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Its tough being a celebrity these days, they're all dropping like flies. John Hughes, Michael Jackson, Farrah Fawcett, its a trend which has all of Hollywood getting check-ups and eating organic. All of Hollywood, that is, except for David Duchovny. He doesn't need to worry about becoming the next celebrity with a toe tag, because Duchovny would have to first become a celebrity. At the moment he's just scumming around Los Angeles, a sort of high profile pedophile with a "sex addiction" that can never be satisfied. He'll come up to you and tell you he's Agent Mulder, and that he has word that you have alien tracking devices up your ass, and that he'll have to check for them with his "dipstick." Its his best and most used pick-up line.
And sometimes it works.
When I saw him last, he was a mess. He was 2 hours late for our arranged interview and he smelled of cheap sex - that haunting scent strippers bathe themselves in, a sort of flowery odor that fails to cover up their natural stench of cigarettes and chlorine . He swerved his convertible and nearly hit me, as he docked his car up next to the curve and rambled on about "Douche of the Year. . . Douche of the Year. . . Great press. . . great press."
"You got some glitter on your cheek." I said. It was a reminder of his previous night at The Spearmint Rhino.
"Indeed." He flicked it off. "Listen I can't talk, just found out I'm in the running for Douche of the Year. . . Douche of the Year!" He was excited, flailing about like a madman, but then he saw something behind me which made him freeze. "Oooh look at the ass on that fine little feeeeline." A cat had walked by, all black and white. It stretched out and yawned, looked at the both of us uninterested and sauntered off toward more adventures dodging cars and chasing mice.
"The cat?"
"Yeah. . . You saw the way she was looking at me right. . .? Oooh I'd love to just. . ." He motioned the sex act with his hands. "But anyway, gotta go, gotta go. . . Here take this."
He gave me a ticket to the event, a golden ticket to the douche bag hall of fame and sped off, leaving long paint brush strokes of black on the pavement. Burn rubber. It was yet another slight glimpse into David Duchovny, a has-been floored by the idea of being named Douche of the Year. He was all about copulations and cunnilingus and sex acts that were beyond his control. You couldn't even keep a normal conversation with the guy without him bringing up his wanton behavior with the chick he banged who looked like Scully, or the one legged girl he didn't really like, or that one middle aged man or the next door neighbor, or the next door neighbor's dog. He would sometimes count them on his fingers, doubling back when he'd get to 10, 20, 30 . . . One day he counted out nearly 65 different victims of his addiction, and not all were human, some were inanimate objects, some were household pets.
One of Duchovney's victims: "Oh yeeeaah, what a tight pot.""Call me Jason." He barked. "Yeah call me Jason. . . " His voice cut through the dead air. "Call me Red Ranger, yeah. . . Red Ranger. . . Yeah, yeah. . . I'll show you my power sword. . . " I couldn't believe my ears. "Yeah its morphin' time baby. . . Dragonzord!"
It was a frightening scene for anyone to suddenly stumble upon. Women and children could be around, some poor youth would be ruined by the sight of it. "Mommy is that man hurting that woman? . . . Why is she calling him Red Ranger?" Yet this didn't concern Duchovny, oh no, he's a sex addict. He was probably just walking through the park, and just had the sudden urge to fuck and live out some sick Power Ranger sex fantasy, so he took the first opportunity he got and grabbed up some random girl, and went to work. He was always doing things like that. It was Duchovny being Duchovny, that is to say he was acting like a giant douche. I left as quickly as possible, the horrible image ingrained in my head and my eyes suffering from temporary blindness.
Later at lunch the next day, I found out from Duchovny that the woman was his ex-wife Tea Leoni, and the whole act was planned, that in fact "We do it every week." He talked over a plate of french fries about how he had on and off fuck fests with Tea, about his show Californication, where he "could just bang any chick [he] wanted," and he talked about House of D, and how he didn't get that people didn't like the movie, even though he was the driving force behind the whole project, as he wrote, directed, and starred in House of D.
Call me Red Ranger."What?" He asked.
"Nothing."
The next day was the big day, the crowning of The Douche Bag of the Year. I figured Duchvony was a shoe in, for he is such a douche that it triggers his retardation. Every waking moment of his life, every precise and calculated action, the creepy wink he gives chicks, the hip thrusts and gestures he always makes, the vanity that comes out of every pore in his body, they're all products of his douchery. He was nervous, but I told him he would be fine "You're such a big douche they may just change the name. . . Imagine girls will no longer douche, they will Duchvony!" He liked the sound of it.
He ended up winning the award, he beat out vinegar douches by only 3 votes, and we went out to celebrate. We went to a fine restaurant, and sat with the giant golden douche trophy standing tall in the middle of the table, glinting like a lighthouse flashing warnings out to all those around us of the retardation that is David Duchovny. Many women there all had eyes like a sea captain, for they could see the light and refused to come any closer than they had to, despite Duchovny's advances.
"Hasn't this just been the greatest time?!" He sipped his wine and smiled. "I mean the Douche of the Year?! Douche of the YEAR! ME! I mean at first I didn't believe you when you told me I was a giant douche, but I think you're right, I really am a giant douche." They very sound of his voice was beginning to anger me. I could feel my body boiling over, and it was going to build up with hatred until it all finally comes up and out over my lips and into the air, in streams of hate like bile so putrid not even Duchovny would be able to wash the stench off.
"Next year, I'm tellin you, a new X-Files movie and I'm back on track."
Easy now. . . easy. . .
"Yep that's the whole kit-and-caboodle right there. Gonna go back to rehab and do my best to deal with this horrible disease. . ." He stopped mid-sentence. His head followed a waitress as she passed by, and here comes that douchey Duchovny smile, yep, yep. A week with Duchovny and you already know his every action, his every move. You can read him just as easily as Where the Wild Things Are. "No more bullshit. . . you know?"
Let him have his moment. . . his extremely retarded moment.
"You know man?" He was eager for approval.
Fuck it, die pot fucker.
"Yeah I know man. . . I know that you are such a douche, that you don't even know that being a douche is a bad thing. You take pride in being Douche of The Year, a title which is usually given to actual douches, and not people who just act like a douche. Watching you hit on chicks this whole week has not only made you out to look desperate - for there is a difference between being a sex addict (which is bullshit anyway) and just being desperate - but also has produced much lulz for me and provided us all with staggering evidence of your retardation.
You strike out more than Barry Bonds did after he stopped using steroids during all the drug-use allegations.
The worst scene in movie history. Duchovny, dancing like a robot douche, Orlando Jones trying to be cool, Sean Williams being his usual dumb ass self. Wheres that cannibalistic Hills Have Eyes clan when you really need em?
You're such a freak practically every character you've ever played has been a freak. Mulder was addicted to porn, and X-Files itself revolved around a love story between you and Scully that was so retarded it still has websites dedicated to it. . . Many of them are now fossils and the left over remnants of a retardation that spanned over 9 years. It is a fossil you are trying so desperately to dig up and dust off and give another go. Californication was nothing more than a cruel joke, a journey into a dream world reminiscent of the one you've created for yourself, where you think your God's gift to women, and above that better than everyone else. And then there was House of D, your attempt at dazzling the world with your talent, a movie which bombed and had undertones of an obsession with incest. . .
Just what the fuck is wrong with you, anyway?"
He stared off into the distance, his face was plain and expressionless, a face he often used when he was "acting." I thought perhaps he did not hear me, but the plastic face began to crack up, in creases on the forehead bunched up by a trembling brow. His lips curled, his eyes began to fill up with salty tears, he sagged as a small cry built up within him and came out of him as his eyes began to shed tears like tossed dimes. He cried so heavily I felt a bit sorry for him, no wait, never mind.
"I'm, I'm a loser man." He began sobbing. . . The douche was leaking. "When I was married I had to roofie my wife to get her to sleep with me. . . I'm a horrible lover, and I can't act. When I was seven I was at the zoo on a field trip, I fell in the Panda bear cage and I was afraid, and he raped me. . ." Sniffle, sniffle. "No one could explain it, or at least no one cared to. For two years after that everyone in school would make fun of me, the event became known as the Great Panda Bear Rape of 1974. . . It ruined me.
It ruined me." He broke down some more, he was nothing more than a little child now, all distraught over an entire lifetime of douchery - douchery which he now finally noticed for the first time in his life. I left him there to weep, and he stayed there till closing. He went to rehab later that month, where he was accused of being on heroin, but there was no drug to blame for his douchery, it was but a result of his epic retardation. As far as I know he's still in rehab, and will be there for many many years to come. Time will only tell what is up next for Duchovny, and I wish him the best.
. . .
Not really.
That was awesome.
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