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Date Posted: 11:47:50 10/16/99 Sat
Author: "Smutman" Jack Leer
Subject: Trouble in Tijuana
(El Burro Cantina. Tijuana, Mexico)
(The camera comes alive in a blizzard of static, jerking like a drunkard. Swinging wildly capturing blurred images of a crowd, bustling like rats in a cage. A kaleidoscope of bodies, kinetic forces at play, a foggy chaos of movement. The mind swims ... arms, faces, shoulders all nearly impossible to differentiate. The camera stops moving momentarily to show a gnarled fist, far too close for comfort, as lays it's mark on a mustached face, head snapping back, nose impacted unnaturally.)
(Aerosmith's "Back in the Saddle" the soundtrack to a south-of-the-border bar room brawl, with breaking glass, smashing furniture, and heated voices on accompaniment. A large man in a leather jacket crumples under a chair to the back of the head, a mad-eyed Mexican smashes a beer bottle on a nearby table, two serious looking young men in black tank tops and baseball hats stand back to back pummeling all comers, a grizzled man with faded tattoos of Spanish senioritas on his arms swings his wrinkled fists at anything within arms length, a gap-toothed grin plastered on his face. A body drops to the floor with a thud, revealing an amused looking Jack Leer, still holding his beer.)
Jack Leer (Pushing a person aside by the face and smiling as a Corona bottle flies past his nose): Sorry about the mess but my good friend and Leer Publishing's in-house lawyer Sid Kemp's a bit of a magnet for trouble. Seems he ended up here in Mexico the other night. Woke up in a gutter. Doesn't have a clue how he got here or where his car is. Apparently it was quite a couple nights, just before you got here some angry husband walked in and didn't have much good to say about Kemp. One thing led to another, and here we are!
(A man in a Copenhagen shirt stumbles into Jack Leer's back, holding his face. Snapping his arm backward, Jack Leer hits the side of the man's head with his elbow. The man's head lolls on his shoulders like a rag doll as he falls sideways.)
Jack Leer (Ducking under a punch with a laugh): Allow me to introduce myself. To those of you who either aren't subscribers of my many men's magazines or haven't seen me making trouble for Rush Limbaugh on CNN, I'm Jack Leer.
(Stepping aside just as an ox of a man comes crashing to the floor in front of him, Jack Leer bumps shoulders with a mean looking bearded man. Turning, the man growls and swings a fist toward Jack's chin. Turning his head in the nick of time, the fist goes sailing past Jack Leer's face and hits him square in the wrist, knocking the can of Blatz into the air.)
(Scowling, Jack Leer swings his fist up into the man's jaw.)
Jack Leer (Turning back to the camera with a grin): I've made alot of enemies in my time, from church leaders to police chiefs to Supreme Court justices. I've been called more bad names than I can remember, from skin merchant to smut peddler to a cancer to society to a true American hero. And I've been in street fights, bar-room brawls, and obscenity trials more times than most men have used the toilet.
(Reaching into the back pocket of his jeans, Jack Leer takes out a rumpled pack of Marlboros as he back-hands a face with his left.)
Jack Leer (Trying to light his cigarette amid the chaos of a bar-room brawl): My past is a matter of public record, I'm a man people want to know and want to know about. And unlike many of my "peers" here in the TTSWF I wasn't handed anything in my life. I grew up on the wrong side of the tracks and I still live there. I built my publishing company on my own sweat and hard work, but just because I've got ten magazines in the top 100 adult publications annually doesn't mean I'm afraid to admit who I am.
Jack Leer (Flashing a smile): I'm Jack Leer. Skin merchant, pornographer, American hero, society's cancer ... "Smutman."
(Howling, a man with a bloody nose and bandana lunges forward. Jack Leer, grabs the man's t-shirt and guides the man past him, into a upturned table. The wooden table top splintering as the man's face connects with a crunch.)
Jack Leer (Getting his cigarette lit and taking a drag): I'm not after some stupid title and I don't care about any damn belt. But a man get's mighty tired of these prissy yuppies bad mouthing white trash and thinking their limousines and big houses make them something special. Well Jack Leer's here to give those people a lesson in respect, white trash style.
(Bringing his arm up and hitting a crew cut man on shore leave in the face with his forearm, Jack Leer uses the man's body to push back the fighting mob and clear a path between him and the camera.)
Jack Leer (Grinning wickedly): As the sporting man I am, I'm going to give a free subscription of Leer Publishing's flagship title "White Trash Flash" to the first idiot who's stupid enough to get in the ring with me.
(Grabbing a head by the hair and jamming the face into his fist, Jack Leer smiles as ashes from his smoke float through the air around him. The camera jerks wildly as a body stumbles into view.)
Jack Leer (Throwing the man to the floor and stepping over his prone body): Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a brawl to get back to. Thank you, America, for your time.
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