Thanks for meeting me at the wharf at midnight. I’m just gonna pat you down right quick—nothing personal.

Here’s the deal—I need a job. Specifically, I need an acting job I can sink my teeth into where I can become a character by losing or gaining sixty pounds, shaving off my eyebrows, living in a jungle, learning how to wield a sword, or driving a Formula One car . . . Basically whatever it takes to break the character of STREET PUNK #5 from 1985’s Death Wish 3.

See, back in the eighties, actors didn’t know the trouble you could get into when you dabbled in method acting. We thought staying fully in character for weeks on end was harmless.

Of course, we knew it was annoying to friends and family when we never stopped doing things like speaking in a Jersey accent every waking moment, or flying into a predictable rage when someone cut us off in traffic, but we had no idea how difficult it could be to break out of character when our movies wrapped.

You probably didn’t get the memo about the situation since famous actors like DeNiro rafted over to another film and transformed into a different character, but for small fry method actors like me whose careers washed up almost as soon as they began, well, we weren’t so lucky.

Being stuck in character as STREET PUNK #5 for almost forty years has caused me more than a bit of grief, what with my wild eyes, brutish attitude, hair-trigger temper, and of course, my bad habit of whipping out my switchblade around citizens, especially the do-gooder type who should mind their own beeswax while I’m stealing their fuckin’ car.

Scores of girlfriends left me once they tired of my bad boy attitude, coke addiction, and astronomical hospital bills. It’s been hard to get loans, and the only job I can keep is in pizza delivery. Even that can be a challenge when your hand is broken seventy-five percent of the time.

And the looks I get! When people see me with my mullet, Rising Sun bandana, sleeveless denim jacket, spiked wristband, motorcycle boots, and nonsensical war paint, it tends to make them nervous.

Not that I mind making straights nervous, but I attract a lot of police attention, and honestly, getting shot in the gut is getting kind of old.

This small time roughneck could really use a new role. I’m thinkin’ maybe something “white hat” instead. You know, being a hero instead of a hood? You follow?

Maybe you know somebody in Hollywood, and you could make a call? Tell the big shots I’m game for any role they can find for a sixty-five year old with an almost non-existent acting resume who once shared a scene with screen legend Charles Bronson and is great at remembering single lines of dialog such as:

“Let’s see the money, man!”

“What’s it to you, asshole?”

And, “Now you’re gonna die…”

I know it’s a long shot, but here’s the thing—I caught some of that Breaking Bad show a while back, and if that guy who played Mike Ehrmantraut can land a big fish, maybe there’s hope for me.

OK, I think you got the picture, Starsky, so why don’t you take a walk?

Go on, get me a job.

Get outta my face.


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