One day the front doorbell rang, and I skipped merrily to answer it, singing “La-la-laaaa.” I opened the door, and, to my surprise, Vin Diesel was standing there on the porch, wearing a Girl Scout uniform.
“Would you like to buy some Girl Scout cookies?” he asked in that familiar low, droning voice.
“Uh…no, thanks,” I said hesitantly. “Aren’t you Vin Diesel?”
“Yeah,” he grudgingly admitted, holding the box closer to me. “Sure you don’t wanna buy some nice cookies?”
“I really don’t want any cookies, Vin,” I insisted. “Tell you the truth, I hate Girl Scout cookies.”
“Rats,” he said dejectedly. He turned and gazed down the street, first one way and then the other, as though this were the last stop in a long series of unsuccessful attempts. For a moment there, I almost thought I heard a slight whimper, like at the end of XXX when he adds depth to his character by crying.
“Well, okay,” he said with a catch in his voice. “Guess I’ll just go home and listen to saaaad music on the phonograph.” He turned and trudged down the steps.
I couldn’t restrain my curiosity any longer. “Vin!” I called after him. “Why? Why are you trying to sell Girl Scout cookies?”
He stopped and gave me a wistful look. “Because…I want to play the lead role in a new epic film about Girl Scouts. A role that will astound the critics and silence my detractors once and for all. I want to play Pinky Frankenstein.” He motioned with his hands, trying to summon the right words. “She’s the…the…the most, like, f**kin’ awesome Girl Scout of all time.”
He reached into his skirt pocket and pulled out a picture. It was a petite little girl in a Girl Scout uniform, about eleven years old, with red pigtails, freckles, buck teeth, and glasses. “That’s her,” he said reverently. “That’s Pinky Frankenstein. She sold so many cookies, they had to keep the cookie factory running 24 hours a day, seven days a week just to keep up with her. And when they finally ran out of cookie dough–“
“Look, Vin,” I said, trying to be honest, “for one thing, you don’t look a thing like her.”
He held up a finger. “Ah, but that’s where acting comes in. The best performances come from people you wouldn’t normally think of in–” He was momentarily interrupted as Phil Collins suddenly ran past us in his underwear, screaming “ZOOM!!! I’M A ROCKETSHIP!!!” before disappearing around the corner of the house. “–in that particular role,” Vin concluded.
“Well, you sure as hell can’t sell cookies,” I said.
“No,” said Vin, the tears flowing for real now. “No, I can’t.” He raised his tortured countenance to the heavens, arms outstretched, and cried out in anguish. “WHY, GOD? WHY CAN’T I BE PINKY FRANKENSTEIN?” With that, he ran away bawling his head off until he disappeared through a hedge on the other side of Mrs. Wilson’s backyard.
Some time later, I came across some news on IMDb of an upcoming film entitled “The Pinky Frankenstein Story.” Tom Cruise had snagged the lead role. There was a picture of him in a Girl Scout uniform, with his usual smug, snarky Tom Cruise grin clearly recognizable even under the fake freckles, pigtails, and buck teeth. Actually, the resemblance to the real Pinky Frankenstein was amazing. In the background, playing one of the lesser Girl Scout characters, was Vin Diesel. And even in his festive uniform, bravely trying to smile like a happy little girl, Vin couldn’t help but look as though his world had come to a shattering end.
While reading the accompanying article, I found that Vin’s character was known as “Smelly Edna, the stupid little girl who totally sucked at selling Girl Scout cookies.” He was already receiving withering reviews for his performance, particularly from Roger Ebert, who acidly remarked: “Vin Diesel totally sucks at playing a little girl. Two thumbs way down–his throat, that is.” And Rex Reed cattily opined: “Vin Diesel’s performance is worse than being sucked into a jet engine and ground into cat food. I wish he’d get hit by a train.”
As for me, I almost wish that I’d bought some cookies from Vin that day. But like I said, I hate Girl Scout cookies. I guess I even hate them enough to destroy Vin Diesel’s acting career.