No one was getting along with Sandra Bullock. Not Drew Carey nor Phillip Seymour Hoffman. And they get along with everyone. Turns out old Sandra was just being a liar. Can’t call her a fat liar as she was a bit on the bulimic side. She attempted to wield an axe that weighed more than her. And she wasn’t the brightest bulb.

It was exactly her fault that the good roles were going to other people, but when playing the same role over and over, people just don’t care to see it again. But nobody told Sandra. Immediately she hit the bottle. Literally hit the bottle. She had poor depth perception and frequently over reached for things.

It was said one time when she had a minor speaking role in a hospital drama, she was told to hand a surgeon a scalpel. She knocked the tray over and the knife pierced the foot of John Hurt who went into a rage. ‘Not since I left Mississippi had I met such an incompetent girl.’ She swore she’d have problems getting further acting gigs, but Sandra was also a veteran of various casting couches.

She didn’t really get along with Drew Carey, she just strung him along. He was smitten. She did enjoy the company of Phillip Seymour Hoffman. She started out as good friends with Drew, but once Phillip entered the scene, she was head over heels. She was a bit of a snob like that, shunning one friend because they acted on television and building up another because he worked in film.

Drew’s show wasn’t that bad and he made a nice bundle on it, more than Phillip was making for a crap flick like Flawless. But still Phillip got the acclaim, Drew got the residuals. And Sandra was left out in the cold of Hollywood.

She considered touring the continent but feared she would be unrecognizable since no one really saw Miss Congeniality either Parts One or Two. Could you imagine having to subtitle that, or worse yet, to dub lines into a foreign language?

Sandra you worked very hard at lying around, and what has that gotten you but bed sores. Poor thing, poor soul

I heard she was last seen playing with matches by an overpass. In the process of burning her bridges, she might be wooing Don Johnson. Oh the trauma.

Her screwball parts dried up, like apricot nuts in the sun. There was nowhere to go but to drugs and drink. One time while jogging in a drunken stupor she fell and fractured her wrist and chipped a tooth.

Not that she cared. She had that nobility that comes with delusion, and she wore it well.

I saw her in the canteen once, bombed like Dresden. I felt bad for her and offered her a coffee.

“You. You of all people, offering me a cup of shit coffee. After all I had done for you. You have some nerve buddy. All I wanted was to be your friend. Sure I hurt your feelings, sure I tried to ruin whatever career you might have had. Fuck it! I’m Sandra Bullock you fuck head!”

Then she fell to the floor in a crumpled manner, crying about how no one understands her. I put a dollar in her cup. She drank it. I turned and walked away as someone started to perform the Heimlich maneuver.