
You have no idea how confusing it sounds when the director screams, “Achtung!”, before he yells, “Action!”.
Auf wiedersehen,
Herr Allen

You have no idea how confusing it sounds when the director screams, “Achtung!”, before he yells, “Action!”.
Auf wiedersehen,
Herr Allen
I realize this now as I’m in my hotel room in Berlin. I spent the day shooting a commercial for Volkswagen and I was the only one who can’t speak German. You have no idea how surreal it is to stand in a large stark white room with a lab coat on. Surrounded by Germans in lab coats and have another German wearing a black shirt and scarf give you directions in German. What the fuck have I walked into?
The funniest part is that I’m the only one they flew in from America. Why you ask? I will tell you, my superb disco dancing. This has to be the most odd experience I have ever encountered.
I’m sleepy.
Some of you (or none of you) have probably been asking yourself, “How is a comedian/blogger with one TV credit, who rides public transportation and has low self-esteem able to jet set around the world like Mary-Kate and Ashley?” I have five words for you, “I think I’m a gigolo”—albeit, a very skinny one who’s so-so in bed and endowed with a penis that is slightly above average if the conditions are perfect (temperature, humidity, time of day, music selection, amount of hair, lighting, latitude, seasonal equinox, full moon, viewer must be far-sighted, etc…) . I didn’t plan on this happening and not sure how I feel about this emasculating situation. I met a girl who happens to be a lawyer. I guess she enjoys my company because she keeps inviting me to fabulous weekend getaways like London and the Cayman Islands. The cynical side of me thinks that this is an elaborate documentary produced my Ashton Kutcher and directed by John Landis of Trading Places I keep anticipating of overhearing Randolph Duke in a bathroom say, “Pay up, Mortimer. I’ve won the bet.”



The irony is that I know for a fact that none of them can email an attachment.