There was a space in time when Jerzy aspired to be the new Weegee — or Son of Johnny Pigozzi, anyway — but it never worked out. He was a vulturazzo in Manhattan for a while, staking out hospitals & clinics & the offices of Park Ave docs with a camera, waiting for skulking celebs. Facelifts, freakouts & O.D.s. He shot Michael Douglas in the subway, scrawny & disoriented from chemo, poor schmuck, leaning on one of his kids. (Jerzy used to buy coke from his son Cameron.) Stalked Michael J. Fox when the actor was in town, waiting for that elusive Parkinsonian pantspiss, which sadly never came. Would’ve paid the rent for a year.
But it was cold in NY and Jerzy was burned out. The streets didn’t make him feel brand new, no dreams to be made, nothing he could do — not the Jay-Z experience. The move to LA felt right, but nothing had clicked. Nothing until he met Harry.
On the way home from the apartment office of THE HONEYSHOT! he got the idea of his life. He’d become Harry’s secret weapon, his sniper, his 5-
honeyshot General, Commander-in-chief of the Smarmy Army. He would enlist for 18 months, then hopefully, with his patron’s blessing, gather up his edited work — nip slips, honied moneyshots & everything in-between — and show them at Gagosian.
He’d take another new name.
Some kinda cross between Weegee & Banksy: Squeegee, maybe.
MoMA won’t even know what hit her.
. .
“For me,” said Harry, “after Emma, I got a bit depressed. It was like, Where can you go from here? But I’m moving on. You know what honeyshot! I’d like to get? I’ll tell you. And it ain’t Kate or Pippa, let somebody else get em, it’ll be soon enough. Cause Emma was the real royalty. And it ain’t Amanda Knox, either. You know who I’d like? Gabrielle Giffords. That’s right — my 
belongs to Gabby. Jesus, did you see the picture of her in People? Post-headwound svelte. Wearing denim, with that little trake scar… thumb hooked in her jeans, like one of those hot bored MILFs you see at Anthropologie or Trader Joe’s. . I’d like to hook my thumb in her jeans! Cause I ain’t all about the juvies. Like to get that perimenopausal kite string — a clear shot. Ain’ never gunna happen. A guy can dream, can’t he?”
“Sure, Harry. Got to.”
“You can make 200,000 a year, minimum.”
Jerzy pulled out a joint and lit up. He had the very strong notion it was OK & it was.
“Minimum. Guaranteed. But you gotta be serious. You gotta be diligent. You gotta eat, sleep & drink THE HONEYSHOT! It’s all about longevity, Jerzy Shores, & persistence of vision. You want to do right by all the beauties. All the babes in toyland soon to be appearing in a chauffeured Escalade near you: I’m talking Hailee Steinfeld. I’m talking Elle. I’m talking Madonna’s kid—Jesus H! Between the two of em, Hailee and Lourdes could support the depilatory industry without any help! I am guessing there are rumored bales of hair down there. And Elle ain’t ethnic, as you know, Elle’s fair, but sometimes the fair ones can surprise you in the southern regions… Elle’s fair in love and war—
mirror mirror on the wall
who’s the hairest . . . . . . ….
———there is a serious bumper crop a-comin! New muffs & mufflers, major single lady bidness up ahead! Kylie Jenner is seriously on the tote — she’s five-ten, did you know that? Of course, my Christmas wish would be to have something beforehand, a sextape, or a topless — I can dream, right? O Jesus, I want that one almost as much as I wanted Emma. Maybe just as much, who knows, the ’s a funny thing.
“I’m gunna give you a special assignment, Jerzy Shores, think you’re ready for a special assignment? I don’t want to wait anymore. As long as I don’t put em out there, don’t got to wait for the single ladies to be legal. Understand? I’ll pay 5,000 for any you bring in, no one’s gunna have a clue what you’re up to, how could they. It ain’t even against the law unless you upload. That’s what got Perez in trouble, he should have kept Miley to himself. This is between you and me — little keepsakes. Because the world is going to hell & I don’t want to wait anymore, it’s fuckin too hard on me. I want to see what I can now. I want to see the world. I don’t want to wait for the Willows. I want Judy Moody’s too. . . . . that’s right, go out and get me Chloë, get me Hailee, get me Elle! Get me little Sally Draper, get me fuckin Ariel Winter… don’t be shy! I’ll take Rebecca Black, she’s got a forest growing down there. Kendall too. Kylie I’m more interested in but I wouldn’t turn my nose up at Kendall. I’d do something with my nose, but I wouldn’t turn it up! Get me Janet Devlin … the devlin made me do it! Get me Drew Ryniewicz … get me Sophia Grace and Rosie the Hype Girl! Rosie the Riveter! I wanna see axe wounds, I wanna see movie SCARS. . get me to the geek. Marc Anthony’s kid — Ariana’s 18 soon. Michael Fox’s twins. Get palsy with em — should be a walk in the parkinsons! I want to see the Depp kid. A little depp’l do me. And the Baldwin girl, Ireland. Go ahead, get your 30 rocks off & pig out on that thoughtless pig!
“But I’m thinking ahead, son, way ahead. About all the little ones who become part of the family, the national quilt, over the years, cause it takes a village. I’m thinking of all the little ones, the Suris and the Shilohs! (The Suri with the fringe on bottom.) The Obama girls — they are not ungettable nor are they sacrosanct. THE HONEYSHOT! is out there, THE HONEYSHOT! is its own rite of passage, THE HONEYSHOT! is a visionquest, out there like a tidal wave of baby beaver bounty: Here come the Gosselins! Here comes Honor Alba! Here comes Nahla Berry! Here comes Naleigh Heigl! Here comes Violet & Seraphina Affleck! Here comes Ava Witherspoon! (We just got her mother’s cunt sliding out of the car to do a Kimmel.) Here comes Ella Bleu Preston-Travolta! Here comes Sadie & Sunny Sandler! Here comes Cleo Schwimmer! Here comes Satyana Hannigan & Billie Beatrice/Georgia Geraldine Gayheart-Dane & Savannah & Eden Cross! Here comes Indiana & Clementine Hawke! ‘Ever’ Jovovich! Harper Renn Thiessen! Here comes Vida McConaughey, and Charlotte Gellar-Prinze Jr. — here comes Britney’s sister’s fucking kid — a girl, right? And Haven cashwarren Alba — thank Haven for little girls—& Harlow & Apple. . . . yeah yeah yeah, the HONEYSHOT! needs an Apple a day — oops! Here comes Maddie Duchovny! Amaya Hargitay! Vivienne Jolie-Pitt! Stella Luna Pompeo! Jessica Springsteen! Vida McConaughey! Destry Spielberg! Evie Bono Hewson! Krishna Lakshmi! Archie Poehler & Alice Fey! Coco “Coochie” Arquette-Cox! The little bitch from Modern Family, what’s her name? Aubrey. Aubrey Anderson-Emmons. Coming down the pike and legal in just 12 short years! Rebecca Romijn’s got twins—of course she does, she’s 65 years-old — Charlie & Dolly! Sarah Jessica’s got twins—of course she does, she’s 82—Tabitha & Loretta! Don’t you see what we’re sitting on? THE HONEYSHOT!s gotta keep the faith. . . which brings me to Faith Kidman-Urban—and let us not forget Sunday Rose Urban-Kidman, it’s a month of Sundays, kid! Tobey Maguire’s got Ruby, Salma Hayek’s got Valentina, Tori Spelling’s got Stella, Diddy’s got D’Lila & Jessie—both girlchilds — J-Lo’s got an Emme, Heidi & Seal got Leni & Lou—Lou’s a girlchild. Bethenny Frankel’s got a Bryn . . . . if I live long enough, I’ll see Blue Ivy’s black velvet… cause you see we get to know them from the time they’re babes, we watch em laugh, we watch em cry, we see em dragged thru Barneys, see em squirm in rich and famous arms leaving Starbucks & Whole Foods & the fucking Malibu Lumber Yard, see em tousle-haired & toddler-jogging beside their toned-up yoga moms in the Colony, see em in Sandra Bullock’s arms, Jesus, Bullock’s arms must be more ripped than Cameron Diaz cause all I ever see is her hoisting that blackie like a kettlebell. We feel their joy & we feel their pain (and I am telling you, Jerzy Shores, the day you hand over a shot of Paris, Michael Jackson’s kid, that will be a day of celebration, a day of healing, of giving thanks to the Divine!)———we watch em grow up & grow tits, watch their teeth come in, buy our kids whatever style crap they’re wearing. . . . . . then before you know it, they’re staring out at us with their dead, hungry eyes from Vogue and W, in their Rodarte & Manolos, their Margielas & Louboutins, & they’re leaving Starbucks or Whole Foods or the fucking Malibu Lumber Yard under their own power. Suddenly, our babies are going to premieres & museum costume ball fundraisers, I am telling you my new friend that it takes a village, & the village, We the People of the United Village of Honeyshot!s hold our breaths watching each little career begin, & we wish the best for our sisters, that’s what they are, our little soul sisters — our daughters too & our future Moms — and we cushion the falls — the rehabs, DUIs, botched surgeries, 4-month marriages — just as we tally their triumphs. . . . . . . . . . . . until one day it’s time, time for me to show their cunts to the world.