What if real life was produced by Jerry Bruckheimer (Pearl Harbor, Armageddon, The Rock)?
My alarmclock would be a six foot green panel on my wall counting down to zero, at which point all hell would break loose and I would get up, shower, dress, and go to work.
Music by Hans Zimmer (or Aerosmith) would constantly play out of thin air
Light and shadows will appear more dramatic (gels, overexposure, etc)
Everyone at work would be a lot better looking, regardless of their job.
My work environment would look like a mission control room.
I would have some rare skill that somehow overides everything that makes me unqualified for my job (ie my knowledge of movie trivia makes me a necessary part of a Navy SEAL team).
My girlfriend will be allowed to hang out in my office during moments of greatest stress.
I’ll propose to my girlfriend but only before taking off on a mission I am likely to never return from.
I will never take the stairs when I can use my rapelling geer.
Life will make perfect sense…provided you don’t look at it in too much detail (ie its easier to teach an oilworker to be an astronaut than it is to teach an astronaut to drill)
Every child in the world suddenly grows a bowl haircut.
Subway trains derailing and crashing into stations, planes crashing into the ocean and police vehicles piling up at intersections (and exploding at the slightest kiss of bumper to bumper, or a single bullet) become commonplace occurences, but only in big cities like San Francisco or Los Angeles.
Every time a male takes off his shirt, his muscles will automatically tone and define themselves and a glistening layer of sweat will form over his skin. Every time a female takes off her shirt, either something in your line of vision will conveniently cover her naughty bits, or they will simply be out of your field of view.
People who look weird and demented always are weird and demented. People who look heroic and upstanding are, without fail, heroic and upstanding. Dogs also are heroic and upstanding. Cats, however, do not exist.
Every day gets a cheesy slogan tacked on to it. (Example: "Wednesday: Family Trip to Water World, where Danger Runs Deep.)
Perhaps most important of all, real life will be a smash hit at the box office.
Every time two cars collide, even if it’s a mild fender bender, both will explode into fireballs three stories high. Same for single-car accidents, of course.
For no reason whatsoever during every sunset a Viet Nam era Bell Huey helicopter will slowly fly across the horizon. With the American flag fluttering in the foreground.
My supermodel stripper girlfriend with a heart of gold will be incredibly loyal and have the brains of a retarded chipmonk. (Replace gender as necessary)
Suspicious and shadowy elements within the American government would cynically use the threat of terrorism to push through unprecedented legislation which would give them sweeping powers to conduct invasive electronic surveillance on U.S. citizens. The Act would have a name that is disingenuous, deceptive, and so ludicrously ironic that it would totally blow your willing suspension of disbelief, no matter how credulous you were disposed to be.
Michael Biehn would be everywhere, and everyone would know him personally.
You could drive an APC around city streets in pursuit of a rival, smashing through buildings and parked cars and causing untold destruction, but nobody would sue or arrest you.
Everything from my toaster to my PC would have a slick, moody GUI.
I would have seven to ten staredowns a day
At moments of extreme duress, I would cry a single tear, which would hover and gather at my eyelid and then break suddenly down my face as the music swells.
I would have a compact automatic firearm, say a MP5-PDW, capable of minutes-long fire from a single 30-round magazine. Better yet, I can fire two, one in each hand, accurately.
Passing cars on the highway requires the use of strategically positioned ramps that launch your car into the air.
My iPod would double as a plastic explosive detonator.
Oh, and I’d be dead and toasted, seeing that I was in several fender-bender accidents where I was not a protagonist in any way.
34.) Although a typical day for me and my dog includes five car crashes, seven emoliations, 15 shooting deaths, a close friend selflessly sacrificing his life in a cataclysmic explosion, and numerous flesh wounds to my person; my dog will not have suffered so much as a single singed hair.
Every bar I walk into has hot chicks dancing on it.
The toaster, PC, alarm clock, and everything else with the slick moody GUI would also be back-projected, so everyone facing me can see what’s on the screen.
friedo would have said “I GOT YOUR PRODUCER RIGHT HERE!”, reached into his pocket to pull out a glass ball of VX nerve gas.
Larry Mudd would have pulled out twin Heckler Kock MP5s and shot up the 2 ton air conditioning unit above friedo 's head, dropping it on top of him before he could unleash the gas.
oops…I didn’t even see #29 yet
My boss would be capable of giving rousing speeches that incites the entire department to suddenly leap to their feet and cheer wildly!
One day I would leave my laptop in a cap…promping a wild foot/car chase through the streets of New York.
Instead of the policeman stopping me politely and giving me a written citation for that open container of beer the other day (bastard) a fully armed SWAT team would have appeared from SWAT vans, cars, helicopters, rappeling down the side of buildings and through windows. ( yes, they would have gone into the deli and then dove OUT the window)
“When my friends ask me back home, ‘Why do you do it? Are you some kind of office junkie?’ I don’t say nothing. They wouldn’t understand. It’s about the man and/or woman typing by your side in the next cubicle…and that’s all it is.”
