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Damn dirty list ...


Charlton Heston's Daily Planner and To Do List



7:00 a.m. Toast.

7:15 a.m. Toast.

7:30 a.m. Toast.

7:45 a.m. Call Mort at the studio. Ask him why the fuck we haven't started pre-production on that Apes movie yet.

7:50 a.m. Reload all rifles.

7:53 a.m. Empty out rifles.

7:55 a.m. Reload rifles. Empty and reload and empty again.

8:00 a.m. Toast. Can only finish half for some reason.

8:30 a.m. Secret In-House NRA Meeting in den with Secretary Raggedy Andy and Treasurer Pop'n Fresh.

9:00 a.m. End meeting in a rage. Overturn table angrily and announce, "You goddamn sons of bitches are plotting against me!"

"Just... give me a minute. It'll come to me."

9:05 a.m. Reload rifles. Shoot Secretary and Treasurer of In-House NRA organization.

9:10 a.m. Secretary Bert, Treasurer Ernie sworn in as new NRA officers.

9:11 a.m. Unable to sign own name on new officers' membership cards. Call maid for help.

9:15 a.m. Shoot maid.

9:20 a.m. Ask dead maid for toast. Shoot her again for being uncooperative bitch.

9:30 a.m.-11:00 a.m. Nap.

11:15 a.m. Speech or something at Kiwanis Club. Clothes required this time.

11:45 a.m. Shoot Kiwanis Club.

11:50 a.m. Seek out toast. If unavailable, try muffins.

12:00 noon Due on the set of Ten Commandments.

12:20 p.m. "What do you mean there's no Ten Commandments set you little bastard? Do you know who the fuck I am?"

12:21 p.m. Reload rifle.

12:30 p.m. Sweet talk studio security guard. Slip him $100 to take care of the body.

12:45-2 p.m. In-car nap.

2:01 p.m. Wake up. Take submarine to 10,000 leagues below.

2:02 p.m. "I said 10,000 leagues, goddammit!"

2:08 p.m. It's just a car.

2:10 p.m. "Take this car to 10,000 leagues below, goddammit!"

2:15 p.m. Cower.

2:18 p.m. Cry.

2:20 p.m. "Please? 10,000 leagues?"

2:25 p.m. Wander out of submarine/car. Take rifle.

2:30 p.m. Donut shop.

2:45 p.m. Fight with insolent donut shop register jockey.

2:48 p.m. "Do you know who the fuck I am? No? Well... aw, dammit."

3 p.m. Nice police officer, ride home.

3:05 p.m. Admire the cold black steel of officer's sidearm.

3:06 p.m. Horrible misunderstanding.

3:15 p.m. Awkward autograph signing for embarrassed officer.

3:30-6 p.m. Nap.

6:15 p.m. Can't find toast. World not worth living in.

6:30 p.m. Elaborate plan to kill self with elephant rifle.

6:35 p.m. Trouble reaching trigger. Big toe too big to fit in there.

6:45 p.m. Deep, racking sobs.

6:50 p.m. Ineffective masturabation.

6:53 p.m. Deeper, racking sobs.

6:59 p.m. Prank call Reagan

7:00 p.m. Prank call not funny at all. Is this what prank calling me will be like in a few years?

7:10 p.m. Daily gruesome spectral image of children killed by parents' handguns floats over living room. Is it past 7 already?

7:15 p.m. "What's a guy gotta do to get some goddamned toast around here, goddammit? Get up, you stupid maid!"

7:30 p.m. The Facts of Life on TV Land. That Tootie's a real sparkplug.

7:46 p.m. Successful masturbation to image of bending over of Mrs. Garrett.

7:49 p.m. Throw remote control at television in sweet release.

7:52-8:50 p.m. Nap.

8:55 p.m. Wet nurse.

9:00 p.m. "Sponge me, you cunt!"

9:05 p.m. Tub urination. Wet nurse not amused, even within urination's puppet show context.

9:10 p.m. Remember briefly who, where, what I am.

9:11 p.m. That memory passes.

9:15 p.m. Reload bathroom cabinet AK-47. Polish with two-ply Charmin.

9:30 p.m. Work on memoirs. Type: "And Max yelled 'Cut' for the last time. I knew I'd never work with that cheap son of a bitch Jew ever again," but substituting non-sensical strings of numbers for actual words.

9:44 p.m. Dog biscuit? Why the fuck not.

10 p.m. Bed. What room is that?

10:25 p.m. Fuck it. Hallway floor is fine.


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