad. I’m considering writing a book about my feelings on this, entitled: “My Ex-Wife And The Prince,” “My Ex-Wife On The Prince,” “My Beige Penis, My Ex-Wife, and The Prince,” something like that.
More later, I’m going for a run.
I feel…inadequate. Maybe I could have applied to become a Prince (???), rather than take that Staff Assistant job for the film, Deep Blue Sea, y’know, to put myself on a different career trajectory.
Will Smith became a Prince, like, out of nowhere, didn’t he? Is that right? I know that LL Cool J was in Deep Blue Sea, but not a Prince. He’s a decent actor, but he’s no Will Smith, and I certainly didn’t get that confused, even though they are both black, and only one is a Prince. I wonder if LL Cool J could have become a Prince.
I digress, and I’m more confused now …anyway, having an uncrustable PB&J now, and then I have to work my arms…talk soon, Diary!
I tipped off the media saying I would be leaving the country to get away from “the fiasco of the wedding,” but instead I holed up at the Drawing Room on Hillhurst Avenue in Los Angeles, had a few bumps of cocaine, some Jameson (neat), and updated my IMDB page. Does “successful manager of screenwriters, actors, novelists, and film directors” sound better than “manager of screenwriters, actors, novelists, and film directors?”
Do I “manage” too many groups of people? I am successful at it, but am I successful at managing too many people, or not enough people My ex-wife’s new husband, that stupid Prince, probably manages a ton of people at his “job.” BUT, is he SUCCESSFUL at it? See, we don’t know that, do we?
I think I need to manage more people…perhaps clowns, dancing bears, magicians, shit like that. So many thoughts on this.
It’s arm day…again! Uugh! More tomorrow.
If I see my ex-wife and the Prince out somewhere, how should I engage them? “Hey, Prince, say the word banana?” And then everyone around just laughs at his accent hahaha.
No. Trevor, you are better than that. Maybe a wave, hand him my business card, give a wink, “I manage people, too”? That air of subtle condescension lingering about, instilled in his Princely mind, he'll know that spouse numero uno was not just some nobody.
Do I kiss his hand? Ah, that’s it. Kiss his little dainty Prince hand, blow her off, and then immediately leave. They'll surely be baffled by my confidence and watch me in my 2018 Range Rover (custom-made), listening to Wang Chung’s, “To Live and Die in L.A.” on repeat, really loud, shades on, smoking a cig (sans inhaling, gym day won’t be fun otherwise).
That should keep her wondering, “What if…?”
Ok, I’m taking a nap now, gym two-a-days are a killer!
This is such fucking bullshit.
A Prince? Ha! I’m a PRODUCER/MANAGER who SUCCESSFULLY manages a lot of fucking screenwriters, actors, novelists, film directors, and maybe eventually clowns, magicians, dancing bears, little ponies, little snot-nosed pricks in HOLLYWOOD.
That basically makes me the PRINCE OF HOLLYWOOD! My castle is my SWEET CONDO (only a 5-year mortgage, because you’re on top of your financial plan Trevor!) Two can play at this game, Prince!
Ok, ciao diary. I bet Prince-Whatever-The-Fuck-His-Name, with his funny little Prince accent doesn't even know about “ciao.” That’s Hollywood language, baby.
Tomorrow we will meet again, diary. Ciao, babe.
I could barely get out of bed today. What am I missing? What does the Prince have that I don't? I can't manage these feelings.
Fuck it, I’m about to blast Jon Secada’s “Just Another Day,” hit the gym, throw in my Bluetooth and call ALL THOSE PEOPLE I MANAGE!!
I’ll feel better tomorrow.