Hollywood, Car Wrecks, Ex-Wives And Other Death-Defying Feats: The Absolutely True Fictionalized Autobiography Of Bruce Baker

By Bruce Baker

Go inside the misadventures of living in Hollywood. This is a humorous look at Hollywood with all its foibles. Discover about driving the Hollywood Cruiser, the scandalous cover-up of Pottergate and why a hat is always the best gift for studio heads.

Amazingly, Bruce Baker survives being thrown from a car, going through a car windshield, nearly dying on the Hollywood freeway (twice) besides surviving earthquakes, riots and fires.

His ex-wives include a murderer, a spy, a hooker, a ballerina, a lesbian, Cinderella and even an Alien. Also included are Elvis, Marilyn Monroe and even Donny & Marie.

Fantastic political conspiracy theories concern President Daddy Bush teaching Baby Bush about the CIA, the intelligence community and the Boys in the Basement. Uncover the infamous ex-spy Frank Terpil.

Find out how to try and take over the world.

Voted Best True Fiction Book by the American True Fiction Book Club (three years in a row!) Bruce Baker is President of the American True Fiction Book Club and is the only member.

Review for the book: "WOW! What a great book! Best Damn thing I've ever read." The Author

Always entertaining. You never know what will happen next.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bruce Baker
• Release date: Feb 7, 2013

Bruce Baker

BRUCE BAKER is a reader in modern American history at Newcastle University. He is author of What Reconstruction Means: Historical Memory in the American South, coeditor of After Slavery: Race, Labor, and Citizenship in the Reconstruction South, and coauthor of The Cotton Kings: Capitalism and Corruption in Turn-of-the-Century New York and New Orleans.

Book preview

CAR WRECKS AND

STRANGE NEIGHBORS

Ok, so I’ve been thrown from a car, been through a car windshield, been in a car rollover, had my car door ripped off twice while I’ve been standing next to it, had the front end of my car torn off twice, been in a rear-ender when the other driver (who was going 60 mph) never even slowed down, and had my car catch on fire while I was still in it. Out of all of that, I only received a dime-sized scar on my right elbow.

That’s pretty amazing, huh? I’m sure I’ve got a guardian angel. By the way, all the passengers survived too. Although, one passenger did get a concussion when I was thrown from the car.

Anyway, I’m sitting now in my one room prison cell trying to figure out how I got here.

Oh, this place is comfortable enough. I have all the necessities of life. I have my TV, my stereo, my DVD player, of course my DVD’s, my CD’s and my videotapes. I have my computer, my printer, my lamps, my recliner, my microwave, my Persian rug, my queen size bed, my desk, my phone and my art.

My art consists of five paintings that I’ve created – a painting of my friend Victoria, my self portrait, a 72 inch by 60 inch painting of a pair of green eyes, a painting of Jennifer Aniston, and a painting of a crazy-eyed man. I’ve also got a poster of a Picasso weeping woman painting and a silk screen of the San Francisco cityscape

So with all the stuff you’d think I would still be doing OK – all the comforts of home right? Well yes, but prison still is no picnic. There are no ants, cockroaches yes, but no ants.

Now, this prison is one of my own making. Actually, this is not a prison. It is a two-story house with six bedrooms in Northridge, California. I live with five other incredibly strange people. While this place is not a real prison, I feel as if I am in prison. I feel the necessity to keep my door locked at all times and avoid using the bathroom and kitchen for extended periods of time.

The house has six bedrooms (six rooms for rent), three bedrooms downstairs and three bedrooms upstairs, a common living room area and a kitchen with two refrigerators, a stove and a microwave. It’s not far from CSUN, California State University at Northridge and right behind the local AAMCO transmission shop.

This halfway house (halfway between dreams and nightmares) is run by one of my ex-wives. This is kind of a strange situation, don’t you think?

Which ex-wife runs the place? Well, I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you. Why? She’d kill me or at least severely hurt me. OK, she wouldn’t hurt me but she might shake her finger at me.

Across the hall from my downstairs cell lives an angry black man, named Foster Fester. He used to be an actor turned felon. Like most actors, he was a bartender at night, and an auditioning wannabe actor by day. He wasn’t that bright either. He wonders how he got caught. Maybe the cops saw the commercial he was in. There was a warrant for his arrest because he stabbed some guy in New York. When the federal marshal came to arrest him, Fester crawled out the window and ran away. I never saw him again.

Next to Foster’s room was Joe’s room. Joe the mechanic was a redneck who stood about 6 ft. 6 and weighted over 300 pounds. He did time in prison for beating up a cop while high on coke and methamphetamines. He said he was clean now.

I think he got the nickname mechanic for two reasons. The first reason is he really is a mechanic. He worked for Volkswagen as a master mechanic.

The second reason is he is an assassin or something like that. He would disappear for long periods of time without any explanation of where he went. I think it was black ops stuff. Nobody ever takes that much vacation. If you had a problem, Joe could fix it. I was quite fortunate that Joe really liked me.

Joe was always good to me.

Upstairs there lived this really nice black guy who looked like all the African kids you see on those TV infomercials, the kids with the huge bellies and flies on their faces.

He was a student, really small and bookish looking, since he wore glasses. He was incredibly polite and spoke English well enough. Apparently his family was wealthy and sent him to the United States to go the university.

Unfortunately, he did not understand American culture at all. He was constantly getting into arguments with Joe the mechanic. He could never understand why Joe would get upset when he ate Joe’s food whenever he wanted. He was also completely oblivious of how dangerous Joe actually was.

And of course there is Mr. Smith, a really skinny, skeleton of a guy with gray hair and a really bad comb over. He looked like the walking dead.

Mr. Smith had no job except the occasional guitar lessons he taught. Since he had no job and no money, he would get his food out of garbage cans from local restaurants. The food he put in the refrigerator shared-by-all really stunk. His food smelled like garbage because it was garbage. All the food that I kept in the refrigerator was frozen, that way it could not be contaminated by Mr. Smith’s food.

Mr. Smith also loved to argue over anything. One time when the cops were called because he was arguing with Joe the mechanic. Within minutes, Mr. Smith stated arguing with the cops. I’ve always thought it is unwise to argue with a man who carries a gun.

The cop took Mr. Smith outside. Within seconds, I heard the cop yelling at the top of lungs at Mr. Smith. I expected at any moment to hear a gunshot. If the cop had shot Mr. Smith, I’m sure he shooting would have been justified.

CHAPTER 2

MOVIES AND MURDER

(a real murder mystery)

So how did I get here? Well, I think I should start at the beginning or at least somewhere close to the beginning.

I guess it all started in 1982 when I had a movie production company called Eagle Productions. There was me, Jerry, Bob, Tip and Lee. Lee was an actor, a musician and a writer. Tip was an actor and a writer. Jerry was a grip electric (that’s a fancy movie title for a guy who hauls electric cables) and a taxi driver. Bob was an actor, a sheet rock construction worker and a martial arts instructor. I was a videotape operator and a fine arts painter.

We formed a corporation and started the task of looking for production money to make movies. We found a lawyer who liked our ideas, our scripts and especially our budget proposals. He said that getting us money was now the second item on his company’s list of things-to-do. First on his list was creating a new long-distance telephone company.

Upon learning that we were SECOND on the list, and not FIRST, Tip and Lee got upset and they resigned from the production company. So that left me, Bob and Jerry.

Well, we waited and waited to get first on the list. Unfortunately, the long-distance company folded quite quickly. The lawyers and investors were under indictment for fraud by the FCC. So this lawyer quickly disappeared into thin air.

The three of us continued looking for production money to make a movie. Jerry found a man who claimed to be a wealthy Arab. He was actually an Iranian who called himself Bob. He said he had found us some money for us to make a movie.

We set up a bank account to receive $100 million. Our part of the money was to be $10 million. This was a loan that didn't