Part 1 - Some Call It McLoving
It was 8:00am but it certainly didn't feel like it. The California sun glistened through his dusty cigarette stained windowsill, its ray's softly combed through tufts of Armie's receding hairline. Armand groaned miserably as he nursed a stomachache from the McRibs he had eaten the night before...the mcRibs which were now making a swift exit through his anus. But Armand was not aware of this at the time, because he was also slightly hungover, you see. His sometimes dog, Archie, on the other hand, was incredibly aware, because he was the first to detect its presence. He really only showed up at the home, a derelict pool house rental Armand found off of Craigslist, to sometimes curiously peek at what the human was up to and steal whatever food he left out. But today he noticed that Armand had truly gorged himself on a McRib binge. He ate his food from the automatic feeder and then exited through his doggy doorway to spend the majority of his time with his preferred people, Armand's Landlords and beleaguered neighbors, the Del Santis family.
The scattered remnants of McRib packaging were littered all over the pool house. This was his life now; he would give in excess every now and then when he could afford it, he would try to stock up for weeks on end with the money his frustrated mother would send. She had hoped he earned enough to buy his own food by now, let alone to pay rent, but he assured her that one day he would land that project that would pull through. Armand had overheard while eating a burrito at a gas station that there was a casting call for a few local commercials. He had been to every job center near Los Feliz and Encino and over the past week, after failed casting calls and rejection over rejection, Armand would buy McRibs to nurse his bruised ego. Someday, he would get a job, just like he would get a girl, and he would finally stop thinking about the size of his incredibly tiny penis.
As he began to get ready, he ran to the bathroom to void his bowels of his grease laden dinner. He would accidentally urinate himself in the process, and try to wash himself pathetically in the bathroom sink before taking a shower like a dignified person. His penis was usually the last thing he forgot to wash, if he remembered at al. It was an amazingly disgusting sight to behold: his pubic hair had completely overgrown over the entirety of his genitalia. His shaft had odd warts and bumps that overwhelmed and engulfed the head of his penis by comparison, making his genitals look like a cluster of smegma encased pimples, which had been covered in an odd green layer of filth. These bumps were not STDs, for his genitals have been repulsively like this for as long as he could remember. Armie often didn't notice because he sometimes forgot his dick was even there. Besides, he was sure he wasn't the only actor in Hollywood with a rancid baby dick anyway.
Another day, he thought to himself. He flipped through channels after getting ready and put on the local public access news channel, which he loved to leave on as background noise. He fished out another McRib from the fridge, when he overheard a name that stopped him dead in his tracks.
"Timothee Chalamet gave an excellent performance as Danny in a hip hop and polka fusion themed production of Cats Don't Dance…" the giggling female anchor couldn't contain herself as clips of Timothee prancing in terrifying Cat makeup played in a looping montage of b-roll footage. "...It was put on at the Los Feliz High School. He is amongst 5 other actors who have been nominated in the Los Angeles Prestigious Actors Forum Awards…"
Timmy, a voice whispered from within the foggy shadows of his mind…that smug pretentious prick. He had tried for that same high school production last month, and when he showed up to the auditions they escorted him off campus. He was at least 24 years younger than him, 2 feet smaller than he was, and weighed a quarter of his 180 pounds, and yet he could never escape Timothee's shadow. Their rivalry began two years, when they managed to star together in a low budget drama cobbled together by sometimes screenwriter Pedro Luna, a local nurse aide who filmed the movie out of his garage in Encino for $7,000. Armie took the job at $500 per week. He spent days practicing his face in front of a mirror, eating McRibs and perfecting his dead glazed over eyes to elicit the perfect  amount of emotionally stiff vacancy that his body could muster and that he was known for. He practiced his meandering monologues on confused and unwilling vagrants and pedestrians. And all though Armie had more experience, Timothee managed to outshine him. Armie remembered stopping by In n Out when his phone received the alert that his co star, Timothee, was nominated for the Encino Local Artizzy Awards and Los Angeles Actor Forum Award simultaneously. Armie was furious...all those weeks performing his monologues to bewildered tourists near the LAX. The days where he was pelted with garbage and he came home smelling like a dumpster that had been left out on Santa Monica Beach overnight. When strangers confusedly gave him money or spoke to him about sobriety, even though he would explain to them in vain that he was very sober. Sure, he made a few dollars when it live streamed on YouTube from a few of Pedro's patients who watched. But Armie needed that to be his moment. He needed to show his mother, who begged him to take a job anywhere, even McDonalds, that his move to LA wasn't a complete failure. Â
He could feel the hate rise through his chest and swallow his throat as he stared at Timothee's oddly angular jaw. Why the fuck was his jaw so sharp? He wondered... He looked like if Lyle Lovett had mated with a leprechaun…Armie was just as confused as he was somewhat incessantly jealous. As he continued to listen, he fell under a panic induced hypnosis that terrified him. This is it, he though...this is the most my career has peaked. The thought dreaded him and his mind began to race. He couldn't face his mother's disappointment again; the empty, defeating silence from her when she asked if he found any new work. He couldn't face another rejection... I look better than him, he thought, I can bench press 200 pounds. And he knew deep down that wasn't even true, but if he said it enough it could become true enough that people would believe it, so why couldn't the same be said for his fluttering career? His anxiety transformed into a cloud, which brought upon a deep quickening panic, as he felt a darkness envelop him. The darkness seeped from all corners of the house and hung over him until there was no sunlight entering his room, but an overwhelming gloominess shrouding him, his soul turning into a black void. I am a better actor, he kept telling himself, I am amazing... I should be getting these awards...me...me...me… As he waited for the words to work, he began to wonder if there was a void large enough that could swallow all his failures, his fears, his insecurities...but in the meantime, his mind quickly hatched a plan.