There is some sort of strange intern war going on in Los Angeles. The employed â€œregularâ€ girls are demeaned by Dim Mak interns. Dim Mak interns wish they were Cobrasnake interns. Cobrasnake interns want to have sex with Mark. The whole thing is oh so strange and non-sensical, girls. American Apparel starts at 9 dollars an hour. Dov Carney will takes photos of you half dressed for at least a couple hundred dollars. Minimum wage later, you have a billboard. Plus, you get a 50 percent discount on all those bootie shorts.
I donâ€™t have interns because it is ridiculous. You have probably met them. They walk up to door guys calling themselves â€œSarah Morrisonâ€™s internâ€ and walk right in. They donâ€™t fold t-shirts or update my Myspace. I just suggest they actually save babies in trees or animals from single parent families. If they really want to â€œvolunteer.â€
You are not a big deal because you can get into Cinespace. My interns are there before you even start collecting your emails. They spent their day at some job getting paid. They rush somewhere after cashing their paycheck to rescue a hamster out of a tree. They grab whatever dress they shouldnâ€™t have spent their entire paycheck on, slip it on, and are out the door. They count their drink tickets out, as you glare at them behind your email clipboards. They drink their Svedka/tonics to lil hampsters survival.
Grab a unitard, save a something.