I have this fantasy that I’m walking down St. Mark’s place towards Jas Mart to buy some of those little pink rice flour cakes that taste like clouds and I see David Arquette (pictured, left) walking on the opposite side, heading towards the Astor Place subway station. He’s got a large bag from Trash and Vaudville and I can only assume it’s filled with striped pants. I have a large, mostly-full Orange Julius, which I heft it at him.
I also, apparently, am a professional shot-putter because it hits him square between the shoulder blades, splattering all over his blue orange Hawaiian shirt and dripping down his green checkered pants. He turns to see who threw an Orange Julius at him. I wait until he spots me to yell, “You suck, David Arquette!” He starts to cry, drops his bag and runs away. Turns out the bag is just filled with some empty Keystone Light cans that he was probably returning for the deposit.
The next day his picture is on Perez Hilton with big white teardrops drawn on his cheek and a dong sketched in his mouth. I imagine it’s the most fame David Arquette will ever know.