A fish eye lens trained on a Ferrari F50 pulling up to a huge mansion in the Hollywood hills. I step out- of the back seat. My Dad is driving the Ferrari and tells me ''not to do any drugs'' before driving off and leaving me to stand outside the mansion for 25 minutes, pacing back and forth and wringing my hands.
I'm throwing money in the air all around me and it flutters down into the outstretched palms of drugs dealers and bar staff, who then forcefeed me shite pills and Stella Artois until I'm sick all over myself and start crying.
There's loads of scantily clad women there, so I stand in the corner of the kitchen in my mink coat looking for bubbles in my glass of vodka and rubbing my nose with the back of my finger repeatedly. One of them walks up to me to ask me where the toilet is and I say: 'Mm-mm-nuh' and then walk hastily out of the kitchen and head straight for the upstairs toilet, where I spend the next six hours. Meanwhile the scantily clad women (those of them who aren't being sick in the downstairs toilet/their own hair) are all fucking every other male guest in a big jacuzzi which quickly overflows as it becomes only 50% water.
The last scene takes place on a yacht, where 80,000 strippers are cavorting about in the sun playing with beachballs. I'm walking on deck with a big cane and some Ray Ban sunglasses on, exposing my beautifully tanned chest. Then, in a comic climax to proceedings my butler (played by Wesley Snipes) brings me a telephone call from the Doctor telling me I have skin cancer. I turn around to find my butler tossing off into the bottle of suntan lotion. I scream.
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