Gabe loves fan fiction. You Can Make It Up features his own personal alternate adventures starring some of our favorite characters.
In retrospect, writing the screenplay had been the easy part. 50 Cent was an artist, so writing a really sick feature film was totally normal for him. It was like breathing. Would you tell a fish not to be wet? Would you tell a tree not to have there be shade under it? He just did what came natural to him, like fishes and trees, which was to write vibrant, naturalistic dialog for three-dimensional characters with a depth of humanity, and to have those characters entwined in a vivid narrative drama that simultaneously created a compelling story, but also spoke to the larger experience of human beings alive on Earth at this moment in time. Drama was in 50 Cent’s blood. Drama and anabolic steroids.
So when it came time to cast the lead role, Antwan Majestic, a promising, young, up-and-coming football player who has been diagnosed as suffering from having permanent clown makeup on his face and no legs or arms, it only made sense that 50 Cent play the role himself. He wrote it, after all. And he was an actor. One of the guys in his entourage, Poop, told him all the time that he was the Philip Senor Hoffman of his generation, and 50 took that as a compliment, because he had paid for Poop to give him the compliment, and what would have been the point of paying him for it if he wasn’t going to take it, but also because Philip Senor Hoffman was mad good at acting, son. He was born to play this role, with the exception of not having permanent clown makeup and being in possession of both his arms and legs. But before he’d gotten in the rap game, 50 Cent had played football a bunch of times with his friends, and he knew exactly what Antwan Majestic was going through. Of course, in 50 Cent’s case, he had stopped playing football because he had developed a really successful rap-and-sports-drink empire which afforded him the opportunity to stop being friends with most of his old friends, who couldn’t understand what his life was like now, and not because he had been diagnosed with having permanent clown makeup on his face and no legs or arms. But human emotions are universal. Probably.
First, 50 Cent had clown makeup permanently tattooed on his face, so that he could understand what it was like to live with the serious affliction of having permanent clown makeup on your face.
“50,” the director had said to them, “we can just put clown makeup on you in the morning before we shoot. And then in the evening, you can wash it off. And the next day we can put it on again. You don’t have to have it permanently tattooed on your face.”
“How am I gonna understand what it feels like to have permanent clown makeup on my face if I know that I can wash it off at the end of the day? The audience needs to believe that I am a man living with clown make up on my face for the rest of my life. Do you have so little respect for the audience?”
The director just shook his head and played with the straw in his venti iced Americano w/ soy.
And so, 50 Cent had clown makeup tattooed on his face. That night, looking in the dollar-sign shaped mirror in his hat closet, he cried. “Use this, 50 Cent,” he told himself. “Use this human emotions.” He went to sleep without even arranging his hats, such was his human emotions.
The next day, his face covered in saran wrap and ointment, 50 Cent went into the doctor’s office and demanded that his arms and legs be amputated. The director was there, too. “You know, 50 Cent, we can use modern special effects technology to make it appear that you don’t have arms or legs in the movie, but in fact you can keep your arms and legs instead of amputating them, and that way, when the movie is done, you will still have arms and legs.”
“I would just like to add,” the doctor said, “that there is absolutely no way that I can amputate your arms and legs in good conscience.”
50 Cent scowled at the two men. Or maybe they were boys. Little baby boys. Not ready to give themselves over to ART. “How is the audience going to believe I don’t have arms and legs when I have arms and legs?”
“It’s special effects,” the director said. “Like the hyper-realistic dinosaurs in Jurassic Park.”
“First of all, those dinosaurs were real and that shit was CRAZY. Second of all, that’s exactly what I’m talking about. If you’re going to make Jurassic Park, you’ve got to get real dinosaurs, you feel me? So if we’re going to make The Longest Clown: The Antwan Majestic Story, I can’t have no arms or legs, mayne.”
“At the very least, you could wait until your extensive, scab-encrusted face tattoo heals before making your final decision,” the director suggested.
“And you could wait for my boy Dibble to encrust your face with his fists before making your shut the hell up!”
Dibble stepped forward.
“Besides, did Antwan Majestic wait for the diagnosis of permanent clown makeup on his face to heal before being diagnosed with having no arms and legs?”
“Well, to be fair, Antwan Majestic is make-believe, as are the diseases. Which you should know, because you made them up.”
50 Cent motioned to Dibble, who cracked the knuckles in his massive meat fists. The director held up his hands in resignation. The doctor looked like he had taken an entire bottle of crazy pills. Then 50 Cent proceeded to amputate his own arms and legs, as the director and doctor and 30-some-odd members of 50’s entourage vomited, like, so much. Later, 50 Cent would find out that one of his boys, Poop’s little brother, Lace, had stolen 50’s severed limbs and put them up for sale on eBay. 50 kicked him out of the entourage, meaning he had to move out of the main house and live in the three story pool house, and he only got $150,000 spending money a month. It was a fate worse than that of Antwan Majestic. Probably.
A year later, The Longest Clown: The Antwan Majestic Story opened to terrible reviews, for a bunch of obvious reasons.