NO ANGEL, BUT NO OSMOND EITHER

Downtown between the Pacific American Fish Co. and the Hotel St. Agnes Hospitality Kitchen there’s an alley. Cars block each end, no escape. And silhouetted in the car headlights, two rival L.A. gangs are swaggering towards each other. A couple of people pop their heads out of the hotel window, mutter something incomprehensible and go back to sleep. Down below in the smoke, the gangs are getting closer.

Then out of the corner of your eye you spot a lot of people standing around with cameras. What’s this? Have they started putting the Pacific American Fish Co. on those maps they give Japanese tourists? You know, Disneyland, Marineland, Gangland? Then you notice the movie cameras half hidden in the smoke. Ah, I’ve got it. A sequence for That’s Incredible, right? Okay, Skip, you’re going to tell us about real people who beat the shit out of each other EVERY DAY! I can see them now, miking up the bodies, tapping them with rubber sticks for the soundcheck—hey, Joe, a little more middle on the ribs please! we’re getting awful feedback on those kneebones...