I know that if you don't like something, you're supposed to stop paying attention to it so it will go away, but I can't help it, you guys: WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON WITH JAMES FRANCO?
It's just ... seriously, what is his deal? Between that sweaty, creepy half-naked selfie he posted then promptly deleted and his leaked attempt to hook up with a 17-year-old girl, which may or may not have been a publicity stunt, I can't tell if he's embroiled in some Andy Kaufman-esque performance or if he's legitimately unhinged. And now a couple months after publicly slamming Lindsay Lohan's infamous "sex list" ("I can’t believe she put me on that private list, she’s so delusional!"), James Franco has published a short story in Vice titled "Bungalow 89," and it's a name-dropping hot mess in which describes his night with Lindsay.
Excerpt: She said, “Open the door, you bookworm punk blogger faggot.”
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Franco's short story, which is probably presented as fiction just so he can be a giant douche without getting sued, presents Franco as something of a gentleman when a lonely Lohan came calling:
We’re not going to have sex. If you want to come in, I’ll read you a story.
So chivalrous! Except he should have just slept with her instead of publishing this garbage, because it's .... well, here, let me pull some quotes from "Bungalow 89" for you.
Out my window, above the red ceramic tiles of the Spanish roofs, just to the left, was the billboard owned by Gucci, so close it was essentially part of the hotel, and on it was my oversize face, for, you see, I was a model for their fragrances, clothes, and eyewear.
She knocked on the door. She was in her pajamas. She had bare feet.
Once upon a time a guy, a Hollywood guy, read some Salinger to a young woman who hadn’t read him before. Let’s call this girl Lindsay. She was a Hollywood girl, but a damaged one. I knew that she would like Salinger, because most young women do. I read her two of the Nine Stories, “A Perfect Day for Bananafish” and “For Esmé—with Love and Squalor.” “Bananafish” was great because it has a nagging mother on the other end of the phone line, nothing like Lindsay’s real mother, but still, the mother-daughter thing was good for her to hear.
And what do we say about all this obsession with innocence? Salinger would be a companion to young women, real young women, for years, and then, one fateful night, he would sleep with them and the friendship would end. After that, after he fucked them, they were no longer the innocent ones running through the rye to be caught before they went over the cliff. They had gone over, and he had been the one to push them.
Now we were lying in bed. I wasn’t going to fuck her. She had her head on my shoulder. She started to talk. I let her.
I ran my fingers through her hair and thought about this girl sleeping on my chest, our fictional Hollywood girl, Lindsay. What will she do? I hope she gets better. You see, she is famous. She was famous because she was a talented child actress, and now she’s famous because she gets into trouble. She is damaged.
James Franco the gentleman goes on to describe Lohan as "an out-of-control vehicle running on fumes," and quotes her story about having sex with "a big-schnozzed, big-dicked, drunk motherfucker." But perhaps my favorite part is when he dreams about meeting a demon who lives on the power of celebrity:
You are immortal and live on forever, on the screens and in the minds of the peoples. Your physical self lives above their heads, in the dream hotels, in the chateaus of rarefied space, and your spirit inhabits their minds, while your teeth and cock feed on their bodies.
So ... yeah. James Franco. What a stand-up guy. What an amazing font of creativity. What a philosopher. What a ... massive insufferable sack of famewhoring pretension.
What do you think of Franco's "story"?
Image via jamesfrancotv/Instagram