It's a tough life being a Hollywood star in the big smoke.
You slog your guts out, honing your craft on the stage every night for these limey plebs who insist on keeping their 'cell phones' turned on the whole time. And all you want to do afterwards is get to a lapdancing club where you can have your ego stroked a bit by some gelatinous bint who might recognise you from that film you did with Tom Cruise twenty years ago.
But hang on! Where's your f#cking driver? He's the only one who knows the way to Stringfellows. Oh well, you're a big movie star you can just 'commandeer' a member of the public to take you. Why not? The police do it all the time don't they, and the police don't have to go on stage and dry hump Charlotte Emmerson every night.
Ok, there's a guy having a cigarette. He's got a car. Why don't you just stroll over there and say "I'm Val Kilmer - can you take me to Stringfellows", that should work.
Hey it worked! You are the man. You've definitely still go it. Kevin Spacey was right: these Brits will do anything as long as you've got an American accent.
Now maybe you should tell your people where you are. If not they might worry and then they might threaten to take away your appetite suppressants again....ah what the hell, you're the boss now right? It's you who's calling the shots now. You're the daddy. You're the big man.
You are the king of Lie-sester Square!
