Hollywood producer "Dirty" Don Simpson came from Alaska. He denied having Inuit blood, but was surprisingly sensitive about his barrel shaped body. Simpson was president of production at Paramount picture ~ Charlie Bludhorn's murder, president briefly, at a very young age. The would be wunder boy was quickly fired by Barry Diller who moved cultist automaton Jeff Katzenberg into Simpson's old slot.
Simpson didn't like being replaced by a dwarf and frequently expressed resentment. "Fired me on grounds of immorality!!? By Barry Diller who a hundred people saw fucking a boy under a porch!" at some industry occasion.
Simpson collected guns, but with a twist, they were replicas. When this was pointed out by a visitor Simpson replied "I pulled it on some asshole on Sunset and he damn near shit himself."
Not a deep thinker.
The story of Don's drug addicted final days is fairly well known, the efforts of his partner Jerry Bruckheimer to intervene, to get Simpson sober, were unsuccessful.
They were unsuccessful because Simpson had entered a death spiral which began when he sought the assistance of an insane Encino plastic surgeon to preform "penile augmentation surgery."
Simpson's initial procedure involved the injection of blubber harvested from his abdomen being injected in to the barrel of his harpoon to "augment" girth. This failed leaving Simpson with an a stubby non functional unit, with a suppurating lesion at the injection sight that leaked evil smelling fluid refused to heal and required a course of IV antibiotics to forestall amputation. Heavily medicated, Simpson decided corrective surgery was in order after the high price prostitutes he consulted about the appearance of his penis advised him while the girth was impressive it made his member appear a trifle short. Simpson insisted it was never about size, but proportion.
Simpson returned to the Doc and had another procedure which cut the two cords from which the penis depends. This was spectacularly disastrous. The unit dropped down but was 45 degrees off plump. Worse, the surgical wounds again became infected. The guilt stricken doctor who had been threatened with a replica handgun and near shit himself, prescribed a broad spectrum of make-up narcotics and Simpson moved another doctor, a young internist named Ammerman into his guest house to tend to his diseased dong.
Unfortunately doctor Ammerman, whom Simpson had met in recovery, relapsed on narcotics himself od'd in the guest house bringing Simpson unwanted publicity.
http://articles.latimes.com/1995-08-17/local/me-36140_1_don-simpson
Simpson was now entirely cut off from the world, his only friend a limo driver, to whom he confided the whole sad story attempting to convince the young man to donate his own penis to Simpson (for transplant purposes) in exchange for a permanent position as Simpson's driver and an opportunity to meet Tom Cruise.
DIG MEME PRAY