Many books have been written about my career, but there’s not one book out there about my actual life. Well, Harold Bloom tried to write one, but it’s just a bunch of speculative nonsense, and at about page twenty it turns into a book about who would win in a fight between Iago and Hamlet.

The problem my would-be biographers face is a severe lack of information regarding my upbringing and adolescence. I am a fiercely private man, and, for legal reasons, I have every right to be. If you are ever as successful as I have been (and will continue to be), you’ll find that people are not very decent at their core. When there is something beautiful in the world, it is humanity’s nature to try and destroy it. Well, I’ve fought some battles and taken some licks, but I’m still here. I might not be if I’d blabbed about where I came from and what the skeletons in my closet look like (they’re arranged as if enjoying a high-end tea party).

But at this point in my career, I’m feeling pretty much bulletproof. My legal team has developed into a world renowned fly swatting behemoth. And my time tested “Money Printing Movie Formula” is not going to fail me anytime soon. Therefore, I present to you an exclusive look at my life story via some excerpts from a book I plan to write on my deathbed:

“…I guess I was destined to be a filmmaker, and a controversial one at that. At age two I found my parent’s Super8 camera and accidentally filmed them making love. Well, strict Catholics that they were, you can imagine how much hell broke loose over that. I’ve had to live my whole life with the knowledge that I was damned no matter what good I did (their words). Now this may sound harsh, but it inflicted upon me a ‘go for broke’ attitude that I believe was an early key to my success…”

“…At age three, before I could even speak correctly, they had me in therapy. And I loved it. Her name was Dr. Jennifer. She had the kind of body a good poet could lose years choosing words for. If she were a prostitute: one million dollars, no regrets. By the time I was five, all my memories and dreams we discussed were about her. At age eight I told her, ‘Dr. Jennifer, one of these days I’m gonna marry you and make you the happiest woman in the world.’ Well, as the late, great Meatloaf once said: ‘One out of Two ain’t bad’. She was the first–and best–of my many ex-wives…”

“…As you can imagine, school was difficult for me. There seemed to be kids there that, for some unknown reason, other kids wanted to pal around with more than normal. I asked Dr. Jennifer what this meant, and she introduced me to the concept of popularity. I investigated it further and found these popular kids all had one thing in common: sports. In middle school I tried out for a couple teams, but, sadly, sports and I were never meant to be. I spent years trying to find another way into this world of popularity, this world of sports. It wasn’t until my Sophomore year of high school that I finally figured it out and started selling steroids. Within two weeks, I was the most popular kid in school. And after that first year of astounding successes at the state level, even the school’s administrative staff gave me carte blanche. I was on top of the world. I haven’t climbed down since…”

“…I believe it was at that cherished, invincible age of seventeen that I murdered my first rival. I actually had two rivals at the time, but I knew better than to kill them both. See, back then a hit cost fifty grand. But a frame-up only cost thirty. So by killing one and simply setting-up the other, I saved myself twenty thousand bucks!…”

“…I knew it would be difficult to get Reagen in, but I didn’t realize just how difficult it was going to get. Carter’s people were working with Verhoeven’s people and things got violent real fast. Never in my life have I come up against such a fierce opponent. I tell you right now as I live and breath, I lost four potentially good kids to that election. Looking back, I humbly admit that we only won because Verhoeven didn’t have any kids of his own to trade-out to the Iranians…”

So there you have it (but keep it to yourself). Of course, this is just a small taste. I need to keep the rest secret because if my posthumous autobiography doesn’t sell well, I won’t have enough dough to bring myself back to life someday.

In closing I will leave you with some words regarding the cost of success: worth every damn penny.