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hackthis_archiveWhat am I but a conduit for Ari Gold? No, really, what else am I?
Entourage, Real Person Fiction & Slash
Ari Gold, George Clooney, Matt Damon and mentions of the ex Mrs. Clooney
Rated O for Oh my god, he's so offensive.
Dedicated to my enablers:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lyra_sena, serialkarma, and slodwick
Sexiest Former Batmen Who Were Also On a Hospital Show (When I Come Out You Won't Even Matter)
Ari wouldn't piss on 99% of the people who want to talk to him on a daily basis, even if they went up in flames before his eyes, so the first call he's willing to take on Wednesday morning doesn't come through on his Crackberry until around 8am Pacific Time.
Ari's been up for two hours already, working out, going for a run, kicking the neighbors dog where its neutered balls should be -- that's what it gets for shitting on his lawn.
Ari is the one responsible for making sure his kids are still alive in the morning, awake, dressed and ready for the wife to take them to their ass-raping private school that sells $10 candy bars and calls it a fund-raiser, even though Ari's already paying $35,000 a year for each of his ankle-biters.
Ari loves his kids, but they sure as fuck didn't come cheap. He might have to sell one or two on the black market. Or maybe he'll fly them to Romania and tell Angie that they're orphans desperately in need of a home. The idea actually has some merit, but then he'd have to explain that to Mrs. Ari and she'd probably get upset.
"I thought about selling my kids for cash," he tells Matt Damon by way of greeting. "But then I figured the wife wouldn't be willing to spit out anymore if I did."
Matt laughs. "Yeah, when Mrs. Ari goes all Lorena Bobbit on you, don't say I didn't warn you in the first place."
Ari leans against the kitchen counter, waiting for the coffee maker to produce his second pot of liquid gold for the day, and scoffs derisively. "She loves my dick more than I do; she'd never be able to go through with it."
"Yeah, but I might." Matt's tone is all conviviality and lightness, but Ari can sense something cooking.
"Baby, I feel like you're upset with me. Did you not like the ass monkey I sent you last week? Is Luciana still bitter that you'd rather be fucking Ben? Don’t worry, he'll get tired of hairpie eventually, and come on home."
There's a moment of silence down the line during which Ari imagines Matt's sharpening knives, or possible jerking off. He'll go with the latter. "Okay, Matty, enough pud-pulling, what has you up and sucking cock at this time of the morning?"
"It's almost eleven in Miami, Ari."
Ari would know that sullen tone anywhere. Sometimes he forgets how tetchy Matt gets about Ben and his Jens. "Ah, Cuban hookers wait for no man, is that it?"
Ari can hear Matt rolling his eyes. "Isabella was up."
"That's right, gotta get those kids started on cleaning the house early. Cheap labor starts at home."
"Very fucking funny, Ari." Matt's Boston accent is getting stronger with every sentence, which makes Ari feel better.
If Matt starts cursing in the broken Spanish he's learned from his wife, then Ari will know they're past the Ben hump. Of course, if Lupe hadn't told Ari what a pendejo was, Ari wouldn't even know when Matt was calling him a motherfucker. Hell, Ari's so thankful for his housekeeper teaching him how to curse in Spanish, that for every curse word she teaches him he makes a pair of his wife's Manolos vanish into Lupe's car.
"So, seriously, how come I'm never People's Sexiest Man Alive?" Matt demands.
It takes Ari a minute, because he's not sure they're in the same book, never mind the same page. "Baby, what are you bitching about? You sound like my wife just nagging all the fucking time. You know you're hot; I know you're hot; why are you so pissy? Did somebody break their dildo off in your ass?"
"You got George voted People's Sexiest Man. Again," Matt complains, "where's mine? Why's he gotta be hogging all the press?"
Now Ari remembers what today is. Poor Matt -- but he already has an Oscar, and he doesn't have a cause. Everybody's gotta have a cause right now. "What you want is in my pants, baby. You want to fly out tonight and have a look? I have an opening at 9:30; if you come pre-lubed I can have you home by breakfast tomorrow."
"Fuck you, Ari."
"Ah, that'll cost you extra."
"Seriously, how come I don't have a cover?"
"Because you don't have a 'cause'. Everybody's needs a cause right now: one-legged babies, Africans, badly dressed stars, you need a platform, Matt. I'm not your publicist -- why the fuck isn't she telling you this?"
Ari's Crackberry vibrates in his hand –- thank Satan –- he can't deal with Matt when he's acting all emotionally unstable. Not that Matt's not his most important meal ticket -- actually, no, Ari's biggest meal ticket is calling now. "Matty, I gotta call you back, the hottest man alive is calling me and you know hotass waits for no man."
"Ari, I want that cover next year—"
"Okay, you get Oprah to back you for president, and we'll talk."
"But, Ari, I don't want to be president!"
"Like the truth even matters in this business," Ari scoffs.
"Ari-–"
"Gotta go hunting, Will. We'll talk later," and just like that Ari's already switched over to George. "Am I now speaking with People's Hottest Man Alive for the second time? What's up two-timer?"
"Morning, Ari." George's voice is scratchy like he's just woken up. George only sleeps in his boxers -– a couple trips to Hawaii taught Ari a lot about George -- and Ari is not going to get stuck thinking about that or he'll never be able to walk from the kitchen to the bedroom to get dressed. Damn Mrs. Ari for being a good mother and taking the kids to school and not being around for tawdry sex.
"Aw, baby, you have to give me more than that -- just 'good morning Ari?' I thought The Sexiest Man Alive was supposed to be all seductive, making people drop to their knees in the street with their mouths open to give him blowjobs. You'd be lucky to get a hand job from me with that tone."
George snorts. "Ari, if you don't behave I'll be forced to tell you about Brad."
Ari's coffee is finally ready. If George is going to talk about the ex-Mrs. Clooney, he's going to have to mainline it straight from the pot.
"I don't know anything about anybody named Brad," Ari says, emptying the coffee pot into a cup the size of a vat. "I tied fifteen ham hocks to that body before I fed it to the alligators in that Florida swamp; I'm telling you they don't have jack shit, and I will dig up Johnny fucking Cochran's body and get him to represent you. I swear on my dead mother there's nothing to worry about."
George is quiet for a minute. "I meant in the People article, Ari."
"Oh yeah, that. Well -- fuck, you knew that shit was coming. You did the goddamn interview for it. How is that by the way? I have a thousand copies coming to the office on Friday."
"I'm glad to see you're thinking small."
"Yeah, well, you know I'm trying to save the trees and shit." The first time George was voted People's Sexiest Man Alive Ari bought ten thousand copies, billed them to Gary Busey, and had the entire office wallpapered.
Ari can hear George moving around down the line. He's not thinking about George getting dressed while they're on the phone. He's been representing George for more than fifteen years. They are so over this. He is so over this.
Ari takes a sip of his coffee, and his tongue goes numb. His coffee is just how he likes it, scalding hot. "Godfuckingdamnitsyphilicwhoremongeringassrapinggerbil!" he hisses.
"Ari?"
"Sorry, coffee was a little hot -– now what the fuck are you talking about Mrs. Bradley Jolie for? G-Money, I thought we were past this. I get you a nice Christmas present and this is the thanks I get. Wow, I'm feeling no love right now." Ari is not sulking, not really. He'd have to be able to feel his mouth first.
"I was just going to say that I mentioned Brad a few times in the article and I didn’t want you to make a big deal of it." Something is buzzing on George's phone. It's probably his electric toothbrush.
Right.
Ari puts his vat down and switches his Crackberry from one hand to other. George never calls him for damage control. George calls him because he needs damage control, but never to control Ari.
This is bad.
Ari has a discretionary fund to buy George things. 'Discretionary' meaning 'George is unhappy because Brad knocked up the local two-bit incest-loving puffy-lipped Mother Teresa' and Ari needs to do something to make him less depressed.
Ari's discretionary fund is not a financially recognized mutual fund on the stock market, at least not the New York stock market, but it's well known and loved in Hollywood, and that's pretty much all that counts for Ari. The first thing Ari ever bought George was Out of Sight; of course he also got George Batman and Robin, go figure. Apparently some gifts come with gonorrhea, who knew?
In short, if Ari's made a bad investment, he wants to know right the fuck now. "What the fuck did you say? What the fuck did you waste my money on this time?! I swear on your Oscar that if you're taking that motherfucker back I will beat him with my shoe, leave the body on your doorstep, and then stick your Oscar up his ass until he can only taste gold-plating!"
"Ari! Ari, down! Nobody's taking anybody back, especially after they've slept with Angie and picked up who knows what from where. I was just saying that-–"
"I thought you weren't even talking to that diseased pussy-licker! He gives gays a bad name! Next you'll find him getting massages from twinkies and saying he only buys his crystal meth to throw it in the trash!"
George's laughter does a lot for Ari's ruffled feathers. "Ari, I appreciate the support, but I don't think being friends with Brad will be the worst thing ever."
"You're right, George -- hooking up with him in the first place was the worst thing ever."
"He's made you a lot of money."
"And I would give it all back if – okay, that's a lie, but I'll happily give it to the Get George Laid Fund if it meant I never had to hear about Ass Bandit Pitt again."
"Ari, I'm the Sexiest Man Alive, getting laid is not a problem for me."
"Oh yeah, then who was the last person you fucked?"
"Ari."
"Just saying, G-Money."
"I've got a better idea, how about you save your money to buy me the cover again next year."
"What the fuck, do you think I shit gold eggs – actually I do – but damn. Way to be greedy," Ari pauses, "I'm really proud of you right now, you know that right?'
"It's not for me Ari, it's because Brad's—"
"Do not mention the pock-marked butt monkey anymore!"
"Okay, well he's won twice, and so have I, so a third time—"
"I'm on it as long as you explain to Matty why he's not going to get it next year either."
"Oh, does Matt want to be People's Sexiest Man Alive?"
"He's still depressed about the Asshat Affleck thing. I think if you're going to take his title away from him, you should make it up to him with some ass sex or something. He's really touchy lately."
"Ari--"
"It was just a suggestion."
"Yes, well, can you keep the rest of your suggestions for over breakfast at The Mondrian? I'm starving, and I need to go out and confuse the tabloids with who I'm dating."
"Shit, George, why didn't you tell me this sooner so I could fly Matt out for a threesome?"
"Cute, Ari, real cute, and no you can't watch when it happens."
"Damn, you never let me have any fun."
"I promised Mrs. Ari—"
"But she doesn't have to know."
"I bet you tell that to all the girls."
"Just the ones who People magazine says are sexy," Ari says solicitously.
George just laughs. "That's what I like to hear."
--end—
AN:
1. The body disposal via alligator and ham hocks comes from Nip/Tuck
2. The bit about visiting the gay masseuse is from the Ted Haggard scandal, because well, really.
3. The title is from Missy Elliot's 'Work It' and a quote George gave People last year when they foolishly didn't vote him Sexiest Man Ever.
Entourage, Real Person Fiction & Slash
Ari Gold, George Clooney, Matt Damon and mentions of the ex Mrs. Clooney
Rated O for Oh my god, he's so offensive.
Dedicated to my enablers:
lyra_sena, serialkarma, and slodwickAri wouldn't piss on 99% of the people who want to talk to him on a daily basis, even if they went up in flames before his eyes, so the first call he's willing to take on Wednesday morning doesn't come through on his Crackberry until around 8am Pacific Time.
Ari's been up for two hours already, working out, going for a run, kicking the neighbors dog where its neutered balls should be -- that's what it gets for shitting on his lawn.
Ari is the one responsible for making sure his kids are still alive in the morning, awake, dressed and ready for the wife to take them to their ass-raping private school that sells $10 candy bars and calls it a fund-raiser, even though Ari's already paying $35,000 a year for each of his ankle-biters.
Ari loves his kids, but they sure as fuck didn't come cheap. He might have to sell one or two on the black market. Or maybe he'll fly them to Romania and tell Angie that they're orphans desperately in need of a home. The idea actually has some merit, but then he'd have to explain that to Mrs. Ari and she'd probably get upset.
"I thought about selling my kids for cash," he tells Matt Damon by way of greeting. "But then I figured the wife wouldn't be willing to spit out anymore if I did."
Matt laughs. "Yeah, when Mrs. Ari goes all Lorena Bobbit on you, don't say I didn't warn you in the first place."
Ari leans against the kitchen counter, waiting for the coffee maker to produce his second pot of liquid gold for the day, and scoffs derisively. "She loves my dick more than I do; she'd never be able to go through with it."
"Yeah, but I might." Matt's tone is all conviviality and lightness, but Ari can sense something cooking.
"Baby, I feel like you're upset with me. Did you not like the ass monkey I sent you last week? Is Luciana still bitter that you'd rather be fucking Ben? Don’t worry, he'll get tired of hairpie eventually, and come on home."
There's a moment of silence down the line during which Ari imagines Matt's sharpening knives, or possible jerking off. He'll go with the latter. "Okay, Matty, enough pud-pulling, what has you up and sucking cock at this time of the morning?"
"It's almost eleven in Miami, Ari."
Ari would know that sullen tone anywhere. Sometimes he forgets how tetchy Matt gets about Ben and his Jens. "Ah, Cuban hookers wait for no man, is that it?"
Ari can hear Matt rolling his eyes. "Isabella was up."
"That's right, gotta get those kids started on cleaning the house early. Cheap labor starts at home."
"Very fucking funny, Ari." Matt's Boston accent is getting stronger with every sentence, which makes Ari feel better.
If Matt starts cursing in the broken Spanish he's learned from his wife, then Ari will know they're past the Ben hump. Of course, if Lupe hadn't told Ari what a pendejo was, Ari wouldn't even know when Matt was calling him a motherfucker. Hell, Ari's so thankful for his housekeeper teaching him how to curse in Spanish, that for every curse word she teaches him he makes a pair of his wife's Manolos vanish into Lupe's car.
"So, seriously, how come I'm never People's Sexiest Man Alive?" Matt demands.
It takes Ari a minute, because he's not sure they're in the same book, never mind the same page. "Baby, what are you bitching about? You sound like my wife just nagging all the fucking time. You know you're hot; I know you're hot; why are you so pissy? Did somebody break their dildo off in your ass?"
"You got George voted People's Sexiest Man. Again," Matt complains, "where's mine? Why's he gotta be hogging all the press?"
Now Ari remembers what today is. Poor Matt -- but he already has an Oscar, and he doesn't have a cause. Everybody's gotta have a cause right now. "What you want is in my pants, baby. You want to fly out tonight and have a look? I have an opening at 9:30; if you come pre-lubed I can have you home by breakfast tomorrow."
"Fuck you, Ari."
"Ah, that'll cost you extra."
"Seriously, how come I don't have a cover?"
"Because you don't have a 'cause'. Everybody's needs a cause right now: one-legged babies, Africans, badly dressed stars, you need a platform, Matt. I'm not your publicist -- why the fuck isn't she telling you this?"
Ari's Crackberry vibrates in his hand –- thank Satan –- he can't deal with Matt when he's acting all emotionally unstable. Not that Matt's not his most important meal ticket -- actually, no, Ari's biggest meal ticket is calling now. "Matty, I gotta call you back, the hottest man alive is calling me and you know hotass waits for no man."
"Ari, I want that cover next year—"
"Okay, you get Oprah to back you for president, and we'll talk."
"But, Ari, I don't want to be president!"
"Like the truth even matters in this business," Ari scoffs.
"Ari-–"
"Gotta go hunting, Will. We'll talk later," and just like that Ari's already switched over to George. "Am I now speaking with People's Hottest Man Alive for the second time? What's up two-timer?"
"Morning, Ari." George's voice is scratchy like he's just woken up. George only sleeps in his boxers -– a couple trips to Hawaii taught Ari a lot about George -- and Ari is not going to get stuck thinking about that or he'll never be able to walk from the kitchen to the bedroom to get dressed. Damn Mrs. Ari for being a good mother and taking the kids to school and not being around for tawdry sex.
"Aw, baby, you have to give me more than that -- just 'good morning Ari?' I thought The Sexiest Man Alive was supposed to be all seductive, making people drop to their knees in the street with their mouths open to give him blowjobs. You'd be lucky to get a hand job from me with that tone."
George snorts. "Ari, if you don't behave I'll be forced to tell you about Brad."
Ari's coffee is finally ready. If George is going to talk about the ex-Mrs. Clooney, he's going to have to mainline it straight from the pot.
"I don't know anything about anybody named Brad," Ari says, emptying the coffee pot into a cup the size of a vat. "I tied fifteen ham hocks to that body before I fed it to the alligators in that Florida swamp; I'm telling you they don't have jack shit, and I will dig up Johnny fucking Cochran's body and get him to represent you. I swear on my dead mother there's nothing to worry about."
George is quiet for a minute. "I meant in the People article, Ari."
"Oh yeah, that. Well -- fuck, you knew that shit was coming. You did the goddamn interview for it. How is that by the way? I have a thousand copies coming to the office on Friday."
"I'm glad to see you're thinking small."
"Yeah, well, you know I'm trying to save the trees and shit." The first time George was voted People's Sexiest Man Alive Ari bought ten thousand copies, billed them to Gary Busey, and had the entire office wallpapered.
Ari can hear George moving around down the line. He's not thinking about George getting dressed while they're on the phone. He's been representing George for more than fifteen years. They are so over this. He is so over this.
Ari takes a sip of his coffee, and his tongue goes numb. His coffee is just how he likes it, scalding hot. "Godfuckingdamnitsyphilicwhoremongeringassrapinggerbil!" he hisses.
"Ari?"
"Sorry, coffee was a little hot -– now what the fuck are you talking about Mrs. Bradley Jolie for? G-Money, I thought we were past this. I get you a nice Christmas present and this is the thanks I get. Wow, I'm feeling no love right now." Ari is not sulking, not really. He'd have to be able to feel his mouth first.
"I was just going to say that I mentioned Brad a few times in the article and I didn’t want you to make a big deal of it." Something is buzzing on George's phone. It's probably his electric toothbrush.
Right.
Ari puts his vat down and switches his Crackberry from one hand to other. George never calls him for damage control. George calls him because he needs damage control, but never to control Ari.
This is bad.
Ari has a discretionary fund to buy George things. 'Discretionary' meaning 'George is unhappy because Brad knocked up the local two-bit incest-loving puffy-lipped Mother Teresa' and Ari needs to do something to make him less depressed.
Ari's discretionary fund is not a financially recognized mutual fund on the stock market, at least not the New York stock market, but it's well known and loved in Hollywood, and that's pretty much all that counts for Ari. The first thing Ari ever bought George was Out of Sight; of course he also got George Batman and Robin, go figure. Apparently some gifts come with gonorrhea, who knew?
In short, if Ari's made a bad investment, he wants to know right the fuck now. "What the fuck did you say? What the fuck did you waste my money on this time?! I swear on your Oscar that if you're taking that motherfucker back I will beat him with my shoe, leave the body on your doorstep, and then stick your Oscar up his ass until he can only taste gold-plating!"
"Ari! Ari, down! Nobody's taking anybody back, especially after they've slept with Angie and picked up who knows what from where. I was just saying that-–"
"I thought you weren't even talking to that diseased pussy-licker! He gives gays a bad name! Next you'll find him getting massages from twinkies and saying he only buys his crystal meth to throw it in the trash!"
George's laughter does a lot for Ari's ruffled feathers. "Ari, I appreciate the support, but I don't think being friends with Brad will be the worst thing ever."
"You're right, George -- hooking up with him in the first place was the worst thing ever."
"He's made you a lot of money."
"And I would give it all back if – okay, that's a lie, but I'll happily give it to the Get George Laid Fund if it meant I never had to hear about Ass Bandit Pitt again."
"Ari, I'm the Sexiest Man Alive, getting laid is not a problem for me."
"Oh yeah, then who was the last person you fucked?"
"Ari."
"Just saying, G-Money."
"I've got a better idea, how about you save your money to buy me the cover again next year."
"What the fuck, do you think I shit gold eggs – actually I do – but damn. Way to be greedy," Ari pauses, "I'm really proud of you right now, you know that right?'
"It's not for me Ari, it's because Brad's—"
"Do not mention the pock-marked butt monkey anymore!"
"Okay, well he's won twice, and so have I, so a third time—"
"I'm on it as long as you explain to Matty why he's not going to get it next year either."
"Oh, does Matt want to be People's Sexiest Man Alive?"
"He's still depressed about the Asshat Affleck thing. I think if you're going to take his title away from him, you should make it up to him with some ass sex or something. He's really touchy lately."
"Ari--"
"It was just a suggestion."
"Yes, well, can you keep the rest of your suggestions for over breakfast at The Mondrian? I'm starving, and I need to go out and confuse the tabloids with who I'm dating."
"Shit, George, why didn't you tell me this sooner so I could fly Matt out for a threesome?"
"Cute, Ari, real cute, and no you can't watch when it happens."
"Damn, you never let me have any fun."
"I promised Mrs. Ari—"
"But she doesn't have to know."
"I bet you tell that to all the girls."
"Just the ones who People magazine says are sexy," Ari says solicitously.
George just laughs. "That's what I like to hear."
--end—
AN:
1. The body disposal via alligator and ham hocks comes from Nip/Tuck
2. The bit about visiting the gay masseuse is from the Ted Haggard scandal, because well, really.
3. The title is from Missy Elliot's 'Work It' and a quote George gave People last year when they foolishly didn't vote him Sexiest Man Ever.
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Date: 2006-11-15 10:51 pm (UTC)Hee!
I adore this. And poor Matt.
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Date: 2006-11-15 11:36 pm (UTC)Incidentally, the real interview with the two-time quotes? To die for.
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Date: 2006-11-17 06:33 pm (UTC)Did you get the impression that Brad's two-timing on George or was that just me?
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Date: 2006-11-16 03:07 am (UTC)INSPIRED
1. The body disposal via alligator and ham hocks comes from Nip/Tuck
ah ha, I caught that!
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Date: 2006-12-07 10:47 pm (UTC)This is great. I love Ari's foul-mouthed wit.